{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_41032/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_41032","id":"gutenberg_41032","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41032","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: History - Religious","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/catholicworld03pauluoft\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 III;\n    Number 1--April 1866\n    Number 2--May 1866\n    Number 3--June 1866\n    Number 4--July 1866\n    Number 5--August 1866\n    Number 6--September 1866\n[End Transcriber's notes]\n\n\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD.\n\n\n_Monthly Magazine_\n\nof\n\nGENERAL LITERATURE AND SCIENCE.\n\n\n\nVOL. III.\n\nAPRIL TO SEPTEMBER, 1866.\n\n\n\nNEW YORK:\n\nLAWRENCE KEHOE, PUBLISHER,\n\n145 Nassau Street.\n\n1866.\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n\nAll-Hallow Eve; or The Test of Futurity, 97, 241.\nAbbey, Glastonbury, 150.\nAnimal Life, Curiosities of, 232.\nAlexandria, Christian Schools of, 354, 484.\nAbbeville, a Day at, 590.\nAsses, Dogs, Cats, etc., 688.\nA Celtic Legend, 810.\n\nBenedictines, Rise of, 150.\nBuried Alive, 805.\n\nCuriosities of Animal Life, 232.\nCatholic Publication Society, The, 278.\nChristian Schools of Alexandria, The, 354, 484.\nCuckoo and Nightingale, The, 543.\nCardinal Tosti, 851.\n\nDr. Spring, Reminiscences of, 129.\nDreamers and Workers, 418.\nDe Gu\u00e9rin, Eug\u00e9nie, Letters from Paris, 474.\n\nEirenicon, Reply to, by Very Rev. Dr. Newman, 46.\nEirenicon, Pamphlets on the, 217.\nEve de la Tour d'Adam, 366.\nEcce Homo, 618.\nEpiscopal Church, Doctrine on Ordination, 721.\n\nFrance, Two Pictures of Life in, 411.\nFranciscan Missions on the Nile, 768.\n\nGlastonbury Abbey, 150.\nGerbet, l'Abbe, 308.\nGod Bless You, 593.\nGipsies, The, 702.\n\nHaven't Time, 92.\nH\u00fcrter, Frederick, 115.\nHeaven, Nearest Place to, 433.\n\nIreland and the Informers of 1798, 122.\nIrish Folk Books of the Last Century, 679.\n\nJenifer's Prayer, 17, 183, 318.\n\nKilkenny, a Month in, 301.\n\nLegend, a Celtic, 810.\n\nMiscellany, 137, 421, 570, 853.\nMadeira, Tinted Sketches in, 265.\n\nNewman, Very Rev. Dr., Saints of the Desert, 16, 170, 334.\nNewman, Very Rev. Dr., Reply to Dr. Pusey's Eirenicon, 46.\nNew York; Religion in, 381.\nNecklace, the Pearl, 693.\nNile, Franciscan Missions on the, 768.\nNile, Solution of the Problem of the, 828.\n\nOld Thorneley's Heirs, 404, 443, 599, 738.\nOur Ancestors, Industrial Arts of, 549, 780.\n\nPatriarchate of Constantinople, Present State of, 1.\nPrayer, Jenifer's, 17, 183, 318.\nProblems of the Age, 145, 289, 518, 577, 758.\nPerico the Sad, 497, 660, 787.\nPerreyve, Henri, 845.\n\nReminiscences of Dr. Spring, 129.\nReligion In New York, 381.\nReading, Use and Abuse of, 463.\nRome the Civilizer of Nations, 638.\n\nSaints of the Desert, The, 16, 170, 334\nSteam-Engine, Proposed Substitutes for, 29.\nSt. Paul, Youth of, 531.\nSealskins and Copperskins, 557.\n\nThe Age, Problems of, 145, 289, 518, 577, 758.\nTurkestan, A Pretended Dervish in, 198, 370.\nTwo Pictures of Life In France before 1848, 411.\nThree Women of our Time, 834.\nTosti, Cardinal, 851.\n\nUnconvicted, 404, 443, 599, 738.\nUse and Abuse of Reading, 463.\n\nVirtue, Statistics of, 731.\n\nWeddings, East Indian, 635.\n\n--------\n\nPOETRY.\n\nBury the Dead, 379.\nBanned and Blessed, 306.\n\nChristine, 32, 171, 335.\nClaims, 556.\nCarols from Cancionero, 692.\nChristian Crown, The, 736.\n\nD\u00aby-Dreams, 483.\n\nHymn, 548.\nHoly Saturday, 634.\n\nLockharts, Legend of the, 127.\nLost for Gold, 826.\n\nMater Divinae Gratiae, 216\nMay Breeze, 442.\n\nOur Neighbor, 317.\nOur Mother's Call, 462.\n\nPoor and Rich, 240.\nPeace, 410.\n\nRequiem AEternam, 263.\n\nShell, Song of the, 96.\nSapphics, 517.\nSacrilege, the Curse of, 656.\nSonnet, 850.\n\nThe King and the Bishop, 528.\nTherein, 597.\nThe Martyr, 617.\nThy Will be Done, 778.\n\nWords of Wisdom, 121\n\n\n------\n\n{iv}\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\nArchbishop Hughes, Life of, 140.\nApostleship of Prayer, 428.\nAgnes, 431.\nAppleton's Annual Cyclopaedia, 719.\nArmy of the Potomac, Medical Recollections of, 854.\n\nBiology, Spencer's Principles of, 425.\nBlessed Virgin, Devotion to in North America, 574.\nBiographical Dictionary, 574\nBooks for Young People, 720.\nCriterion, Tuckerman's, 143.\nChrist the Light of the World, 144.\nChristus Judex, 288.\nChristian Examiner, 427.\nChristine,717.\nCosas de Espana, 858.\n\nDictionary, Webster's, 143.\nDraper's Text Books of Chemistry, etc, 576.\nDarras' Church History, 719.\n\nEirenicon, Dr. Pusey's, 283.\nEug\u00e9nie de Gu\u00e9rin, Letters of, 859.\nEnglish Language, Practical Grammar of, 860.\n\nFaber's New Book, 287.\nFroude's History of England, 718.\n\nGrahams, The, 288.\nGrant, Headley's Life of, 575.\n\nHughes, Archbishop, Life of, 140.\nHoly Childhood, Report of, 573.\nHeadley's Life of Grant, 575.\nHomes without Hands, 860.\n\nKennett, Story of, 431.\nKeating's Ireland, 432.\n\nMount Hope Trial, 430.\nMarshall's Missions, 430.\nMay Carols, De Vere's, 432.\nMarcy's Army Life, 716.\n\nNew-Englander, The, 855.\n\nPrayer, Apostleship of, 428.\nPriest and People, Good Thoughts for, 431.\nPoetry of the Civil War, 576.\n\nQueen's English, A Plea for the, 857.\nas\nSpencer's Principles of Biology, 425.\nSpalding's Miscellanea, 571.\nShakespeare on Insanity, 860.\n\nWyoming, Valley of, 859.\n\n------\n\n{1}\n\n\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD.\n\n\nVOL. III., NO. 1.--APRIL, 1866.\n\n\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\n\nTHE PRESENT STATE OF THE\nPATRIARCHATE OF CONSTANTINOPLE.  [Footnote 1]\n\n  [Footnote 1: \"L'Eglise Orientale, par Jaques G. Pitzipios, Fondateur\n  de la Soci\u00e9t\u00e9 Chr\u00e9tienne Orientale.\" Rome: Imprimerie de la\n  Propagande, 1855.]\n\nIn the year 1841, the bishops of the Protestant Episcopal dioceses of\nMassachusetts, New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, Missouri, Maryland,\nand Pennsylvania, professing to speak in the name of their church in\nthe United States, addressed the following language to the\nschismatical Patriarch of Constantinople, whom they style \"the\nvenerable and right reverend father in God the _Patriarch of the Greek\nChurch,_resident at Constantinople:\"\n\n\"The church in the United States of America, therefore, looking to the\ntriune God for his blessings upon its efforts for unity in the body of\nChrist, turn with hope to the Patriarch of Constantinople, _the\nspiritual head of the ancient and venerable Oriental Church._\"\n[Footnote 2]\n\n  [Footnote 2: Quoted in the \"Memoir of Rev. F.A. Baker,\" p. 47.]\n\nThis is by no means the only instance of overtures of this kind,\nlooking toward a union between Protestant Episcopalians and Eastern\nschismatics, with the view of concentrating the opposition to the\nRoman See under a rival Oriental primacy. The Non-jurors, who were\nejected from their sees at the overthrow of the Stuarts, proposed to\nthe Synod of Bethlehem to establish the primacy in the patriarchate of\nJerusalem; but their proposal was met by a decidedly freezing refusal.\nThe American bishops who signed the letter from which the foregoing\nextract is taken show a remarkable desire to bow down before some\necclesiastical power more ancient and venerable than themselves; and\nin their extreme eagerness to propitiate the Eastern prelates, they\nacknowledge without scruple the most arrogant titles usurped by the\nPatriarch of Constantinople, although from their want of familiarity\nwith the ecclesiastical language, they do it in a very unusual and\npeculiar style. Whatever may be at present the particular views of\nthose who are seeking to bring about a union between the Protestant\nEpiscopal churches and the Easterns, in regard to the order of\nhierarchical organization, they are evidently disposed to pay court to\nthe successor of Photius and Michael Cerularius, and to espouse {2}\nwarmly his quarrel against Rome. His figure is the foremost one in the\ndispute, and there is every disposition to take advantage as far as\npossible of the rank which the See of Constantinople has held since\nthe fifth century, first by usurpation and afterward by the concession\nof Rome, as second to the Apostolic See of St. Peter. We do not accuse\nall those who are concerned in the union movement of being animated by\na spirit of enmity against Rome. Some of them, we believe, are seeking\nfor the healing of the schisms of Christendom in a truly Catholic\nspirit, although not fully enlightened concerning the necessary means\nfor doing so. We may cherish the same hope concerning some of the\nOriental prelates and clergy also, especially those who have\nmanifested a determination not to compromise a single point of\nCatholic dogma for the sake of union with Protestants. We are quite\nsure, however, that the loudest advocates of union in the Protestant\nranks, and their most earnest and hearty sympathizers in the East, are\nthoroughly heretical and schismatical in their spirit and intentions,\nand are aiming at the overthrow of the Roman Church, and a revolution\nin the orthodox Eastern communion, as their dearest object. While,\ntherefore, we disclaim any hostile attitude toward men like Dr. Pusey\nand other unionists of his spirit, and would never use any language\ntoward them which is not kind and respectful, we are compelled to\nbrand the use which other ecclesiastics in high position have sought\nto make of this Greek question as entirely unprincipled. Their\ncringing and bowing before the miserable, effete form of Christianity\nat Constantinople, dictated as it is chiefly by hatred against Rome,\nis something unworthy of honest Christians and intelligent Englishmen\nand Americans. Many very sincere and well-disposed persons are no\ndoubt misled by their artful misrepresentations. On that account it is\nvery necessary to bring out as clearly as possible the true state of\nthe case, as regards Oriental Christendom, that it may be seen how\nlittle support Anglicanism or any kind of Protestantism can draw from\nthat quarter; and how strongly the entire system of Catholic dogma is\nsustained by the history and traditions of the Eastern Church.\n\nWe may possibly hereafter discuss more at large some of these\nimportant subjects relating to the Eastern Church and the schism which\nhas desolated its fairest portions for so many centuries. On this\noccasion we intend merely to throw a little light on the present\nactual condition of the patriarchate of Constantinople, in order to\ndissipate any illusion that may have been created by high-sounding\nwords, and to show how little reason there is to \"turn with hope to\nthe spiritual head of the Oriental Church\" for any enlightening or\nsanctifying influences upon the souls which are astray from the fold\nof St. Peter. We waive, for the time, all consideration of past\nevents, anterior to the period of Turkish domination, and all\ndiscussion of the remote circumstances which have brought the See of\nConstantinople into its present state of degradation, and of obstinate\nsecession from the unity of the Church.\n\nWe take it as we find it, under the Mohammedan dominion, and will\nendeavor to show how it stands in relation to other churches of the\nEast, and what are its claims on the respect and honor of Western\nChristians.\n\nThe Patriarch of Constantinople is not the Patriarch of the \"Greek\nChurch.\" There is no designation of this kind known in the East. The\nstyle there used is, the \"Holy Eastern Church.\" The Greek rite, or\nform of celebrating mass and administering the sacraments in the Greek\nlanguage, is only one of the rites sanctioned by the Catholic Church\nwhich are in use among those Christians who are not under the Latin\nrite. What is usually called in the West the Greek Church has several\nindependent organizations. {3} The Patriarch of Constantinople, who\nvery early subjugated the patriarchs of Alexandria, Antioch, and\nJerusalem to his dominion, now rules over the same patriarchates,\nwhich have dwindled to very insignificant dimensions, and over all the\nseparated orthodox Christians of the Turkish empire. The Russian\nChurch, which was erected into a distinct patriarchate by Ivan III.,\nis under the supreme jurisdiction of the imperial governing synod. The\nPatriarch of Constantinople is treated with respect and honor, and\nreferred to for advice and counsel, by the Russian authorities; but he\nhas no more jurisdiction in Russia than the Archbishop of Baltimore\nhas in the province of New York. The Church of Greece not only threw\noff all dependence on the See of Constantinople after the revolution,\nbut renounced all communication with it, for reasons to be mentioned\nhereafter. The separated Greek Christians of the Austrian empire are\ngoverned by the Patriarch of Carlovitz, and there is at least one\nother separate jurisdiction in the Montenegrine provinces. The\nPatriarch of Constantinople possesses, therefore, an actual\njurisdiction over a fraction only of the Eastern Church. Within the\nproper limits of his own patriarchate this jurisdiction is absolute,\nboth in ecclesiastical and civil matters, subject only to the supreme\nauthority of the sultan. Immediately after the capture of\nConstantinople by the Turks, the Sultan Mahomet II. conferred upon the\nPatriarch Grennadius the character of _Milet-bachi_, or chief of a\nnationality, giving him investiture by the pastoral staff and mantle\nwith his own hands. The reason of his doing so was, that the\nMohammedan law recognizes only Mohammedans as members of a Mohammedan\nnationality. In more recent times, the sultans, disgusted by the venal\nand tyrannical conduct of the patriarchs, have refused to confer this\ninvestiture in person, and it is now done by the grand vizier. Eight\nmetropolitans, namely, those of Chalc\u00e8don, Ephesus, Derendah,\nHeracl\u00e8a, Cyzicus, Nicomedia, Caesar\u00e8a, and Adrianople, form the\nsupreme council of the patriarchate, and, with the patriarch,\nadminister the ecclesiastical and civil government of the Christians\nof their communion throughout the Ottoman empire. They have the\ncontrol of the common chest or treasury of the Oriental rite in\nTurkey, and of that of the provinces; two great funds established\noriginally for helping poor Christians to pay the exactions levied on\nthem by the Mussulmans, but at present diverted to quite other uses by\ntheir faithless and rapacious guardians. They are also exclusively\nprivileged to act as ephori or financial agents and bankers for the\nother one hundred and thirty-four bishops of the Turkish provinces,\neach one of them having as many of these episcopal clients as he can\nget.\n\nPossessed of such an amount of ecclesiastical and civil power as the\npatriarchate of Constantinople has been within the Ottoman empire for\nseveral centuries, it is plain that it might have become the centre of\nan incalculable influence for the spiritual, moral, and social good of\nits subjects. Everything would seem to have combined to throw into the\nhands of the patriarch and his subordinate bishops the power of being\ntruly the protectors and fathers of their people, and to furnish them\nwith the most powerful motives for being faithful to their trust. The\noppressed, despised, and impoverished condition of their poor,\nmiserable people, slaves of a fanatical, barbarous, anti-Christian\ndespotism, was enough to have awakened every noble and disinterested\nemotion in their bosoms, had they been men; and to have aroused the\nmost devoted, self-sacrificing charity and zeal in their hearts, had\nthey been Christians worthy of the name or true Christian pastors.\nMoreover, if they had been true patriots, and really devoted to the\ninterests of Christianity and the church, there was every inducement\nto avail themselves of their position {4} and to watch the opportunity\nof cultivating unity and harmony with the Catholic Church and the\npowerful Christian nations of the West, in order to secure their\neventual deliverance from the detestable Moslem usurpation, and the\nrestoration of religion among them to its ancient glory. All causes of\nmisunderstanding and dissension had been done away at the Council of\nFlorence. The perfect dogmatic agreement between the East and the West\nhad been fully established. The Greek and other Oriental rites, and\nthe local laws and customs, had been sanctioned. The patriarchs and\nhierarchy had been confirmed in their privileges. The Patriarch of\nConstantinople was even tacitly permitted to retain his high-sounding\nbut unmeaning title of ecumenical patriarch without rebuke, and\nallowed to exercise all the jurisdiction which other patriarchs or\nmetropolitans were willing to concede to him, subject to the universal\nsupremacy of Rome. The remembrance of the gallant warfare of the Latin\nChristians against their common Moslem enemy, and especially of the\nheroic devotion of the cardinal legate and his three hundred\nfollowers, who had buried themselves under the walls of Constantinople\nat its capture, ought to have effaced the memory of former wrongs\n[Footnote 3] and subdued the stupid, fanatical, unchristian sentiment\nof national antipathy against Christians of another race. Everything\nconcurred to invite them to play a noble and glorious part toward\ntheir own Christian countrymen and toward Christendom in general. We\nare compelled, however, to say, with shame and pain, that they have\nproved so recreant to every one of these trusts and opportunities,\ntheir career has been one of such unparalleled infamy and perfidy, as\nto cover the Christian name with ignominy, and to merit for themselves\nthe character of apostates from Christianity--seducers, corruptors,\noppressors, and robbers of their own people.\n\n  [Footnote 3: The Crusaders undoubtedly committed some great\n  outrages, in revenge far the treachery of the Byzantines, and some\n  Latin missionaries imprudently attacked the Oriental rites and\n  customs, but these acts were always disapproved and condemned by the\n  Popes.]\n\nWe will first give a sketch of the line of conduct they have pursued\nin relation to ecclesiastical matters, and afterward of their\nadministration of their civil authority.\n\nIt is notorious that the schismatical bishops and clergy of Turkey\nneglect almost entirely the duty of preaching the word of God and\ngiving good Christian instruction to their people. The sacraments are\nadministered in the most careless and perfunctory manner, and real\npractical Christian piety and morality are in a very low state both\namong clergy and laity. The clergy themselves are grossly ignorant and\nunfit for the exercise of their office, taken from the lowest class of\nthe people, without instruction or preparation for orders, and treated\nby their superiors as menial servants. The bishops and higher clergy\ndo not trouble themselves to remedy this gross incapacity of their\ninferiors, or to supply it by their own efforts. Consequently, the\ncommon Christian people of their charge have fallen into a state of\nmoral degradation below that of the Turks themselves, by whom they are\ndespised as the outcasts of society. The striking contrast between the\nschismatical clergy, monasteries, and people, and the Catholic, is\nproverbial among the Turks, and an object of remark even by Protestant\ntravellers. It is probable that there have been many exceptions to the\ngeneral rule of incompetence and supine neglect; but, viewing the case\nas a whole, it must be said that the patriarchs of Constantinople and\ntheir subordinate prelates have completely failed to do their duty as\npastors of their people and their instructors and guides in religion\nand virtue. Their unfortunate position furnishes no adequate excuse,\nas will be seen when we examine a little further into the enterprises\nthey have actually been engaged in, and see how well {5} they have\nsucceeded in accomplishing what they have really desired and\nundertaken, which is nothing else than their own selfish\naggrandizement. Look at the contrast between their conduct and that of\nthe Catholic hierarchies of Russia, Poland, and Ireland under similar\ncircumstances of oppression, and every shadow of excuse will vanish.\nNo doubt there were many causes making it difficult to elevate the\ncharacter of the ordinary clergy and the people, and tending to keep\nthem down to a low level of intelligence and knowledge. This would\nfurnish an excuse for a great deal, if there had been an evident\nstruggle of the hierarchy to do their best in remedying the evil.\nInstead of doing this, they are the principal causes of the\nperpetuation and aggravation of this degraded state. Since the decay\nof the Ottoman power commenced, the clergy have had it in their power\nto bid defiance in great measure to the Turkish government. They have\nbeen able to control immense sums of money and to wield a great\ncommercial and financial influence. They might have employed the\nintervention of Christian powers, and especially of Russia, if they\nhad been governed by enlightened and Christian motives, in order to\ngain just rights and the means of improvement for their people. The\nOttoman government, itself, has come to a more just and liberal\npolicy, in which it would have welcomed the aid of the Christian\nhierarchy, had there been one worthy of the name. Their complete\napathy at all times to everything which concerns the spiritual and\nmoral welfare of their subjects will warrant no other conclusion than\nthat they have practically apostatized from the faith and church of\nChrist, and are mere intruders into the fold which they lay waste and\nravage.\n\nIn their attitude toward the Catholic Church and the Holy See, the\nhierarchy of the patriaichate are ignorantly, violently, and\nobstinately schismatical, and even heretical. The public and official\nteaching of the Eastern Church is orthodox, and therefore no one is\nadjudged to be a heretic simply because he adheres to that communion.\nOne who intelligently and obstinately adheres to a schism as a state\nof permanent separation from the See of St. Peter, is, however, at\nleast a constructive heretic, and is very likely to be a formal\nheretic, on several doctrines which have been defined by the Catholic\nChurch. The nature of the opposition of the clergy of Constantinople\nto the Roman Church, the grounds on which they defend their\ncontumacious rebellion, and the dogmatic arguments which they employ\nin the controversy, are such as to place them in the position of the\nmost unreasonable and contumacious schismatics, and as it appears to\nour judgment, in submission to that of more learned theologians, of\nheretics also. So far as their influence extends, and it is very\ngreat, they are chiefly accountable for the isolated condition of the\nentire non-united Eastern Church. As the ambition of the Patriarch of\nConstantinople was the original cause of the schism, so now the\nignorant and violent obstinacy of the clergy of the patriarchate, and\ntheir supreme devotion to their own selfish and narrow personal and\nparty interests, is, in connection with a similar though less odious\nspirit in the chief Muscovite clergy, and the worldly policy of the\nRussian czar, the chief cause of its perpetuation.\n\nThe clergy of Constantinople have not hesitated to resort to forgery\nin order to do away with the legal and binding force of the act of\ntheir own predecessors in subscribing and promulgating throughout\ntheir entire jurisdiction the act of union established at the Council\nof Florence. Gennadius, the first patriarch elected after the Turkish\nconquest, was one of the prelates who signed the decree of the Council\nof Florence, a learned and virtuous man, and is believed to have lived\nand died in the {6} communion of the Holy See. Actual communication\nbetween Constantinople and Rome was, however, rendered absolutely\nimpossible by the deadly hostility of the conquerors to their\nprincipal and most dangerous foe. The slightest attempt at any\nintercourse with the Latin Christians would have caused the\nextermination of all the Christian subjects of the Ottoman empire. It\nis difficult to discover, therefore, when and how it was that the\nsupremacy of the Roman Church, whose actual exercise was thus at first\nimpeded by the necessity of the case, was again formally repudiated by\nthe patriarchs. There is a letter extant, written in the year 1584 by\nthe Patriarch Jeremiah to Pope Gregory XIII., in which he says that\n\"it belonged to him, as the head of the Catholic Church, to indicate\nthe measures to be employed against the Protestants,\" and requests him\nin virtue of this office to point out what measures can be taken to\narrest the advance of Protestantism. This is the last official act of\nthe kind of which there is any record. The patriarchs and their\nassociates have relapsed into an attitude toward the Holy See which is\nequally schismatical and arrogant, though through their degraded\ncondition far more ridiculous than that which was assumed by their\npredecessors before the Council of Florence. In order to nullify, as\nfar as possible, the legal force of the act of union promulgated by\nthat council, they have resorted to a forgery, and have published the\nacts of a pretended council under a patriarch who never existed and\nwhom they call Athanasius. There is no precise date attached to these\nforged acts, but they are so arranged as to appear to have been\npromulgated soon after the return of the emperor and prelates from\nItaly, and before the Turkish conquest; and in them, some of the\nprincipal prelates what signed the decrees of the Council of Florence\nare represented as abjuring and begging pardon for what they had done.\nThey are said to have been moved to this by the indignation of their\npeople and a sedition in Constantinople in which the rejection of the\nact of union was demanded. The forgery is too transparent to be worthy\nof refutation, and could never have been executed and palmed off as\ngenuine in any other place than in Constantinople. They have also put\nout a book called the \"Pedalium,\" in which they revive all the\nfrivolous pretexts on account of which the infamous Michael Cerularius\nand his ignorant ecclesiastical clique of the _Bas Empire_ pretended\nto prove the apostacy of the Bishop of Rome and all Western\nChristendom from the faith and communion of the Catholic Church, and\nthe consequent succession of the Bishop of Constantinople to the\nuniversal primacy. The clergy of the patriarchate have taken the\nposition that the Catholic Church at present is confined to the limits\nof what we call the Greek Church. They claim for themselves,\ntherefore, that place which they acknowledge formerly belonged to the\nSee of Rome, and thus seek to justify and carry out the usurpation of\nsupreme and universal authority indicated by the title of ecumenical\npatriarch. The absurdity of this is evident, from the very grounds on\nwhich the title was originally assumed, and the traditional maxims\nwhich directed the policy of the ambitions Byzantine prelates\nthroughout the entire period of the Greek empire. The original and\nonly claim of the bishops of Constantinople, who were merely\nsuffragans of the Metropolitan of Heracl\u00e8a before their city was made\nthe capital of the empire, to the patriarchal dignity, was the\npolitical importance of the city. Because Constantinople was new Rome,\ntherefore the Bishop of Constantinople ought to be second to the\nBishop of ancient Rome; and not only this, but he ought to rule over\nthe whole East with a supremacy like that which the Bishop of Rome had\nalways exercised over the whole {7} world. This false and schismatical\nprinciple is contrary to the fundamental principle of Catholic church\norganization, viz., that the subordination of episcopal sees springs\nfrom the divine institution of the primacy in the See of St. Peter,\nand is regulated by ecclesiastical canons on spiritual grounds, which\nare superior to all considerations of a temporal nature. The Patriarch\nof Constantinople has long ago lost all claim to precedence or\nauthority based on the civil dignity of the city as the seat of an\nempire. According to the principles of his predecessors, the primacy\nought to have been transferred to the Patriarch of Moscow, when the\nRussian patriarchate was established by Ivan III. Nevertheless, he\nstill continues to style himself ecumenical patriarch, and the eight\nmetropolitans who form his permanent synod continue to keep the\nprecedence over all other bishops of the patriarchate, although their\nsees have dwindled into insignificance, and other episcopal towns far\nexceed them in civil importance. In point of fact, the baselessness of\nhis claim to universal jurisdiction has been recognized by the Eastern\nChurch. His real authority is confined to the Turkish empire, where it\nis sustained by the civil power. Russia has long been independent of\nhim. The Church of Greece has completely severed her connection with\nhim. The schismatical Greeks of the Austrian empire, and those of the\nneighboring provinces, are severally independent. The false principle\nthat produced the Eastern schism in the first place thus continues to\nwork out its legitimate effect of disintegration in the Eastern\ncommunion itself, by separating the national churches from the\nprincipal church of Constantinople, which would itself crumble to\npieces if the support of the Ottoman power were removed. The\nprivileges of the See of Constantinople have now no valid claim to\nrespect, except that derived from ecclesiastical canons ratified by\ntime, general consent, and the sanction of the Roman Church. The\ninstinct of self-preservation ought to compel its rulers to fall back\non Catholic principles, and submit themselves to the legitimate\nauthority of the Roman Pontiff as the head of the Catholic Church\nthroughout the world. They are following, however, the contrary\nimpulse of self-destruction, to which they are abandoned by a just God\nas a punishment for their treason to Jesus Christ and his Vicar, and\nin every way seeking to strengthen and extend the barrier which\nseparates them from the Roman Church.\n\nThis policy has led them to do all in their power to establish a\ndogmatic difference between the Oriental Church and the Church of\nRome. Not only do they represent the difference in regard to the\nprocession of the Holy Spirit from the Son, as expressed by the\n\"Filioque\" of the Creed, which was fully proved at the Council of\nFlorence to be a mere verbal difference, as a difference in regard to\nan essential dogma, but they have brought in others to swell their\nlist of Latin heresies. The principal dogmatic differences on which\nthey insist are three: the doctrine of purgatory, the quality of the\nbread used in the holy eucharist, and the mode of administering\nbaptism. Only the most deplorable ignorance and factiousness could\nbase a pretence of dogmatic difference on such a foundation. In regard\nto purgatory, the Roman Church has defined or required nothing beyond\nthat which is taught by the doctrinal standards of the Eastern Church.\nThe difference in regard to the use of leavened or unleavened bread,\nand the mode of baptism, is a mere difference of rite. In regard to\nthe last-mentioned rite, however, the clergy of Constantinople have\neven surpassed their usual amount of ignorance and effrontery. They\npretend that no baptism except that by trine immersion is valid, and\nconsequently that the vast majority of Western Christians are\nunbaptized. This position of theirs, which will no doubt be {8} very\nsatisfactory to our Baptist brethren, makes sweeping work, not only\nwith the Latin Church, but with Protestant Christendom. Where there is\nno baptism, there is no ordination, no sacrament whatever, no church.\nWhat will our Anglican friends say to this? The clergy of\nConstantinople rebaptize unconditionally every one who applies to be\nreceived into their communion, whether he be Catholic or Protestant,\nclergyman or layman. It would be folly to argue against this\nsacrilegious absurdity on Catholic grounds. It is enough to show their\ninconsistency with themselves, by mentioning the fact that the Russian\nChurch allows the validity of baptism by aspersion, and that even\ntheir own book of canons permits it in case of necessity. But why look\nfor any manifestation of the learning, wisdom, or Christian principle\nwhich ought to characterize prelates from men who have bought their\nplaces for gold, and who sell every episcopal see to the highest\nbidder? The simony and bribery which have been openly and unblushingly\npractised by the ruling clerical faction of the Turkish empire since\nthe time when the monk Simeon bought the patriarchal dignity from the\nsultan, make this page of ecclesiastical history one of the blackest\nand most infamous in character. As we might expect under such a\nsystem, virtuous and worthy men are put aside, and the episcopate and\npriesthood filled up from the creatures and servile followers of the\nruling clique. Such men naturally disgrace their holy character by\ntheir immoral lives, and bring opprobrium on the Christian name. The\nhistory of the patriarchate of Constantinople, therefore, since the\nperiod of Gennadius and the first few successors who followed his\nworthy example, has been stained with blood and crime, and darkened by\nscenes of tragic infamy and horror. We will relate one of the most\nrecent of these, as a sufficient proof and illustration of the heavy\nindictment we have made against the patriarchal clergy.\n\nAt the time of the Greek revolution, the patriarch and principal\nclergy of Constantinople received orders from the sultan to use their\npower in suppressing all co-operation on the part of the Christians in\nTurkey with their brethren in Greece, and to denounce to the Ottoman\ngovernment all who were suspected of conniving at the insurrection.\nTheir political position no doubt required of them to remain passive\nin the matter, to refrain from positively aiding the revolutionists,\nand also to suppress all overt acts of the Christians under their\njurisdiction against the government. Nevertheless, as a people\nunjustly enslaved by a barbarous, anti-Christian despotism, they owed\nnothing more to their masters than this exterior obedience to the\nletter of the law. They could not be expected to enter with a hearty\nand zealous sympathy into the measures of the government for\nsuppressing the revolution; and, indeed, every genuine and noble\nsentiment of Christianity and patriotism forbade their doing so, and\nexacted of them a deep, interior sympathy with their cruelly oppressed\nbrethren who were so nobly struggling to free their country from the\nhated yoke of the Moslem conqueror. The really high-minded Greeks of\nthe empire did thus sympathize with their brethren. The ruling clergy,\nhowever, manifested a zeal for the interests of the Ottoman court so\n_outr\u00e9_ and so scandalous that it not only outraged the feelings of\ntheir own subjects, but, as we shall see, aroused the suspicions of\nthe tyrants before whom they so basely cringed, and brought\ndestruction on their own heads. They accused a great number of\nChristians of complicity in the insurrection, seizing the opportunity\nof denouncing every one who had incurred their hatred for any reason\nwhatever, so that the prisons were soon crowded with their unfortunate\nvictims, all of whom suffered the penalty of death. The patriarch\npronounced a sentence of major excommunication against Prince\nYpsilanti, and all the Greeks who {9} took part in the revolt. A few\ndays afterward, on the first Sunday of Lent, during the solemnities of\nthe pontifical mass, the patriarch, his eight chief metropolitans, and\nfifteen other bishops, pronounced the same sentence of\nexcommunication, together with the sentence of deposition and\ndegradation, against seven bishops of Greece, partisans of Prince\nYpsilanti, and all their adherents, signing the decree on the altar of\nthe cathedral church. Such a storm of indignation was raised by this\nnefarious act, that the prelates were obliged to pacify their people\nby pretending that they had acted under the compulsion of the\ngovernment. A few days after, the patriarch and the majority of the\nbishops who had signed the decree were condemned to death and\nexecuted, on the charge of participating in the revolution. Even after\nthe great powers of Europe had acknowledged the independence of\nGreece, the ruling clergy of Constantinople endeavored to curry favor\nat court by sending a commission, under the presidency of the\nmetropolitan of Chalc\u00e8don, to recommend to the Greeks a return to the\nTurkish dominion! It is needless to say that this invitation was\ndeclined, although we cannot but admire the self-control of the Greek\nprinces and prelates when we are told that it was declined, and the\nambassadors dismissed, _in the most polite manner_.\n\nOne more intrigue, the last one they have been left the opportunity of\ntrying, closes the history of their relations with the Church of\nGreece. The clergy and people of the new kingdom were equally\ndetermined to throw off completely and for ever the ecclesiastical\ntyranny of Constantinople. At the same time they were disposed to act\nwith diplomatic formality and ecclesiastical courtesy, as well as in\nconformity with the laws and principle of the orthodox church of the\nEast. The second article of the constitutional chart of the kingdom\ndefines in a precise and dignified manner the position of the national\nchurch. \"The orthodox Church of Greece, acknowledging our Lord Jesus\nChrist as its head, is perpetually united in dogma with the great\nChurch of Constantinople and every other church holding the same\ndogmas, preserving, as they do, immutably the holy canons of the\napostles and councils, and the sacred traditions. Nevertheless, it is\nautocephalous, exercising independently of every other church its\nrights of jurisdiction, and is administered by a sacred college of\nbishops.\" This article was established in 1844. In 1850, the clergy\nobtained from the government the appointment of a commission, composed\nof one clergyman, the archimandrite Michael Apostolides, professor of\ntheology in the University of Athens, and one layman, Peter\nDeligianni, _charg\u00e9 d'affaires_ at Constantinople, to establish\nconcordats with the patriarchate and the governing synod of Russia, on\nthe basis of the above cited article of the Greek constitution. In\nlieu of this proposed concordat, the Greek commissioners were duped by\nthe patriarchal synod into signing a synodal act, in which the\nPatriarch of Constantinople, qualifying his see as the vine of which\nother churches are the branches, and styling himself and his\nassociates [Greek text]--\"Watchful shepherds and scrupulous guardians\nof the canons of the church\"--pretends by his own authority to grant\nindependent jurisdiction to the Church of Greece as a privilege. At\nthe same time he designates the Archbishop of Athens as the perpetual\npresident of the synod, ordains that the holy chrism shall always be\nbrought from Constantinople, and imposes other obligations intended to\nserve as signs of dependence on the Patriarchal Church. The Greek\nparliament, however, annulled this concordat, and the synod of Greek\nbishops at Athens determined that henceforth there should be no\nrelation between the Church of Greece and that of Constantinople,\nsubsequently even forbidding priests ordained out of {10} the kingdom\nto officiate in the priesthood. Although the Greek clergy had shown\nthemselves so forbearing and patient, it seems that the arrogance and\nperfidy of the clergy of Constantinople had at last roused their just\nindignation. The learned archimandrite Pharmacides published a book\nagainst the synodal act and the policy of the Constantinopolitan\nclergy, entitled \"Antitomos; or, Concerning the Truth,\" in which he\nridicules the pompous pretensions which they make to pastoral\nvigilance and fidelity in these words:\n\n\"Since you obtained the sacerdotal dignity by purchase, if you had\nreally the intention in becoming bishops to watch and to fatigue\nyourselves by guarding the Church, no one of you would be a bishop;\nfor you would not have spent your money in buying vigils and labors.\"\n\nSuch being the nature of the solicitude of these watchful pastors and\nscrupulous guardians of the canons for the welfare of those over whom\nthey claim a patriarchal authority, we need not be surprised at any\namount of reckless contempt which they may show for the general\ninterests of Christendom, and the admonitions they from time to time\nreceive from the veritable pastor of the flock of Christ.\nNevertheless, we cannot but wonder that the respectable portion of the\nOriental episcopate should permit themselves to be compromised by an\nact which seems to cap the climax of even Byzantine stupidity and\neffrontery. We refer to the reply to the noble and paternal encyclical\nof Pius IX. to the Oriental bishops, put forth by Anthimus, the late\npatriarch. Anthimus himself was notorious throughout the city for his\nhabits of drunkenness, which were so gross as to incapacitate him from\nall business and expose him to the most ignominious insults even from\nhis own subordinates. The letter which he and several of his bishops\nsubscribed and sent to the Holy Father was written by the monk\nConstantine OEconomus, and, in answer to the earnest and affectionate\nappeals of the Holy Father to return to the unity of the Catholic\nChurch, makes the following astounding statement:\n\n\"The three other patriarchs, in difficult questions, demand the\nfraternal counsels of the one of Constantinople, _because that city is\nthe imperial residence_, and this patriarch has the synodal primacy.\nIf the question can be settled by his fraternal co-operation, very\nwell. But if not, the matter is _referred to the government_ (_i.e._,\nOttoman), _according to the established laws_.\"\n\nWe think that the reason of the grave charge of schism, heresy, and\napostacy from the fundamental, constitutive principles of the Catholic\nChurch, which we have made against the higher clergy of\nConstantinople, will now be apparent to every candid reader. The\nhistory of their action in relation to the Church of Greece proves\nthat their principles and policy tend to disintegrate within itself\nstill more that portion of Christendom which they have alienated from\nthe communion of Rome and the West, and thus to increase the force of\nthe movement of decentralization, and to augment the number of\nseparate, local, mutually independent, and hostile communions. That\nthe natural tendency of this principle is to produce dogmatic\ndissensions, and to efface the idea of Catholic unity, is too evident\nfrom past history to need proof. It is only neutralized in the East by\nthe stagnation of thought, and the consequent immobility of the\nOriental mind from its old, long established traditions. The\nessentially schismatical _virus_ of the principle is in the\nsubordination of organic, hierarchical unity to the temporal power and\nthe civil constitution of states, or the church-and-state principle in\nits most odious form, which was never more grossly expressed than in\nthe letter above cited of Anthimus. This principle not only tends to\nincrease disintegration in the church, but to bar the way to a\nreintegration in unity, and to destroy all desire of a return to\nunity, as is also amply proved by the acts of the clergy of\nConstantinople. A schismatical principle held {11} and acted on in\nsuch a way as to make schism a perpetual condition, and thus not\nmerely to interrupt communion for a time but to destroy the idea of\nCatholic unity, becomes heretical. Moreover, when doctrinal forms of\nexpressing dogmas of faith, or particular forms of administering the\nrites of religion, are without authority set forth as essential\nconditions of orthodoxy, and made the basis of a judgment of heresy\nagainst other churches, those who make this false dogmatic standard\nare guilty of heresy. This is the case with the clergy of\nConstantinople, who make the difference respecting the use of\n\"Filioque\" in the Creed the pretext for accusing the Latin Church of\nheresy, and who deal similarly with the doctrine of purgatory, and the\nquestions respecting unleavened bread in the eucharist and immersion\nin baptism. They have constantly persisted in their effort to\nestablish an essential dogmatic difference between the Latin and Greek\nChurches and to make the peculiarities of the Greek rite essential\nterms of Catholic communion, in order to widen and perpetuate the\nbreach between the East and West, and to maintain their own usurped\nprincipality. They have been the authors of the schism, its obstinate\npromoters, the principal cause of thrusting it upon the other parts of\nthe Eastern Church, and the chief instrument of thwarting the\ncharitable efforts of the Holy See for the spiritual good of the\nOriental Christians. They have done it in spite of the best and most\nample opportunities of knowing the utter falsehood of all the grounds\non which their schism is based, in the face of the example and the\nwritings of the best and most learned of their own predecessors, and\nwith a recklessness of consequences, and a disregard of the interests\nof their own people and of religion itself, which merits for them the\nname not only of heretics, but of apostates from all but the name and\noutward profession of Christianity.\n\nThis last portion of the case against them we must now prosecute a\nlittle further, by showing what has been their conduct in the exercise\nof their temporal power over their fellow-Christians in Turkey.\n\nThe reasons and extent of the civil authority conferred upon the\nPatriarch Gennadius by Mahomet II. have already been exposed. It is\nobvious that although this authority would have enabled the governing\nclergy to succor and console their unhappy people in their condition\nof miserable slavery, if they had been possessed of truly apostolic\nvirtue, it opened the way to the most frightful tyranny and\noppression, by presenting to the worst and most ambitious men a strong\nmotive to aspire to the highest offices in the church. No form of\ngovernment can be worse than that of privileged slaves of a despot\nover their fellow-slaves. Accordingly, but a short time elapsed before\nthe unhappy Christians of Turkey began to suffer from the effects of\nthis terrible system. Simoniacal bishops who bought their own dignity\nby bribing the sultans and their favorites, and sold all the inferior\noffices in their gift to the highest bidder; who were careless and\nfaithless in the discharge of their spiritual duties; and who had\napostatized from the communion of the Catholic Church, would, of\ncourse, exercise their civil functions in the same spirit and\naccording to the same policy. They associated themselves intimately\nwith the Janissaries, on whom they relied for the maintenance of their\npower; gave their system of policy the name of the \"System of\n_Cara-Casan_,\" that is, \"Ecclesiastical Janissary System;\" enrolled\nthemselves as members of the _Ortas_ or Janissary companies, and bore\ntheir distinguishing marks tattooed on their arms. This redoubtable\nbody found its most powerful ally in the clergy up to the time of its\ndestruction by Mahmoud II. The author of the work whose title is\nplaced at the head of this article, James G. Pitzipios, is a native\nChristian subject of the Sultan of Turkey, and was the secretary of an\nimperial commission appointed to examine into the {12} civil and\nfinancial administration of the Christian communities, as well as to\nhear their complaints against their rulers. His position and\ncircumstances, therefore, have enabled him to investigate the matter\nthoroughly. His estimate of the civil administration of the clergy of\nthe patriarchate from the time of Mahomet II. to that of Mahmoud II.--\nthat is, from the Turkish conquest to the projected reformation in the\nOttoman government--is expressed in these words:\n\n  \"We have seen why it was that the Sultan Mahomet II. delegated the\n  entire temporal power over his Christian subjects to the Patriarch\n  Gennadius and his successors; gave to the religious head of the\n  Christians of his empire the title of _Milet-bachi_, and rendered\n  him the absolute master of the lot of all his co-religionists, as\n  well as responsible for their conduct and for their fulfilment of\n  all duties and obligations toward the government. Such an\n  arrangement was calculated to produce in its commencement some\n  alleviations and even some advantages to these unfortunate\n  Christians, as in point of fact it actually happened. But it was\n  sure to degenerate sooner or later into a frightful tyranny, such as\n  is naturally that of privileged slaves placed over those of their\n  own race. Accordingly, as we have stated in several places already,\n  the clergy of Constantinople made use of all the means of\n  oppression, of vexation, and of pillage of which the cunning, the\n  depraved conscience, and the rapacity of slaves in authority are\n  capable. The clergy of Constantinople having become in this way the\n  absolute arbiters of the goods, the conscience, the social rights,\n  and indirectly even of the lives of all their Eastern\n  co-religionists, continued to abuse this temporal power not only\n  during the period of the old regime, but even after the destruction\n  of the Janissaries, and, again, after the reform in Turkey, and up\n  to the present moment\"   [Footnote 4] (1855).\n\n  [Footnote 4: \"L'Eglise Orientale,\" p. iv., pp. 17, 18.]\n\nThe allusion to the reform in the lost clause of this extract requires\na fuller explanation, and this explanation will furnish the most\nconclusive evidence of the degradation of the patriarchate, by showing\nthat not only have its clergy submitted to be the tools of the Ottoman\ngovernment when it was disposed to oppress the Christians in the worst\nmanner, but that they have even resisted and thwarted the efforts of\nthat government itself, when it was disposed to emancipate the\nChristians from a part of their bondage.\n\nThe Sultan Mahmoud I I., a man of superior genius and enlightened\nviews, devoted all the energies of his great mind to the effort of\nrestoring his empire, rapidly verging toward dissolution, to\nprosperity and splendor. He devised for this end a gigantic scheme of\npolitical reformation, one part of which was the abolition of all\ncivil distinction between his subjects of different religions. He was\nunable to do more, during his lifetime, than barely to commence the\nexecution of his grand project. His son and successor, Abdul-Medjid,\ncontinued to prosecute the same work, and, at the beginning of his\nreign, published a decree called the _Tinzimat_, enjoining certain\nreformations in the manner of administering law and justice in the\nprovinces. The Christian inhabitants of Turkey were the ones who ought\nto have profited most by this decree. On the contrary, the very\nprivileges which it accorded them, by withdrawing them in great\nmeasure from the authority of the local Mussulman tribunals, deprived\nthem of their only resource against the oppressions and exactions of\ntheir own clergy, and rendered their condition worse. The bishops\nsucceeded in getting a more exclusive control than ever over all cases\nof jurisdiction relating to Christians, and made use of their power to\nfleece their people more unmercifully than they had ever done before.\nEncouraged by the publication of die Tinzimat, these unhappy Christian\ncommunities ventured to send remonstrances to the Ottoman {13}\ngovernment against their cruel and mercenary pastors. In consequence\nof these remonstrances, the Porte addressed the following official\nnote, dated Feb. 4, 1850, to the Patriarch of Constantinople:\n\n  \"Since, according to the Christian religion, the bishops are the\n  pastors of the people, they ought to guide them in the right way,\n  protect them, and console them, but never oppress them. As, however,\n  many metropolitans and bishops commit actions in the provinces\n  _which even the most despicable of men would not dare to\n  perpetrate_, the Christian populations, crushed under this\n  oppression, address themselves continually to the government,\n  supplicating it to grant them its assistance and protection.\n  Consequently, as the government cannot refuse to take into\n  consideration these just complaints of its own subjects, it wills\n  absolutely that these disorders cease. It invites, therefore, the\n  patriarch to convoke an assembly of bishops and of the principal\n  laymen of his religion, and, in concert with them, to consider\n  fraternally of the means of doing away with these oppressions and\n  the just complaints in regard to them, by regulating their\n  ecclesiastical and communal administration in conformity with the\n  precepts of their own religion and with the instructions the\n  Tinzimat.\"   [Footnote 5]\n\n  [Footnote 5: Ibid., p. iii., p. 144.]\n\nA very edifying sermon this, from a Mohammedan minister of state to\nthe \"spiritual head of the ancient and venerable Oriental Church!\"\nLike many other sermons, however, it did not produce a result\ncorresponding to its excellence. The good advice it contained was\nfollowed up by levying a new tax. The patriarch sent immediately to\nall the bishops a circular in which he prescribed to them \"to admonish\nthe people, that since the government had imposed upon the church the\nobligation of conforming to the demands of certain dioceses, and\napplying everywhere the system of giving fixed salaries to the\nbishops, the most holy patriarch is obliged to conform himself to the\norders of the government and to put them in execution as soon as\npossible. But since both the general commune of Constantinople and the\nparticular ones of the several dioceses are burdened with debts which\namount to about 7,000,000 of piastres, it is just that the people\nshould previously pay off these debts; the bishops are, therefore,\nordered to proceed immediately to an exact enumeration of all the\nChristian inhabitants of the cities, towns, and villages, without\nexcepting either widows or unmarried persons. In this way the\npatriarchate, taking the census as its guide, can assign to each\nChristian the sum which he is bound to pay for the pre-extinction of\nthe communal debts, and afterward apply the system of fixed episcopal\nrevenues.\"   [Footnote 6]\n\n  [Footnote 6: Ibid., p. 144., p. 145.]\n\nThe poor people, terrified by this enormous tax, and by the\npersecution which overtook the prime movers in the remonstrance, as\nthe secretary of the commission on the Tinzimat informs us, \"swallowed\npainfully their grievances and no longer dared to continue their just\nreclamations to the government.\" The Ottoman government, intimidated\nby the threats of the ecclesiastical Janissaries of the Cara-Casan,\n\"was obliged to yield to the force of circumstances, as they were used\nto do in the time of their terrible _confr\u00e8res_, and abandoned the\nquestion completely.\"\n\nThe Greek revolution has also in one way aggravated the lot of the\nChristians of Turkey, by causing the compulsory or voluntary removal\nfrom the capital of the principal merchants and other Christians of\nsuperior station and influence, who formed the greatest check upon the\nunworthy clerical rulers. Under the name of \"primates of the nation,\"\nthey had a share in the management of ecclesiastical finances and\nother temporal affairs, and as their compatriot, Mr. Pitzipios,\naffirms, \"these good citizens, inspired by their charitable {14}\nsentiments, and encouraged by the influence which they had with the\nOttoman government, repressed greatly the abuses of the clergy, and\nmoderated, as far as they were able, the vexations of the people.\"\n[Footnote 7] The men of this class who remained in Constantinople were\nremoved by the government, as foreigners, from all share in the\nadministration of Christian' affairs, and their places filled with the\ncreatures of the patriarchal clique, men of the lowest rank and\ncharacter, who were ready tools for every nefarious work.\n\n  [Footnote 7: Ibid., p. 147.]\n\nAs a natural consequence of the faithless abuse of the sacred\nreligious and civil trust committed to the higher clergy, they and\ntheir inferior clergy are detested and despised by their people, who\nare held in subjection to them only by physical coercion. Mr.\nPitzipios assures us that there is among them a very strong\npredisposition to Protestantism. A form of deism, introduced by\nTheophilus Cairy, a Greek priest, who died in prison in the year 1851,\nmade great progress before it was suppressed by the civil power, and\nis now secretly working with great activity in Greece and Turkey.\n\nWe cannot but think that the last and most degraded phase of the\nByzantine _Bas Empire_, impersonated in the schismatical patriarchate\nof Constantinople, is destined soon to pass away. We hope and expect\nsoon to see the end of the Ottoman power, which alone sustains this\nodious ecclesiastico-political tyranny. The signs of the political\nhorizon appear to indicate that Russia is destined to gain possession\nof the ancient seat of the Greek empire. However this may be, if the\nChurch of Constantinople, and the other far more ancient churches\nwithin her sphere of jurisdiction, are ever to be restored to a\nhealthy Christian vitality, and made to reflourish as of old, it must\nbe by a thorough ecclesiastical reformation, which shall sweep away\nthe present dominant clique in the clergy and the whole policy which\nthey have established.\n\nThe beginning of this reformation has already been inaugurated in the\nkingdom of Greece. The bishops of that kingdom, in recovering freedom\nfrom the odious yoke of Constantinople, have recovered the character\nof Christian prelates and pastors. The severe remarks which we have\nmade respecting the Oriental hierarchy must be understood as\napplicable only to that particular clique who have heretofore made\nthemselves dominant through intrigue and violence. There no doubt have\nbeen, and are, among the higher clergy of the Turkish empire, some\nexceptions to the general rule of incompetence and moral unworthiness.\nThe Greek bishops themselves who were established in their sees under\nthe old regime, manifested by their open or tacit concurrence in the\nrevolution that virtue had not completely died out under the pressure\nof a long slavery. Since the establishment of Grecian independence,\nthe measures they have taken, in concert with the other members of the\nhigher secular and monastic clergy and the government, for the\namelioration of religion, are such as to reflect honor on themselves,\nand to give great promise for the future. They live in a simple and\nfrugal manner, and some of them, instead of leaving millions of\npiastres to their relatives, like their Turkish brethren, have not\nleft behind them enough money to defray their own funeral expenses.\nThey endeavor to select the best subjects for ordination to the\npriesthood and to give them a good theological and religious training.\nProfessorships of theological science are established in the\nUniversity of Athens. The catechism is carefully taught to the young\npeople and children, and every year ten of the most competent among\nthe clergy are sent at the public expense to preach throughout all the\ntowns and villages of the kingdom. Such is the happy result of the\nsuccessful effort of these noble Greeks, so endeared to every lover of\nlearning, valor, and {15} religion for the memories of their glorious\nantiquity, to shake off the yoke of the sultans and the patriarchs of\nConstantinople. It is this miserable amalgam of Moslem despotism, and\nusurped or abused spiritual power in the hands of a degenerate clergy\nat Constantinople, which is the great obstacle in the way of the\nregeneration of the East. We have already seen that the ecclesiastical\ntyranny of the patriarchate is now confined to the one hundred and\nforty-two small bishoprics, and the few millions of people included in\nthem, which are situated in Turkey. Nevertheless, the political views\nof the Russian emperors, and the traditional reverence of the Russian\nclergy, still maintain the patriarch and his synod in a modified\nspiritual supremacy over the Russian Church, to which two-thirds of\nthe Oriental rite belong. If Constantinople should fall into the hands\nof any of the great powers of Western Christendom, of course the\nCara-Casan, or system of mixed ecclesiastical and civil despotism,\nwill be overturned, the patriarch will become a mere primate among the\nother metropolitans of the nation, and the patriarchate be reduced to\na simply honorary dignity like that of the Western patriarchs of\nVenice and Lisbon. If the Czar becomes the master of European Turkey,\nthe same result will take place, with this only exception, that the\nSee of Constantinople will become the primatial see of the Russian\nempire, and the Russian hierarchy will take the place of the effete\nByzantine clergy, which they are far more worthy, from their learning\nand strict morality, to occupy.\n\nWhat is to be the political and ecclesiastical destiny of the East,\nand Russia, its gigantic infant, who can foretell, without prophetic\ngifts? If the Russian emperors prove that they are destined and are\nworthy to begin anew and to fulfil the grand design of Constantine,\nTheodosius, Justinian, Pulcheria, and Irene, by creating a thoroughly\nChristian empire of the East, we shall rejoice to see them enthroned\nin Constantinople. If they are destined to restore the cross to the\ndome of St. Sophia, and to renovate the ancient glory of that temple,\ndesecrated by Christian infamy more than by the Moslem crescent, we\nshall exult in their achievement. If new Chrysostoms and Gregories\nshall rise up to efface the dishonor of their predecessors, we will\nforget the past, and give them the homage due to true and worthy\nsuccessors of the saints. We have no desire to see the Church of\nConstantinople degraded, or the Eastern Church humiliated. The\nOriental Church is orthodox and catholic in its faith, and its several\ngreat rites are fully sanctioned and protected by the Holy See. The\nheresies which are found among a portion of its clergy are personal\nheresies, and have never been established by any great synod, or\nincorporated into their received doctrinal standards. We do not\ncondemn the great body of its people of even formal schism, but rather\ncompassionate them as suffering from a state of schism which has been\nforced on them by a designing and unworthy faction, and is perpetuated\nin great part through misunderstanding, prejudice, and national\nantipathies. The causes and grounds of this unnatural state must\nnecessarily come up among them very soon for a more thorough\ninvestigation. Study, thought, discussion, and contact with Western\nCatholicism, as well as Western Protestantism and rationalism, will\ncompel them to place themselves face to face with their own hereditary\nand traditional dogmas; and either to be consistent with themselves,\nand submit to the supremacy of the Roman See, or to give up their\northodoxy and open the doors to a religious revolution. We cannot deny\nthat the latter alternative is possible, although we are sure that Dr.\nPusey, and men like-minded with him, would deplore it as a great\ncalamity. We trust it will be otherwise. The Easter morning of\nresurrection, which {16} we are now celebrating, dawned for us in _the\nEast_. It is the land, of Christ and his apostles, the birth-place of\nour religion. We hope the day of resurrection for its decayed and\nlanguishing churches may not be far distant.\n\n------\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nSAINTS OF THE DESERT.\n\nBY THE REV. J. H. NEWMAN, D.D.\n\n\n\n1. Abbot Antony pointed out to a brother a stone, and said to him,\n\"Revile that stone, and beat it soundly.\"\n\nWhen he had done so, Antony said, \"Did the stone say anything?\" He\nanswered, \"No.\"\n\nThen said Antony: \"Unto this perfection shalt thou one day come.\"\n\n2. When Abbot Arsenius was ill, they laid him on a mat, and put a pillow\nunder his head, and a brother was scandalized.\n\nThen said his attendant to the brother: \"What were you before you were\na monk?\" He answered, \"A shepherd.\" Then he asked again, \"And do you\nlive a harder or an easier life now than then?\" He replied, \"I have\nmore comforts now.\" Then said the other, \"Seest thou this abbot? When\nhe was in the world he was the father of emperors. A thousand slaves\nwith golden girdles and tippets of velvet waited on him, and rich\ncarpets were spread under him. _Thou_ hast gained by the change which\nhas made thee a monk; it is thou who art now encompassed with\ncomforts, but he is afflicted.\"\n\n3. When Abbot Agatho was near his end, he remained for three days with\nhis eyes open and steadily fixed.\n\nHis brethren shook him, sayings \"Abbot, where are you?\"\n\nHe replied, \"I stand before the judgment seat.\"\n\nThey said, \"What, father! do you you too fear? think of your works.\"\n\nHe made answer: \"I have no confidence till I shall have met my God.\"\n\n4. Abbot Pastor was asked, \"Is it good to cloak a brother's fault?\"\n\nHe answered: \"As often as we hide a brother's sin, God hides one of\nours, but he tells ours in that hour in which we tell our brother's.\"\n\n5. The Abbot Alonius said: \"Unless a man says in his heart, I and my\nGod are the only two in the world, he will not have rest.\"\n\n6. Abbot Pambo, being summoned by St. Athanasius to Alexandria, met an\nactress, and forthwith began to weep. \"I weep,\" he said, \"because I do\nnot strive to please my God as she strives to please the impure.\"\n\n7. An old monk fell sick and for many days could not eat, and his\nnovice made him some pudding. There was a vessel of honey, and there\nwas another vessel of linseed oil for the lamp, good for nothing else,\nfor it was rancid. The novice mistook, and mixed up the oil in the\npudding. The old man said not a word, but ate it.\n\nThe novice pressed him, and helped him a second time, and the old man\nate again.\n\nWhen he offered it the third time, the old man said, \"I have had\nenough;\" but the novice cried, \"Indeed, it is very good. I will eat\nsome with you.\"\n\nWhen he had tasted it, he fell on his face and said: \"Father, I shall\nbe the death of you! Why didn't you speak?\"\n\nThe old man answered: \"Had it been God's will that I should eat honey,\nhoney thou wouldst have given me.\"\n\n{17}\n\n\nFrom The Literary Workman.\n\nJENIFER'S PRAYER.\n\nBY OLIVER CRANE.\n\nIN THREE PARTS.\n\n\nI.\n\nHe and she stood in a room in an inn in the town of Hull--and how she\nwept! Crying as a child cries, with a woman's feelings joining\nexquisite pain to those tears; which tears, in a way wonderful and\npeculiar to beautiful women, scarcely disordered her face, or gave\nanything worse to her countenance than an indescribably pathetic\ntenderness.\n\nHe was older than she was by full ten years. He only watched her. And\nif the most acute of my readers had watched _him_, they would have\nbeen no wiser for their scrutiny.\n\nAt last she left the room; he had opened the door and offered his hand\nto her. It was night; and she changed her chamber-candle from her\nright hand to her left, and gave that right hand to him. He held it,\nwhile he said: \"I spoke because I dread the influence of the house we\nare going to, and of those whom you will meet there.\"\n\n\"Thank you. Good night\" And so she got to a great dark bed-room, and\nknelt down, like a good girl as she was, and cried no more, but was in\nbed and asleep before he had left the place he had taken by the side\nof the sitting-room fire, leaning thoughtfully against the\nmantel-shelf, when her absence had made the room lonely.\n\nThen he ran down stairs and rushed out into the streets of the kingly\nHull--Kingston of the day of Edward I. The man we speak of was no\nantiquary, and he troubled himself neither with the Kingston of the\nroyal Edward nor the _Vaccaria_ of the abbot from whom the place was\nbought; he walked at a quick pace through streets dim and streets\nlighted, toward the ships, or among the houses; to where he could see\nthe great headland of Holderness, or behold nothing at all but the\nbrick wall that prevented his going further, and told him by strong\nfacts that he had lost his way. So he wandered, walking fast\noften--again, walking slowly; his head bowed down, his features\nworking, and his eyes flashing--clenched hands, or hands clasped on\nhis breast, as if to keep down the surging waves of memory, which\ncarried on their crests many things which now he could only gnash his\nteeth at in withering vexation.\n\nHe and she had come from Scotland. I have said that she was\nbeautiful--she was English, too; but he was Scotch born and bred, and\nnot dark and stem, or really wild or poetic, as a Scotchman in a story\nought to be. He was simply a strong, well-formed man, of dark, ruddy\ncomplexion, and fine, thick, waving brown hair. He might have been a\nnobleman, or a royal descendant of Hull's own king. He looked it all,\nwithout being downright handsome. But he was, in fact, only one of the\nmany men who have come into a thousand a year too soon for the\npreservation of prudence. Between sixteen, when he succeeded to it,\nand twenty-one, when he could spend it, he had committed many follies,\nand found friends who turned out worse than declared enemies--since\ntwenty-one he had fallen {18} in love more than once. He had been\npraised, blamed, accused, acquitted. But whether or not this man was\ngood or bad, no living soul could tell. He was well off, well looking,\nwell read, and in good company. He re-entered the inn at Hull that\nApril night, stood by the fire smoking, asked for a cup of strong\ncoffee, went to bed.\n\nThe next morning the two met at breakfast They were going south. No\nmatter where. Whether to the dreamy vales of Devonshire, to verdant\nSomersetshire, or the gardens of Hampshire--no matter. They were going\nto what the north Britons call the south. And it did not mean Algeria.\nRailways were not everywhere then as railways are now. They had to\ntravel nearly all day, then to \"coach it\" to a great town, in whose\nhistory coaches have now long been of the past. Then to get on a\nsecond day by the old \"fast four-horse,\" and to arrive about five\no'clock at a little quiet country town, where a carriage would take\nthem to the friends and the house whose influence he dreaded.\n\nIn fact, that night, in the inn sitting-room, he had offered marriage\nto the girl whom he had in charge for safe guardianship on so long a\njourney to her far-off home where he was to be a guest. She had felt\nthat he had abused his trust and taken an unfair advantage of her;\nalso, she was in that peculiarly feminine state of mind which is\nneither expressed by _no_ nor by _yes_. She had upbraided him. He,\npleading guilty in his soul, was in a horror at the thought of losing\nher; losing her in that way too, because he had done wrong. Being\nmiserable, he had shown his misery as a strong man may. He spoke, and\nself-reproachfully; but, as he pleaded, he betrayed all he felt. The\ngirl saw his clasped hands, his bent form, as he leaned down from the\nchair on which he sat in the straggling attitude which expressed a\ndisordered mind. He spoke, looking at the carpet, not loud nor long,\nbut with a terrible earnestness that frightened the girl, and then she\ncried all the more, and seemed to shrink away as if in alarm, and yet\nalmost angrily. Why would he speak so fiercely--why had he taken this\nadvantage of her?\n\nThen he had risen up quickly, and said, \"Well, you know all now. We\nwill talk of something else.\" But she only shook her head and moved\naway, and, as we have seen, went to bed.\n\nThe next morning they met calmly enough. On his side it was done with\nan effort; on hers without effort, yet with a little trembling fear,\nwhich went when she saw his calm, and she poured out tea, and he drank\nit, and only a rather extraordinary silence told of too much having\nbeing said the night before.\n\nNow, why was all this? Why were this man and this young English girl\ntravelling thus to the sweet south coast, and to expecting friends?\n\nWhile they are travelling on their way, we, you and I, dear reader,\nwill not only get on before them, but also turn back the pages of\nlife's story, and read its secrets.\n\nThey were going to a great house in a fine park, where fern waved its\ntall, mounted feathers of green, and hid the dappled deer from sight--\nwhere great ancestral oaks spread protecting branches; where hawthorn\ntrees, that it had taken three generations of men to make, stood,\nlarge, thick, knotted, twisted--strange, dark, stunted looking trees\nthey looked, till spring came, and no green was like their green, and\nthe glory of their flower-wreaths people made pilgrimages to see. The\nplace was called Beremouth.\n\nA mile and a half off was a town; one of those odd little old places\nwhich tell of days and fashions past away. A very respectable place.\nThere had lived in Marston the dowager ladies of old country families,\nin houses which had no pretensions to grandeur as you passed them in\nthe extremely quiet street, but which on the other side broke out into\nbay windows, garden fronts, charming conservatories, and a {19} good\nmany other things which help to make life pleasant. So the inhabitants\nof Marston were not all mere country-town's people. They knew\nthemselves to be _somebodies_ and they never forgot it.\n\nNow, in this town dwelt a certain widow lady; poor she was, but she\nhad a pedigree and two beautiful daughters. Mary and Lucia Morier were\nnot two commonly, or even uncommonly, pretty girls; they were\nwonderfully beautiful, people said, and nothing less. So lovers came a\ncourting. One married a Scotchman, a Mr. Erskine. They liked each\nother quite well enough, Lucia thought, when she made her promises,\nand received his; and so they did. They lived happily; did good;\nwished for children but never had any, and so adopted Mr. Erskine's\norphan nephew--namely, the very man who behaved with such strange\nimprudence in the inn at Hull. Mr. Erskine the uncle was twenty years\nolder than Mrs. Erskine the aunt. Mr. Erskine the younger was but a\nchild when they adopted him. But he was their heir, as well as the\ninheritor of his father's' fortune, and they loved and cared for him.\n\nMary Morier did differently. She married at twenty, her younger sister\nhaving married the month before at eighteen. Mary did differently, for\nshe did imprudently. They had had a brother who was an agent for\ncertain mines thirty miles off; and there he lived; but he came home\noften enough, and made the house in the old town gay. A year before\nthe sister married, in fact while that sister was away on a visit to\nfriends in Scotland, the brother came home ill. He was ill for six\nmonths. It is wonderful how much expense is incurred by a mother in\nsix months for a son who is sick. It made life very difficult. The\nmoney to pay for Lucia's journey home had to be thought of. To be\nsure, she was not there to eat and drink, but then her extra finery\nhad cost something. George had only earned one hundred a year. It had\nnot been more than enough to keep him. He came home ill with ten\npounds in his pocket, beside his half-year's rent, which would be due\nthe next month--certainly money at this time was wanted, for our\nfriends were sadly pinched. But the one most exemplary friend and\nservant Jenifer was paid her wages, and tea and sugar money to the\nday; and the doctor got so many guineas that he grew desperate and\nsuddenly refused to come--then repented, and made a Christian-like\nbargain, that he would go on coming on condition that he never saw\nanother piece of any kind of money.\n\nMary and her mother looked each other in the face one day, and that\nlook told all. There was some plate, and they had watches, and a\nlittle fine old-fashioned jewelry--yes, they must go. They were\nreduced to poverty at last--this was more than \"limited means\"--hard\npenury had them with a desperate grasp.\n\nFortune comes in many shapes, and not often openly, and with a\nflourish of trumpets--neither did she come in that way now; but\nshamefacedly, sneakingly, and ringing the door-bell with a meek, not\nto say tremulous pull; and her shape was that of a broad-built, short,\nwide-jawed, lanky-haired, pig-eyed, elderly man, with a curious\nquantity of waistcoat showing, yet, generally, well dressed. \"Your\nmistress at home?\" \"Yes, Mr. Brewer.\" \"Mr. George better?\" \"No. Never\nwill be, sir.\" \"Bless me! I beg your pardon!\" \"Granted before 'tis\nasked, sir.\" \"Ah! yes; I have a little business to transact with your\nmistress. Can I see her alone?\" Mr. Brewer was shown by Jenifer into\nthe little right-hand parlor. He gravely took out a huge pocket-book,\nand then a small parchment-covered account-book appeared. I believe he\nhad persuaded himself that he was really going to transact business,\nand not to perform the neatest piece of deception that a {20}\nrespectable gentleman ever attempted. A lady entered the room. \"Madam,\njour son has been my agent for mines three years--my mine _and land_\nagent since Christmas. He takes the additional work at seventy-five\npounds a year extra. The half of that is now due to him. I pay _that_\nmyself. I have brought it\" And thirty-seven pounds ten shillings Mr.\nBrewer put on the table, saying, \"I will take your receipt, madam.\nDon't trouble Georges's head about business; for when you _do_ speak\nof that you will have, I am sorry to say, to inform him that in _both_\nhis places I have had to put another man. I have to give George three\nmonths' payment at the rate of one hundred and seventy pounds a year,\nas I gave him no quarter's warning. That is business, do you\nunderstand?\" asked Mr. Brewer. \"It is for my son to discharge himself,\nsir--since he cannot\"--the mother's voice faltered. \"Ah--only he\ndidn't, and I did,\" said Mr. Brewer. \"Your receipt? When your son\nrecovers, let him apply to me. I am sorry to end our connexion so\nabruptly. But it is business. Business, you know\"--and there Mr.\nBrewer stopped, for Mary Morier was in the room, and her beauty filled\nit, or seemed to do so. And Mr. Brewer departed muttering, as he had\nmuttered before often, \"the most beautiful girl in the world.\" Still,\nhe had an uncomfortable sensation, for he felt he was an underhand\nsneak, and that Mary had found him out; and so she had. She knew that\nher brother had been \"discharged\" only to afford a pretext for giving\nthe quarter's money; and she was sure that his being land agent, at an\nadditional seventy-five pounds a year, was a pure unadulterated\nfiction.\n\nMr. Brewer was an extraordinary man. He had a turn for the\nsupernatural. He would have liked above all things to have worked\nmiracles. He did do odd things, such as we have seen, which he made,\nby means of the poetic quality that characterized him, a purely\nnatural act. He was praising George for a saving, prudent, industrious\nyoung man, who had never drawn the whole of his last year's salary,\nbefore an hour was over. And his story looked so like truth that he\nbelieved it himself.\n\nMr. Brewer was what people call \"a risen man.\" But then his father had\nbeen rising--and, for the matter of that, his grandfather too. All\ntheir fortunes had flowed into the life of the man who has got into\nthis story; and he, having had a tide of prosperity exceeding all\nothers, in height, and strength, and riches, had found himself\nstranded on the great shore of society, at forty years of age, with\nmore thousands a year than he liked to be generally known. Could he\nhave transformed himself into a benignant fairy he would have been\nvery happy, and acts of mercy would have abounded on the earth. But\nno--Mr. Brewer was Mr. Brewer, and anything less poetic to look\nat--more impossible as to wands, and wings, and good fairy appendages,\nit is difficult to imagine. Mr. Brewer was a middle-aged man, with\nhands in his pockets; plain truth is always respectable. There it is.\n\nBut there was a Mrs. Brewer. Now Mrs. Brewer was an excellent woman,\nbut not excellent after the manner of her husband. She was three years\nolder. They had not been in love. They had married at an epoch in Mr.\nBrewer's life when public affairs occupied his time so entirely as to\nmake it desirable to have what people call a \"missus;\" we are afraid\nthat Mr. Brewer himself so called the article, a \"missus, at home.\"\nMrs. Brewer had been \"a widow lady--young--of a sociable and domestic\ndisposition\" who \"desired to be housekeeper--to be treated\nconfidentially, and as one of the family--to a widower--with or\nwithout children.\" On inquiry, it was found that young Mrs. Smith had\nnot irrevocably determined that the owner of the house that she was to\nkeep should have been the husband of one wife, undoubtedly {21} dead;\nthe widower was an expression only, a sort of modest way of putting\nthe plain fact of a single man, or a man capable of matrimony--the\nexpression meant all that; and when Mrs. Smith entered on the\nhousekeeping, she acted up to the meaning of the advertisement, and\nmarried Mr. Brewer. Neither had ever repented. Let that be understood.\nOnly, Mr. Brewer, when he knew he could live in a great house, dine\noff silver, keep a four-in-hand, or a pack of hounds, or enter on any\nother legitimate mode of spending money, did none of them; but eased\nhis mind and his pocket by such contrivances as we have seen resorted\nto in the presence of the beautiful Mary Morier. He tried curious\nexperiments of what a man would do with ten pounds. He had dangerous\nnotions as to people addicted to certain villanies being cured of\ntheir moral diseases by the administration of a hundred a year. In\nsome round-about ways he had put the idea to the proof, and not always\nwith satisfactory results. He held as an article of faith--nobody\ncould guess where he found it--that there were people in the world who\ncould go straighter in prosperity than in adversity. He never would\nbelieve that adversity was a thing to be suffered. He had replied to a\nProtestant divine on that subject, illustrated in the case of a\nstarving family, that that might be, only it was no concern of his,\nand he would not act upon the theory. And the result was a thriving,\nthankful family in Australia, to whom Mr. Brewer was always, ever\nafter, sending valuable commodities, and receiving flower-seeds and\nskins of gaudy feathered birds in return.\n\nMr. Brewer had a daughter, Claudia was her name. \"A Bible name,\" said\nMr. Brewer, and bowed his head, and felt he had done his duty by the\ngirl. What more could he do? She went to school, and was at school\nwhen he was paying money in Mrs. Morier's parlor. She was then ten\nyears old; and being a clever child, she had, in the holidays just\nover, chosen to talk French, and nothing else, to a friend whom she\nhad been allowed to bring with her. A thing that had caused great\nperturbation in the soul of her honest father, who prayed in a\nwordless, but real anxiety, that the Bible name might not be thrown\naway on the glib-tongued little gipsy. It will be perceived that\nClaudia was a difficulty.\n\nNow, when Mr. Brewer was gone out of Mrs. Morier's house, the mother\ntook up the money, wiped her eyes, and said, \"What a good boy George\nwas.\" And Mary said \"_Yes;_\" and knew in her heart that if there had\nbeen any chance of George living, Mr. Brewer would never have done\n_that_.\n\nGeorge died. There was money, just enough for all wants. Lucia came\nhome engaged to the married to Mr. Erskine. And when she was gone\nthere went with her a certain seven hundred pounds, her fortune,\nsettled--what a silly mockery Mr. Erskine thought it--on her children.\nThe loss made the two who were left very poor. Lucia sent her mother\ngifts, but the regular and to be reckoned on eight-and-twenty pounds a\nyear were gone. She who had eaten, drank, and dressed was gone\ntoo--but still it was a loss; and Mary and her mother were poor. Also,\nMary had long been engaged to be married to the son of a younger\nbranch of a great county family house, Lansdowne Lorimer by name. He\nwas in an attorney's office in Marston. In that old-world place, the\nattorney, himself of a county family, was a great man. It was hard to\nsee Lucia marry a man of money and land, young Lorimer thought, so he\nadvised Mary to assert their independence of all earthly\nconsiderations, and marry too. And they did so.\n\nThe young man had no father or mother. He had angry uncles and\ninsolent aunts, and family friends, all to be respected, and prophets\nof evil, every one of them. He had, also, a place in the office, a\nclear head, a determined will, a handsome {22} person, a good\npedigree, and a beautiful wife. She, also, had her eight-and-twenty\npounds a year. But they gave it back regularly to Mrs. Morier; for,\nyou know, they, the young people, _were_ young, and they could work.\nMrs. Morier never spent this money. She and Jenifer, the prime\nminister of that court of loyal love, put it by, against the evil day,\nand they had just enough for themselves and the cat to live upon\nwithout it.\n\nThe county families asked their imprudent kinsman to visit them with\nhis bride. How they flouted her. How they advised her. How they\ncongratulated her that she had always been poor. How they assured her\nthat she would be poor for ever. How, too, they feared that Lansdowne\nwould never bear hard work, nor anxiety, nor any other of those\ntroubles which were so very sure to happen. How surprised they were at\nthe three pretty silk dresses, the one plain white muslin, and the\nsmart best white net. How they scorned when they heard that she and\nJenifer, and her mother, and a girl at eightpence a day, had made them\nall. And, then, how they sunned themselves in her wonderful beauty,\nand accepted the world's praises of it, and kept the triumph\nthemselves, and handed over to her the gravest warnings of its being a\ndangerous gift.\n\nDangerous, indeed! it was the pride of Lorimer's life. And Mary was\naccomplished, far more really accomplished than the lazy, half-taught\ncreatures who had never said to themselves that they might have to\nplay and sing, and speak French and Italian, for their or their\nchildren's bread. Mary had said it to herself many a time since her\nheart had been given to the man who was her husband. A true, brave,\nloving heart it was, and that which her common sense had whispered to\nit that heart was strong to do, and would be found doing if the day of\nnecessity ever came. So, at that Castle Dangerous where the bride and\nbridegroom were staying, Mary outshone others, and was not the\nbetter loved for that; and one old Lady Caroline crowned the triumph\nby ordering a piano-forte for the new home at Marston, with a savage\n\"Keep up what you know, child; you may be glad of it one day.\" Old\nLady Caroline was generally considered as a high-bred privileged\nsavage. But that was the only savage thing she ever said to Mary. She\ntold Lorimer that he was a selfish, unprincipled brute for marrying\nanybody so perfect and so pretty. And Lorimer bore her\nmisrepresentations with remarkable patience, only making her a\nceremonious bow, and saying in a low voice, \"You know better.\" \"I know\nyou will starve,\" and she walked off without an answer.\n\nThey did not starve. In fact, they prospered, till one sad day when\nLorimer caught cold--and again and again caught cold--cough, pain,\nsymptoms of consumption--a short, sad story; and then the great end,\ndeath. Mary was a widow three years after her wedding day, with a\nchild of two years of age at her side, and an income from a life\ninsurance made by her husband of one hundred a year. We have seen the\nchild--grown to a beautiful girl of seventeen--we have seen her in the\nroom with Mr. Erskine, at the inn at Hull.\n\nMrs. Lorimer went back to live with her mother, Jenifer, and the great\nwhite cat.\n\nThe year after this great change, Mrs. Brewer died, and Claudia at\nthirteen was a greater difficulty than ever. The first holidays after\nthe departure of the good mother, the puzzled father had written to\nthe two Miss Gainsboroughs to bring the child to Marston and stay at\nhis house during the holidays. He entertained them for a week, and\nthen went off on a tour through Holland. The next holidays he proposed\nthat they should take a house at Brighton, and that he should pay all\nexpenses. This, too, was done, and Mr. Brewer went to a hotel and\nthere made friends with his precocious daughter in a way that\nsurprised and pleased {23} him. He visited the young lady, and she\nentertained him. He hired horses, and they rode together. He took\nboxes at the theatre, and they made parties and went together. He gave\nthe girl jewelry and fine clothes, and they really got to know each\nother, and to enjoy life together as could never have been the case\nhad they not been thus left to their own way. The child no longer felt\nherself of a different world from that of her parents--the father had\na companion in the child who could grace his position, and keep her\nown. They parted with love and anxious lookings forward to the summer\nmeeting. They were both in possession of a new happiness. When Mr.\nBrewer got back to Marston, he led a dull, dreamy life--a year and a\nhalf of widowhood passed--then he went to Mrs. Morier's, saw Mary, and\nasked her to be his wife. It is not easy to declare why Mary Lorimer\nsaid--after some weeks of wondering-mindedness--why she said \"Yes.\"\nShe knew all Mr. Brewer's goodness. She preferred, no doubt, not to\nwound a heart that had so often sympathized with the wounded. She\nnever, in her life, could have borne to see him vexed without great\nvexation herself. She liked that he should be rewarded. She was\ninterested in Claudia. She liked the thought of two hundred a year\nsettled on her mother. She liked to feel that her own little Mary\nmight be brought up as grandly as any of those little saucy \"county\nfamily\" damsels, her cousins, who already looked down on her, and\nscorned her pink spotted calico frock.\n\nMary and Mr. Brewer walked quietly to church; Mrs. Morier still in\nastonishment, and Jenifer \"dazed;\" bat all the working people loved\nMr. Brewer. And they walked back, man and wife, to her mother's house,\nand had a quiet substantial breakfast before they started for London.\nAnd when there Mr. Brewer told her that they were not to return to the\nrespectable stone-fronted house facing the market-place in Marston,\nbut that he had bought Lord Byland's property--and that Beremouth was\ntheirs. Beremouth, with its spreading park, and river, and lake, its\nmiles of old pasture-land, its waving ferns, and dappled deer;\nBeremouth, with its forest and gardens, royal oaks and twisted\nhawthorn trees; Beremouth, the finest place in the county. And all\nthat Mary felt was, that he who had kept this secret, had had a true\nhero's delicacy, and had never thought to bribe her, or to get her by\npurchase into his home. I think she almost loved him then.\n\nIn due time, after perhaps six months of wandering, and of\npreparation, Mr. and Mrs. Brewer arrived at their new home, made\nglorious by all that taste and art could do, with London energy\nworking with the power of gold. With them came Claudia. The child\nloved her new mother with an abandonment of heart and a perfect\napproval. She was still too young to argue, but she was not too young\nto feel. The mother she had now got, though not much more than ten\nyears older than herself, was the mother to love, admire, delight\nin--is the mother who could understand her.\n\nThen Beremouth just suited this young lady's idea of what was worth\nhaving in this world; and without any evil thought of the homely\nmother who had gone, there was a thought that \"Mother-Mary,\" as Mrs.\nBrewer was called by her step-daughter, looked right at Beremouth, and\nthat another class of person would have looked wrong there--so wrong\nthat her father under such circumstances would never have put himself\nin the position of trying the experiment.\n\nMinnie Lorimer was very happy in her great play-ground; for all the\nworld, and all life, was play to little Minnie. She loved her new\nsister; and the new sister patronized and petted her, so all seemed\nright. It was, indeed, a great happiness for Claudia that her father\nhad chosen Mary Lorimer. Claudia was a vixenish, little handsome\ngipsy; very clever, very {24} high-spirited, full of life, health, and\nfun--a girl who could have yielded to very few, and who brought the\nhomage of heart and mind to \"Mother-Mary,\" and rejoiced in doing it.\nThese two grew to be great friends, and when after three years Claudia\ncame home and came out, all parties were happy.\n\nIn the meantime Mr. Brewer's way in the world had been straight,\nplain, and rapidly travelled. The county was at his feet. Mary was no\nlonger congratulated on having been brought up to poverty. Behind her\nback there were plenty of people to say that Mr. Brewer was happy in\nhaving for his wife a well connected gentlewoman. Her pedigree was\ntold, her poverty forgotten. Her singing and playing, dancing and\ndrawing, were none the worse for unknown thousands a year. And people\nwondered less openly at the splendor of velvets and diamonds than they\nhad at the new muslin gown. To Mary herself life was very different in\nevery way. Daily, more and more, she admired her husband, and approved\nof him. It was the awakening into life of a new set of feelings. She\nknew none of the love and devotion she had felt for her first husband.\nMr. Brewer never expected any of it. But he intended that she should,\nin some other indescribable manner, fall in love with him, and she was\ndoing it every day--which thing her husband saw, and welcomed life\nwith great satisfaction in consequence.\n\nIt was when Claudia came out that the man we have seen, Horace\nErskine, first came to them. He was just of age. Mary did not like\nhim. She could give no reason for it. Her sister had always praised\nhim--but Mary _could_ not like him. He came to them for a series of\ngay doings, and Mr. Brewer admired him, and Claudia--poor little\nClaudia! She gave him that strong heart of hers; that spirit that\ncould break sooner than bend was quite enslaved--she loved him, and he\nhad asked for her love, and vowed a hundred times that he could never\nbe happy without it. He asked her of her father, and Mr. Brewer\nconsented. It was not for Mary to say no; but her heart went cold in\nits fear, and she was very sorry.\n\nThe Erskines in Scotland were delighted--all deemed doing well. But\nwhen Horace Erskine talked to Mr. Brewer about money, he was told that\nClaudia would have on her marriage five thousand pounds; and ten\nthousand more if she survived him would be forthcoming on his death--\nthat was all. \"Enough for a woman,\" said Mr. Brewer; and Erskine was\nsilent. It went on for a few weeks, Horace, being flighty and odd,\nClaudia, for the first time in her life, humble and endearing. Then he\ntold her that to him money was necessary; then he asked her to appeal\nto her father for more; then she treated the request lightly, and, at\nlast, positively refused. If she had not enough, he could leave her.\nIf he left her, would she take the blame on herself? It would injure\nhim in his future hopes and prospects to have it supposed to be _his_\ndoing if they parted? Yes, she said. It was the easiest thing in the\nworld. Who cared?--not he of course--and, certainly, not Claudia\nBrewer. It broke her heart to find him vile. But she was too\ndiscerning not to see the truth; her great thought now was to hide it.\nTo hide too from every one, even from \"Mother-Mary,\" that her heart\nfelt death-struck--that the whole place was poisoned to her--that life\nat Beremouth was loathsome.\n\nShe took a strange way of hiding it.\n\nA county election was going on. The man whom Mr. Brewer hoped to see\nelected was a guest at Beremouth. An old, grey-haired, worldly,\nstatesmanlike man. A man who petted Claudia, and admired her; and who\nsuddenly woke up one day to a thought--a question--a species of\namusing suggestion, which grew into a {25} profound wonder, and then\neven warmed into a hope--surely that pretty bright young heiress liked\nhim, had a fancy to be the second Lady Greystock. It was a droll\nthought at first, and he played with it; a flattering fancy, and he\nencouraged it. He was an honest man. He knew that he was great,\nclever, learned. Was there anything so wonderful in a woman loving\nhim? He settled the question by asking Claudia. And she promised to be\nhis wife with a real and undisguised gladness. Her spirit and her\ndetermination were treading the life out of her heart. She was sincere\nin her gladness. She thought she could welcome any duties that took\nher away from life at Beremouth, and gave her place and position\nelsewhere.\n\nMary suspected much, and feared everything. But Claudia felt and knew\ntoo much to speak one word of the world of hope and joy and love that\nhad gone away from her. She declared that she liked her old love, and\ngloried in his grey hairs, and in the great heart that had stooped to\nask for hers.\n\nNow what are we to say of Horace Erskine? Was he wholly bad? First, he\nhad never loved Claudia with a real devotion. He had admired her; she\nhad loved him. He had gambled--green turf and green cloth--gambled\nand recklessly indulged himself till he had got upon the way to ruin,\nand had begun the downward path, and was glad to be stopped in that\nslippery descent by a marriage with an heiress. There was a sparkle,\nan originality, about Claudia. It was impossible not to be taken with\nher. But Claudia with only _that_ fortune was of no use to him. He\nknew she was brave and true-hearted; so he boldly asked her to guard\nhis name--in fact, to give him up, and not injure his next chance with\na better heiress by telling the truth. _He_ told _her_ the truth; that\nhe wanted money, and money he must have. She would not tell him that\nthe worst part of her trial was the loss of her idol. It was despising\nhim that broke her heart. But because he had been her idol she would\nnever injure him--never tell.\n\nSo the day came, and at Marston church she married Sir Geoffrey\nGreystock, \"Mother-Mary\" wondering; Mr. Brewer believing, in the\ninnocence of his heart, that the fancy for Horace Erskine had been a\nbit of the old wilfulness. \"The last bit--the last,\" he said, as he\nspoke of it to her that very day, making her chilled heart knock\nagainst her side as he spoke, and kissed her, and sent her with\nblessings from the Beremouth that she had married to get away from.\n\n_To get away_--it had more to do with her marrying than any other\nthought. To get away from the house, the spreading pastures, the\nbright garden, and above all from the _old deer pond_ in the park--the\nmost beautiful of all the many lovely spots that nature and art, and\ntime and taste, had joined to create and adorn Beremouth. The old deer\npond in the park! Sheltered by ancient oak; backed by interlacing\nboughs of old hawthorn trees; shadowed by tall, shining, dark dense\nholly, that glowed through the winter with its red berries, and\ncontrasted with the long fair wreaths of hawthorn flowers in the sweet\nsmiling spring. There, in this now dreaded place, Horace Erskine had\nfirst spoken of love; and there how often had he promised her the\nhappiness that had gone out of her life--for ever. In the terrible\nnights, when her broken-hearted pains were strongest, this deer pond\nin the park had been before her closed eyes like a vision. In its\nwaters she saw in her sleep her face and his, so happy, so loving, so\ntrusting, so true. Then the picture in that water changed, and she\nwatched it in her feverish dreams with horror, but yet was obliged to\ngaze, and the truth went out of his face, and the terror came into\nhers. And, worse and worse, he grew threatening--he was cold--he had\nnever loved--he was killing her; and she fell, fell from her height of\nhappiness; no protecting {26} arm stayed her, and the dark waters\nopened, and she heard the rushing sound of their deadly waves closing\nover her, as she sunk--sunk--again and again, night after night Oh, to\nget away, to get away! And she blessed Sir Geoffrey, and when he said\nhe was too old to wait for a wife she was glad, for she had no wish to\nwait. Change, absence, another home, another life, another\nworld--these things she wanted, and they had come. Is it any wonder\nthat she took them as the man who is dying of thirst takes the\nlonged-for draught, and drains the cup of mercy to the dregs?\n\nIt was a happy day to marry. Mr. Brewer had not only an excuse, but a\npositively undeniable reason for being bountiful and kind. For once he\ncould openly, and as a matter of duty, make the sad hearts in\nMarston--and elsewhere--sing for joy. His blessings flowed so\nliberally that he had to apologize. It was only for once--he begged\neverybody's pardon, but it could never happen again; he had but this\none child, and she was a bride, and so if they would forgive\neverything this once! And many a new life of gladness was begun that\nday; many a burden then lost its weight; many a record went up to the\nEternal memory to meet that man at the inevitable hour.\n\nLittle Mary was the loveliest bridesmaid the world ever saw; standing\nalone like an angel by her dark sister's side. She was the only thing\nthat Claudia grieved to leave. She was glad to flee away from\n\"Mother-Mary.\" She dreaded lest those sweet wistful eyes should read\nher heart one day; and she could not help rejoicing to get away from\nthat honest, open-hearted father's sight. Her poor, wrecked, shrunken\nheart--her withered life, could not bear the contrast with his free,\nkind, bounteous spirit that gave such measure of love, pressed down\nand running over, to all who wanted it. Her old husband, Sir Geoffrey,\nresembled that great good heart in whose love she had learnt to think\nall men true, more than did her young lover Horace Erskine--she could\nbe humble and thankful to Sir Geoffrey; a well-placed approval was a\nbetter thing than an ill-placed love. So with that little vision of\nbeauty, Minnie Lorimer, by her side, Claudia became Sir Geoffrey's\nwife.\n\nFour months past, the bride and bridegroom were entertaining a grand\nparty at their fine ancestral home, and Mr. Brewer was the father of a\nson and heir. Horace Erskine read both announcements in the paper one\nmorning, and ground his teeth with vexation. He went to his desk and\ntook out three letters, a long lock of silky hair, a small\nminiature--these things he had begged to keep. Laughing, he had argued\nthat he was almost a relation. His uncle had married \"Mother-Mary's\"\nsister. She had had no strength to debate with him. She had chosen to\nwear the mask of indifference, too, to him. He now made these things\ninto a parcel and sent them to Sir Geoffrey Greystock without one word\nof explanation. When they were gone he wrote to his uncle, begged for\nsome money, got it, and started for Vienna. The money met him in\nLondon, and he crossed to France the same day.\n\nIn the midst of great happiness the strong heart of good Sir Geoffrey\nstood still. His wife sought him. She found him in his chair in a fit.\nOn a little table by his side was the parcel just received. Claudia\nknew all. She took the parcel into the room close by, called her\ndressing room, rung for help, but in an hour Sir Geoffrey was dead;\nand Claudia had burnt the letters and the lock of silky hair.\n\nThe business of parliament, the excitement attendant on his marriage\nwith that beautiful girl, the entertainment of that great house full\nof company--these reasons the world reckoned up, and found sufficient\nto answer the questions and the wonderings on Sir Geoffrey's death.\nBut when those solemn walls no longer knew their master, Claudia, into\nwhose new life the new things held but an {27} unsteady place, grew\nill. First of all, sleepless nights: how could she sleep with the\nsound of those waters by the deer pond in her ears? How could she help\ngazing perpetually at the picture on the pond's still surface: Horace\nand Sir Geoffrey, and herself not able to turn aside the death-stroke,\nbut standing, fettered by she knew not what, in powerless misery, only\nobliged to see the changing face of her husband till the dead seemed\nto be again before her, and Horace melted out of sight, and she woke,\ndreading fever and praying against delirium? She was overcome at last.\nTerrible hours came, and \"Mother-Mary's\" sweet face mingling with some\nstrong, subduing, life-endangering dream, was the first thing that\nseemed to bring her back to better things, and to restore her to\nherself.\n\nIn fact, Claudia had had brain fever, and whether or not she was ever\nto know real health again was a problem to be worked out by time.\nWould she come back to her father's house? No! The very name of\nBeremouth was to be avoided. Would she go abroad? Oh, no; there was a\ndread of separation upon her. \"Somewhere where you can easily hear of\nme, and I of you; where you can come and see me, for I shall never see\nBeremouth again.\" It was her own thought, and so, about five miles\nfrom Beremouth, in the house of a Doctor Rankin, who took ladies out\nof health into his family, Claudia determined to go. It was every way\nthe best thing that could be done, for every day showed more strongly\nthan the last that Claudia would never be what is emphatically called\n\"herself\" again. So people said.\n\nDr. Rankin was kind, learned, and wise; Mrs. Rankin warm-hearted and\nfriendly. Other patients beside Lady Greystock were there. It was not\na private asylum, and Claudia was not mad; it was really what it\ncalled itself, a home which the sick might share, with medical\nattendance, cheerful company, and out-door recreations in a well-kept\ngarden and extensive grounds of considerable beauty. Claudia had known\nDr. and Mrs. Rankin, and had called with her father at Blagden, where\nthey lived. And there her father and \"Mother-Mary\" took her three\nmonths after her husband's death, looking really aged, feeble, and\nstrangely sad.\n\nAfter a time--it was a long time--Claudia was said to be well.\n\"Perfectly recovered,\" said Dr. Rankin, \"and in really satisfactory\nhealth.\" So she was when Minnie Lorimer stood in the room at the inn\nin Hull, talking to that very Horace Erskine, who was bringing her\nhome from her aunt's in Scotland to her mother at Beremouth.\n\n\"Sweet seventeen!\" Very sweet and beautiful, pleasing the eye,\ngratifying the mind, filling the heart with hope, and setting\nimagination at play--Minnie Lorimer was beautiful, and with all that\npeculiar beauty about her that belongs to \"a spoilt child\" who has not\nbeen spoilt after all.\n\nClaudia--how old she looked! Claudia, with that one only shadow on her\nonce bright face, was still living with Dr. and Mrs. Rankin. It was\nLady Greystock's pleasure to live with them. She said she had grown\nout of the position of a patient, and into their hearts as a friend.\n\"Was it not so?\" she asked. It was impossible to deny that which\nreally brought happiness to everybody. \"Well, then, I shall build on a\nfew rooms to the house, and I shall call them mine, and I shall add to\nthe coach-house, and hire a cottage for my groom and his wife--I shall\nlive here. Why not? You will take care of me, and feed me, and scold\nme, and find me a good guidable creature. You know I shall be ill if\nyou refuse.\"\n\nIt all happened as she chose. Hers was the prettiest carriage in the\ncounty, the best horses, the most perfectly appointed little\nhousehold--for she had her own servants. Among her most devoted\nfriends were the good doctor and his wife. Lady Greystock was as\npositive and as much given to {28} govern as the clever little Claudia\nin school-girl days. But the arrangement was a success, and\n\"Mother-Mary,\" who saw her constantly, was very glad. Only one trouble\nsurvived; Claudia would never go and stay at Beremouth. She would\ndrive her ponies merrily to the door, and even spend an hour or two\nwithin the house, but never would she stay there--never! She used to\nsay to herself that she dared not trust herself with the things that\nhad witnessed her love, her sorrow, her marriage--with the things that\ntold her of him who had ruined everything like a murderer--as he was.\n\nAnd so, to save appearances, she used to say that she never stayed\naway from Blagden for a single night, and she never left off black. It\nwas not that she wore a widow's dress, or covered up the glories of\nher beautiful hair. She was but twenty-nine at the moment recorded in\nthe first page of this story. She was very thin and pale, but she was\na strong woman, and one who required no more care than any other\nperson; but she had determined never again to see Horace Erskine. What\nhe had done had become known to her, as we have seen. She only\nbargained with life, as it were, in this way, that _that_ man should\nbe out of it for ever. And for this it was that she made her\nresolution and kept it.\n\nHorace Erskine had been abroad for some years; but though she had felt\nsafe in that fact, she had looked into the future and kept her\nresolution. And so she lived on at Blagden, doing good, blessing the\npoor, comforting the afflicted, visiting the sick, and beautifying all\nthings, and adorning all places that came within her reach. Certain\nthings she was young enough to enjoy greatly; the chief of these was\nthe contemplation of Frederick Brewer, her half-brother, a fine boy of\nnine years old, for nine years of widowhood had been passed, and\nthrough all that time this boy, her dear father's son, had been Lady\nGreystock's delight. She loved \"Mother-Mary\" all the better for having\ngiven him to her father, and she felt a strong, unutterable\nthanksgiving that, his birth having been expected, the test of whether\nor not Horace Erskine loved her for herself had been applied before\nshe had become chained to so terrible a destiny as that of being wife\nto a thankless, disappointed man. Terrible as her great trial had\nbeen, she might have suffered that which, to one of her temper, would\nhave been far worse. So Fred Brewer would ride over to see his sister.\nDay after day the boy's bright face would be laid beside her own, and\nto him, and only to him, would she talk of Sir Geoffrey. Then they\nwould ride together down to Marston to see Mrs. Morier and Jenifer,\nwho was a true friend, and lived on those terms with the lady who\nloved her well; then to the market-place where the old home stood, now\nturned into an almshouse of an eccentric sort, with all rules included\nunder one head, that the dear old souls were to have just whatever\nthey wanted. Did Martha Gannet keep three parrots, and did they eat as\nmuch as a young heifer? and scream, too? ah, that was their\nnature--never go against a dumb creature's nature, Mr. Brewer said\nthere was always cruelty in that--and did they smell, and give\ntrouble, and would they be mischievous, and tear Mrs. Betty's cap?\nIndeed. Mr. Brewer was delighted. An excellent excuse for giving new\ncaps to all the inmates, and to look up all troubles, and mend\neverybody's griefs--such an excellent thing it was that the fact of\nthree parrots should lead to the discovery of so many disgraceful\nneglects that Mr. Brewer begged leave to apologize very heartily and\nsincerely while he diligently repaired them. It was a very odd school\nto bring up young Freddy in. But we are obliged to say that he was not\nat all the worse for it.\n\nAnd here we must say what we have not said before. Mr. Brewer was a\nCatholic. He and Jenifer were {29} Catholics; Mrs. Brewer had not been\na Catholic; and Claudia had been left to her mother's teaching. When\nFreddy was born, Mr. Brewer considered his ways. And what he saw in\nhis life we may see shortly. He had been born of a Catholic mother who\nhad died, and made his Protestant father promise to send him to a\nCatholic school. He had stood alone in the world, he had always stood\nalone in the world. He seemed to see nothing else. Three miles from\nMarston was a little dirty sea-port, also a sort of fishing place. A\nplace that bore a bad character in a good many ways. Some people would\nhave finished that character by saying that there were Papists there.\nTo that place every Sunday Mr. Brewer went to mass. Many and many a\nlift he had given to Jenifer on those days. How much Jenifer's talk\nassisted his choice of Mary for his wife, we may guess. When Freddy\nwas born Jenifer said her first words on the subject of religion to\nMr. Brewer: \"You will have him properly baptized:\" \"Of course.\" \"Order\nme the pony cart, and I'll go to Father Daniels.\" \"I must tell Mrs.\nBrewer.\" \"Leave that to me--just send for the cart.\" It _was_ left to\nJenifer. By night the priest had come and gone. It had not been his\nfirst visit. He had been there many times, and had known that he was\nwelcome. The Clayton mission had felt the blessing of Mr. Brewer's\ngold. He had seldom been at the house in the market-place in Marston,\nbut at Beremouth Mary had plucked her finest flowers, and sent them\nback in the old gentleman's gig, and he had been always made welcome\nin her husband's house with a pretty grace and many pleasant\nattentions. Now, when Freddy was baptized, Mr. Brewer went to his wife\nand bent over her, and said solemnly, \"Mary--my dear wife; Mary--I\nthank thee, darling. I thank thee, my love.\" And the single tear that\nfell on her cheek she never forgot.\n\nThen Mr. Brewer met Jenifer at his wife's door. \"It's like a new life,\nJenifer.\" And the steady-mannered woman looked in his bright eyes and\nsaw how true his words were.\n\n\"It's a steady life of doing good to everybody that you have ever led,\nsir. It was a lonely life once, no doubt. I was dazed when she married\nyou. But, eh, master; I have _that_ to think about, and _that_ to pray\nfor, that a'most makes me believe in anything happening to _you_ for\ngood, when so much is asked for, day and night, in my own prayer.\"\n\n\"Put _us_ into it; let me and mine be in Jenifer's prayer,\" he said,\nand passed on.\n\n\nTO BE CONTINUED.\n\n----\n\nFrom The Month.\n\n\nPROPOSED SUBSTITUTES FOR THE STEAM-ENGINE.\n\n\nThe present year has been remarkable for the large number of machines\ninvented for the purpose of superseding steam, in at least some of its\nlighter tasks. Many of these are due to French engineers; being\nfurther proofs, if any were required, of the great activity now\ndisplayed in France in all matters of mechanical invention.\n\nTwo of these new engines are especially interesting as illustrating\nthat all-important law in modern physics, the correlation or\nconvertibility of forces. By this is meant that the forces of\ninanimate nature, such as light, heat, electricity--nay, even the\nmuscular and nerve forces of living beings--have such a mutual\ndependence and connection that each one is only produced or called\ninto action by another, and only ceases to be manifest when it has\ngiven birth to a fresh force in its turn. Thus motion (in the {30}\nshape of friction) produces heat, electricity, or light; heat produces\nlight or electricity; electricity, magnetism; and so on in an endless\nchain, which links together all the phenomena of this visible\nuniverse.\n\nAs a metaphysical principle, this is as old as Aristotle, and may be\nfound dimly foreshadowed in the forcible lines of Lucretius:\n\n  \"--Pereunt imbres, ubi eos pater aether\n  In gremium matris terrai praecipitavit;\n  At nitidae surgunt fruges, ramique virescunt,\n  Arboribus crescunt ipsae, fetuque gravautur,\n  Hinc alitar porro nostrum genus atque ferarum.\n\n* * * * * *\n\n  Haud igitur penitus pereunt quaecumque videntur,\n  Quando aliud ex alio reflcit natura, nec ullam\n  Rem gigni patitur, nisi morte adjuta aliena.\"   [Footnote 8]\n\n  [Footnote 8: Lucret. lib. i. 250-65.]\n\nBut the rediscovery of this law, as a result of experiment, is due to\nEnglish physicists of our own day; and it is so invariably true, and\nthe produced force is always so perfectly proportioned to the force\nproducing it, that some   [Footnote 9] have gone so far as to revive a\nvery old hypothesis in philosophy, supposing that all the forces of\nnature are but differently expressed forms of the Divine Will.\n\n  [Footnote 9: Dr. Carpenter, Philos. Trans. 1840, vol. ii. ]\n\nAs a corollary to this law, it follows that many a force of nature,\nhitherto neglected because of its position or intractability, may be\nturned to practical account by using it to produce some new power,\nwhich may be either stored up or transmitted to a distance, and so can\nbe employed wherever and whenever it is required. Thus, in the first\nmachine we propose to notice, a M. Cazal has just hit upon a plan by\nwhich to use the power of falling water at a considerable distance. He\nemploys a water-wheel to turn a magneto-electric machine (of the kind\nused for medical purposes, on a very large scale), and the electric\nforce so obtained may be conveyed to any distance, and employed there\nas a motive power. In this way a mountain stream in the Alps or\nPyrenees may turn a lathe, or set a loom in motion, in a workshop in\nParis or Lyons; or even (as has been remarked), if a wire were laid\nacross the Atlantic, the whole force of Niagara would be at our\ndisposal.\n\nThe idea is at present quite in its infancy; but we are told that the\nfew experiments hitherto made show that such an engine is not only\nvery ingenious but perfectly feasible, and (most important of all)\neconomical.\n\nThe second engine gave promise of considerable success when first\nbrought out in Paris about eight months ago. It was invented by a M.\nTellier, and proceeds on the principle of storing up force, to be used\nwhen wanted. It has long been well known to chemists that a certain\nnumber of gases (as chlorine, carbonic acid, ammonia, and sulphuretted\nhydrogen) can be condensed into liquids by cold or pressure, or both\ncombined. Of all these gases, ammonia is the most easily liquefied,\nrequiring for this purpose, at ordinary temperatures, a pressure only\nsix and a half times greater than that of the atmosphere. A supply of\nliquid ammonia obtained in this manner is kept by M. Tellier in a\nclosed vessel, and surrounded with a freezing mixture, so that it has\nbut little tendency to return to the gaseous state. A small quantity\nis allowed to escape from this reservoir under the piston of the\nengine, and, the temperature there being higher than in the reservoir,\nthe ammonia becomes at once converted into gas, increasing thereby to\nmore than twelve hundred times its previous bulk, and so driving the\npiston with great force to the top of the cylinder. A little water is\nnow admitted, which entirely dissolves the ammonia, a vacuum being\nthus created, and the piston driven down again by the pressure of the\nair without. M. Tellier employs three such cylinders, which work in\nsuccession; and the only apparent limit to the power to be obtained\nfrom this machine is the amount of liquid ammonia which would have to\nbe used, about three gallons (or twenty-two pounds) being required for\neach horse-power per hour. There is no waste of material; for the\nwater which has dissolved {31} the gas is saved, and the ammonia\nrecovered from it by evaporation, and afterwards condensed into a\nliquid. M. Tellier proposed to use his engine for propelling omnibuses\nand other vehicles; but it would appear that it is too expensive and\ntoo cumbrous to be practically useful; there can, however, be very\nlittle doubt that the principle will be used with success in some new\nform. A patent has quite recently been taken out for such an engine in\nEngland. It will be perceived at once how the ammonia engine\nillustrates the law of storing up force. It originates no power of its\nown, but simply gives out by degrees the mechanical force which had\nbeen previously employed to change the ammonia from a gas to a liquid.\n\nLenoir's \"gas-engine\" has been more successful; for, although but a\nfew months old, it has been already largely adopted in Parisian\nhotels, schools, and other large establishments, for raising lifts,\nmaking ices, and even--for what is not done now-a-days by\nmachinery?--cleaning boots. In London, it was lately exhibited in\nCranbourne Street, and is now used for turning lathes and for other\nlight work.\n\nThis engine, like the ammonia-engine, is provided with an ordinary\ncylinder, into which coal-gas and air are admitted, under the piston,\nin the proportions of eleven parts of the latter to one of the former.\nThe mixture is then exploded by the electric spark, and the remaining\nair, being greatly expanded, drives up the piston. When the top is\nreached the gas and air are again admitted, but this time above the\npiston, and the explosion is repeated, so that the piston is driven\ndown again. The most ingenious part of the whole thing is the\nmechanism by which the electric spark is directed alternately to the\nupper and lower ends of the cylinder. This cannot be satisfactorily\nexplained without a diagram, but is brought about (roughly speaking)\nby connecting either end of the cylinder with a semicircle of brass,\nwhich is touched by the \"rotary crank\" in the course of its\nrevolution. The crank is already charged with electricity, and so\ncommunicates the electric spark to each of the semicircles in turn.\nThe cylinder is kept plunged in water, so that there is no fear of its\noverheating by the constant explosions.\n\nThis engine has cheapness for its main recommendation. A\nhalf-horsepower gas-engine (the commonest power made) costs, when\ncomplete, \u00a365, and consumes twopence worth of gas per hour; while the\ncost of keeping the battery active is about fourpence per week.\n\nAn engineer of Lyons, M. Millon, has since proposed to use, instead of\ncoal-gas, the gases produced by passing steam over red-hot coke. These\ngases are found to explode rather more quickly than coal-gas, when\nmixed with common air, and fired by the electric spark. They will\nprobably be found cheaper and more efficient when they can be\nobtained; but in many cases coal-gas will be the only material\navailable.\n\nA M. Jules Gros has recently invented an engine in which gun-cotton is\nexploded in a strong reservoir and air compressed in another, the\ncompressed air being afterward employed to move the pistons of the\nmachine. This sounds more dangerous than it perhaps really is, since\ngun-cotton is now known to be more tractable than gunpowder, when\nproperly used; but we very much doubt whether the machine can be\nregular or economical enough to be more than a curiosity.\n\nTo close the list of French inventions of this kind, we may state that\nCount de Molin has lately patented an electro-magnetic machine, which,\nhe states, will be more powerful than any previously made. It is too\ncomplicated for a mere verbal description to be of any use; but is\napparently not free from the fault of all electro-magnetic engines, of\ncosting too much to be of practical value.\n\n{32}\n\n[ORIGINAL]\n\nCHRISTINE.\n\nA TROUBADOUR'S SONG,\n\nIN FIVE CANTOS,\n\nBY GEORGE H. MILES.  [Footnote 10]\n\n  [Footnote 10: Copyright secured.]\n\nPRELUDE.\n\n  The Queen hath built her a fairy Bower\n  In the shadow of the Accursed Tower,\n  For the Moslem hath left his blood-stained lair,\n  And the banner of England waveth there.\n  Thither she lureth the Lion King\n  To hear a wandering Trov\u00e8re sing;\n  For well she knew the Joyous Art\n  Was surest path to Richard's heart.\n  But the Monarch's glance was on the sea--\n  Sooth, he was scarce in minstrel mood,\n  For Philip's triremes homeward stood\n  With all the Gallic chivalry.\n  And as he watched the filmy sail\n  Upon the furthest billow fail,\n  He muttered, \"Richard ill can spare\n  Thee and thy Templars, false and fair;\n  Yet God hath willed it--home to thee,\n  Death or Jerusalem for me!\"\n  Then pressing with a knightly kiss\n  The peerless hand that slept in his,\n  \"Ah, would our own Blondel were here\n  To try a measure I wove last e'en.\n  What songster hast thou caught, my Queen,\n  Whose harp may soothe a Monarch's ear?\"\n  She beckoned, and the Trov\u00e8re bowed\n  To many a Lord and Ladye fair\n  That gathered round the royal pair;\n  But most his simple song was vowed\n  To a sweet shape with dark brown hair,\n  Half hidden in the gentle crowd;\n  Pale as a spirit, sharply slender.\n  In maiden beauty's crescent splendor.\n  And never yet bent Minstrel knee\n  To Mistress lovelier than she.\n\n{33}\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE FIRST SONG.\n\nI.\n\n  Ye have heard of the Castle of Miolan\n  And how it hath stood since time began,\n  Midway to yon mountain's brow,\n  Guarding the beautiful valley below:\n  Its crest the clouds, its ancient feet\n  Where the Arc and the Is\u00e8re murmuring meet\n  Earth hath few lovelier scenes to show\n  Than Miolan with its hundred halls,\n  Its massive towers and bannered walls,\n  Looming out through the vines and walnut woods\n  That gladden its stately solitudes.\n  And there might ye hear but yestermorn\n  The loud halloo and the hunter's horn,\n  The laugh of mail\u00e8d men at play.\n  The drinking bout and the roundelay.\n  But now all is sternest silence there.\n  Save the bell that calls to vesper prayer;\n  Save the ceaseless surge of a father's wail,\n  And, hark! ye may hear the Baron's Tale.\n\n\nII.\n\n  \"Come hither. Hermit!--Yestermorn\n    I had an only son,\n  A gallant fair as e'er was born,\n    A knight whose spurs were won\n  In the red tide by Godfrey's side\n    At Ascalon.\n\n{34}\n\n  \"But yestermorn he came to me\n    For blessing on his lance,\n  And death and danger seemed to flee\n    The joyaunce of his glance,\n  For he would ride to win his Bride,\n    Christine of France.\n\n  \"All sparkling in the sun he stood\n    In mail of Milan dressed,\n  A scarf, the gift of her he wooed,\n    Lay lightly o'er his breast.\n  As, with a clang, to horse he sprang\n    With nodding crest\n\n  \"Gaily he grasped the stirrup cup\n    Afoam with spicy ale,\n  But as he took the goblet up\n    Methought his cheek grew pale.\n  And a shudder ran through the iron man\n    And through his mail.\n\n  \"Oft had I seen him breast the shock\n    Of squire or crown\u00e8d king,\n  His front was firm as rooted rock\n    When spears were shivering:\n  I knew no blow could shake him so\n    From living thing.\n\n  \"'Twas something near akin to death\n    That blanched and froze his cheek,\n  Yet 'twas not death, for he had breath,\n     And when I bade him speak,\n  Unto his breast his hand he pressed\n    With one wild shriek.\n\n  \"The hand thus clasped upon his heart\n    So sharply curbed the rein,\n  Grey Caliph, rearing with a start,\n    Went bounding o'er the plain\n  Away, away with echoing neigh\n    And streaming mane.\n\n  \"After him sped the menial throng;\n    I stirred not in my fear;\n  Perchance I swooned, for it seemed not long\n    Ere the race did reappear,\n  And my son still led on his desert-bred.\n    Grasping his spear.\n\n{35}\n\n  \"Unchanged in look or limb, he came.\n    He and his barb so fleet,\n  His hand still on his heart, the same\n    Stem bearing in his seat,\n  And wheeling round with sudden bound\n    Stopped at my feet.\n\n  \"And soon as ceased that wildering tramp\n    'What ails thee, boy?' I cried--\n  Taking his hand all chill and damp--\n    'What means this fearful ride?\n  Alight, alight, for lips so white\n    Would scare a Bride!'\n\n  \"But sternly to his steed clove he,\n    And answer made he none,\n  I clasped him by his barb\u00e8d knee\n    And there I made my moan;\n  While icily he stared at me,\n    At me alone.\n\n  \"A strange, unmeaning stare was that,\n    And a page beside me said,\n  'If ever corse in saddle sat,\n    Our lord is certes sped!'\n  But I smote the lad, for it drove me mad\n    To think him dead.\n\n  \"What! dead so young, what! lost so soon,\n    My beautiful, my brave!\n  Sooner the sun should find at noon\n    In central heaven a grave!\n  Sweet Jesu, no, it is not so\n    When Thou canst save!\n\n  \"For was he dead and was he sped,\n    When he could ride so well,\n  So bravely bear his plum\u00e8d head?\n    Or, was't some spirit fell\n  In causeless wrath had crossed his path\n    With fiendish spell?\n\n  \"Oh. Hermit, 'twas a cruel sight.\n    And He, who loves to bless,\n  Ne'er sent on son such bitter blight.\n    On sire such sore distress,\n  Such piteous pass, and I, alas,\n    So powerless!\n\n{36}\n\n  \"They would have ta'en him from his horse\n    The while I wept and prayed,\n  They would have lain him like a corse\n    Upon a litter made\n  Of traversed spear and martial gear.\n    But I forbade.\n\n \"I gazed into his face again,\n    I chafed his hand once more,\n  I summoned him to speak, in vain--\n    He sat there as before,\n  While the gallant Grey in dumb dismay\n    His rider bore.\n\n  \"Full well, full well Grey Caliph then\n    The horror seemed to know.\n  E'en deeper than my mail\u00e8d men\n    Methought he felt our woe;\n  For the barbed head of the desert-bred\n    Was drooping low.\n\n  \"Amazed, aghast, he gazed at me,\n    That mourner true and good.\n  Then backward at my boy looted he.\n    As if a word he sued.\n  And like sculptured pile in abbey aisle\n    The train there stood.\n\n  \"I took the rein: the frozen one\n    Still fast in saddle sate.\n  As tremblingly I led him on\n    Toward the great castle gate.\n  O walls mine own, why have ye grown\n    So desolate?--\n\n  \"I led them to the castle gate\n    And paused before the shrine\n  Where throned in state from earliest date,\n    Protectress of our line.\n  Madonna pressed close to her breast\n    The Babe Divine.\n\n  \"And kneeling lowly at her feet,\n     I begged the Mother mild\n  That she would sue her Jesu sweet\n    To aid my stricken child;\n  And the meek stone face flashed full of grace\n    As if she smiled.\n\n{37}\n\n  \"And methought the eyes of the Full of Grace\n    Upon my darling shone,\n  Till living seemed that marble face\n    And the living man seemed stone,\n  While a halo played round the Mother Maid\n    And round her Son.\n\n  \"And there was radiance everywhere\n    Surpassing light of day,\n  On man and horse, on shield and spear\n    Burned the bright, blinding ray;\n  But most it shone on my only one\n    And his gallant Grey.\n\n  \"A sudden clang of armor rang,\n    My boy lay on the sward.\n  Up high in air Grey Caliph sprang,\n    An instant fiercely pawed.\n  Then trembling stood aghast and viewed\n    His fallen lord.\n\n  \"Then with the flash of fire away\n    Like sunbeam o'er the plain,\n  Away, away with echoing neigh\n    And wildly waving mane.\n  Away he sped, loose from his head\n    The flying rein.\n\n  \"I watched the steed from pass to pass\n    Unto the welkin's rim,\n  I feared to turn my eyes, alas,\n    To trust a look at him;\n  And when I turned, my temples burned\n    And all grew dim.\n\n  \"Sweet if such swoon could endless be,\n    Yet speedily I woke\n  And missed my boy: they showed him me\n    Full length on bed of oak.\n  Clad as 'twas meet in mail complete\n     And sable cloak.\n\n  \"All of our race upon that bier\n    Had rested one by one,\n  I had seen my father lying there,\n    And now there lay my son!\n  Ah! my sick soul bled the while it said--\n    'Thy will be done!'\n\n{38}\n\n  \"Bright glanced the crest, bright gleamed the spur,\n     That well had played their part,\n  His lance still clasped, nor could they stir\n    His left hand from his heart;\n  There fast it clove, nor would it move\n    With all their art\n\n  \"I found no voice, I shed no tear.\n    They thought me well resigned.\n  All else who stood around the bier\n    With weeping much were blind;\n  And a mourning voice went through the house\n    Like a low wind.\n\n  \"And there was sob of aged man\n    And woman's wailing cry,\n  All cheeks were wan, all eyes o'erran,\n    Yon fair-haired maidens sigh.\n  And one apart with breaking heart\n    Weeps bitterly.\n\n  \"But sharper than spear-thrust, I trow,\n    Their wailing through me went;\n  Stem silence suited best my woe,\n    And, howe'er well the intent.\n  Their menial din seemed half akin\n    To merriment\n\n  \"For oh, such grief was mock to mine\n    Whose days were all undone.\n  The last of all this ancient line\n    To share whose grief was none!\n  Straight from the hall I barred them all\n    And stood alone.\n\n  \"'Receive me now, thou bed of oak!'\n     I fell upon the bier.\n  And, Hermit, when this morning broke\n    It found me clinging there.\n  O maddening morn! That day dare dawn\n    On such a pair!\n\n  \"I sent for thee, thou man of God,\n    To watch with me to-night;\n  My boy still liveth, by the rood,\n    Nor shall be funeral rite!--\n  But, Hermit, come: this is the room:\n    There lies the Knight!\"\n\n{39}\n\nIII.\n\n      But she apart\n      With breaking heart?--\n  That very yestermorn she stood\n  In the deepest shade of the walnut wood,\n  As a Knight rode by on his raven steed,\n  Crying, \"Daughter mine, hast thou done the deed?\n  I gave thee the venom, I gave thee the spell,\n  A jealous heart might use them well.\"\n  But she waved her white arms and only said,\n  \"On oaken bier is Miolan laid!\"\n  \"Dead!\" laughed the Knight. \"Then round Pilate's Peak\n  Let the red light burn and the eagle shriek.\n  When Miolan? heir lies on the bier,\n  Low is the only lance I fear:\n        I ride, I ride to win my Bride,\n        Ho, Eblis, to thy servant's side.\n        Thou hast sworn no foe\n        Shall lay me low\n  Till the dead in arms against me ride!\"\n\n------\n\nTHE SECOND SONG.\n\nI.\n\n  They passed into an ancient hall\n    With oaken arches spanned.\n  Full many a shield hung on the wall,\n    Full many a broken brand.\n  And barb\u00e8d spear and scimetar\n    From Holy Land.\n\n  And scarfs of dames of high degree\n    With gold and jewels rich,\n  And many a mouldered effigy\n    In many a mouldering niche,\n  Like grey sea shells whose crumbling cells\n    Bestrew the beach.\n\n{40}\n\n  The sacred dead possessed the place,\n    The silent cobweb wreathed\n  The tombs where slept that warrior race,\n    With swords for ever sheathed:\n  You seemed to share the very air\n    Which they had breathed.\n\n  Oh, darksome was that funeral room,\n    Those oaken arches dim,\n  The torchlight, struggling through the gloom,\n    Fell faint on effige grim,\n On dragon dread and carv\u00e8d head\n    Of Cherubim.\n\n  Of Cherubim fast by a shrine\n    Whereon the last sad rite\n  Was wont for all that ancient line,\n    For dame and belted knight--\n  A shrine of Moan which death alone\n    Did ever light.\n\n  But light not now that altar stone\n    While hope of life remain,\n  Though darksome be that altar lone,\n    Unlit that funeral fane,\n  Save by the rays cast by the blaze\n    Of torches twain.\n\n  Of torches twain at head and heel\n    Of him who seemeth dead,\n  Who sleepeth so well in his coat of steel.\n    His cloak around him spread--\n  The young Knight fair, who lieth there\n    On oaken bed.\n\n  One hand still fastened to his heart.\n    The other on his lance,\n While through his eyelids, half apart.\n   Life seemeth half to glance.\n  \"Sweet youth awake, for Jesu's sake,\n    From this strange trance!\"\n\n  But heed or answer there is none.\n    Then knelt that Hermit old;\n  To Mother Mary and her Son\n    Full many a prayer he told,\n  Whose wondrous words the Church records\n    In lettered gold:\n\n{41}\n\n  And many a precious litany\n    And many a pious vow,\n  Then rising said, \"If fiend it be,\n    That fiend shall leave thee now!\"\n  And traced the sign of the Cross divine\n    On lips and brow.\n\n  As well expect yon cherub's wings\n    To wave at matin bell!\n  Not all the relics of the kings\n   Could break that iron spell.\n  \"Pray for the dead, let mass be said,\n    Toll forth the knell!\"\n\n  \"Not yet!\" the Baron gasped and sank\n    As if beneath a blow,\n  With lips all writhing as they drank\n    The dregs of deepest woe;\n  With eyes aglare, and scattered hair\n    Tossed to and fro.\n\n  So swings the leaf that lingers last\n    When wintry tempests sweep,\n  So reels when storms have stripped the mast\n    The galley on the deep,\n  So nods the snow on Eigher's brow\n    Before the leap.\n\n  Uncertain 'mid his tangled hair\n    His palsied fingers stray,\n  He smileth in his dumb despair\n    Like a sick child at play.\n  Though wet, I trow, with tears eno'\n    That beard so grey.\n\n  Oh, Hermit, lift him to your breast,\n    There best his heart may bleed;\n  Since none but heaven can give him rest,\n    Heaven's priest must meet his need:\n  Dry that white beard, now wet and weird\n    As pale sea-weed.\n\n  Uprising slowly from the ground,\n    With short and frequent breath.\n  In aimless circles, round and round,\n    The Baron tottereth\n  With trailing feet, a mourner meet\n    For house of death.\n\n{42}\n\n  Till, pausing by the shrine of Moan,\n    He said, the while he wept,\n  \"Here, Hermit, here mine only one,\n    When all the castle slept,\n  As maiden knight, o'er armor bright,\n    His first watch kept.\n\n  \"This is the casque that first he wore,\n    And this his virgin shield.\n  This lance to his first tilt he bore,\n    With this first took the field--\n  How light, how l\u00e2che to that huge ash\n    He now doth wield!\n\n  \"This blade hath levelled at a blow\n    The she-wolf in her den.\n  With this red falchion he laid low\n    The slippery Saracen.\n  God! will that hand, so near his brand,\n    Ne'er strike again?\n\n  \"Frown not on him, ye men of old.\n    Whose glorious race is run;\n  Frown not on him, my fathers bold.\n    Though many the field ye won:\n  His name and los may mate with yours\n    Though but begun!\n\n  \"Receive him, ye departed brave,\n    Unlock the gates of light.\n  And range yourselves about his grave\n    To hail a brother knight.\n  Who never erred in deed or word\n    Against the right!\n\n  \"But is he dead and is he sped\n    Withouten scathe or scar?\n  Why, Hermit, he hath often bled\n    From sword and scimetar--\n  I've seen him ride, wounds gaping wide,\n    From war to war.\n\n  \"And hath a silent, viewless thing\n    Laid danger's darling low,\n  When youth and hope were on the wing\n    And life in morning glow?\n  Not yonder worm in winter's storm\n    Perisheth so!\n\n{43}\n\n  \"Oh, Hermit, thou hast heard, I ween,\n    Of trances long and deep,\n  But, Hermit, hast thou ever seen\n    That grim and stony sleep.\n  And canst thou tell how long a spell\n    Such slumbers keep?\n\n  \"Oh, be there naught to break the charm,\n    To thaw this icy chain;\n  Has Mother Church no word to warm\n    These freezing lips again;\n  Be holy prayer and balsams rare\n    Alike in vain? . . . .\n\n  \"A curse on thy ill-omened head;\n    Man, bid me not despair;\n  Churl, say not that a Knight is dead\n    When he can couch his spear;\n  When he can ride--Monk, thou hast lied.\n    He lives, I swear!\n\n  \"Up from that bier! Boy, to thy feet!\n    Know'st not thy father's voice?\n  Thou ne'er hast disobeyed . . . is't meet\n    A sire should summon thrice?\n  By these grey hairs, by these salt tears,\n    Awake, arise!\n\n  \"Ho, lover, to thy ladye flee,\n    Dig deep the crimson spur;\n  Sleep not 'twixt this lean monk and me\n    When thou shouldst kneel to her!\n  Oh 'tis a sin, Christine to win\n    And thou not stir!\n\n  \"Ho, laggard, hear yon trumpet's note\n    Go sounding to the skies,\n  The lists are set, the banners float.\n    Yon loud-mouthed herald cries,\n  'Ride, gallant knights, Christine invites.\n    Herself the prize!'\n\n  \"Ho, craven, shun'st thou the mel\u00e9e,\n    When she expects thy brand\n  To prove to-day in fair tourney\n    A title to her hand?\n  Up, dullard base, or by the mass\n    I'll make thee stand!\" . . . .\n\n{44}\n\n  Thrice strove he then to wrench apart\n    Those fingers from the spear.\n  Thrice strove to sever from the heart\n    The hand that rested there.\n  Thrice strove in vain with frantic strain\n    That shook the bier.\n\n  Thrice with the dead the living strove,\n    Their armor rang a peal,\n  The sleeping knight he would not move\n    Although the sire did reel:\n  That stately corse defied all force,\n    Stubborn as steel.\n\n  \"Ay, dead, dead, dead!\" the Baron cried;\n    \"Dear Hermit, I did rave.\n  O were we sleeping side by side! . .\n    Good monk, I penance crave\n  For all I said .... Ay, he is dead,\n    Pray heaven to save!\n\n  \"Betake thee to thy crucifix,\n    And let me while I may\n  Rain kisses on these frozen cheeks\n    Before they know decay.\n  Leave me to weep and watch and keep\n    The worm at bay.\n\n  \"Thou wilt not spare thy prayers, I trust;\n    But name not now the grave--\n  I'll watch him to the very dust! ....\n    So, Hermit, to thy cave.\n  Whilst here I cling lest creeping thing\n    Insult the brave!\"\n\n------\n\n  Why starts the Hermit to his feet,\n    why springs he to the bier,\n  Why calleth he on Jesu sweet,\n    Staying the starting tear.\n  What whispereth he half trustfully\n    And half in fear?\n\n{45}\n\n  \"Sir Knight, thy ring hath razed his flesh--\n    'Twas in thy frenzy done;\n  Lo, from his wrist how fast and fresh\n    The blood-drops trickling run;\n  Heaven yet may wake, for Mary's sake,\n    Thy warrior son.\n\n  \"Heap ashes on thy head, Sir Knight,\n    In sackcloth gird thee well,\n  The shrine of Moan must blaze in light,\n    The morning mass must swell;\n  Arouse from sleep the castle keep,\n    Sound every bell!\"\n\n  They come, pale maid and mail\u00e8d man\n    They throng into the hall,\n  The watcher from the barbican,\n    The warder from the wall.\n  And she apart, with breaking heart,\n    The last of all.\n\n          \"__Introibo! _Introibo!_\"\n          The morning mass begins;\n          \"_Mea culpa! mea culpa!_\"\n          Forgive us all our sins;\n  And the rapt Hermit chaunts with streaming eyes,\n    That seem to enter Paradise,\n          \"_Gloria! Gloria!_\"\n    The shrine of Moan had never known\n    That gladdest of all hymns.\n\n------\n\nII.\n\n\n  The fair-haired maiden standeth apart\n  In the chapel gloom, with breaking heart.\n  But a smile broke over her face as she said,\n    \"The draught was well measured, I ween;\n  He liveth, thank Allah, but not to wed\n    His beautiful Christine.\n  No lance hath Miolan couched to-day:\n  Let the bride for the bridegroom watch, and pray.\n    Till the lists shall hear the shriek\n  Of the Dauphin's daughter borne away\n    By the Knight of Pilate's Peak.\"\n\n\nTO BE CONTINUED.\n\n{46}\n\nA LETTER TO THE REV. E. B. PUSEY, D.D.,\nON HIS RECENT EIRENICON.\n\nBY JOHN HENRY NEWMAN, D.D.,\nOF THE ORATORY.\n\n\nVeni, Domine, et noli tardare,\nrelaxa facinora plebi tuae;\net rovoca dispersos in terram suam.\n\n\n\nNo one who desires the union of\nChristendom, after its many and\nlong-standing divisions, can have any other\nfeeling than joy, my dear Pusey, at\nfinding from your recent volume that\nyou see your way to make definite\nproposals to us for effecting that\ngreat object, and are able to lay down\nthe basis and conditions on which you\ncould co-operate in advancing it. It\nis not necessary that we should concur\nin the details of your scheme, or\nin the principles which it involves, in\norder to welcome the important fact\nthat, with your personal knowledge of the Anglican body, and your\nexperience of its composition and tendencies, you consider the time to\nbe come when you and your friends may, without imprudence, turn your\nminds to the contemplation of such an enterprise. Even were you an\nindividual member of that church, a watchman upon a high tower in a\nmetropolis of religious opinion, we should naturally listen with\ninterest to what you had to report of the state of the sky and the\nprogress of the night, what stars were mounting up or what clouds\ngathering; what were the prospects of the three great parties which\nAnglicanism contains within it, and what was just now the action upon\nthem respectively of the politics and science of the time. You do not\ngo into these matters; but the step you have taken is evidently the\nmeasure and the issue of the view which you have formed of them all.\n\nHowever, you are not a mere individual; from early youth you have\ndevoted yourself to the Established Church, and after between forty\nand fifty years of unremitting labor in its service, your roots and\nyour branches stretch out through every portion of its large\nterritory. You, more than any one else alive, have been the present\nand untiring agent by whom a great work has been effected in it; and,\nfar more than is usual, you have received in your lifetime, as well as\nmerited, the confidence of your brethren. You cannot speak merely for\nyourself; your antecedents, your existing influence, are a pledge to\nus that what you may determine will be the determination of a\nmultitude. Numbers, too, for whom you cannot properly be said to\nspeak, will be moved by your authority or your arguments; and numbers,\nagain, who are of a school more recent than your own, and who are only\nnot your followers because they have outstripped you in their free\nspeeches and demonstrative acts in our behalf, will, for the occasion,\naccept you as their spokesman. There is no one anywhere--among\nourselves, in your own body, or, I suppose, in the Greek Church--who\ncan affect so vast a circle of men, so virtuous, so able, so learned,\nso zealous, as come, more or less, under your influence; and I cannot\npay them all a greater compliment, than to tell them they ought all to\nbe Catholics, nor do them a more affectionate service than to pray\nthat they may one day become such. Nor can I address myself to an act\nmore pleasing, as I trust, to the Divine Lord of the church, and more\nloyal and dutiful to his Vicar on earth, than to attempt, however,\nfeebly, to promote so great a consummation.\n\n{47}\n\nI know the joy it would give those conscientious men of whom I am\nspeaking to be one with ourselves. I know how their hearts spring up\nwith a spontaneous transport at the very thought of union; and what\nyearning is theirs after that great privilege, which they have not,\ncommunion with the See of Peter and its present, past, and future. I\nconjecture it by what I used to feel myself, while yet in the Anglican\nChurch. I recollect well what an outcast I seemed to myself when I\ntook down from the shelves of my library the volumes of St. Athanasius\nor St. Basil, and set myself to study them; and how, on the contrary,\nwhen at length I was brought into Catholicism, I kissed them with\ndelight, with a feeling that in them I had more than all that I had\nlost, and, as though I were directly addressing the glorious saints\nwho bequeathed them to the Church, I said to the inanimate pages, \"You\nare now mine, and I am now yours, beyond any mistake.\" Such, I\nconceive, would be the joy of the persons I speak of, if they could\nwake up one morning and find themselves possessed by right of Catholic\ntraditions and hopes, without violence to their own sense of duty;\nand, certainly, I am the last man to say that such violence is in any\ncase lawful, that the claims of conscience are not paramount, or that\nany one may overleap what he deliberately holds to be God's command,\nin order to make his path easier for him or his heart lighter.\n\nI am the last man to quarrel with this jealous deference to the voice\nof our conscience, whatever judgment others may form of us in\nconsequence, for this reason--because their case, as it at present\nstands, has, as you know, been my own. You recollect well what hard\nthings were said against us twenty-five years ago, which we knew in\nour hearts we did not deserve. Hence, I am now in the position of the\nfugitive queen in the well-known passage, who, \"haud ignara mali\"\nherself, had learned to sympathize with those who were inheritors of\nher past wanderings. There were priests, good men, whose zeal\noutstripped their knowledge, and who in consequence spoke confidently,\nwhen they would have been wiser had they suspended their adverse\njudgment of those whom they had soon to welcome as brethren in\ncommunion. We at that time were in worse plight than your friends are\nnow, for our opponents put their very hardest thoughts of us into\nprint. One of them wrote thus in a letter addressed to one of the\nCatholic bishops:\n\n  \"That this Oxford crisis is a real progress to Catholicism, I have\n  all along considered a perfect delusion. ... I look upon Mr. Newman,\n  Dr. Pusey, and their associates as wily and crafty, though\n  unskilful, guides. . . . The embrace of Mr. Newman is the kiss that\n  would betray us. . . . But--what is the most striking feature in the\n  rancorous malignity of these men--their calumnies are often lavished\n  upon us, when we should be led to think that the subject-matter of\n  their treatises closed every avenue against their vituperation. The\n  three last volumes [of the Tracts] have opened my eyes to the\n  craftiness and the cunning, as well as the malice, of the members of\n  the Oxford convention. . . . If the Puseyites are to be the new\n  apostles of Great Britain, my hopes for my country are lowering and\n  gloomy. . . . I would never have consented to enter the lists\n  against this strange confraternity ... if I did not feel that my own\n  prelate was opposed to the guile and treachery of these men. . . . .\n  I impeach Dr. Pusey and his friends of a deadly hatred of our\n  religion. . . . . What, my lord, would the Holy See think of the\n  works of these Puseyites? . . .\"\n\nAnother priest, himself a convert, wrote:\n\n  \"As we approach toward Catholicity our love and respect increases,\n  and our violence dies away; but the bulk of these men become more\n  rabid as they become like Rome, a plain proof of their designs. ...\n  I do not believe that they are any nearer the portals of the\n  Catholic Church than the most prejudiced Methodist and Evangelical\n  preacher. . . . Such, rev. sir, is an outline of my views on the\n  Oxford movement.\"\n\n{48}\n\nI do not say that such a view of us was unnatural; and, for myself, I\nreadily confess that I had used about the church such language that I\nhad no claim on Catholics for any mercy. But, after all, and in fact,\nthey were wrong in their anticipations--nor did their brethren agree\nwith them at the time. Especially Dr. Wiseman (as he was then) took a\nlarger and more generous view of us; nor did the Holy See interfere,\nthough the writer of one of these passages invoked its judgment. The\nevent showed that the more cautious line of conduct was the more\nprudent; and one of the bishops, who had taken part against us, with a\nsupererogation of charity, sent me on his death-bed an expression of\nhis sorrow for having in past years mistrusted me. A faulty\nconscience, faithfully obeyed, through God's mercy, had in the long\nrun brought me right.\n\nFully, then, do I recognize the rights of conscience in this matter. I\nfind no fault in your stating, as clearly and completely as you can,\nthe difficulties which stand in the way of your joining us. I cannot\nwonder that you begin with stipulating conditions of union, though I\ndo not concur in them myself, and think that in the event you yourself\nwould be content to let them drop. Such representations as yours are\nnecessary to open the subject in debate; they ascertain how the land\nlies, and serve to clear the ground. Thus I begin; but, after allowing\nas much as this, I am obliged in honesty to say what I fear, my dear\nPusey, will pain you. Yet I am confident, my very dear friend, that at\nleast you will not be angry with me if I say, what I must say, or say\nnothing at all, that there is much both in the matter and in the\nmanner of your volume calculated to wound those who love you well, but\nlove truth more. So it is; with the best motives and kindest\nintentions, \"Caedimur, et totidem plagis consumimus hostem.\" We give\nyou a sharp cut, and you return it. You complain of our being \"dry,\nhard, and unsympathizing;\" and we answer that you are unfair and\nirritating. But we at least have not professed to be composing an\nIrenicon, when we treated you as foes. There was one of old time who\nwreathed his sword in myrtle; excuse me--you discharge your\nolive-branch as if from a catapult.\n\nDo not think I am not serious; if I spoke seriously, I should seem to\nspeak harshly. Who will venture to assert that the hundred pages which\nyou have devoted to the Blessed Virgin give other than a one-sided\nview of our teaching about her, little suited to win us? It may be a\nsalutary castigation, if any of us have fairly provoked it, but it is\nnot making the best of matters; it is not smoothing the way for an\nunderstanding or a compromise. It leads a writer in the most moderate\nand liberal Anglican newspaper of the day, the \"Guardian,\" to turn\naway from your representation of us with horror. \"It is language,\"\nsays your reviewer, \"which, after having often heard it, we still can\nonly hear with horror. We had rather not quote any of it, or of the\ncomments upon it.\" What could an Exeter Hall orator, what could a\nScotch commentator on the Apocalypse, do more for his own side of the\ncontroversy by the picture he drew of us?  You may be sure that what\ncreates horror on one side will be answered by indignation on the\nother, and these are not the most favorable dispositions for a peace\nconference. I had been accustomed to think that you, who in times past\nwere ever less declamatory in controversy than myself, now that years\nhad gone on, and circumstances changed, had come to look on our old\nwarfare against Rome as cruel and inexpedient. Indeed, I know that it\nwas a chief objection urged against me only last year by persons who\nagreed with you in deprecating an oratory at Oxford, which at that\ntime was in prospect, that such an undertaking would be the signal for\nthe rekindling of that fierce style of polemics which is now out of\ndate. I had fancied you shared in that opinion; but now, as if {49} to\nshow how imperative you deem its renewal, you actually bring to life\none of my own strong sayings in 1841, which had long been in the\ngrave--that \"the Roman Church comes as near to idolatry as can be\nsupposed in a church, of which it said, 'The idols he shall utterly\nabolish,'\" p. 111.\n\nI know, indeed, and feel deeply, that your frequent references in your\nvolume to what I have lately or formerly written are caused by your\nstrong desire to be still one with me as far as you can, and by that\ntrue affection which takes pleasure in dwelling on such sayings of\nmine as you can still accept with the full approbation of your\njudgment. I trust I am not ungrateful or irresponsive to you in this\nrespect; but other considerations have an imperative claim to be taken\ninto account. Pleasant as it is to agree with you, I am bound to\nexplain myself in cases in which I have changed my mind, or have given\na wrong impression of my meaning, or have been wrongly reported; and,\nwhile I trust that I have better than such personal motives for\naddressing you in print, yet it will serve to introduce my main\nsubject, and give me an opportunity for remarks which bear upon it\nindirectly, if I dwell for a page or two on such matters contained in\nyour volume as concern myself.\n\n1. The mistake which I have principally in view is the belief, which\nis widely spread, that I have publicly spoken of the Anglican Church\nas \"the great bulwark against infidelity in this land.\" In a pamphlet\nof yours, a year old, you spoke of \"a very earnest body of Roman\nCatholics\" who \"rejoice in all the workings of God the Holy Ghost in\nthe Church of England (whatever they think of her), and are saddened\nby what weakens her who is, in God's hands, the great bulwark against\ninfidelity in this land.\" The concluding words you were thought to\nquote from my \"Apologia.\" In consequence, Dr. Manning, now our\narchbishop, replied to you, asserting, as you say, \"the contradictory\nof that statement.\" In that counter-assertion he was at the time\ngenerally considered (rightly or wrongly, as it may be), though\nwriting to you, to be really correcting statements in my \"Apologia,\"\nwithout introducing my name. Further, in the volume which you have now\npublished, you recur to the saying, and you speak of its author in\nterms which, did I not know your partial kindness for me, would hinder\nme from identifying him with myself. You say, \"The saying was not\nmine, but that of one of the deepest thinkers and observers in the\nRoman communion,\" p. 7. A friend has suggested to me that, perhaps,\nyou mean De Maistre; and, from an anonymous letter which I have\nreceived from Dublin, I find it is certain that the very words in\nquestion were once used by Archbishop Murray; but you speak of the\nauthor of them as if now alive. At length a reviewer of your volume,\nin the \"Weekly Register,\" distinctly attributes them to me by name,\nand gives me the first opportunity I have had of disowning them; and\nthis I now do. What, at some time or other, I may have said in\nconversation or private letter, of course, I cannot tell; but I have\nnever, I am sure, used the word \"bulwark\" of the Anglican Church\ndeliberately. What I said in my \"Apologia\" was this: That that church\nwas \"a serviceable breakwater against errors more fundamental than its\nown.\" A bulwark is an integral part of the thing it defends; whereas\nthe words \"serviceable\" and \"breakwater\" imply a kind of protection\nwhich is accidental and _de facto_. Again, in saying that the Anglican\nChurch is a defence against \"errors more fundamental than its own,\" I\nimply that it has errors, and those fundamental.\n\n2. There is another passage in your volume, at p. 337, which it may be\nright to observe upon. You have made a collection of passages from the\nfathers, as witnesses in behalf of your doctrine that the whole\nChristian faith is contained in Scripture, as if, in your sense of the\nwords. Catholics contradicted you here. {50} And you refer to my notes\non St. Athanasius as contributing passages to your list; but, after\nall, neither do you, nor do I in my notes, affirm any doctrine which\nRome denies. Those notes also make frequent reference to a traditional\nteaching, which (be the faith ever so certainly contained in\nScripture) still is necessary as a Regula Fidei, for showing us that\nit is contained there--_vid_. pp. 283, 344--and this tradition, I\nknow, you uphold as fully as I do in the notes in question. In\nconsequence, you allow that there is a twofold rule. Scripture and\ntradition; and this is all that Catholics say. How, then, do Anglicans\ndiffer from Rome here? I believe the difference is merely one of\nwords; and I shall be doing, so far, the work of an Irenicon, if I\nmake clear what this verbal difference is. Catholics and Anglicans (I\ndo not say Protestants) attach different meanings to the word \"proof,\"\nin the controversy whether the whole faith is, or is not, contained in\nScripture. We mean that not every article of faith is so contained\nthere, that it may thence be logically proved, _independently_ of the\nteaching and authority of the tradition; but Anglicans mean that every\narticle of faith is so contained there, that it may thence be proved,\n_provided_ there be added the illustrations and compensations of the\ntradition. And it is in this latter sense, I conceive, the fathers\nalso speak in the passages which you quote from them. I am sure at\nleast that St. Athanasius frequently adduces passages as proofs of\npoints in controversy which no one would see to be proofs unless\napostolical tradition were taken into account, first as suggesting,\nthen as authoritatively ruling, their meaning. Thus, _you_ do not deny\nthat the whole is not in Scripture in such sense that pure unaided\nlogic can draw it from the sacred text; nor do _we_ deny that the\nfaith is in Scripture, in an improper sense, in the sense that\n_tradition_ is able to recognize and determine it there. You do not\nprofess to dispense with tradition; nor do we forbid the idea of\nprobable, secondary, symbolical, connotative senses of Scripture, over\nand above those which properly belong to the wording and context. I\nhope you will agree with me in this.\n\n3. Nor is it only in isolated passages that you give me a place in\nyour volume. A considerable portion of it is written with reference to\ntwo publications of mine, one of which you name and defend, the other\nyou tacitly protest against: \"Tract 90,\" and the \"Essay on Doctrinal\nDevelopment,\" As to \"Tract 90,\" you have from the first, as all the\nworld knows, boldly stood up for it, in spite of the obloquy which it\nbrought upon you, and have done me a great service. You are now\nrepublishing it with my cordial concurrence; but I take this\nopportunity of noticing, lest there should be any mistake on the part\nof the public, that you do so with a different object from that which\nI had when I wrote it. Its original purpose was simply that of\njustifying myself and others in subscribing to the Thirty-nine\nArticles while professing many tenets which had popularly been\nconsidered distinctive of the Roman faith. I considered that my\ninterpretation of the Articles, as I gave it in that Tract, would\nstand, provided the parties imposing them allowed it, otherwise I\nthought it could not stand; and, when in the event the bishops and\npublic opinion did not allow it, I gave up my living, as having no\nright to retain it. My feeling about the interpretation is expressed\nin a passage in \"Loss and Gain,\" which runs thus:\n\n  \"'Is it,' asked Reding, 'a received view?' 'No view is received,'\n  said the other; 'the Articles themselves are received, but there is\n  no authoritative interpretation of them at all.' 'Well,' said\n  Reding, 'is it a tolerated view?' 'It certainly has been strongly\n  opposed,' answered Bateman; 'but it has never been condemned.' 'That\n  is no answer,' said Charles. 'Does any one bishop hold it? Did any\n  one bishop ever hold it? Has it ever been formally admitted as\n  tenable by any one bishop? Is it a view got up to meet existing\n  difficulties, or has it an historical existence?' Bateman could give\n  only one answer to {51} these questions, as they were successively\n  put to him. 'I thought so,' said Charles; 'the view is specious\n  certainly. I don't we why it might not have done, had it been\n  tolerably sanctioned; but you have no sanction to show me. As it\n  stands, it is a mere theory struck out by individuals. Our church\n  _might_ have adopted this mode of interpreting the Articles; but,\n  from what you tell me, it certainly has not done so.'\"--Ch. 15.\n\nHowever, the Tract did not carry its object and conditions on its\nface, and necessarily lay open to interpretations very far from the\ntrue one. Dr. Wiseman (as he then was), in particular, with the keen\napprehension which was his characteristic, at once saw in it a basis\nof accommodation between Anglicanism and Rome. He suggested broadly\nthat the decrees of the Council of Trent should be made the rule of\ninterpretation for the Thirty-nine Articles, a proceeding of which\nSancta Clara, I think, had set the example; and, as you have observed,\npublished a letter to Lord Shrewsbury on the subject, of which the\nfollowing are extracts:\n\n  \"We Catholics must necessarily deplore [England's] separation as a\n  deep moral evil--as state of schism of which nothing can justify the\n  continuance. Many members of the Anglican Church view it in the same\n  light as to the first point--its sad evil; though they excuse their\n  individual position in it as an unavoidable misfortune. . . . We may\n  depend upon a willing, an able, and a most zealous co-operation with\n  any effort which we may make toward bringing her into her rightful\n  position, in Catholic unity with the Holy See and the churches of\n  its obedience--in other words, with the church Catholic. Is this a\n  visionary idea? Is it merely the expression of strong desire? I know\n  that many will so judge it; and, perhaps, were I to consult my own\n  quiet, I would not venture to express it. But I will, in simplicity\n  of heart, cling to hopefulness, cheered, as I feel it, by so many\n  promising appearances. . . .\n\n  \"A natural question here presents itself--what facilities appear in\n  the present state of things for bringing about so happy a\n  consummation as the reunion of England to the Catholic Church,\n  beyond what have before existed, and particularly under Archbishops\n  Laud or Wake? It strikes me, many. First, etc. . . . A still more\n  promising circumstance I think your lordship will with me consider\n  the _plan_ which the eventful 'Tract No. 90' has pursued, and in\n  which Mr. Ward, Mr. Oakeley, and even Dr. Pusey have agreed. I\n  allude to the method of _bringing their doctrines into accordance\n  with ours by explanation._ A foreign priest has pointed out to us a\n  valuable document for our consideration--'Bossuet's Reply to the\n  Pope,' when consulted on the best method of reconciling the\n  followers of the Augsburg Confession with the Holy See. The learned\n  bishop observes, that Providence had allowed so much Catholic truth\n  to be preserved in that Confession that full advantage should be\n  taken of the circumstance; that no retractations should be demanded,\n  but an explanation of the Confession in accordance with Catholic\n  doctrines. Now, for such a method as this, the way is in part\n  prepared by the demonstration that such interpretation may be given\n  of the most difficult Articles as will strip them of all\n  contradiction to the decrees of the Tridentine Synod. The same\n  method may be pursued on other points; and much pain may thus be\n  spared to individuals, and much difficulty to the church.\"--Pp. 11,\n  35, 38.\n\nThis use of my Tract, so different from my own, but sanctioned by the\ngreat name of our cardinal, you are now reviving; and I gather from\nyour doing so, that your bishops and the opinion of the public are\nlikely now, or in prospect, to admit what twenty-five years ago they\nrefused. On this point, much as it rejoices me to know your\nanticipation, of course I cannot have an opinion.\n\n4. So much for \"Tract 90.\" On the other hand, as to my \"Essay on\nDoctrinal Development,\" I am sorry to find you do not look upon it\nwith friendly eyes; though how, without its aid, you can maintain the\ndoctrines of the Holy Trinity and incarnation, and others which you\nhold, I cannot understand. You consider my principle may be the means,\nin time to come, of introducing into our Creed, as portions of the\nnecessary Catholic faith, the infallibility of the Pope, and various\nopinions, pious or profane, as it may be, about our Blessed Lady. I\nhope to remove your anxiety as to these consequences, before I bring\nmy {52} observations to an end; at present I notice it as my apology\nfor interfering in a controversy which at first sight is no business\nof mine.\n\n5. I have another reason for writing; and that is, unless it is rude\nin me to say so, because you seem to think writing does not become me.\nI do not like silently to acquiesce in such a judgment You say at p.\n98:\n\n  \"Nothing can be more unpractical than for an individual to throw\n  himself into the Roman Church because he could accept the _letter_\n  of the Council of Trent. Those who were born Roman Catholics have a\n  liberty which, in the nature of things, a person could not have who\n  left another system to embrace that of Rome. I cannot imagine how\n  any faith could stand the shock of leaving one system, criticising\n  _it_, and cast himself into another system, criticising _it_. For\n  myself, I have always felt that had (which God of his mercy avert\n  hereafter also) the English Church, by accepting heresy, driven me\n  out of it, I could have gone in no other way than that of closing my\n  eyes, and accepting whatever was put before me. But a liberty which\n  individuals could not use, and explanations which, so long as they\n  remain individual, must be unauthoritative, might be formally made\n  by the Church of Rome to the Church of England as the basis of\n  reunion.\"\n\nAnd again, p. 210:\n\n  \"It seems to me to be a psychological impossibility for one who has\n  already exchanged one system for another to make those distinctions.\n  One who, by his own act, places himself under authority, cannot make\n  conditions about his submission. But definite explanations of our\n  Articles have, before now, been at least tentatively offered to us,\n  on the Roman and Greek side, as sufficient to restore communion; and\n  the Roman explanations too were, in most cases, mere supplements to\n  our Articles, on points upon which our Church had not spoken.\"\n\nNow passages such as these seem almost a challenge to me to speak, and\nto keep silence would be to assent to the justice of them. At the\ncost, then, of speaking about myself, of which I feel there has been\ntoo much of late, I observe upon them as follows: Of course, as you\nsay, a convert comes to learn, and not to pick and choose. He comes in\nsimplicity and confidence, and it does not occur to him to weigh and\nmeasure every proceeding, every practice which he meets with among\nthose whom he has joined. He comes to Catholicism as to a living\nsystem, with a living teaching, and not to a mere collection of\ndecrees and canons, which by themselves are of course but the\nframework, not the body and substance, of the church. And this is a\ntruth which concerns, which binds, those also who never knew any other\nreligion, not only the convert. By the Catholic system I mean that\nrule of life and those practices of devotion for which we shall look\nin vain in the Creed of Pope Pius. The convert comes, not only to\nbelieve the church, but also to trust and obey her priests, and to\nconform himself in charity to her people. It would never do for him to\nresolve that he never would say a Hail Mary, never avail himself of an\nindulgence, never kiss a crucifix, never accept the Lent\ndispensations, never mention a venial sin in confession. All this\nwould not only be unreal, but dangerous, too, as arguing a wrong state\nof mind, which could not look to receive the divine blessing.\nMoreover, he comes to the ceremonial, and the moral theology, and the\necclesiastical regulations which he finds on the spot where his lot is\ncast. And again, as regards matters of politics, of education, of\ngeneral expedience, of taste, he does not criticise or controvert. And\nthus surrendering himself to the influences of his new religion, and\nnot losing what is revealed truth by attempting by his own private\nrule to discriminate every moment its substance from its accidents, he\nis gradually so indoctrinated in Catholicism as at length to have a\nright to speak as well as to hear. Also, in course of time, a new\ngeneration rises round him; and there is no reason why he should not\nknow as much, and decide questions with as true an instinct, as those\nwho perhaps number fewer years than he does Easter communions. {53} He\nhas mastered the fact and the nature of the differences of theologian\nfrom theologian, school from school, nation from nation, era from era.\nHe knows that there is much of what may be called fashion in opinions\nand practices, according to the circumstances of time and place,\naccording to current politics, the character of the Pope of the day,\nor the chief prelates of a particular country, and that fashions\nchange. His experience tells him, that sometimes what is denounced in\none place as a great offence, or preached up as a first principle, has\nin another nation been immemorially regarded in just a contrary sense,\nor has made no sensation at all, one way or the other, when brought\nbefore public opinion; and that loud talkers, in the church as\nelsewhere, are apt to carry all before them, while quiet and\nconscientious persons commonly have to give way. He perceives that, in\nmatters which happen to be in debate, ecclesiastical authority watches\nthe state of opinion and the direction and course of controversy, and\ndecides accordingly; so that in certain cases to keep back his own\njudgment on a point is to be disloyal to his superiors.\n\nSo far generally; now in particular as to myself. After twenty years\nof Catholic life, I feel no delicacy in giving my opinion on any point\nwhen there is a call for me, and the only reason why I have not done\nso sooner, or more often than I have, is that there has been no call.\nI have now reluctantly come to the conclusion that your volume _is_ a\ncall. Certainly, in many instances in which theologian differs from\ntheologian, and country from country, I have a definite judgment of my\nown; I can say so without offence to any one, for the very reason that\nfrom the nature of the case it is impossible to agree with all of\nthem. I prefer English habits of belief and devotion to foreign, from\nthe same causes, and by the same right, which justify foreigners in\npreferring their own. In following those of my people, I show less\nsingularity and create less disturbance than if I made a flourish with\nwhat is novel and exotic. And in this line of conduct I am but\navailing myself of the teaching which I fell in with on becoming a\nCatholic; and it is a pleasure to me to think that what I hold now,\nand would transmit after me if I could, is only what I received then.\nThe utmost delicacy was observed on all hands in giving me advice;\nonly one warning remains on my mind, and it came from Dr. Griffiths,\nthe late vicar-apostolic of the London district. He warned me against\nbooks of devotion of the Italian school, which were just at that time\ncoming into England; and when I asked him what books he recommended as\nsafe guides, he bade me get the works of Bishop Hay. By this I did not\nunderstand that he was jealous of all Italian books, or made himself\nresponsible for all that Dr. Hay happens to have said; but I took him\nto caution me against a character and tone of religion, excellent in\nits place, not suited for England. When I went to Rome, though it may\nseem strange to you to say it, even there I learned nothing\ninconsistent with this judgment. Local influences do not supply an\natmosphere for its institutions and colleges, which are Catholic in\nteaching as well as in name. I recollect one saying among others of my\nconfessor, a Jesuit father, one of the holiest, most prudent men I\never knew. He said that we could not love the Blessed Virgin too much,\nif we loved our Lord a great deal more. When I returned to England,\nthe first expression of theological opinion which came in my way was\n_apropos_ of the series of translated saints' lives which the late Dr.\nFaber originated. That expression proceeded from a wise prelate, who\nwas properly anxious as to the line which might be taken by the Oxford\nconverts, then for the first time coming into work. According as I\nrecollect his opinion, he was apprehensive of the effect of Italian\n{54} compositions, as unsuited to this country, and suggested that the\nlives should be original works, drawn up by ourselves and our friends\nfrom Italian sources. If at that time I was betrayed into any acts\nwhich were of a more extreme character than I should approve now, the\nresponsibility of course is mine; but the impulse came not from old\nCatholics or superiors, but from men whom I loved and trusted who were\nyounger than myself. But to whatever extent I might be carried away,\nand I cannot recollect any tangible instances, my mind in no long time\nfell back to what seems to me a safer and more practical course.\n\nThough I am a convert, then, I think I have a right to speak out; and\nthat the more because other converts have spoken for a long time,\nwhile I have not spoken; and with still more reason may I speak\nwithout offence in the case of your present criticisms of us,\nconsidering that, in the charges you bring, the only two English\nwriters you quote in evidence are both of them converts, younger in\nage than myself. I put aside the archbishop, of course, because of his\noffice. These two authors are worthy of all consideration, at once\nfrom their character and from their ability. In their respective lines\nthey are perhaps without equals at this particular time; and they\ndeserve the influence they possess. One is still in the vigor of his\npowers; the other has departed amid the tears of hundreds. It is\npleasant to praise them for their real qualifications; but why do you\nrest on them as authorities? Because the one was \"a popular writer;\"\nbut is there not sufficient reason for this in the fact of his\nremarkable gifts, of his poetical fancy, his engaging frankness, his\nplayful wit, his affectionateness, his sensitive piety, without\nsupposing that the wide diffusion of his works arises out of his\nparticular sentiments about the Blessed Virgin? And as to our other\nfriend, do not his energy, acuteness, and theological reading,\ndisplayed on the vantage ground of the historic \"Dublin Review,\" fully\naccount for the sensation he has produced, without supposing that any\ngreat number of our body go his lengths in their view of the Pope's\ninfallibility? Our silence as regards their writings is very\nintelligible: it is not agreeable to protest, in the sight of the\nworld, against the writings of men in our own communion whom we love\nand respect. But the plain fact is this--they came to the Church, and\nhave thereby saved their souls; but they are in no sense spokesmen for\nEnglish Catholics, and they must not stand in the place of those who\nhave a real title to such an office. The chief authors of the passing\ngeneration, some of them still alive, others gone to their reward, are\nCardinal Wiseman, Dr. Ullathorne, Dr. Lingard, Mr. Tierney, Dr.\nOliver, Dr. Rock, Dr. Waterworth, Dr. Husenbeth, and Mr. Flanagan;\nwhich of these ecclesiastics has said anything extreme about the\nprerogatives of the Blessed Virgin or the infallibility of the Pope?\n\nI cannot, then, without remonstrance, allow you to identify the\ndoctrine of our Oxford friends in question, on the two subjects I have\nmentioned, with the present spirit or the prospective creed of\nCatholics; or to assume, as you do, that, because they are\nthorough-going and relentless in their statements, therefore they are\nthe harbingers of a new age, when to show a deference for antiquity\nwill be thought little else than a mistake. For myself, hopeless as\nyou consider it, I am not ashamed still to take my stand upon the\nfathers, and do not mean to budge. The history of their times is not\nyet an old almanac to me. Of course I maintain the value and authority\nof the \"Schola,\" as one of the _loci theologici;_ still I sympathize\nwith Petavius in preferring to its \"contentious and subtle theology\"\nthat {55} \"more elegant and fruitful teaching which is moulded after\nthe image of erudite antiquity.\" The fathers made me a Catholic, and I\nam not going to kick down the ladder by which I ascended into the\nchurch. It is a ladder quite as serviceable for that purpose now as it\nwas twenty years ago. Though I hold, as you remark, a process of\ndevelopment in apostolic truth as time goes on, such development does\nnot supersede the fathers, but explains and completes them. And, in\nparticular, as regards our teaching concerning the Blessed Virgin,\nwith the fathers I am content; and to the subject of that teaching I\nmean to address myself at once. I do so because you say, as I myself\nhave said in former years, that \"that vast system as to the Blessed\nVirgin . . . . to all of us has been the special _crux_ of the Roman\nsystem,\" p. 101. Here, I say, as on other points, the fathers are\nenough for me. I do not wish to say more than they, and will not say\nless. You, I know, will profess the same; and thus we can join issue\non a clear and broad principle, and may hope to come to some\nintelligible result. We are to have a treatise on the subject of our\nLady soon from the pen of the most reverend prelate; but that cannot\ninterfere with such a mere argument from the fathers as that to which\nI shall confine myself here. Nor indeed, as regards that argument\nitself, do I profess to be offering you any new matter, any facts\nwhich have not been used by others--by great divines, as Petavius, by\nliving writers, nay, by myself on other occasions; I write afresh\nnevertheless, and that for three reasons: first, because I wish to\ncontribute to the accurate statement and the full exposition of the\nargument in question; next, because I may gain a more patient hearing\nthan has sometimes been granted to better men than myself; lastly,\nbecause there just now seems a call on me, under my circumstances, to\navow plainly what I do and what I do not hold about the Blessed\nVirgin, that others may know, did they come to stand where I stand,\nwhat they would and what they would not be bound to hold concerning\nher.\n\n\nI begin by making a distinction which will go far to remove good part\nof the difficulty of my undertaking, as it presents itself to ordinary\ninquirers--the distinction between faith and devotion. I fully grant\nthat _devotion_ toward the Blessed Virgin has increased among\nCatholics with the progress of centuries; I do not allow that the\n_doctrine_ concerning her has undergone a growth, for I believe that\nit has been in substance one and the same from the beginning.\n\nBy \"faith\" I mean the Creed and the acceptance of the Creed; by\n\"devotion\" I mean such religious honors as belong to the objecis of\nour faith, and the payment of those honors. Faith and devotion are as\ndistinct in fact as they are in idea. We cannot, indeed, be devout\nwithout faith, but we may believe without feeling devotion. Of this\nphenomenon every one has experience both in himself and in others; and\nwe express it as often as we speak of realizing a truth or not\nrealizing it. It may be illustrated, with more or less exactness, by\nmatters which come before us in the world. For instance, a great\nauthor, or public man, may be acknowledged as such for a course of\nyears; yet there may be an increase, an ebb and flow, and a fashion,\nin his popularity. And if he takes a lasting place in the minds of his\ncountrymen, he may gradually grow into it, or suddenly be raised to\nit. The idea of Shakespeare as a great poet has existed from a very\nearly date in public opinion; and there were at least individuals then\nwho understood him as well, and honored him as much, as the English\npeople can honor him now; yet, I think, there is a national devotion\nto him in this day such as never has been before. This has happened\nbecause, as education spreads in the country, there are more men able\nto enter into his {56} poetical genius, and, among these, more\ncapacity again for deeply and critically understanding him; and yet,\nfrom the first, he has exerted a great insensible influence over the\nnation, as is seen in the circumstance that his phrases and sentences,\nmore than can be numbered, have become almost proverbs among us. And\nso again in philosophy, and in the arts and sciences, great truths and\nprinciples have sometimes been known and acknowledged for a course of\nyears; but, whether from feebleness of intellectual power in the\nrecipients, or external circumstances of an accidental kind, they have\nnot been turned to account. Thus, the Chinese are said to have known\nof the properties of the magnet from time immemorial, and to have used\nit for land expeditions, yet not on the sea. Again, the ancients knew\nof the principle that water finds its own level, but seem to have made\nlittle application of their knowledge. And Aristotle was familiar with\nthe principle of induction; yet it was left for Bacon to develop it\ninto an experimental philosophy. Illustrations such as these, though\nnot altogether apposite, serve to convey that distinction between\nfaith and devotion on which I am insisting. It is like the distinction\nbetween objective and subjective truth. The sun in the springtime will\nhave to shine many days before he is able to melt the frost, open the\nsoil, and bring out the leaves; yet he shines out from the first,\nnotwithstanding, though he makes his power felt but gradually. It is\none and the same sun, though his influence day by day becomes greater;\nand so in the Catholic Church, it is the one Virgin Mother, one and\nthe same from first to last, and Catholics may acknowledge her; and\nyet, in spite of that acknowledgment, their devotion to her may be\nscanty in one time and place and overflowing in another.\n\nThis distinction is forcibly brought home to a convert, as a\npeculiarity of the Catholic religion, on his first introduction to its\nworship. The faith is everywhere one and the same; but a large liberty\nis accorded to private judgment and inclination in matters of\ndevotion. Any large church, with its collections and groups of people,\nwill illustrate this. The fabric itself is dedicated to Almighty God,\nand that under the invocation of the Blessed Virgin, or some\nparticular saint; or again, of some mystery belonging to the Divine\nname, or to the incarnation, or of some mystery associated with the\nBlessed Virgin. Perhaps there are seven altars or more in it, and\nthese again have their several saints. Then there is the feast proper\nto the particular day; and, during the celebration of mass, of all the\nworshippers who crowd around the priest each has his own particular\ndevotions, with which he follows the rite. No one interferes with his\nneighbor; agreeing, as it were, to differ, they pursue independently a\ncommon end, and by paths, distinct but converging, present themselves\nbefore God. Then there are confraternities attached to the church: of\nthe sacred heart, or the precious blood; associations of prayer for a\ngood death, or the repose of departed souls, or the conversion of the\nheathen: devotions connected with the brown, blue, or red scapular;\nnot to speak of the great ordinary ritual through the four seasons,\nthe constant presence of the blessed sacrament, its ever recurring\nrite of benediction, and its extraordinary forty hours' exposition.\nOr, again, look through some such manual of prayers as the _Raccolta_,\nand you at once will see both the number and the variety of devotions\nwhich are open to individual Catholics to choose from, according to\ntheir religious taste and prospect of personal edification.\n\nNow these diversified modes of honoring God did not come to us in a\nday, or only from the apostles; they are the accumulations of\ncenturies; and, as in the course of years some of them spring up, so\nothers decline and die Some are local, in memory of some particular\nsaint who happens to be the evangelist, or patron, or pride of the\n{57} nation, or who is entombed in the church, or in the city where it\nstands; and these, necessarily, cannot have an earlier date than the\nsaint's day of death or interment there. The first of such sacred\nobservances, long before these national memories, were the devotions\npaid to the apostles, then those which were paid to the martyrs; yet\nthere were saints nearer to our Lord than either martyrs or apostles;\nbut, as if these had been lost in the effulgence of his glory, and\nbecause they were not manifested in external works separate from him,\nit happened that for a long while they were less thought of. However,\nin process of time the apostles, and then the martyrs, exerted less\ninfluence than before over the popular mind, and the local saints, new\ncreations of God's power, took their place, or again, the saints of\nsome religious order here or there established. Then, as comparatively\nquiet times succeeded, the religious meditations of holy men and their\nsecret intercourse with heaven gradually exerted an influence out of\ndoors, and permeated the Christian populace, by the instrumentality of\npreaching and by the ceremonial of the church. Then those luminous\nstars rose in the ecclesiastical heavens which were of more august\ndignity than any which had preceded them, and were late in rising for\nthe very reason that they were so specially glorious. Those names, I\nsay, which at first sight might have been expected to enter soon into\nthe devotions of the faithful, with better reason might have been\nlooked for at a later date, and actually were late in their coming.\nSt. Joseph furnishes the most striking instance of this remark; here\nis the clearest of instances of the distinction between doctrine and\ndevotion. Who, from his prerogatives and the testimony on which they\ncome to us, had a greater claim to receive an early recognition among\nthe faithful? A saint of Scripture, the foster-father of our Lord, was\nan object of the universal and absolute faith of the Christian world\nfrom the first, yet the devotion to him is comparatively of late date.\nWhen once it began, men seemed surprised that it had not been thought\nof before; and now they hold him next to the Blessed Virgin in their\nreligious affection and veneration.\n\nAs regards the Blessed Virgin, I shall postpone the question of\ndevotion for a while, and inquire first into the doctrine of the\nundivided church (to use your controversial phrase) on the subject of\nher prerogatives.\n\nWhat is the great rudimental teaching of antiquity from its earliest\ndate concerning her? By \"rudimental teaching\" I mean the _prim\u00e2 facie_\nview of her person and office, the broad outline laid down of her, the\naspect under which she comes to us in the writings of the fathers. She\nis the second Eve.  [Footnote 11] Now let us consider what this\nimplies. Eve had a definite, essential position in the first covenant.\nThe fate of the human race lay with Adam; he it was who represented\nus. It was in Adam that we fell; though Eve had fallen, still, if Adam\nhad stood, we should not have lost those supernatural privileges which\nwere bestowed upon him as our first father. Yet though Eve was not the\nhead of the race, still, even as regards the race, she had a place of\nher own; for Adam, to whom was divinely committed the naming of all\nthings, entitled her \"the mother of all the living;\" a name surely\nexpressive not of a fact only but of a dignity; but further, as she\nthus had her own general relation to the human race, so again had she\nher own special place, as regards its trial and its fall in Adam. In\nthose primeval events, Eve had an integral share. \"The woman, being\nseduced, was in the transgression.\" She listened to the evil angel;\nshe offered the fruit to her husband, and he ate of it. She\nco-operated not as an irresponsible instrument, but intimately and\npersonally in the sin; she brought it about. As the history stands,\nshe was a _sine qua non_, a positive, active cause of it. {58} And she\nhad her share in its punishment; in the sentence pronounced on her,\nshe was recognized as a real agent in the temptation and its issue,\nand she suffered accordingly. In that awful transaction there were\nthree parties concerned--the serpent, the woman, and the man; and at\nthe time of their sentence an event was announced for the future, in\nwhich the three same parties were to meet again, the serpent, the\nwoman, and the man; but it was to be a second Adam and a second Eve,\nand the new Eve was to be the mother of the new Adam. \"I will put\nenmity between thee and the woman, and between thy seed and her seed.\"\nThe seed of the woman is the word incarnate, and the woman whose seed\nor son he is is his mother Mary. This interpretation and the\nparallelism it involves seem to me undeniable; but, at all events (and\nthis is my point), the parallelism is the doctrine of the fathers,\nfrom the earliest times; and, this being established, by the position\nand office of Eve in our fall, we are able to determine the position\nand office of Mary in our restoration.\n\n  [Footnote 11: _Vid_. \"Essay on Development of Doctrine,\" 1845, p.\n  384, etc.]\n\nI shall adduce passages from their writings, with their respective\ncountries and dates; and the dates shall extend from their births or\nconversions to their deaths, since what they propound is at once the\ndoctrine which they had received from the generation before them, and\nthe doctrine which was accepted and recognized as true by the\ngeneration to whom they transmitted it.\n\nFirst, then, St. Justin Martyr (A.D. 120-165), St. Irenaeus (120-200),\nand Tertullian (160-240). Of these Tertullian represents Africa and\nRome, St. Justin represents Palestine, and St. Irenaeus Asia Minor and\nGaul--or rather he represents St. John the Evangelist, for he had been\ntaught by the martyr St. Polycarp, who was the intimate associate, as\nof St. John, 60 of the other apostles.\n\n1. St. Justin:  [Footnote 12]\n\n  [Footnote 12: I have attempted to translate literally without caring\n  to write English. ]\n\n  \"We know that he, before all creatures proceeded from the Father by\n  his power and will, . . . and by means of the Virgin became man,\n  that by what way the disobedience arising from the serpent had its\n  beginning, by that way also it might have an undoing. For Eve, being\n  a virgin and undefiled, conceiving the word that was from the\n  serpent, brought forth disobedience and death; but the Virgin Mary,\n  taking faith and joy, when the angel told her the good tidings, that\n  the Spirit of the Lord should come upon her and the power of the\n  highest overshadow her, and therefore the holy one that was born of\n  her was Son of God, answered. Be it to me according to thy\n  word.\"--_Tryph_. 100.\n\n2. Tertullian:\n\n  \"God recovered his image and likeness, which the devil had seized,\n  by a rival operation. For into Eve, as yet a virgin, had crept the\n  word which was the framer of death. Equally into a virgin was to be\n  introduced the Word of God which was the builder-up of life; that,\n  what by that sex had gone into perdition, by the same sex might be\n  brought back to salvation. Eve had believed the serpent; Mary\n  believed Gabriel; the fault which the one committed by believing,\n  the other by believing has blotted out.\"--_De Carn. Christ_, 17.\n\n3. St Irenaeus:\n\n  \"With a fitness, Mary the Virgin is found obedient, saying, 'Behold\n  thy handmaid, O Lord; be it to me according to thy word.' But Eve\n  was disobedient; for she obeyed not, while she was yet a virgin. As\n  she, having indeed Adam for a husband, but as yet being a virgin,\n  . . . becoming disobedient, became the cause of death both to herself\n  and to the whole human race, so also Mary, having the predestined\n  man, and being yet a virgin, being obedient, became both to herself\n  and to the whole human race the cause of salvation. . . . And on\n  account of this the Lord said, that the first would be last and the\n  last first. And the prophet signifies the same, saying, 'Instead of\n  fathers you have children.' For, whereas the Lord, when born, was\n  the first begotten of the dead, and received into his bosom the\n  primitive fathers, he regenerated them into the life of God, he\n  himself becoming the beginning of the living, since Adam became the\n  beginning of the dying. Therefore also Luke, commencing the lines of\n  generations from the Lord, referred it back to Adam, signifying that\n  he regenerated the old fathers, not they him, into the gospel of\n  life. And so the knot {59} of Eve's disobedience received its\n  unloosing through the obedience of Mary; for what Eve, a virgin,\n  bound by incredulity, that Mary, a virgin, unloosed by faith.\"--\n  _Adv. Haer_, iii. 22. 34.\n\nAnd again:\n\n  \"As Eve by the speech of an angel was seduced, so as to flee God,\n  transgressing his word, so also Mary received the good tidings by\n  means of the angel's speech, so as to bear God within her, being\n  obedient to his word. And, though the one had disobeyed God, yet the\n  other was drawn to obey God; that of the virgin Eve the virgin Mary\n  might become the advocate. And, as by a virgin the human race had\n  been bound to death, by a virgin it is saved, the balance being\n  preserved, a virgin's disobedience by a virgin's obedience.\"\n  --_Ibid_. v. 19.\n\nNow, what is especially noticeable in these three writers is, that\nthey do not speak of the Blessed Virgin as the physical instrument of\nour Lord's taking flesh, but as an intelligent, responsible cause of\nit; her faith and obedience being accessories to the incarnation, and\ngaining it as her reward. As Eve failed in these virtues, and thereby\nbrought on the fall of the race in Adam, so Mary by means of them had\na part in its restoration. You imply, pp. 255, 256, that the Blessed\nVirgin was only a physical instrument in our redemption; \"what has\nbeen said of her by the fathers as the chosen _vessel_ of the\nincarnation, was applied _personally_ to her\" (that is, by Catholics),\np. 151; and again, \"The fathers speak of the Blessed Virgin as the\n_instrument_ of our salvation, _in that_ she gave birth to the\nRedeemer,\" pp. 155, 156; whereas St. Augustine, in well-known\npassages, speaks of her as more exalted by her sanctity than by her\nrelationship to our Lord.  [Footnote 13] However, not to go beyond the\ndoctrine of the three fathers, they unanimously declare that she was\nnot a mere instrument in the incarnation, such as David, or Judah, may\nbe considered; they declare she co-operated in our salvation, not\nmerely by the descent of the Holy Ghost upon her body, but by specific\nholy acts, the effect of the Holy Ghost upon her soul; that, as Eve\nforfeited privileges by sin, so Mary earned privileges by the fruits\nof grace; that, as Eve was disobedient and unbelieving, so Mary was\nobedient and believing; that, as Eve was a cause of ruin to all, Mary\nwas a cause of salvation to all; that, as Eve made room for Adam's\nfall, so Mary made room for our Lord's reparation of it; and thus,\nwhereas the free gift was not as the offence, but much greater, it\nfollows that, as Eve co-operated in effecting a great evil, Mary\nco-operated in effecting a much greater good.\n\n  [Footnote 13: Opp., t. 8, p. 2, col. 369, t. 6, col. 342.]\n\nAnd, beside the run of the argument, which reminds the reader of St.\nPaul's antithetical sentences in tracing the analogy between Adam's\nwork and our Lord's work, it is well to observe the particular words\nunder which the Blessed Virgin's office is described. Tertullian says\nthat Mary \"blotted out\" Eve's fault, and \"brought back the female\nsex,\" or \"the human race, to salvation;\" and St. Irenaeus says that\n\"by obedience she was the cause or occasion\" (whatever was the\noriginal Greek word) \"of salvation to herself and the whole human\nrace;\" that by her the human race is saved; that by her Eve's\ncomplication is disentangled; and that she is Eve's advocate, or\nfriend in need. It is supposed by critics, Protestant as well as\nCatholic, that the Greek word for advocate in the original was\nparaclete; it should be borne in mind, then, when we are accused of\ngiving our Lady the titles and offices of her Son, that St. Irenaeus\nbestows on her the special name and office proper to the Holy Ghost.\n\nSo much as to the nature of this triple testimony; now as to the worth\nof it. For a moment put aside St. Irenaeus, and put together St.\nJustin in the East with Tertullian in the West. I think I may assume\nthat the doctrine of these two fathers about the Blessed Virgin was\nthe received doctrine of their own {60} respective times and places;\nfor writers after all are but witnesses of facts and beliefs, and as\nsuch they are treated by all parties in controversial discussion.\nMoreover, the coincidence of doctrine which they exhibit, and, again,\nthe antithetical completeness of it, show that they themselves did not\noriginate it. The next question is, Who did? For from one definite\norgan or source, place or person, it must have come. Then we must\ninquire, what length of time would it take for such a doctrine to have\nextended, and to be received, in the second century over so wide an\narea; that is, to be received before the year 200 in Palestine,\nAfrica, and Rome? Can we refer the common source of these local\ntraditions to a date later than that of the apostles, St. John dying\nwithin thirty or forty years of St. Justin's conversion and\nTertullian's birth? Make what allowance you will for whatever possible\nexceptions can be taken to this representation; and then, after doing\nso, add to the concordant testimony of these two fathers the evidence\nof St. Irenaeus, which is so close upon the school of St. John himself\nin Asia Minor. \"A three-fold cord,\" as the wise man says, \"is not\nquickly broken.\" Only suppose there were so early and so broad a\ntestimony to the effect that our Lord was a mere man, the son of\nJoseph; should we be able to insist upon the faith of the Holy Trinity\nas necessary to salvation? Or supposing three such witnesses could be\nbrought to the fact that a consistory of elders governed the local\nchurches, or that each local congregation was an independent church,\nor that the Christian community was without priests, could Anglicans\nmaintain their doctrine that the rule of episcopal succession is\nnecessary to constitute a church? And recollect that the Anglican\nChurch especially appeals to the ante-Nicene centuries, and taunts us\nwith having superseded their testimony.\n\nHaving then adduced these three fathers of the second century, I have\nat least got so far as this, viz., no one, who acknowledges the force\nof early testimony in determining Christian truth, can wonder, no one\ncan complain, can object, that we Catholics should hold a very high\ndoctrine concerning the Blessed Virgin, unless indeed stronger\nstatements can be brought for a contrary conception of her, either of\nas early, or at least of a later date. But, as far as I know, no\nstatements can be brought from the ante-Nicene literature to\ninvalidate the testimony of the three fathers concerning her; and\nlittle can be brought against it from the fourth century, while in\nthat fourth century the current of testimony in her behalf is as\nstrong as in the second; and, as to the fifth, it is far stronger than\nin any former time, both in its fulness and its authority. This will\nto some extent be seen as I proceed.\n\n4. St Cyril, of Jerusalem (315-386), speaks for Palestine:\n\n  \"Since through Eve, a virgin, came death, it behoved that through a\n  virgin, or rather from a virgin, should life appear; that, as the\n  serpent had deceived the one, so to the other Gabriel might bring\n  good tidings.\"--_Cat_. xii. 15.\n\n5. St. Ephrem Syrus (lie died 378) is a witness for the Syrians proper\nand the neighboring Orientals, in contrast to the Graeco-Syrians. A\nnative of Nisibis, on the farther side of the Euphrates, he knew no\nlanguage but Syriac:\n\n  \"Through Eve the beautiful and desirable glory of men was\n  extinguished; but it has revived through Mary.\"--_Opp. Syr._, ii. p.\n  318.\n\nAgain:\n\n  \"In the beginning, by the sin of our first parents, death passed\n  upon all men; to-day, through Mary, we are translated from death\n  unto life. In the beginning, the serpent filled the ears of Eve, and\n  the poison spread thence over the whole body; to-day, Mary from her\n  ears received the {61} champion of eternal happiness; what,\n  therefore, was an instrument of death, was an instrument of life\n  also.\"--iii. p. 607.\n\nI have already referred to St. Paul's contrast between Adam and our\nLord in his Epistle to the Romans, as also in his first Epistle to the\nCorinthians. Some writers attempt to say that there is no doctrinal\ntruth, but a mere rhetorical display, in those passages. It is quite\nas easy to say so as to attempt so to dispose of this received\ncomparison, in the writings of the fathers, between Eve and Mary.\n\n6. St. Epiphanius (320-400) speaks for Egypt, Palestine, and Cyprus:\n\n  \"She it is who is signified by Eve, enigmatically receiving the\n  appellation of the mother of the living. . . . It was a wonder that\n  after the fall she had this great epithet. And, according to what is\n  material, from that Eve all the race of men on earth is generated.\n  But thus in truth from Mary the Life itself was born in the world,\n  that Mary might bear living things and become the mother of living\n  things. Therefore, enigmatically, Mary is called the mother of\n  living things. . . Also, there is another thing to consider as to\n  these women, and wonderful--as to Eve and Mary. Eve became a cause\n  of death to man . . . and Mary a cause of life; . . . that life\n  might be instead of death, life excluding death which came from the\n  woman, viz., he who through the woman has become our life.\"\n  --_Haer_. 78. 18.\n\n7. By the time of St. Jerome (331-420), the contrast between Eve and\nMary had almost passed into a proverb. He says (Ep. xxii. 21, ad\nEustoch.), \"Death by Eve, life by Mary.\" Nor let it be supposed that\nhe, any more than the preceding fathers, considered the Blessed Virgin\na mere physical instrument of giving birth to our Lord, who is the\nlife. So far from it, in the epistle from which I have quoted, he is\nonly adding another virtue to that crown which gained for Mary her\ndivine maternity. They have spoken of faith, joy, and obedience; St.\nJerome adds, what they had only suggested, virginity. After the manner\nof the fathers in his own day, he is setting forth the Blessed Mary to\nthe high-born Roman lady whom he is addressing as the model of the\nvirginal life; and his argument in its behalf is, that it is higher\nthan the marriage state, not in itself, viewed in any mere natural\nrespect, but as being the free act of self-consecration to God, and\nfrom the personal religious purpose which it involves:\n\n  \"Higher wage,\" he says, \"is due to that which is not a compulsion,\n  but an offering; for, were virginity commanded, marriage would seem\n  to be put out of the question; and it would be most cruel to force\n  men against nature, and to extort from them an angel's life.\"--20.\n\nI do not know whose testimony is more important than St. Jerome's, the\nfriend of Pope Damasus at Rome, the pupil of St. Gregory Nazianzen at\nConstantinople, and of Didymus in Alexandria, a native of Dalmatia,\nyet an inhabitant, at different times of his life, of Gaul, Syria, and\nPalestine.\n\n8. St. Jerome speaks for the whole world, except Africa; and for\nAfrica in the fourth century, if we must limit so world-wide an\nauthority to place, witnesses St. Augustine (354-430). He repeats the\nwords as if a proverb; \"By a woman death, by a woman life\" (Opp. t. v.\nSerm. 233); elsewhere he enlarges on the idea conveyed in it. In one\nplace he quotes St. Irenaeus's words as cited above (adv. Julian i.\n4). In another he speaks as follows:\n\n  \"It is a great sacrament that, whereas through woman death became\n  our portion, so life was born to us by woman; that, in the case of\n  both sexes, male and female, the baffled devil should be tormented,\n  when on the overthrow of both sexes he was rejoicing; whose\n  punishment had been small, if both sexes had been liberated in us,\n  without our being liberated through both.\"--_Opp. t. vi. De Agon,\n  Christ_, c. 24.\n\n{62}\n\n9. St. Peter Chrysologus (400-450), Bishop of Ravenna, and one of the\nchief authorities in the fourth General Council:\n\n  \"Blessed art thou among women; for among women, on whose womb Eve,\n  who was cursed, brought punishment, Mary, being blest, rejoices, is\n  honored, and is looked up to. And woman now is truly made through\n  grace the mother of the living, who had been by nature the mother of\n  the dying. . . . Heaven feels awe of God, angels tremble at him, the\n  creature sustains him not, nature sufficeth not, and yet one maiden\n  so takes, receives, entertains him, as a guest within her breast,\n  that, for the very hire of her home, and as the price of her womb,\n  she asks, she obtains, peace for the earth, glory for the heavens,\n  salvation for the lost, life for the dead, a heavenly parentage for\n  the earthly, the union of God himself with human flesh.\"--_Serm._\n  140.\n\nIt is difficult to express more explicitly, though in oratorical\nlanguage, that the Blessed Virgin had a real, meritorious\nco-operation, a share which had a \"hire\" and a \"price\" in the reversal\nof the fall.\n\n10. St. Fulgentius, Bishop of Ruspe in Africa (468-533). The homily\nwhich contains the following passage is placed by Ceillier (t. xvi. p.\n127) among his genuine works:\n\n  \"In the wife of the first man, the wickedness of the devil depraved\n  her seduced mind; in the mother of the second Man, the grace of God\n  preserved both her mind inviolate and her flesh. On her mind he\n  conferred the most firm faith; from her flesh he took away lust\n  altogether. Since then man was in a miserable way condemned for sin,\n  therefore without sin was in a marvellous way born the God\n  man.\"--_Serm_. 2, p. 124, _De Dupl. Nativ._\n\nAccordingly, in the sermon which follows (if it is his), he continues,\nillustrating her office of universal mother, as ascribed to her by St.\nEpiphanius:\n\n  \"Come ye virgins to a virgin, come ye who conceive to her who\n  conceived, ye who bear to one who bore, mothers to a mother, ye that\n  suckle to one who suckled, young girls to the young girl. It is for\n  this reason that the Virgin Mary has taken on her in our Lord Jesus\n  Christ all these divisions of nature, that to all women who have\n  recourse to her she may be a succor, and so restore the whole race\n  of women who come to her, being the new Eve, by keeping virginity,\n  as the new Adam, the Lord Jesus Christ, recovers the whole race of\n  men.\"\n\nSuch is the rudimental view, as I have called it, which the fathers\nhave given us of Mary, as the second Eve, the mother of the living. I\nhave cited ten authors. I could cite more were it necessary. Except\nthe two last, they write gravely and without any rhetoric. I allow\nthat the two last write in a different style, since the extracts I\nhave made are from their sermons; but I do not see that the coloring\nconceals the outline. And, after all, men use oratory on great\nsubjects, not on small; nor would they, and other fathers whom I might\nquote, have lavished their high language upon the Blessed Virgin, such\nas they gave to no one else, unless they knew well that no one else\nhad such claims as she had on their love and veneration.\n\nAnd now I proceed to dwell for a while upon two inferences, which it\nis obvious to draw from the rudimental doctrine itself; the first\nrelates to the sanctity of the Blessed Virgin, the second to her\ngreatness.\n\n1. Her _sanctity_. She holds, as the fathers teach us, that office in\nour restoration which Eve held in our fall. Now, in the first place,\nwhat were Eve's endowments to enable her to enter upon her trial? She\ncould not have stood against the wiles of the devil, though she was\ninnocent and sinless, without the grant of a large grace. And this she\nhad--a heavenly gift, which was over and above and additional to that\nnature of hers, which she received from Adam, as Adam before her had\nalso received the same gift, at the very time (as it is commonly held)\nof his original creation. This is Anglican doctrine as well as\nCatholic; it is the doctrine of Bishop Bull. He has written a\ndissertation on the point. He speaks of the doctrine which \"many of\nthe schoolmen affirm, that Adam was created {63} in grace--that is,\nreceived a principle of grace and divine life from his very creation,\nor in the moment of the infusion of his soul; of which,\" he says, \"for\nmy own part I have little doubt.\" Again, he says: \"It is abundantly\nmanifest, from the many testimonies alleged, that the ancient doctors\nof the church did, with a general consent, acknowledge that our first\nparents, in the state of integrity, had in them something more than\nnature--that is, were endowed with the divine principle of the\nSpirit, in order to a supernatural felicity.\"\n\nNow, taking this for granted, because I know that you and those who\nagree with you maintain it as well as we do, I ask, Was not Mary as\nfully endowed as Eve? is it any violent inference that she, who was to\nco-operate in the redemption of the world, at least was not less\nendowed with power from on high, than she who, given as a helpmate to\nher husband, did in the event but co-operate with him for its ruin? If\nEve was raised above human nature by that indwelling moral gift which\nwe call grace, is it rash to say that Mary had a greater grace? And\nthis consideration gives significance to the angel's salutation of her\nas \"full of grace\"--an interpretation of the original word which is\nundoubtedly the right one, as soon as we resist the common Protestant\nassumption that grace is a mere external approbation or acceptance,\nanswering to the word \"favor;\" whereas it is, as the fathers teach, a\nreal inward condition or superadded quality of soul. And if Eve had\nthis supernatural inward gift given her from the moment of her\npersonal existence, is it possible to deny that Mary too had this gift\nfrom the very first moment of her personal existence? I do not know\nhow to resist this inference--well, this is simply and literally the\ndoctrine of the immaculate conception. I say the doctrine of the\nimmaculate conception is in its substance this, and nothing more or\nless than this (putting aside the question of degrees of grace); and\nit really does seem to me bound up in that doctrine of the fathers,\nthat Mary is the second Eve.\n\nIt is to me a most strange phenomenon that so many learned and devout\nmen stumble at this doctrine, and I can only account for it by\nsupposing that, in matter of fact, they do not know what we mean by\nthe immaculate conception; and your volume (may I say it?) bears out\nmy suspicion. It is a great consolation to have reason for thinking\nso--for believing that in some sort the persons in question are in the\nposition of those great saints in former times who are said to have\nhesitated about it, when they would not have hesitated at all if the\nword \"conception\" had been clearly explained in that sense in which\nnow it is universally received. I do not see how any one who holds\nwith Bull the Catholic doctrine of the supernatural endowments of our\nfirst parents, has fair reason for doubting our doctrine about the\nBlessed Virgin. It has no reference whatever to her parents, but\nsimply to her own person; it does but affirm that, together with the\nnature which she inherited from her parents, that is, her own nature,\nshe had a superadded fulness of grace, and that from the first moment\nof her existence. Suppose Eve had stood the trial, and not lost her\nfirst grace, and suppose she had eventually had children, those\nchildren from the first moment of their existence would, through\ndivine bounty, have received the same privilege that she had ever had;\nthat is, as she was taken from Adam's side, in a garment, so to say,\nof grace, so they in turn would have received what may be called an\nimmaculate conception. They would have been conceived in grace, as in\nfact they are conceived in sin. What is there difficult in this\ndoctrine? What is there unnatural? Mary may be called a daughter of\nEve unfallen. You believe with us that St. John Baptist had grace\ngiven to him three months before his birth, at the time {64} that the\nBlessed Virgin visited his mother. He accordingly was not immaculately\nconceived, because he was alive before grace came to him; but our\nLady's case only differs from his in this respect, that to her grace\ncame not three months merely before her birth, but from the first\nmoment of her being, as it had been given to Eve.\n\nBut it may be said, How does this enable us to say that she was\nconceived without _original sin_? If Anglicans knew what we mean by\noriginal sin, they would not ask the question. Our doctrine of\noriginal sin is not the same as the Protestant doctrine. \"Original\nsin,\" with us, cannot be called sin in the ordinary sense of the word\n\"sin;\" it is a term denoting the _imputation_ of Adam's sin, or the\nstate to which Adam's sin reduces his children; but by Protestants it\nis understood to be sin in the same sense as actual sin. We, with the\nfathers, think of it as something negative; Protestants as something\npositive. Protestants hold that it is a disease, a change of nature, a\npoison internally corrupting the soul, and propagated from father to\nson, after the manner of a bad constitution; and they fancy that we\nascribe a different nature from ours to the Blessed Virgin, different\nfrom that of her parents, and from that of fallen Adam. We hold\nnothing of the kind; we consider that in Adam she died, as others;\nthat she was included, together with the whole race, in Adam's\nsentence; that she incurred his debt, as we do; but that, for the sake\nof him who was to redeem her and us upon the cross, to her the debt\nwas remitted by anticipation; on her the sentence was not carried out,\nexcept indeed as regards her natural death, for she died when her time\ncame, as others. All this we teach, but we deny that she had original\nsin; for by original sin we mean, as I have already said, something\nnegative, viz., this only, the _deprivation_ of that supernatural\nunmerited grace which Adam and Eve had on their creation--deprivation\nand the consequences of deprivation. Mary could not merit, any more\nthan they, the restoration of that grace; but it was restored to her\nby God's free bounty from the very first moment of her existence, and\nthereby, in fact, she never came under the original curse, which\nconsisted in the loss of it. And she had this special privilege in\norder to fit her to become the mother of her and our Redeemer, to fit\nher mentally, spiritually, for it; so that, by the aid of the first\ngrace, she might so grow in grace that when the angel came, and her\nLord was at hand, she might be \"full of grace,\" prepared, as far as a\ncreature could be prepared, to receive him into her bosom.\n\nI have drawn the doctrine of the immaculate conception, as an\nimmediate inference, from the primitive doctrine that Mary is the\nsecond Eve. The argument seems to me conclusive; and, if it has not\nbeen universally taken as such, this has come to pass because there\nhas not been a clear understanding among Catholics what exactly was\nmeant by the immaculate conception. To many it seemed to imply that\nthe Blessed Virgin did not die in Adam, that she did not come under\nthe penalty of the fall, that she was not redeemed; that she was\nconceived in some way inconsistent with the verse in the _Miserere_\npsalm. If controversy had in earlier days so cleared the subject as to\nmake it plain to all that the doctrine meant nothing else than that,\nin fact, in her case the general sentence on mankind was not carried\nout, and that by means of the indwelling in her of divine grace from\nthe first moment of her being (and this is all the decree of 1854 has\ndeclared), I cannot believe that the doctrine would have ever been\nopposed; for an instinctive sentiment has led Christians jealously to\nput the Blessed Mary aside when sin comes into discussion. This is\nexpressed in the well-known words of St. Augustine. All have sinned\n\"except the holy Virgin Mary, {65} concerning whom, for the honor of\nthe Lord, I wish no question to be raised at all, when we are treating\nof sins\" (de Nat. et Grat. 42); words which, whatever St. Augustine's\nactual occasion of using them (to which you refer, p. 176), certainly,\nin the spirit which they breathe, are well adapted to convey the\nnotion that, apart from her relation to her parents, she had not\npersonally any part in sin whatever. It is true that several great\nfathers of the fourth century do imply or assert that on one or two\noccasions she did sin venially or showed infirmity. This is the only\nreal objection which I know of; and, as I do not wish to pass it over\nlightly, I propose to consider it at the end of this letter.\n\n2. Now, secondly, her _greatness_. Here let us suppose that our first\nparents had overcome in their trial, and had gained for their\ndescendants for ever the full possession, as if by right, of the\nprivileges which were promised to their obedience--grace here and\nglory hereafter. Is it possible that those descendants, pious and\nhappy from age to age in their temporal homes, would have forgotten\ntheir benefactors? Would they not have followed them in thought into\nthe heavens, and gratefully commemorated them on earth? The history of\nthe temptation, the craft of the serpent, their steadfastness in\nobedience--the loyal vigilance, the sensitive purity of Eve--the great\nissue, salvation wrought out for all generations--would have been\nnever from their minds, ever welcome to their ears. This would have\ntaken place from the necessity of our nature. Every nation has its\nmythical hymns and epics about its first fathers and its heroes. The\ngreat deeds of Charlemagne, Alfred, Coeur de Lion, Wallace, Louis the\nNinth, do not die; and though their persons are gone from us, we make\nmuch of their names. Milton's Adam, after his fall, understands the\nforce of this law, and shrinks from the prospect of its operation:\n\n  \"Who of all ages to succeed but, feeling\n  The evil on him brought by me, will curse\n  My head? Ill fare our ancestor impure;\n  For this we may thank Adam.\"\n\nIf this anticipation has not been fulfilled in the event, it is owing\nto the needs of our penal life, our state of perpetual change, and the\nignorance and unbelief incurred by the fall; also because, fallen as\nwe are, from the hopefulness of our nature we feel more pride in our\nnational great men than dejection at our national misfortunes. Much\nmore then in the great kingdom and people of God--the saints are ever\nin our sight, and not as mere ineffectual ghosts, but as if present\nbodily in their past selves. It is said of them, \"Their works do\nfollow them;\" what they were here, such are they in heaven and in the\nchurch. As we call them by their earthly names, so we contemplate them\nin their earthly characters and histories. Their acts, callings, and\nrelations below are types and anticipations of their mission above.\nEven in the case of our Lord himself, whose native home is the eternal\nheavens, it is said of him in his state of glory, that he is a \"priest\nfor ever;\" and when he comes again he will be recognized, by those who\npierced him, as being the very same that he was on earth. The only\nquestion is, whether the Blessed Virgin had a part, a real part, in\nthe economy of grace, whether, when she was on earth, she secured by\nher deeds any claim on our memories; for, if she did, it is impossible\nwe should put her away from us, merely because she is gone hence, and\nnot look at her still, according to the measure of her earthly\nhistory, with gratitude and expectation. If, as St. Irenaeus says, she\ndid the part of an advocate, a friend in need, even in her mortal\nlife, if, as St. Jerome and St. Ambrose say, she was on earth the\ngreat pattern of virgins, if she had a meritorious share in bringing\nabout our redemption, if her maternity was earned by her faith and\nobedience, if her divine Son was subject to her, and if she stood by\nthe {66} cross with a mother's heart and drank in to the full those\nsufferings which it was her portion to gaze upon, it is impossible\nthat we should not associate these characteristics of her life on\nearth with her present state of blessedness; and this surely she\nanticipated, when she said in her hymn that \"all generations shall\ncall her blessed.\"\n\nI am aware that, in thus speaking, I am following a line of thought\nwhich is rather a meditation than an argument in controversy, and I\nshall not carry it further; but still, in turning to other topics, it\nis to the point to inquire whether the popular astonishment, excited\nby our belief in the Blessed Virgin's present dignity, does not arise\nfrom the circumstance that the bulk of men, engaged in matters of the\nworld, have never calmly considered her historical position in the\ngospels so as rightly to realize (if I may use the word a second time)\nwhat that position imports. I do not claim for the generality of\nCatholics any greater powers of reflection upon the objects of their\nfaith than Protestants commonly have, but there is a sufficient number\nof religious men among Catholics who, instead of expending their\ndevotional energies (as so many serious Protestants do) on abstract\ndoctrines, such as justification by faith only, or the sufficiency of\nholy Scripture, employ themselves in the contemplation of Scripture\nfacts, and bring out in a tangible form the doctrines involved in\nthem, and give such a substance and color to the sacred history as to\ninfluence their brethren, who, though superficial themselves, are\ndrawn by their Catholic instinct to accept conclusions which they\ncould not indeed themselves have elicited, but which, when elicited,\nthey feel to be true. However, it would be out of place to pursue this\ncourse of reasoning here; and instead of doing so, I shall take what\nperhaps you may think a very bold step--I shall find the doctrine of\nour Lady's present exaltation in Scripture.\n\nI mean to find it in the vision of the woman and child in the twelfth\nchapter of the Apocalypse.  [Footnote 14] Now here two objections will\nbe made to me at once: first, that such an interpretation is but\npoorly supported by the fathers; and secondly, that in ascribing such\na picture of the Madonna (as it may be called) to the apostolic age, I\nam committing an anachronism.\n\n  [Footnote 14: _Vid_. \"Essay on Doctr. Development,\" p. 384, and\n  Bishop Ullathorne's work on the \"Immaculate Conception,\" p. 77.]\n\nAs to the former of these objections, I answer as follows: Christians\nhave never gone to Scripture for proofs of their doctrines till there\nwas actual need from the pressure of controversy. If in those times\nthe Blessed Virgin's dignity were unchallenged on all hands as a\nmatter of doctrine, Scripture, as far as its argumentative matter was\nconcerned, was likely to remain a sealed book to them. Thus, to take\nan instance in point, the Catholic party in the English Church (say\nthe Non-jurors), unable by their theory of religion simply to take\ntheir stand on tradition, and distressed for proof of their doctrines,\nhad their eyes sharpened to scrutinize and to understand the letter of\nholy Scripture, which to others brought no instruction. And the\npeculiarity of their interpretations is this--that they have in\nthemselves great logical cogency, yet are but faintly supported by\npatristical commentators. Such is the use of the word [Greek text] or\n_facere_ in our Lord's institution of the holy eucharist, which, by a\nreference to the old Testament, is found to be a word of sacrifice.\nSuch again is [Greek text] in the passage in the Acts, \"As they\n_ministered_ to the Lord and fasted,\" which again is a sacerdotal\nterm. And such the passage in Rom. xv. 16, in which several terms are\nused which have an allusion to the sacrificial eucharistic rite. Such,\ntoo, is St. Paul's repeated message to the _household_ of Onesiphorus,\nwith no mention of Onesiphorus himself, but in one place, with the\naddition of a prayer that \"he might find mercy of the Lord\" in the day\nof {67} judgment, which, taking into account its wording and the known\nusage of the first centuries, we can hardly deny is a prayer for his\nsoul. Other texts there are which ought to find a place in ancient\ncontroversies, and the omission of which by the fathers affords matter\nfor more surprise; those, for instance, which, according to\nMiddleton's rule, are real proofs of our Lord's divinity, and yet are\npassed over by Catholic disputants; for these bear upon a then\nexisting controversy of the first moment and of the most urgent\nexigency.\n\nAs to the second objection which I have supposed, so far from allowing\nit, I consider that it is built upon a mere imaginary fact, and that\nthe truth of the matter lies in the very contrary direction. The\nVirgin and Child is _not_ a mere modern idea; on the contrary, it is\nrepresented again and again, as every visitor to Rome is aware, in the\npaintings of the Catacombs. Mary is there drawn with the Divine Infant\nin her lap, she with hands extended in prayer, he with his hand in the\nattitude of blessing. No representation can more forcibly convey the\ndoctrine of the high dignity of the mother, and, I will add, of her\npower over her Son. Why should the memory of his time of subjection be\nso dear to Christians, and so carefully preserved? The only question\nto be determined, is the precise date of these remarkable monuments of\nthe first age of Christianity. That they belong to the centuries of\nwhat Anglicans call the \"undivided church\" is certain; but lately\ninvestigations have been pursued which place some of them at an\nearlier date than any one anticipated as possible. I am not in a\nposition to quote largely from the works of the Cavaliere de Rossi,\nwho has thrown so much light upon the subject; but I have his \"Imagini\nScelte,\" published in 1863, and they are sufficient for my purpose. In\nthis work he has given us from the Catacombs various representations\nof the Virgin and Child; the latest of these belong to the early part\nof the fourth century, but the earliest he believes to be referable to\nthe very age of the apostles. He comes to this conclusion from the\nstyle and the skill of the composition, and from the history,\nlocality, and existing inscriptions of the subterranean in which it is\nfound. However, he does not go so far as to insist upon so early a\ndate; yet the utmost liberty he grants is to refer the painting to the\nera of the first Antonines--that is, to a date within half a century\nof the death of St. John. I consider then that, as you fairly use, in\ncontroversy with Protestants, the traditional doctrine of the church\nin early times, as an explanation of the Scripture text, or at least\nas a suggestion, or as a defence, of the sense which you may wish to\nput on it, quite apart from the question whether your interpretation\nitself is traditional, so it is lawful for me, though I have not the\npositive words of the fathers on my side, to shelter my own\ninterpretation of the apostle's vision under the fact of the extant\npictures of Mother and Child in the Roman Catacombs. There is another\nprinciple of Scripture interpretation which we should hold with\nyou--when we speak of a doctrine being contained in Scripture, we do\nnot necessarily mean that it is contained there in direct categorical\nterms, but that there is no other satisfactory way of accounting for\nthe language and expressions of the sacred writers, concerning the\nsubject-matter in question, than to suppose that they held upon it the\nopinions which we hold; that they would not have spoken as they have\nspoken _unless_ they held it. For myself I have ever felt the truth of\nthis principle, as regards the Scripture proof of the Holy Trinity; I\nshould not have found out that doctrine in the sacred text without\nprevious traditional teaching; but when once it is suggested from\nwithout, it commends itself as the one true interpretation, from its\nappositeness, because no other view of doctrine, which can be ascribed\nto the inspired writers, so happily {68} solves the obscurities and\nseeming inconsistencies of their teaching. And now to apply what I\nhave said to the passage in the Apocalypse.\n\nIf there is an apostle on whom, _\u00e0 priori_, our eyes would be fixed,\nas likely to teach us about the Blessed Virgin, it is St. John, to\nwhom she was committed by our Lord on the cross--with whom, as\ntradition goes, she lived at Ephesus till she was taken away. This\nanticipation is confirmed _\u00e0 posteriori_; for, as I have said above,\none of the earliest and fullest of our informants concerning her\ndignity, as being the second Eve, is Irenaeus, who came to Lyons from\nAsia Minor, and had been taught by the immediate disciples of St.\nJohn. The apostle's vision is as follows:\n\n\"A great sign appeared in heaven; a woman clothed with the sun, and\nthe moon under her feet; and on her head a crown of twelve stars. And\nbeing with child, she cried travailing in birth, and was in pain to be\ndelivered. And there was seen another sign in heaven; and behold a\ngreat red dragon . . . And the dragon stood before the woman who was\nready to be delivered, that, when she should be delivered, he might\ndevour her son. And she brought forth a man-child, who was to rule all\nnations with an iron rod; and her son was taken up to God and to his\nthrone. And the woman fled into the wilderness.\" Now I do not deny, of\ncourse, that, under the image of the woman, the church is signified;\nbut what I would maintain is this, that the holy apostle would not\nhave spoken of the church under this particular image _unless_ there\nhad existed a Blessed Virgin Mary, who was exalted on high, and the\nobject of veneration to all the faithful.\n\nNo one doubts that the \"man-child\" spoken of is an allusion to our\nLord; why, then, is not \"the woman\" an allusion to his mother? This\nsurely is the obvious sense of the words; of course it has a further\nsense also, which is the scope of the image; doubtless the child\nrepresents the children of the church, and doubtless the woman\nrepresents the church; this, I grant, is the real or direct sense, but\nwhat is the sense of the symbol? _who_ are the woman and the child? I\nanswer, They are not personifications but persons. This is true of the\nchild, therefore it is true of the woman.\n\nBut again: not only mother and child, but a serpent, is introduced\ninto the vision. Such a meeting of man, woman, and serpent has not\nbeen found in Scripture, since the beginning of Scripture, and now it\nis found in its end. Moreover, in the passage in the Apocalypse, as if\nto supply, before Scripture came to an end, what was wanting in its\nbeginning, we are told, and for the first time, that the serpent in\nParadise was the evil spirit. If the dragon of St. John is the same as\nthe serpent of Moses, and the man-child is \"the seed of the woman,\"\nwhy is not the woman herself she whose seed the man-child is? And, if\nthe first woman is not an allegory, why is the second? if the first\nwoman is Eve, why is not the second Mary?\n\nBut this is not all. The image of the woman, according to Scripture\nusage, is too bold and prominent for a mere personification. Scripture\nis not fond of allegories. We have indeed frequent figures there, as\nwhen the sacred writers speak of the arm or sword of the Lord; and so\ntoo when they speak of Jerusalem or Samaria in the feminine; or of the\nmountains leaping for joy, or of the church as a bride or as a vine;\nbut they are not much given to dressing up abstract ideas or\ngeneralizations in personal attributes. This is the classical rather\nthan the Scripture style. Xenophon places Hercules between Virtue and\nVice, represented as women; AEschylus introduces into his drama Force\nand Violence; Virgil gives personality to public rumor or Fame, and\nPlautus to Poverty. So on monuments done in the classical style, we\n{69} see  virtues, vices, rivers, renown, death, and the like, turned\ninto human figures of men and women. I do not say there are no\ninstances at all of this method in Scripture, but I say that such\npoetical compositions are strikingly unlike its usual method. Thus we\nat once feel its difference from Scripture, when we betake ourselves\nto the Pastor of Hermes, and find the church a woman, to St.\nMethodius, and find Virtue a woman, and to St. Gregory's poem, and\nfind Virginity again a woman. Scripture deals with types rather than\npersonifications. Israel stands for the chosen people, David for\nChrist, Jerusalem for heaven. Consider the remarkable representations,\ndramatic I may call them, in Jeremiah, Ezechiel, and Hosea;\npredictions, threatenings, and promises are acted out by those\nprophets. Ezechiel is commanded to shave his head, and to divide and\nscatter his hair; and Ahias tears his garment, and gives ten out of\ntwelve parts of it to Jeroboam. So, too, the structure of the imagery\nin the Apocalypse is not a mere allegorical creation, but is founded\non the Jewish ritual. In like manner our Lord's bodily cures are\nvisible types of the power of his grace upon the soul; and his\nprophecy of the last day is conveyed under that of the fall of\nJerusalem. Even his parables are not simply ideal, but relations of\noccurrences which did or might take place, under which was conveyed a\nspiritual meaning. The description of Wisdom in the Proverbs, and\nother sacred books, has brought out the instinct of commentators in\nthis respect. They felt that Wisdom could not be a mere\npersonification, and they determined that it was our Lord; and the\nlater of these books, by their own more definite language, warranted\nthat interpretation. Then, when it was found that the Arians used it\nin derogation of our Lord's divinity, still, unable to tolerate the\nnotion of a mere allegory, commentators applied the description to the\nBlessed Virgin. Coming back then to the Apocalyptic vision, I ask, If\nthe woman must be some real person, who can it be whom the apostle\nsaw, and intends, and delineates, but that same great mother to whom\nthe chapters in the Proverbs are accommodated? And let it be observed,\nmoreover, that in this passage, from the allusion in it to the history\nof the fall, she may be said still to be represented under the\ncharacter of the second Eve. I make a further remark; it is sometimes\nasked, Why do not the sacred writers mention our Lady's greatness? I\nanswer, she was, or may have been, alive when the apostles and\nevangelists wrote; there was just one book of Scripture certainly\nwritten after her death, and that book does (if I may so speak)\ncanonize her.\n\nBut if all this be so, if it is really the Blessed Virgin whom\nScripture represents as clothed with the sun, crowned with the stars\nof heaven, and with the moon as her footstool, what height of glory\nmay we not attribute to her? and what are we to say of those who,\nthrough ignorance, run counter to the voice of Scripture, to the\ntestimony of the fathers, to the traditions of East and West, and\nspeak and act contemptuously toward her whom her Lord delighteth to\nhonor?\n\n\nNow I have said all I mean to say on what I have called the rudimental\nteaching of antiquity about the Blessed Virgin; but, after all, I have\nnot insisted on the highest view of her prerogatives which the fathers\nhave taught us. You, my dear friend, who know so well the ancient\ncontroversies and councils, may have been surprised why I should not\nhave yet spoken of her as the Theotocos; but I wished to show on how\nbroad a basis her greatness rests, independent of that wonderful\ntitle; and again, I have been loth to enlarge upon the force of a\nword, which is rather matter for devotional thought than for polemical\ndispute. However, I might as well not {70} write on my subject at all\nas altogether be silent upon it.\n\nIt is, then, an integral portion of the faith fixed by ecumenical\ncouncil, a portion of it which you hold as well as I, that the Blessed\nVirgin is Theotocos, Deipara, or Mother of God; and this word, when\nthus used, carries with it no admixture of rhetoric, no taint of\nextravagant affection; it has nothing else but a well-weighed, grave,\ndogmatic sense, which corresponds and is adequate to its sound. It\nintends to express that God is her Son, as truly as any one of us is\nthe son of his own mother. If this be so, what can be said of any\ncreature whatever which may not be said of her? what can be said too\nmuch, so that it does not compromise the attributes of the Creator?\nHe, indeed, might have created a being more perfect, more admirable,\nthan she is; he might have endued that being, so created, with a\nricher grant of grace, of power, of blessedness; but in one respect\nshe surpasses all even possible creations, viz., that she is Mother of\nher Creator. It is this awful title, which both illustrates and\nconnects together the two prerogatives of Mary, on which I have been\nlately enlarging, her sanctity and her greatness. It is the issue of\nher sanctity; it is the source of her greatness. What dignity can be\ntoo great to attribute to her who is as closely bound up, as\nintimately one, with the Eternal Word, as a mother is with a son? What\noutfit of sanctity, what fulness and redundance of grace, what\nexuberance of merits must have been hers, on the supposition, which\nthe fathers justify, that her Maker regarded them at all, and took\nthem into account, when he condescended \"not to abhor the Virgin's\nwomb?\" Is it surprising, then, that on the one hand she should be\nimmaculate in her conception? or on the other that she should be\nexalted as a queen, with a crown of twelve stars? Men sometimes wonder\nthat we call her mother of life, of mercy, of salvation; what are all\nthese titles compared to that one name, Mother of God?\n\nI shall say no more about this title here. It is scarcely possible to\nwrite of it without diverging into a style of composition unsuited to\na letter; so I proceed to the history of its use.\n\nThe title of _Theotocos_ [Footnote 15] begins with ecclesiastical\nwriters of a date hardly later than that at which we read of her as\nthe second Eve. It first occurs in the works of Origen (185-254); but\nhe, witnessing for Egypt and Palestine, witnesses also that it was in\nuse before his time; for, as Socrates informs us, he \"interpreted how\nit was to be used, and discussed the question at length\" (Hist. vii.\n32). Within two centuries (431), in the general council held against\nNestorius, it was made part of the formal dogmatic teaching of the\nchurch. At that time Theodoret, who from his party connections might\nhave been supposed disinclined to its solemn recognition, owned that\n\"the ancient and more than ancient heralds of the orthodox faith\ntaught the use of the term according to the apostolic tradition.\" At\nthe same date John of Antioch, who for a while sheltered Nestorius,\nwhose heresy lay in the rejection of the term, said, \"This title no\necclesiastical teacher has put aside. Those who have used it are many\nand eminent, and those who have not used it have not attacked those\nwho did.\" Alexander again, one of the fiercest partisans of Nestorius,\nallows the use of the word, though he considers it dangerous. \"That in\nfestive solemnities,\" he says, \"or in preaching or teaching,\n_theotocos_ should be unguardedly said by the orthodox without\nexplanation is no blame, because such statements were not dogmatic,\nnor said with evil meaning.\" If we look for those, in the interval\nbetween Origen and the council, to whom Alexander refers, we find it\nused again and again by the fathers in such of their works as are\nextant: by {71} Archelans of Mesopotamia, Eusebius of Palestine,\nAlexander of Egypt, in the third century; in the fourth, by Athanasius\nmany times with emphasis, by Cyril of Palestine, Gregory Nyssen of\nCappadocia, Gregory Nazianzen of Cappadocia, Antiochus of Syria, and\nAmmonius of Thrace; not to speak of the Emperor Julian, who, having no\nlocal or ecclesiastical domicile, speaks for the whole of Christendom.\nAnother and earlier emperor, Constantine, in his speech before the\nassembled bishops at Nicaea, uses the still more explicit title of\n\"the Virgin Mother of God;\" which is also used by Ambrose of Milan,\nand by Vincent and Cassian in the south of France, and then by St.\nLeo.\n\n  [Footnote 15: _Vid_. \"translation of St. Athanasius,\" pp. 420, 440,\n  447.]\n\nSo much for the term; it would be tedious to produce the passages of\nauthors who, using or not using the term, convey the idea. \"Our God\nwas carried in the womb of Mary,\" says Ignatius, who was martyred A.D.\n106. \"The word of God,\" says Hippolytus, \"was carried in that virgin\nframe.\" \"The Maker of all,\" says Amphilochius, \"is born of a virgin.\"\n\"She did compass without circumscribing the Sun of justice--the\nEverlasting is born,\" says Chrysostom. \"God dwelt in the womb,\" says\nProclus. \"When thou hearest that God speaks from the bush,\" asks\nTheodotus, \"in the bush seest thou not the Virgin?\" Cassian says,\n\"Mary bore her Author.\" \"The one God only-begotten,\" says Hilary, \"is\nintroduced into the womb of a virgin.\" \"The Everlasting,\" says\nAmbrose, \"came into the Virgin him.\" \"The closed gate,\" says Jerome,\n\"by which alone the Lord God of Israel enters, is the Virgin Mary.\"\n\"That man from heaven,\" says Capriolus, \"is God conceived in the\nwomb.\" \"He is made in thee,\" says Augustine, \"who made thee.\"\n\nThis being the faith of the fathers about the Blessed Virgin, we need\nnot wonder that it should in no long time be transmuted into devotion.\nNo wonder if their language should be unmeasured, when so great a term\nas \"Mother of God\" had been formally set down as the safe limit of it.\nNo wonder if it became stronger and stronger as time went on, since\nonly in a long period could the fulness of its import be exhausted.\nAnd in matter of fact, and as might be anticipated (with the few\nexceptions which I have noted above, and which I am to treat of\nbelow), the current of thought in those early ages did uniformly tend\nto make much of the Blessed Virgin and to increase her honors, not to\ncircumscribe them. Little jealousy was shown of her in those times;\nbut, when any such niggardness of devotion occurred, then one father\nor other fell upon the offender, with zeal, not to say with\nfierceness. Thus St. Jerome inveighs against Helvidius; thus St.\nEpiphanius denounces Apollinaris, St. Cyril Nestorius, and St. Ambrose\nBonosus; on the other hand, each successive insult offered to her by\nindividual adversaries did but bring out more fully the intimate\nsacred affection with which Christendom regarded her. \"She was alone,\nand wrought the world's salvation and conceived the redemption of\nall,\" says Ambrose;  [Footnote 16] \"she had so great grace, as not\nonly to preserve virginity herself, but to confer it upon those whom\nshe visited.\" \"The rod out of the stem of Jesse,\" says Jerome, \"and\nthe eastern gate through which the high priest alone goes in and out,\nyet is ever shut\" \"The wise woman,\" says Nilus, who \"hath clad\nbelievers, from the fleece of the Lamb born of her, with the clothing\nof incorruption, and delivered them from their spiritual nakedness.\"\n\"The mother of life, of beauty, of majesty, the morning star,\"\naccording to Antiochus. \"The mystical new heavens,\" \"the heavens\ncarrying the Divinity,\" \"the fruitful vine,\" \"by whom we are\ntranslated from death to life,\" according to St. Ephrem. \"The manna\nwhich is delicate, bright, sweet, and virgin, {72} which, as though\ncoming from heaven, has poured down on all the people of the churches\na food pleasanter than honey,\" according to St. Maximus.\n\n  [Footnote 16: \"Essay on Doctr. Dev.,\" p. 408]\n\nProclus calls her \"the unsullied shell which contains the pearl of\nprice,\" \"the church's diadem,\" \"the expression of orthodoxy.\" \"Run\nthrough all creation in your thought,\" he says, \"and see if there be\none equal or superior to the Holy Virgin, Mother of God.\" \"Hail,\nmother, clad in light, of the light which sets not,\" says Theodotus,\nor some one else at Ephesus--\"hail, all-undefiled mother of holiness;\nhail, most pellucid fountain of the life-giving stream.\" And St. Cyril\ntoo at Ephesus, \"Hail, Mary, Mother of God, majestic common-treasure\nof the whole world, the lamp unquenchable, the crown of virginity, the\nstaff of orthodoxy, the indissoluble temple, the dwelling of the\nillimitable, mother and virgin, through whom he in the holy gospels is\ncalled blessed who cometh in the name of the Lord, .... through whom\nthe Holy Trinity is sanctified, through whom angels and archangels\nrejoice, devils are put to flight, .... and the fallen creature is\nreceived up into the heavens, etc, etc.\"   [Footnote 17] Such is but a\nportion of the panegyrical language which St. Cyril used in the third\necumenical council.\n\n  [Footnote 17: Opp., t. 6, p. 355. ]\n\nI must not close my review of the Catholic doctrine concerning the\nBlessed Virgin without directly speaking of her intercessory power,\nthough I have incidentally made mention of it already. It is the\nimmediate result of two truths, neither of which you dispute: first,\nthat \"it is good and useful,\" as the Council of Trent says,\n\"suppliantly to invoke the saints and to have recourse to their\nprayers;\" and secondly, that the Blessed Mary is singularly dear to\nher Son and singularly exalted in sanctity and glory. However, at the\nrisk of becoming didactic, I will state somewhat more fully the\ngrounds on which it rests.\n\nTo a candid pagan it must have been one of the most remarkable points\nof Christianity, on its first appearance, that the observance of\nprayer formed so vital a part of its organization; and that, though\nits members were scattered all over the world, and its rulers and\nsubjects had so little opportunity of correlative action, yet they,\none and all, found the solace of a spiritual intercourse, and a real\nbond of union, in the practice of mutual intercession. Prayer, indeed,\nis the very essence of religion; but in the heathen religions it was\neither public or personal; it was a state ordinance, or a selfish\nexpedient, for the attainment of certain tangible, temporal goods.\nVery different from this was its exercise among Christians, who were\nthereby knit together in one body, different as they were in races,\nranks, and habits, distant from each other in country, and helpless\namid hostile populations. Yet it proved sufficient for its purpose.\nChristians could not correspond; they could not combine; but they\ncould pray one for another. Even their public prayers partook of this\ncharacter of intercession; for to pray for the welfare of the whole\nchurch was really a prayer for all classes of men, and all the\nindividuals of which it was composed. It was in prayer that the church\nwas founded. For ten days all the apostles \"persevered with one mind\nin prayer and supplication, with the women, and Mary the Mother of\nJesus, and with his brethren.\" Then again at Pentecost \"they were all\nwith one mind in one place;\" and the converts then made are said to\nhave \"persevered in prayer.\" And when, after a while, St. Peter was\nseized and put in prison with a view to his being put to death,\n\"prayer was made without ceasing\" by the church of God for him; and,\nwhen the angel released him, he took refuge in a house \"where many\nwere gathered together in prayer.\"\n\n{73}\n\nWe are so accustomed to these passages as hardly to be able to do\njustice to their singular significance; and they are followed up by\nvarious passages of the apostolic epistles. St. Paul enjoins his\nbrethren to '\"pray with all prayer and supplication at all times in\nthe Spirit, with all instance and supplication for all saints,\" to\n\"pray in every place,\" \"to make supplication, prayers, intercessions,\ngiving of thanks for all men.\" And in his own person he \"ceases not to\ngive thanks for them, commemorating them in his prayers,\" and \"always\nin all his prayers making supplication for them all with joy.\"\n\nNow, was this spiritual bond to cease with life? or had Christians\nsimilar duties to their brethren departed? From the witness of the\nearly ages of the church, it appears that they had; and you, and those\nwho agree with you, would be the last to deny that they were then in\nthe practice of praying, as for the living, so for those also who had\npassed into the intermediate state between earth and heaven. Did the\nsacred communion extend further still, on to the inhabitants of heaven\nitself? Here too you agree with us, for you have adopted in your\nvolume the words of the Council of Trent which I have quoted above.\nBut now we are brought to a higher order of thoughts.\n\nIt would be preposterous to pray for those who are already in glory;\nbut at least they can pray for us, and we can ask their prayers, and\nin the Apocalypse at least angels are introduced both sending us their\nblessing and presenting our prayers before the divine Presence. We\nread there of an angel who \"came and stood before the altar, having a\ngolden censer;\" and \"there was given to him much incense, that he\nshould offer of the prayers of all saints upon the golden altar which\nis before the throne of God.\" On this occasion, surely, the angel\nMichael, as the prayer in mass considers him, performed the part of a\ngreat intercessor or mediator above for the children of the church\nmilitant below. Again, in the beginning of the same book, the sacred\nwriter goes so far as to speak of \"grace and peace\" being sent us, not\nonly from the Almighty, but \"from the seven spirits that are before\nhis throne,\" thus associating the Eternal with the ministers of his\nmercies; and this carries us on to the remarkable passage of St.\nJustin, one of the earliest fathers, who, in his \"Apology,\" says, \"To\nhim (God), and his Son who came from him, and taught us these things,\nand the host of the other good angels who follow and resemble them,\nand the prophetic Spirit, we pay veneration and homage.\" Further, in\nthe Epistle to the Hebrews, St. Paul introduces, not only angels, but\n\"the spirits of the just\" into the sacred communion: \"Ye have come to\nMount Sion, to the heavenly Jerusalem, to myriads of angels, to God,\nthe Judge of all, to the spirits of the just made perfect, and to\nJesus, the Mediator of the New Testament.\" What can be meant by having\n\"come to the spirits of the just,\" unless in some way or other they do\nus good, whether by blessing or by aiding us? that is, in a word, to\nspeak correctly, by praying for us; for it is by prayer alone that the\ncreature above can bless or aid the creature below.\n\nIntercession thus being the first principle of the church's life, next\nit is certain again that the vital principle of that intercession, as\nan availing power, is, according to the will of God, sanctity. This\nseems to be suggested by a passage of St. Paul, in which the supreme\nintercessor is said to be \"the Spirit:\" \"The Spirit himself maketh\nintercession for us; he maketh intercession for the saints according\nto God.\" However, the truth thus implied is expressly brought out in\nother parts of Scripture, in the form both of doctrine and of example.\nThe words of the man born blind speak the common sense of nature: \"If\nany man be a worshipper of God, him he heareth.\" {74} And apostles\nconfirm them: \"The prayer of a just man availeth much,\" and \"whatever\nwe ask we receive, because we keep his commandments.\" Then, as for\nexamples, we read of Abraham and Moses as having the divine purpose of\njudgment revealed to them beforehand, in order that they might\ndeprecate its execution. To the friends of Job it was said, \"My\nservant Job shall pray for you; his face I will accept.\" Elias by his\nprayer shut and opened the heavens. Elsewhere we read of \"Jeremias,\nMoses, and Samuel,\" and of \"Noe, Daniel, and Job,\" as being great\nmediators between God and his people. One instance is given us, which\ntestifies the continuance of so high an office beyond this life.\nLazarus, in the parable, is seen in Abraham's bosom. It is usual to\npass over this striking passage with the remark that it is a Jewish\nexpression; whereas, Jewish belief or not, it is recognized and\nsanctioned by our Lord himself. What do we teach about the Blessed\nVirgin more wonderful than this? Let us suppose that, at the hour of\ndeath, the faithful are committed to her arms; but if Abraham, not yet\nascended on high, had charge of Lazarus, what offence is it to affirm\nthe like of her, who was not merely \"the friend,\" but the very \"Mother\nof God?\"\n\nIt may be added that, though it availed nothing for influence with our\nLord to be one of his company if sanctity was wanting, still, as the\ngospel shows, he on various occasions allowed those who were near him\nto be the means by which supplicants were brought to him, or miracles\ngained from him, as in the instance of the miracle of the loaves; and\nif on one occasion he seems to repel his mother when she told him that\nwine was wanting for the guests at the marriage feast, it is obvious\nto remark on it that, by saying that she was then separated from him\n_because_ his hour was not yet come, he implied that, when that hour\nwas come, such separation would be at an end. Moreover, in fact, he\ndid, at her intercession, work the miracle which she desired.\n\nI consider it impossible, then, for those who believe the church to be\none vast body in heaven and on earth, in which every holy creature of\nGod has his place, and of which prayer is the life, when once they\nrecognize the sanctity and greatness of the Blessed Virgin, not to\nperceive immediately that her office above is one of perpetual\nintercession for the faithful militant, and that our very relation to\nher must be that of clients to a patron, and that, in the eternal\nenmity which exists between the woman and the serpent, while the\nserpent's strength is that of being the tempter, the weapon of the\nsecond Eve and Mother of God is prayer.\n\nAs then these ideas of her sanctity and greatness gradually penetrated\nthe mind of Christendom, so did her intercessory power follow close\nupon and with them. From the earliest times that mediation is\nsymbolized in those representations of her with uplifted hands, which,\nwhether in plaster or in glass, are still extant in Rome--that\nchurch, as St. Irenaeus says, with which \"every church, that is, the\nfaithful from every side, must agree, because of its more powerful\nprincipality;\" \"into which,\" as Tertullian adds, \"the apostles poured\nout, together with their blood, their whole doctrines.\" As far,\nindeed, as existing documents are concerned, I know of no instance to\nmy purpose earlier than A.D. 234, but it is a very remarkable one;\nand, though it has been often quoted in the controversy, an argument\nis not the weaker for frequent use.\n\nSt. Gregory Nyssen,  [Footnote 18] a native of Cappadocia in the\nfourth century, relates that his namesake, Bishop of Neo-Caesarea,\nsurnamed Thaumaturgus, in the century preceding, shortly before he was\ncalled to the priesthood, received in a vision a creed, which is still\nextant, from the Blessed Mary at the hands of St. John.\n\n  [Footnote 18: _Vid_. \"Essay on Doctr. Dev.\" p. 386.]\n\n{75}\n\nThe account runs thus: He was deeply pondering theological doctrine,\nwhich the heretics of the day depraved. \"In such thoughts,\" says his\nnamesake of Nyssa, \"he was passing the night, when one appeared, as if\nin human form, aged in appearance, saintly in the fashion of his\ngarments, and very venerable both in grace of countenance and general\nmien. Amazed at the sight, he started from his bed, and asked who it\nwas, and why he came; but, on the other calming the perturbation of\nhis mind with his gentle voice, and saying he had appeared to him by\ndivine command on account of his doubts, in order that the truth of\nthe orthodox faith might be revealed to him, he took courage at the\nword, and regarded him with a mixture of joy and fright. Then, on his\nstretching his hand straight forward and pointing with his fingers at\nsomething on one side, he followed with his eyes the extended hand,\nand saw another appearance opposite to the former, in the shape of a\nwoman, but more than human. . . . When his eyes could not, bear the\napparition, he heard them conversing together on the subject of his\ndoubts; and thereby not only gained a true knowledge of the faith, but\nlearned their names, as they addressed each other by their respective\nappellations. And thus he is said to have heard the person in woman's\nshape bid 'John the Evangelist' disclose to the young man the mystery\nof godliness; and he answered that he was ready to comply in this\nmatter with the wish of 'the Mother of the Lord,' and enunciated a\nformulary, well turned and complete, and so vanished. He, on the other\nhand, immediately committed to writing that divine teaching of his\nmystagogue, and henceforth preached in the church according to that\nform, and bequeathed to posterity, as an inheritance, that heavenly\nteaching, by means of which his people are instructed down to this\nday, being preserved from all heretical evil.\" He proceeds to rehearse\nthe creed thus given, \"There is one God, father of a living Word,\"\netc. Bull, after quoting it in his work upon the Nicene faith, alludes\nto this history of its origin, and adds, \"No one should think it\nincredible that such a providence should befal a man whose whole life\nwas conspicuous for revelations and miracles, as all ecclesiastical\nwriters who have mentioned him (and who has not?) witness with one\nvoice.\"\n\nHere she is represented as rescuing a holy soul from intellectual\nerror. This leads me to a further reflection. You seem, in one place\nin your volume, to object to the antiphon, in which it is said of her,\n\"All heresies thou hast destroyed alone.\" Surely the truth of it is\nverified in this age, as in former times, and especially by the\ndoctrine concerning her on which I have been dwelling. She is the\ngreat exemplar of prayer in a generation which emphatically denies the\npower of prayer _in toto_, which determines that fatal laws govern the\nuniverse, that there cannot be any direct communication between earth\nand heaven, that God cannot visit his earth, and that man cannot\ninfluence his providence.\n\n\n\nI cannot help hoping that your own reading of the fathers will on the\nwhole bear me out in the above account of their teaching concerning\nthe Blessed Virgin. Anglicans seem to me to overlook the strength of\nthe argument adducible from their works in our favor, and they open\nthe attack upon our mediaeval and modern writers, careless of leaving\na host of primitive opponents in their rear. I do not include you\namong such Anglicans; you know what the fathers assert; but, if so,\nhave you not, my dear friend, been unjust to yourself in your recent\nvolume, and made far too much of the differences which exist between\nAnglicans and us on this particular point? It is the office of an\nIrenicon to smooth difficulties; I shall be pleased if I succeed in\nremoving some of yours. Let the public judge between us here. Had you\n{76} happened in your volume to introduce your notice of our teaching\nabout the Blessed Virgin with a notice of the teaching of the fathers\nconcerning her, ordinary men would have considered that there was not\nmuch to choose between you and us. Though you appealed ever so much to\nthe authority of the \"undivided church,\" they certainly would have\nsaid that you, who had such high notions of the Blessed Mary, were one\nof the last men who had a right to accuse us of quasi-idolatry. When\nthey found you calling her by the titles of Mother of God, Second Eve,\nand Mother of all Living, the Mother of life, the Morning Star, the\nStay of Believers, the Expression of Orthodoxy, the All-undefiled\nMother of Holiness, and the like, they would have deemed it a poor\ncompensation for such language that you protested against her being\ncalled a co-redemptress or a priestess. And, if they were violent\nProtestants, they would not have read you with that relish and\ngratitude with which, as it is, they have perhaps accepted your\ntestimony against us. Not that they would have been altogether right\nin their view of you;--on the contrary, I think there is a real\ndifference between what you protest against and what with the fathers\nyou hold; but unread men and men of the world form a broad practical\njudgment of the things which come before them, and they would have\nfelt in this case that they had the same right to be shocked at you as\nyou have to be shocked at us;--and further, which is the point to\nwhich I am coming, they would have said that, granting some of our\nmodern writers go beyond the fathers in this matter, still the line\ncannot be logically drawn between the teaching of the fathers\nconcerning the Blessed Virgin and our own. This view of the matter\nseems to me true and important; I do not think the line _can_ be\nsatisfactorily drawn, and to this point I shall now direct my\nattention. It is impossible, I say, in a doctrine like this, to draw\nthe line cleanly between truth and error, right and wrong. This is\never the case in concrete matters, which have life. Life in this world\nis motion, and involves a continual process of change. Living things\ngrow into their perfection, into their decline, into their death. No\nrule of art will suffice to stop the operation of this natural law,\nwhether in the material world or in the human mind. We can indeed\nencounter disorders, when they occur, by external antagonisms and\nremedies; but we cannot eradicate the process itself out of which they\narise. Life has the same right to decay as it has to wax strong. This\nis specially the case with great ideas. You may stifle them; or you\nmay refuse them elbow-room; or you may torment them with your\ncontinual meddling; or you may let them have free course and range,\nand be content, instead of anticipating their excesses, to expose and\nrestrain those excesses after they have occurred. But you have only\nthis alternative; and for myself, I prefer much, wherever it is\npossible, to be first generous and then just; to grant full liberty of\nthought, and to call it to account when abused.\n\nIf what I have been saying be true of energetic ideas generally, much\nmore is it the case in matters of religion. Religion acts on the\naffections; who is to hinder these, when once roused, from gathering\nin their strength and running wild? They are not gifted with any\nconnatural principle within them which renders them self-governing and\nself-adjusting. They hurry right on to their object, and often in\ntheir case it is, more haste and worse speed. Their object engrosses\nthem, and they see nothing else. And of all passions love is the most\nunmanageable; nay, more, I would not give much for that love which is\nnever extravagant, which always observes the proprieties, and can move\nabout in perfect good taste, under all emergencies. What mother, what\nhusband or wife, what youth or maiden in love, {77} but says a\nthousand foolish things, in the way of endearment, which the speaker\nwould be sorry for strangers to hear; yet they were not on that\naccount unwelcome to the parties to whom they are addressed. Sometimes\nby bad luck they are written down, sometimes they get into the\nnewspapers; and what might be even graceful, when it was fresh from\nthe heart, and interpreted by the voice and the countenance, presents\nbut a melancholy exhibition when served up cold for the public eye. So\nit is with devotional feelings. Burning thoughts and words are as open\nto criticism as they are beyond it. What is abstractedly extravagant,\nmay in religions persons be becoming and beautiful, and only fall\nunder blame when it is found in others who imitate them. When it is\nformalized into meditations or exercises, it is as repulsive as\nlove-letters in a police report. Moreover, even holy minds readily\nadopt and become familiar with language which they would never have\noriginated themselves, when it proceeds from a writer who has the same\nobjects of devotion as they have; and, if they find a stranger\nridicule or reprobate supplication or praise which has come to them so\nrecommended, they feel as keenly as if a direct insult were offered to\nthose to whom that homage is addressed. In the next place, what has\npower to stir holy and refined souls is potent also with the\nmultitude; and the religion of the multitude is ever vulgar and\nabnormal; it ever will be tinctured with fanaticism and superstition\nwhile men are what they are. A people's religion is ever a corrupt\nreligion. If you are to have a Catholic Church, you must put up with\nfish of every kind, guests good and bad, vessels of gold, vessels of\nearth. You may beat religion out of men, if you will, and then their\nexcesses will take a different direction; but if you make use of\nreligion to improve them, they will make use of religion to corrupt\nit. And then you will have effected that compromise of which our\ncountrymen report so unfavorably from abroad:--a high grand faith and\nworship which compel their admiration, and puerile absurdities among\nthe people which excite their contempt.\n\nNor is it any safeguard against these excesses in a religious system\nthat the religion is based upon reason, and develops into a theology.\nTheology both uses logic and baffles it; and thus logic acts both as a\nprotection and as the perversion of religion. Theology is occupied\nwith supernatural matters, and is ever running into mysteries which\nreason can neither explain nor adjust. Its lines of thought come to an\nabrupt termination, and to pursue them or to complete them is to\nplunge down the abyss. But logic blunders on, forcing its way, as it\ncan, through thick darkness and ethereal mediums. The Arians went\nahead with logic for their directing principle, and so lost the truth;\non the other hand, St. Augustine, in his treatise on the Holy Trinity,\nseems to show that, if we attempt to find and tie together the ends of\nlines which run into infinity, we shall only succeed in contradicting\nourselves; that for instance it is difficult to find the logical\nreason for not speaking of three Gods as well as of one, and of one\nperson in the Godhead as well as of three. I do not mean to say that\nlogic cannot be used to set right its own error, or that in the hands\nof an able disputant the balance of truth may not be restored. This\nwas done at the Councils of Antioch and Nicaea, in the instances of\nPaulus and Arius. But such a process is circuitous and elaborate; and\nis conducted by means of minute subtleties which will give it the\nappearance of a game of skill in the case of matters too grave and\npractical to deserve a mere scholastic treatment. Accordingly, St.\nAugustine simply lays it down that the statements in question are\nheretical, for the former is trltheism and the latter Sabellianism.\nThat is, good sense and a large {78} view of truth are the correctives\nof his logic. And thus we have arrived at the final resolution of the\nwhole matter; for good sense and a large view of truth are rare gifts;\nwhereas all men are bound to be devout, and most men think they can\nargue and conclude.\n\nNow let me apply what I have been saying to the teaching of the church\non the subject of the Blessed Virgin. I have to recur to a subject of\nso sacred a nature, that, writing as I am for publication, I need the\napology of my object for venturing to pursue it. I say then, when once\nwe have mastered the idea that Mary bore, suckled, and handled the\nEternal in the form of a child, what limit is conceivable to the rush\nand flood of thoughts which such a doctrine involves? What awe and\nsurprise must attend upon the knowledge that a creature has been\nbrought so close to the Divine Essence? It was the creation of a new\nidea and a new sympathy, a new faith and worship, when the holy\napostles announced that God bad become incarnate; and a supreme love\nand devotion to him became possible which seemed hopeless before that\nrevelation. But beside this, a second range of thoughts was opened on\nmankind, unknown before, and unlike any other, as soon as it was\nunderstood that that incarnate God had a mother. The second idea is\nperfectly distinct from the former, the one does not interfere with\nthe other. He is God made low, she is a woman made high. I scarcely\nlike to use a familiar illustration on such a subject, but it will\nserve to explain what I mean when I ask you to consider the difference\nof feeling with which we read the respective histories of Maria\nTheresa and the Maid of Orleans; or with which the middle and lower\nclasses of a nation regard a first minister of the day who has come of\nan aristocratic house and one who has risen from the ranks. May God's\nmercy keep me from the shadow of a thought dimming the light or\nblunting the keenness of that love of him which is our sole happiness\nand our sole salvation! But surely, when he became man he brought home\nto us his incommunicable attributes with a distinctiveness which\nprecludes the possibility of our lowering him by exalting a creature.\nHe alone has an entrance into our soul, reads our secret thoughts,\nspeaks to our heart, applies to us spiritual pardon and strength. On\nhim we solely depend. He alone is our inward life; he not only\nregenerates us, but (to allude to a higher mystery) _semper gignit;_\nhe is ever renewing our new birth and our heavenly sonship. In this\nsense he may be called, as in nature, so in grace, our real father.\nMary is only our adopted mother, given us from the cross; her presence\nis above, not on earth; her office is external, not within us. Her\nname is not heard in the administration of the sacraments. Her work is\nnot one of ministration toward us; her power is indirect. It is her\nprayers that avail, and they are effectual by the _fiat_ of him who is\nour all in all. Nor does she hear us by any innate power, or any\npersonal gift; but by his manifestation to her of the prayers which we\nmake her. When Moses was on the Mount, the Almighty told him of the\nidolatry of his people at the foot of it, in order that he might\nintercede for them; and thus it is the Divine presence which is the\nintermediating power by which we reach her and she reaches us.\n\nWoe is me, if even by a breath I sully these ineffable truths! but\nstill, without prejudice to them, there is, I say, another range of\nthought quite distinct from them, incommensurate with them, of which\nthe Blessed Virgin is the centre. If we placed our Lord in that\ncentre, we should only be degrading him from his throne, and making\nhim an Arian kind of a God; that is, no God at all. He who charges us\nwith marking Mary a divinity, is thereby denying the divinity of\nJesus. Such a man does not know what divinity is. Our Lord cannot {79}\npray for us, as a creature, as Mary prays; he cannot inspire those\nfeelings which a creature inspires. To her belongs, as being a\ncreature, a natural claim on our sympathy and familiarity, in that she\nis nothing else than our fellow. She is our pride,--in the poet's\nwords, \"Our tainted nature's solitary boast.\" We look to her without\nany fear, any remorse, any consciousness that she is able to read us,\njudge us, punish us. Our heart yearns toward that pure virgin, that\ngentle mother, and our congratulations follow her, as she rises from\nNazareth and Ephesus, through the choirs of angels, to her throne on\nhigh. So weak, yet so strong; so delicate, yet so glory-laden; so\nmodest, yet so mighty. She has sketched for us her own portrait in the\nmagnificat. \"He hath regarded the low estate of his handmaid; for\nbehold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed. He hath\nput down the mighty from their seat; and hath exalted the humble. He\nhath filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he hath sent\nempty away.\" I recollect the strange emotion which took by surprise\nmen and women, young and old, when, at the coronation of our present\nqueen, they gazed on the figure of one so like a child, so small, so\ntender, so shrinking, who had been exalted to so great an inheritance\nand so vast a rule, who was such a contrast in her own person to the\nsolemn pageant which centred in her. Could it be otherwise with the\nspectators, if they had human affection? And did not the All-wise know\nthe human heart when he took to himself a mother? did he not\nanticipate our emotion at the sight of such an exaltation? If he had\nnot meant her to exert that wonderful influence in his church which\nshe has in the event exerted, I will use a bold word, he it is who has\nperverted us. If she is not to attract our homage, why did he make her\nsolitary in her greatness amid his vast creation? If it be idolatry in\nus to let our affections respond to our faith, he would not have made\nher what she is, or he would not have told us that he had so made her;\nbut, far from this, he has sent his prophet to announce to us, \"A\nvirgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name\nEmmanuel,\" and we have the same warrant for hailing her as God's\nMother, as we have for adoring him as God.\n\nChristianity is eminently an objective religion. For the most part it\ntells us of persons and facts in simple words, and leaves the\nannouncement to produce its effect on such hearts as are prepared to\nreceive it. This at least is its general character; and Butler\nrecognizes it as such in his \"Analogy\" when speaking of the Second and\nThird Persons of the Holy Trinity: \"The internal worship,\" he says,\n\"to the Son and Holy Ghost is no further matter of pure revealed\ncommand than as the relations they stand in to us are matters of pure\nrevelation; for the relations being known, the obligations to such\ninternal worship are _obligations of reason arising out of those\nrelations themselves_.\" [Footnote 19]\n\n  [Footnote 19: _Vid_. \"Essay on Doctr. Dev.,\" p. 50.]\n\nIt is in this way that the revealed doctrine of the incarnation\nexerted a stronger and a broader influence on Christians, as they more\nand more apprehended and mastered its meaning and its bearings. It is\ncontained in the brief and simple declaration of St John, \"The Word\nwas made flesh;\" but it required century after century to spread it\nout in its fulness and to imprint it energetically on the worship and\npractice of the Catholic people as well as on their faith. Athanasius\nwas the first and the great teacher of it. He collected together the\ninspired notices scattered through David, Isaias, St. Paul, and St.\nJohn, and he engraved indelibly upon the imaginations of the faithful,\nas had never been before, that man is God, and God is man, that in\nMary they meet, and that in this sense Mary {80} is the centre of all\nthings. He added nothing to what was known before, nothing to the\npopular and zealous faith that her Son was God; he has left behind him\nin his works no such definite passages about her as those of St.\nIrenaeus or St. Epiphanius; but he brought the circumstances of the\nincarnation home to men's minds by the manifold evolutions of his\nanalysis, and secured it for ever from perversion. Still, however,\nthere was much to be done; we have no proof that Athanasius himself\nhad any special devotion to the Blessed Virgin; but he laid the\nfoundations on which that devotion was to rest, and thus noiselessly\nand without strife, as the first temple in the holy city, she grew up\ninto her inheritance, and was \"established in Sion and her power was\nin Jerusalem.\" Such was the origin of that august _cultus_ which has\nbeen paid to the Blessed Mary for so many centuries in the East and in\nthe West. That in times and places it has fallen into abuse, that it\nhas even become a superstition, I do not care to deny; for, as I have\nsaid above, the same process which brings to maturity carries on to\ndecay, and things that do not admit of abuse have very little life in\nthem. This of course does not excuse such excesses, or justify us in\nmaking light of them, when they occur. I have no intention of doing so\nas regards the particular instances which you bring against us, though\nbut a few words will suffice for what I need say about them:--before\ndoing so, however, I am obliged to make three or four introductory\nremarks.\n\n1. I have almost anticipated my first remark already. It is this: that\nthe height of our offending in our devotion to the Blessed Virgin\nwould not look so great in your volume as it does, had you not placed\nyourself on lower ground than your own feelings toward her would have\nspontaneously prompted you to take. I have no doubt you had some good\nreason for adopting this course, but I do not know it. What I do know\nis that, for the fathers' sake, who so exalt her, you really do love\nand venerate her, though you do not evidence it in your book. I am\nglad, then, in this place, to insist on a fact which will lead those\namong us who know you not to love you from their love of her, in spite\nof what you refuse to give her; and Anglicans, on the other hand, who\ndo know you, to think better of us, who refuse her nothing, when they\nreflect that you do not actually go against us, but merely come short\nof us in your devotion to her.\n\n2. As you revere the fathers, so you revere the Greek Church; and here\nagain we have a witness on our behalf of which you must be aware as\nfully as we are, and of which you must really mean to give us the\nbenefit. In proportion as this remarkable fact is understood, it will\ntake off the edge of the surprise of Anglicans at the sight of our\ndevotions to our Lady. It must weigh with them when they discover that\nwe can enlist on our side in this controversy those seventy millions\n(I think they so consider them) of Orientals who are separated from\nour communion. Is it not a very pregnant fact that the Eastern\nchurches, so independent of us, so long separated from the West, so\njealous of antiquity, should even surpass us in their exaltation of\nthe Blessed Virgin? That they go further than we do is sometimes\ndenied, on the ground that the Western devotion toward her is brought\nout into system, and the Eastern is not; yet this only means really\nthat the Latins have more mental activity, more strength of intellect,\nless of routine, less of mechanical worship among them, than the\nGreeks. We are able, better than they, to give an account of what we\ndo; and we seem to be more extreme merely because we are more\ndefinite. But, after all, what have the Latins done so bold as that\nsubstitution of the name of Mary for the name of Jesus at the end of\nthe collects and petitions in the breviary, nay, in the ritual and\nliturgy? Not {81} merely in local or popular, and in semi-authorized\ndevotions, which are the kind of sources that supplies you with your\nmatter of accusation against us, but in the formal prayers of the\nGreek eucharistic service, petitions are offered, not \"in the name of\nJesus Christ,\" but \"of the Theotocos.\" Such a phenomenon, in such a\nquarter, I think, ought to make Anglicans merciful toward those\nwriters among ourselves who have been excessive in singing the praises\nof the Deipara. To make a rule of substituting Mary with all saints\nfor Jesus in the public service, has more \"Mariolatry\" in it than to\nalter the Te Deum to her honor in private devotion.\n\n3. And thus I am brought to a third remark supplemental to your\naccusation of us. Two large views, as I have said above, are opened\nupon our devotional thoughts in Christianity; the one centring in the\nSon of Mary, the other in the Mother of Jesus. Neither need obscure\nthe other; and in the Catholic Church, as a matter of fact, neither\ndoes. I wish you had either frankly allowed this in your volume, or\nproved the contrary. I wish, when you report that \"a certain\nproportion, it has been ascertained by those who have inquired, do\nstop short in her,\" p. 107, that you had added your belief, that the\ncase was far otherwise with the great bulk of Catholics. Might I not\nhave expected it? May I not, without sensitiveness, be somewhat pained\nat the omission? From mere Protestants, indeed, I expect nothing\nbetter. They content themselves with saying that our devotions to our\nLady _must necessarily_ throw our Lord into the shade, and thereby\nthey relieve themselves of a great deal of trouble. Then they catch at\nany stray fact which countenances or seems to countenance their\nprejudice. Now I say plainly I never will defend or screen any one\nfrom your just rebuke who, through false devotion to Mary, forgets\nJesus. But I should like the fact to be proved first; I cannot hastily\nadmit it. There is this broad fact the other way: that if we look\nthrough Europe we shall find, on the whole, that just those nations\nand countries have lost their faith in the divinity of Christ who have\ngiven up devotion to his Mother, and that those, on the other hand,\nwho have been foremost in her honor, have retained their orthodoxy.\nContrast, for instance, the Calvinists with the Greeks, or France with\nthe north of Germany, or the Protestant and Catholic communions in\nIreland. As to England, it is scarcely doubtful what would be the\nstate of its Established Church if the Liturgy and Articles were not\nan integral part of its establishment; and when men bring so grave a\ncharge against us as is implied in your volume, they cannot be\nsurprised if we in turn say hard things of Anglicanism.  [Footnote 20]\nIn the Catholic Church Mary has shown herself, not the rival, but the\nminister of her Son. She has protected him, as in his infancy, so in\nthe whole history of the religion. There is, then, a plain historical\ntruth in Dr. Fisher's words which you quote to condemn: \"Jesus is\nobscured, because Mary is kept in the background.\"\n\n  [Footnote 20: I have spoken more more on this subject in my \"Essay\n  on Development,\" p. 438. \"Nor does it avail to object, that, in this\n  contrast of devotional exercises, the human is sure to supplant the\n  divine, from the infirmity of out nature; for, I repeat, the\n  question is one of fact, whether it has done so. And next, it must\n  be asked, _whether the character of Protestant devotion toward our\n  Lord has been that of worship at all:_ and not rather such as we pay\n  to an excellent human being? . . . Carnal minds will ever create a\n  carnal worship for themselves; and to forbid them the service of the\n  saints will have no tendency to teach them the worship of God.\n  Moreover. . . . great and constant as is the devotion which the\n  Catholic pays to St. Mary, it has a special province, and _has far\n  more connection with the public services and the festive aspect of\n  Christianity,_ and with certain extraordinary offices which she\n  holds, _than with what is strictly personal and primary_ in\n  religion.\" Our late cardinal, on my reception, singled out to me\n  this last sentence for the expression of his especial approbation.]\n\nThis truth, exemplified in history, might also be abundantly\nillustrated, did my space admit, from the lives and writings of holy\nmen in modern times. Two of them, St. Alfonso Liguori and the Blessed\nPaul of the Cross, for all their notorious devotion {82} to the\nMother, have shown their supreme love of her divine Son in the names\nwhich a have given to their respective congregations, viz, \"of the\nRedeemer,\" and \"of the Cross and Passion.\" However, I will do no more\nthan refer to an apposite passage in the Italian translation of the\nwork of a French Jesuit, Fr. Nepveu, \"Christian Thoughts for every Day\nin the Year,\" which was recommended to the friend who went with me to\nRome by the same Jesuit father there with whom, as I have already\nsaid, I stood myself in such intimate relations; I believe it is a\nfair specimen of the teaching of our spiritual books:\n\n  \"The love of Jesus Christ is the most sure pledge of our future\n  happiness, and the most infallible token of our predestination.\n  Mercy toward the poor, devotion to the Holy Virgin, are very\n  sensible tokens of predestination; nevertheless they are not\n  absolutely infallible; but one cannot have a sincere and constant\n  love of Jesus Christ without being predestinated. . . . The\n  destroying angel which bereaved the houses of the Egyptians of their\n  first-born, had respect to all the houses which were marked with the\n  blood of the Lamb.\"\n\nAnd it is also exemplified, as I verily believe, not only in formal\nand distinctive confessions, not only in books intended for the\neducated class, but also in the personal religion of the Catholic\npopulations. When strangers are so unfavorably impressed with us,\nbecause they see images of our Lady in our churches, and crowds\nflocking about her, they forget that there is a Presence within the\nsacred walls, infinitely more awful, which claims and obtains from us\na worship transcendently different from any devotion we pay to her.\nThat devotion might indeed tend to idolatry if it were encouraged in\nProtestant churches, where there is nothing higher than it to attract\nthe worshipper; but all the images that a Catholic church ever\ncontained, all the crucifixes at its altars brought together, do not\nso affect its frequenters as the lamp which betokens the presence or\nabsence there of the blessed sacrament. Is not this so certain, so\nnotorious, that on some occasions it has been even brought as a charge\nagainst us, that we are irreverent in church, when what seemed to the\nobjector to be irreverence was but the necessary change of feeling\nwhich came over those who were there on their knowing that their Lord\nwas away?\n\nThe mass again conveys to us the same lesson of the sovereignty of the\nincarnate Son; it is a return to Calvary, and Mary is scarcely named\nin it. Hostile visitors enter our churches on Sunday at mid-day, the\ntime of the Anglican service. They are surprised to see the high mass\nperhaps poorly attended, and a body of worshippers leaving the music\nand the mixed multitude who may be lazily fulfilling their obligation,\nfor the silent or the informal devotions which are offered at an image\nof the Blessed Virgin. They may be tempted, with one of your\ninformants, to call such a temple not a \"Jesus Church,\" but a \"Mary\nChurch.\" But, if they understood our ways, they would know that we\nbegin the day with our Lord and then go on to his mother. It is early\nin the morning that religious persons go to mass and communion. The\nhigh mass, on the other hand, is the festive celebration of the day,\nnot the special devotional service; nor is there any reason why those\nwho have been at a low mass already, should not at that hour proceed\nto ask the intercession of the Blessed Virgin for themselves and all\nthat is dear to them.\n\nCommunion, again, which is given in the morning, is a solemn,\nunequivocal act of faith in the incarnate God, if any can be such; and\nthe most gracious of admonitions, did we need one, of his sovereign\nand sole right to possess us. I knew a lady who on her death-bed was\nvisited by an excellent Protestant friend. She, with great tenderness\nfor her soul's welfare, asked her whether her prayers to the {83}\nBlessed Virgin did not, at that awful hour, lead to forgetfulness of\nher Saviour. \"Forget him!\" she replied with surprise; \"why, he has\njust been here.\" She had been receiving him in communion. When, then,\nmy dear Pusey, you read anything extravagant in praise of our Lady, is\nit not charitable to ask, even while you condemn it in itself, did the\nauthor write nothing else? Did he write on the blessed sacrament? Had\nhe given up \"all for Jesus?\" I recollect some lines, the happiest, I\nthink, which that author wrote, which bring out strikingly the\nreciprocity, which I am dwelling on, of the respective devotions to\nMother and Son:\n\n  \"But scornful men have coldly said\n    Thy love was leading me from God;\n  And yet in this I did but tread\n    The very path my Savior trod.\n\n  \"They know but little of thy worth\n    Who speak these heartless words to me;\n  For what did Jesus love on earth\n    One half so tenderly as thee?\n\n  \"Get me the grace to love thee more;\n    Jesus will give, if thou wilt plead;\n  And, Mother, when life's cares are o'er,\n    Oh, I shall love thee then indeed.\n\n  \"Jesus, when his three hours were run,\n    Bequeathed thee from the cross to me;\n  And oh I how can I love thy Son,\n    Sweet Mother, if I love not thee?\"\n\n4. Thus we are brought from the consideration of the sentiments\nthemselves, of which you complain, to the persons who wrote, and the\nplaces where they wrote them. I wish you had been led, in this part of\nyour work, to that sort of careful labor which you have employed in so\nmasterly a way in your investigation of the circumstances of the\ndefinition of the immaculate conception. In the latter case you have\ncatalogued the bishops who wrote to the Holy See, and analyzed their\nanswers. Had you in like manner discriminated and located the Marian\nwriters, as you call them, and observed the times, places, and\ncircumstances of their works, I think they would not, when brought\ntogether, have had their present startling effect on the reader. As it\nis, they inflict a vague alarm upon the mind, as when one hears a\nnoise, and does not know whence it comes and what it means. Some of\nyour authors, I know, are saints; all, I suppose, are spiritual\nwriters and holy men; but the majority are of no great celebrity, even\nif they have any kind of weight. Suarez has no business among them at\nall, for, when he says that no one is saved without the Blessed\nVirgin, he is speaking not of devotion to her, but of her\nintercession. The greatest name is St. Alfonso Liguori; but it never\nsurprises me to read anything unusual in the devotions of a saint.\nSuch men are on a level very different from our own, and we cannot\nunderstand them. I hold this to be an important canon in the lives of\nthe saints, according to the words of the apostle, \"The spiritual man\njudges all things, and he himself is judged of no one.\" But we may\nrefrain from judging, without proceeding to imitate. I hope it is not\ndisrespectful to so great a servant of God to say, that I never read\nhis \"Glories of Mary;\" but here I am speaking generally of all saints,\nwhether I know them or not; and I say that they are beyond us, and\nthat we must use them as patterns, not as copies. As to his practical\ndirections, St. Alfonso wrote them for Neapolitans, whom he knew, and\nwe do not know. Other writers whom you quote, as De Salazar, are too\nruthlessly logical to be safe or pleasant guides in the delicate\nmatters of devotion. As to De Montford and Oswald, I never even met\nwith their names, till I saw them in your book; the bulk of our laity,\nnot to say of our clergy, perhaps know them little better than I do.\nNor did I know till I learnt it from your volume that there were two\nBernardines. St. Bernardine, of Sienna, I knew of course, and knew too\nthat he had a burning love for our Lord. But about the other,\n\"Bernardine de Bustis,\" I was quite at fault. I find from the\nProtestant Cave that he, as well as his name-sake, made himself\nconspicuous also for his zeal for the holy name, {84} which is much to\nthe point here. \"With such devotion was he carried away,\" says Cave,\n\"for the bare name of Jesus (which, by a new device of Bernardine, of\nSienna, had lately began to receive divine honors), that he was urgent\nwith Innocent VIII. to assign it a day and rite in the calendar.\"\n\nOne thing, however, is clear about all these writers; that not one of\nthem is an Englishman. I have gone through your book, and do not find\none English name among the various authors to whom you refer, except,\nof course, the name of that author whose lines I have been quoting,\nand who, great as are his merits, cannot, for the reasons I have given\nin the opening of my letter, be considered a representative of English\nCatholic devotion. Whatever these writers may have said or not said,\nwhatever they may have said harshly, and whatever capable of fair\nexplanation, still they are foreigners; we are not answerable for\ntheir particular devotions; and as to themselves, I am glad to be able\nto quote the beautiful words which you use about them in your letter\nto the \"Weekly Register\" of November 25th last. \"I do not presume,\"\nyou say, \"to prescribe to Italians or Spaniards what they shall hold,\nor how they shall express their pious opinions; and least of all did I\nthink of imputing to any of the writers whom I quoted that they took\nfrom our Lord any of the love which they gave to his Mother.\" In these\nlast words, too, you have supplied one of the omissions in your volume\nwhich I noticed above.\n\n5. Now, then, we come to England itself, which after all, in the\nmatter of devotion, alone concerns you and me; for though doctrine is\none and the same everywhere, devotions, as I have already said, are\nmatters of the particular time and the particular country. I suppose\nwe owe it to the national good sense that English Catholics have been\nprotected from the extravagances which are elsewhere to be found. And\nwe owe it, also, to the wisdom and moderation of the Holy See, which\nin giving us the pattern for our devotion, as well as the rule of our\nfaith, has never indulged in those curiosities of thought which are\nboth so attractive to undisciplined imaginations and so dangerous to\ngrovelling hearts. In the case of our own common people I think such a\nforced style of devotion would be simply unintelligible; as to the\neducated, I doubt whether it can have more than an occasional or\ntemporary influence. If the Catholic faith spreads in England, these\npeculiarities will not spread with it. There is a healthy devotion to\nthe Blessed Mary, and there is an artificial; it is possible to love\nher as a Mother, to honor her as a Virgin, to seek her as a Patron,\nand to exalt her as a Queen, without any injury to solid piety and\nChristian good sense: I cannot help calling this the English style. I\nwonder whether you find anything to displease you in the \"Garden of\nthe Soul,\" the \"Key of Heaven,\" the \"Vade Mecum,\" the \"Golden Manual,\"\nor the \"Crown of Jesus?\" These are the books to which Anglicans ought\nto appeal who would be fair to us in this matter. I do not observe\nanything in them which goes beyond the teaching of the fathers, except\nso far as devotion goes beyond doctrine.\n\nThere is one collection of devotions, beside, of the highest\nauthority, which has been introduced from abroad of late years. It\nconsists of prayers of various kinds which have been indulgenced by\nthe popes; and it commonly goes by the name of the \"Raccolta.\" As that\nword suggests, the language of many of the prayers is Italian, while\nothers are in Latin. This circumstance is unfavorable to a\ntranslation, which, however skilful, must ever savor of the words and\nidioms of the original; but, passing over this necessary disadvantage,\nI consider there is hardly a clause in the good-sized volume in\nquestion which even the sensitiveness of English Catholicism would\nwish changed. Its anxious observance of doctrinal exactness is almost\na fault. {85} It seems afraid of using the words \"give me,\" \"make me,\"\nin its addresses to the Blessed Virgin, which are as natural to adopt\nas in addressing a parent or friend. Surely we do not disparage divine\nProvidence when we say that we are indebted to our parents for our\nlife, or when we ask their blessing; we do not show any atheistical\nleanings because we say that a man's recovery must be left to nature,\nor that nature supplies brute animals with instincts. In like manner\nit seems to me a simple purism to insist upon minute accuracy of\nexpression in devotional and popular writings. However, the\n\"Raccolta,\" as coming from responsible authority, for the most part\nobserves it. It commonly uses the phrases, \"gain for us by thy\nprayers,\" \"obtain for us,\" \"pray to Jesus for me,\" \"speak for me,\nMary,\" \"carry thou our prayers,\" \"ask for us grace,\" \"intercede for\nthe people of God,\" and the like, marking thereby with great emphasis\nthat she is nothing more than an advocate, and not a source of mercy.\nNor do I recollect in this book more than one or two ideas to which\nyou would be likely to raise an objection. The strongest of these is\nfound in the novena before her nativity, in which, _apropos_ of her\nbirth, we pray that she \"would come down again and be re-born\nspiritually in our souls;\" but it will occur to you that St. Paul\nspeaks of his wish to impart to his converts, '\"not only the gospel,\nbut his own soul;\" and writing to the Corinthians, he says he has\n\"begotten them by the gospel,\" and to Philemon, that he had \"begotten\nOnesimus in his bonds;\" whereas St. James, with greater accuracy of\nexpression, says \"of his own will hath God begotten us with the word\nof truth.\" Again we find the petitioner saying to the Blessed Mary,\n\"In thee I place all my hope;\" but this is explained in another\npassage, \"Thou art my best hope after Jesus.\" Again, we read\nelsewhere, \"I would I had a greater love for thee, since to love thee\nis a great mark of predestination;\" but the prayer goes on, \"Thy Son\ndeserves of us an immeasurable love; pray that I may have this grace\n--a great love for Jesus;\" and further on, \"I covet no good of the\nearth, but to love my God alone.\"\n\nThen, again, as to the lessons which our Catholics receive, whether by\ncatechizing or instruction, you would find nothing in our received\nmanuals to which you would not assent, I am quite sure. Again, as to\npreaching, a standard book was drawn up three centuries ago, to supply\nmatter for the purpose to the parochial clergy. You incidentally\nmention, p. 153, that the comment of Cornelius \u00e0 Lapide on Scripture\nis \"a repertorium for sermons;\" but I never heard of this work being\nused, nor indeed can it, because of its size. The work provided for\nthe purpose by the church is the \"Catechism of the Council of Trent,\"\nand nothing extreme about our Blessed Lady is propounded there. On the\nwhole, I am sanguine that you will come to the conclusion that\nAnglicans may safely trust themselves to us English Catholics as\nregards any devotions to the Blessed Virgin which might be required of\nthem, over and above the rule of the Council of Trent.\n\n6. And, now at length coming to the statements, not English, but\nforeign, which offend you in works written in her honor, I will\nfrankly say that I read some of those which you quote with grief and\nalmost anger; for they seemed to me to ascribe to the Blessed Virgin a\npower of \"searching the reins and hearts\" which is the attribute of\nGod alone; and I said to myself, how can we any more prove our Lord's\ndivinity from Scripture, if those cardinal passages which invest him\nwith divine prerogatives after all invest him with nothing beyond what\nhis Mother shares with him? And how, again, is there anything of\nincommunicable greatness in his death and passion, if he who was alone\nin the garden, alone upon the cross, alone in the resurrection, after\n{86} all is not alone, but shared his solitary work with his Blessed\nMother--with her to whom, when he entered on his ministry, he said for\nour instruction, not as grudging her her proper glory, \"Woman, what\nhave I to do with thee?\" And then again, if I hate those perverse\nsayings so much, how much more must she, in proportion to her love of\nhim? And how do we show our love for her, by wounding her in the very\napple of her eye? This I said and say; but then, on the other hand, I\nhave to observe that these strange words after all are but few in\nnumber, out of the many passages you cite; that most of them exemplify\nwhat I said above about the difficulty of determining the exact point\nwhere truth passes into error, and that they are allowable in one\nsense or connection, and false in another. Thus to say that prayer\n(and the Blessed Virgin's prayer) is omnipotent, is a harsh expression\nin everyday prose; but, if it is explained to mean that there is\nnothing which prayer may not obtain from God, it is nothing else than\nthe very promise made us in Scripture. Again, to say that Mary is the\ncentre of all being, sounds inflated and profane; yet after all it is\nonly one way, and a natural way, of saying that the Creator and the\ncreature met together, and became one in her womb; and as such, I have\nused the expression above. Again, it is at first sight a paradox to\nsay that \"Jesus is obscured, because Mary is kept in the background;\"\nyet there is a sense, as I have shown above, in which it is a simple\ntruth.\n\nAnd so again certain statements may be true, under circumstances and\nin a particular time and place, which are abstractedly false; and\nhence it may be very unfair in a controversialist to interpret by an\nEnglish or a modern rule whatever may have been asserted by a foreign\nor mediaeval author. To say, for instance, dogmatically, that no one\ncan be saved without personal devotion to the Blessed Virgin, would be\nan untenable proposition: yet it might be true of this man or that, or\nof this or that country at this or that date; and if the very\nstatement has ever been made by any writer of consideration (and this\nhas to be ascertained), then perhaps it was made precisely under these\nexceptional circumstances. If an Italian preacher made it, I should\nfeel no disposition to doubt him, at least as regards Italian youths\nand Italian maidens.\n\nThen I think you have not always made your quotations with that\nconsideration and kindness which is your rule. At p. 106 you say, \"It\nis commonly said, that if any Roman Catholic acknowledges that 'it is\ngood and useful to pray to the saints,' he is not bound himself to do\nso. Were the above teaching true, it would be cruelty to say so;\nbecause, according to it, he would be forfeiting what is morally\nnecessary to his salvation.\" But now, as to the fact, where is it said\nthat to pray to our Lady and the saints is necessary to salvation? The\nproposition of St. Alfonso is, that \"God gives no grace except through\nMary;\" that is, through her intercession. But intercession is one\nthing, devotion is another. And Suarez says, \"It is the universal\nsentiment that the intercession of Mary is not only useful, but also\nin a certain manner necessary;\" but still it is the question of her\nintercession, not of our invocation of her, not of devotion to her. If\nit were so, no Protestant could be saved; if it were so, there would\nbe grave reasons for doubting of the salvation of St. Chrysostom or\nSt. Athanasius, or of the primitive martyrs; nay, I should like to\nknow whether St. Augustine, in all his voluminous writings, invokes\nher once. Our Lord died for those heathens who did not know him; and\nhis mother intercedes for those Christians who do not know her; and\nshe intercedes according to his will, and, when he wills to save a\nparticular soul, she at once prays for it. {87} I say, he wills indeed\naccording to her prayer, but then she prays according, to his will.\nThough then it is natural and prudent for those to have recourse to\nher who, from the church's teaching, know her power, yet it cannot be\nsaid that devotion to her is a _sine qu\u00e2 non_ of salvation. Some\nindeed of the authors whom you quote go further; they do speak of\ndevotion; but even then they do not enunciate the general proposition\nwhich I have been disallowing. For instance, they say, \"It is morally\nimpossible for those to be saved who _neglect_ the devotion to the\nBlessed Virgin;\" but a simple omission is one thing, and neglect\nanother. \"It is impossible for any to be saved who _turns away_ from\nher;\" yes; but to \"turn away\" is to offer some positive disrespect or\ninsult toward her, and that with sufficient knowledge; and I certainly\nthink it would be a very grave act if, in a Catholic country (and of\nsuch the writers were speaking, for they knew of no other), with\nave-marias sounding in the air, and images of the Madonna at every\nstreet and road, a Catholic broke off or gave up a practice that was\nuniversal, and in which he was brought up, and deliberately put her\nname out of his thoughts.\n\n7. Though, then, common sense may determine for us that the line of\nprudence and propriety has been certainly passed in the instance of\ncertain statements about the Blessed Virgin, it is often not easy to\nprove the point logically; and in such cases authority, if it attempt\nto act, would be in the position which so often happens in our courts\nof law, when the commission of an offence is morally certain, but the\ngovernment prosecutor cannot find legal evidence sufficient to insure\nconviction. I am not denying the right of sacred congregations, at\ntheir will, to act peremptorily, and without assigning reasons for the\njudgment they pass upon writers; but, when they have found it\ninexpedient to take this severe course, perhaps it may happen from the\ncircumstances of the case that there is no other that they can take,\neven if they would. It is wiser then for the most part to leave these\nexcesses to the gradual operation of public opinion--that is, to the\nopinion of educated and sober Catholics; and this seems to me the\nhealthiest way of putting them down. Yet in matter of fact I believe\nthe Holy See has interfered from time to time, when devotion seemed\nrunning into superstition; and not so long ago. I recollect hearing in\nGregory the XVI.'s time of books about the Blessed Virgin which had\nbeen suppressed by authority; and in particular of a representation of\nthe immaculate conception which he had forbidden, and of measures\ntaken against the shocking notion that the Blessed Mary is present in\nthe holy eucharist in the sense in which our Lord is present; but I\nhave no means of verifying the information I received.\n\nNor have I time, any more than you have had, to ascertain how far\ngreat theologians have made protests against those various\nextravagances of which you so rightly complain. Passages, however,\nfrom three well-known Jesuit fathers have opportunely come in my way,\nand in one of them is introduced, in confirmation, the name of the\ngreat Gerson. They are Canisius, Petavius, and Raynaudus; and as they\nspeak very appositely, and you do not seem to know them, I will here\nmake some extracts from them:\n\n(1.) Canisius:\n\n  \"We confess that in the _cultus_ of Mary it has been and is possible\n  for corruptions to creep in; and we have a more than ordinary desire\n  that the pastors of the Church should be carefully vigilant here,\n  and give no place to Satan, whose characteristic office it has ever\n  been, while men sleep, to sow the cockle amid the Lord's wheat. . .\n  . For this purpose it is his wont gladly to avail himself of the aid\n  of heretics, fanatics, and false Catholics, as may be seen in the\n  instance of this _Marianus cultus_. This _cultus_, heretics,\n  suborned by Satan, attack with hostility Thus, too, certain mad\n  heads are so {88} demented by Satan, as to embrace superstitions and\n  idolatries instead of the true _cultus_ and neglect altogether the\n  due measures whether in respect to God or to Mary. Such indeed were\n  the Collyridians of old. . . . Such that German herdsman a hundred\n  years ago, who gave out publicly that he was a new prophet and had\n  had a vision of the Deipara, and told the people in her name to pay\n  no more tributes and taxes to princes. .... Moreover, how many\n  Catholics does one see who, by great and shocking negligence, have\n  neither care nor regard for her _cultus_, but, given to profane and\n  secular objects, scarce once a year raise their earthly minds to\n  sing her praises or to venerate her!\"--_De Mari\u00e2 Deipar\u00e2_, p. 518.\n\n(2.) Father Petau says, when discussing the teaching of the fathers\nabout the Blessed Virgin (de Incarn. xiv. 8):\n\n  \"I will venture to give this advice to all who would be devout and\n  panegyrical toward the Holy Virgin, viz., not to exceed in their\n  piety and devotion to her, but to be content with true and solid\n  praises, and to cast aside what is otherwise. The latter kind of\n  idolatry, lurking, as St. Augustine says, nay implanted, in human\n  hearts, is greatly abhorrent from theology, that is from the gravity\n  of heavenly wisdom, which never thinks or asserts anything but what\n  is measured by certain and accurate rules. What that rule should be,\n  and what caution is to be used in our present subject, I will not\n  determine of myself, but according to the mind of a most weighty and\n  most learned theologian, John Gerson, who in one of his epistles\n  proposes certain canons, which he calls truths, by means of which\n  are to be measured the assertions of theologians concerning the\n  incarnation. . . By these truly golden precepts Gerson brings within\n  bounds the immoderate license of praising the Blessed Virgin, and\n  restrains it within the measure of sober and healthy piety. And from\n  these it is evident that that sort of reasoning is frivolous and\n  nugatory in which so many indulge, in order to assign any sort of\n  grace they please, however unusual, to the Blessed Virgin. For they\n  argue thus: 'Whatever the Son of God could bestow for the glory of\n  his mother, that it became him in fact to furnish;' or again,\n  'Whatever honors or ornaments he has poured out on other saints,\n  those all together hath he heaped upon his mother;' whence they draw\n  their chain of reasoning to their desired conclusion; a mode of\n  argumentation which Gerson treats with contempt as captious and\n  sophistical.\"\n\nHe adds, what of course we all should say, that, in thus speaking, he\nhas no intention to curtail the liberty of pious persons in such\nmeditations and conjectures, on the mysteries of faith, sacred\nhistories, and the Scripture text, as are of the nature of comments,\nsupplements, and the like.\n\n(3.) Raynaud is an author full of devotion, if any one is so, to the\nBlessed Virgin; yet, in the work which he has composed in her honor\n(\"Diptycha Mariana\"), he says more than I can quote here to the same\npurpose as Petau. I abridge some portions of his text:\n\n  \"Let this be taken for granted, that no praises of ours can come up\n  to the praises due to the Virgin Mother. But we must not make up for\n  our inability to reach her true praise by a supply of lying\n  embellishment and false honors. For there are some whose affection\n  for religious objects is so imprudent and lawless, that they\n  transgress the due limits even toward the saints. This Origen has\n  excellently observed upon in the case of the Baptist, for very many,\n  instead of observing the measure of charity, consider whether he\n  might not be the Christ\"--p. 9. \". . . St. Anselm, the first, or\n  one of the first, champions of the public celebration of the Blessed\n  Virgin's immaculate conception, says (de Excell. Virg.) that the\n  church considers it indecent, that anything that admits of doubt\n  should be said in her praise, when the things which are certainly\n  true of her supply such large materials for laudation. It is right\n  so to interpret St. Epiphanius also, when he says that human tongues\n  should not pronounce anything lightly of the Deipara; and who is\n  more justly to be charged with speaking lightly of the most holy\n  Mother of God, than he who, as if what is certain and evident did\n  not suffice for her full investiture, is wiser than the aged, and\n  obtrudes on us the toadstools of his own mind, and devotions unheard\n  of by those holy fathers who loved her best? Plainly as St. Anselm\n  says that she is the Mother of God, this by itself exceeds every\n  elevation which can be named or imagined, short of God. About so\n  sublime a majesty we should not speak hastily from prurience of wit,\n  or flimsy pretext of promoting piety; but with great maturity of\n  thought; and, whenever the maxims of the church and the oracles of\n  {89} faith do not suffice, then not without the suffrages of the\n  doctors. . . . Those who are subject to this prurience of\n  innovation, do not perceive how broad is the difference between\n  subjects of human science and heavenly things. All novelty\n  concerning the objects of our faith is to be put far away; except so\n  far as by diligent investigation of God's word, written and\n  unwritten, and a well founded inference from what is thence to be\n  elicited, something is brought to light which, though already indeed\n  there, had not hitherto been recognized. The innovations which we\n  condemn are those which rest neither on the written nor unwritten\n  word, nor on conclusions from it, nor on the judgment of ancient\n  sages, nor sufficient basis of reason, but on the sole color and\n  pretext of doing more honor to the Deipara.\"--p. 10.\n\nIn another portion of the same work, he speaks in particular of one of\nthose imaginations to which you especially refer, and for which,\nwithout strict necessity (as it seems to me), you allege the authority\nof \u00e0 Lapide:\n\n  \"Nor is that honor of the Deipara to be offered, viz., that the\n  elements of the body of Christ, which the Blessed Virgin supplied to\n  it, remain perpetually unaltered in Christ, and thereby are found\n  also in the eucharist. . . . This solicitude for the Virgin's glory\n  must, I consider, be discarded; since, if rightly considered, it\n  involves an injury toward Christ, and such honors the Virgin loveth\n  not. And first, dismissing philosophical bagatelles about the\n  animation of blood, milk, etc., who can endure the proposition that\n  a good portion of the substance of Christ in the eucharist should be\n  worshipped with a _cultus_ less than _latria_? viz., by the inferior\n  _cultus_ of _hyperdulia?_ The preferable class of theologians\n  contend that not even the humanity of Christ is to be materially\n  abstracted from the Word of God, and worshipped by itself; how then\n  shall we introduce a _cultus_ of the Deipara in Christ, which is\n  inferior to the _cultus_ proper to him? How is this other than\n  casting down of the substance of Christ from his royal throne, and a\n  degradation of it to some inferior sitting-place? Is is nothing to\n  the purpose to refer to such fathers as say that the flesh of Christ\n  is the flesh of Mary, for they speak of its origin. What will\n  hinder, if this doctrine be admitted, our also admitting that there\n  is something in Christ which is detestable? for, as the first\n  elements of a body which were communicated by the Virgin to Christ\n  have (as these authors say) remained perpetually in Christ, so the\n  same _materia_, at least in part, which belonged originally to the\n  ancestors of Christ, came down to the Virgin from her father,\n  unchanged, and taken from her grandfather, and so on. And thus,\n  since it is not unlikely that some of these ancestors were\n  reprobate, there would now be something actually in Christ which had\n  belonged to a reprobate and worthy of detestation.\"--p. 237.\n\n8. After such explanations, and with such authorities, to clear my\npath, I put away from me, as you would wish, without any hesitation,\nas matters in which my heart and reason have no part (when taken in\ntheir literal and absolute sense, as any Protestant would naturally\ntake them, and as the writers doubtless did not use them), such\nsentences, and phrases, as these: that the mercy of Mary is infinite;\nthat God has resigned into her hands his omnipotence; that\n(unconditionally) it is safer to seek her than her Son; that the\nBlessed Virgin is superior to God; that he is (simply) subject to her\ncommand; that our Lord is now of the same disposition as his Father\ntoward sinners, viz., a disposition to reject them, while Mary takes\nhis place as an advocate with Father and Son; that the saints are more\nready to intercede with Jesus than Jesus with the Father; that Mary is\nthe only refuge of those with whom God is angry; that Mary alone can\nobtain a Protestant's conversion; that it would have sufficed for the\nsalvation of men if our Lord had died not to obey his Father, but to\ndefer to the decree of his mother; that she rivals our Lord in being\nGod's daughter, not by adoption, but by a kind of nature; that Christ\nfulfilled the office of Saviour by imitating her virtues; that, as the\nincarnate God bore the image of his Father, so he bore the image of\nhis mother; that redemption derived from Christ indeed its\nsufficiency, but from Mary its beauty and loveliness; that us we are\nclothed with the merits of Christ, so we are clothed with {90} the\nmerits of Mary; that, as he is priest, in like manner is she\npriestess; that his body and blood in the eucharist are truly hers and\nappertain to her; that as he is present and received therein, so is\nshe present and received therein; that priests are ministers, as of\nChrist, so of Mary; that elect souls are born of God and Mary; that\nthe Holy Ghost brings into fruitfulness his action by her, producing\nin her and by her Jesus Christ in his members; that the kingdom of God\nin our souls, as our Lord speaks, is really the kingdom of Mary in the\nsoul--and she and the Holy Ghost produce in the soul extraordinary\nthings--and when the Holy Ghost finds Mary in a soul he flies there.\n\nSentiments such as these I never knew of till I read your book, nor,\nas I think, do the vast minority of English Catholics know them. They\nseem to me like a bad dream. I could not have conceived them to be\nsaid. I know not to what authority to go for them, to Scripture, or to\nthe fathers, or to the decrees of councils, or to the consent of\nschools, or to the tradition of the faithful, or to the Holy See, or\nto reason. They defy all the _loci theologici_. There is nothing of\nthem in the Missal, in the Roman Catechism, in the Roman '\"Raccolta,\"\nin the \"Imitation of Christ,\" in Gother, Challoner, Milner, or\nWiseman, as far as I am aware. They do but scare and confuse me. I\nshould not be holier, more spiritual, more sure of perseverance, if I\ntwisted my moral being into the reception of them; I should but be\nguilty of fulsome, frigid flattery toward the most upright and noble\nof God's creatures if I professed them, and of stupid flattery too;\nfor it would be like the compliment of painting up a young and\nbeautiful princess with the brow of a Plato and the muscle of an\nAchilles. And I should expect her to tell one of her people in waiting\nto turn me off her service without warning. Whether thus to feel be\nthe _scandalum parvulorum_ in my case, or the _scandalum\nPharisaeorum_, I leave others to decide; but I will say plainly that I\nhad rather believe (which is impossible) that there is no God at all,\nthan that Mary is greater than God. I will have nothing to do with\nstatements which can only be explained by being explained away. I do\nnot, however, speak of these statements as they are found in their\nauthors, for I know nothing of the originals, and cannot believe that\nthey have meant what you say; but I take them as they lie in your\npages. Were any of them the sayings of saints in ecstasy, I should\nknow they had a good meaning; still, I should not repeat them myself;\nbut I am looking at them not as spoken by the tongues of angels, but\naccording to that literal sense which they bear in the mouths of\nEnglish men and English women. And, as spoken by man to man, in\nEngland, in the nineteenth century, I consider them calculated to\nprejudice inquirers, to frighten the unlearned, to unsettle\nconsciences, to provoke blasphemy, and to work the loss of souls.\n\n9. And now, after having said so much as this, bear with me, my dear\nfriend, if I end with an expostulation. Have you not been touching us\non a very tender point in a very rude way? Is not the effect of what\nyou have said to expose her to scorn and obloquy who is dearer to us\nthan any other creature? Have you even hinted that our love for her is\nanything else than an abuse? Have you thrown her one kind word\nyourself all through your book? I trust so, but I have not lighted\nupon one. And yet I know you love her well. Can you wonder, then--can\nI complain much, much as I grieve--that men should utterly misconceive\nof you, and are blind to the fact that you have put the whole argument\nbetween you and us on a new footing; and that, whereas it was said\ntwenty-five years ago in the \"British Critic,\" \"Till Rome ceases to be\nwhat practically she is, union is _impossible_ between her and\nEngland,\" you declare, on the contrary, \"It is _possible_ as soon as\nItaly and England, {91} haying the same faith and the same centre of\nunity, are allowed to hold severally their own theological opinions?\"\nThey have not done you justice here because, in truth, the honor of\nour Lady is dearer to them than the conversion of England.\n\nTake a parallel case, and consider how you would decide it yourself.\nSupposing an opponent of a doctrine for which you so earnestly\ncontend, the eternity of punishment, instead of meeting you with\ndirect arguments against it, heaped together a number of extravagant\ndescriptions of the place, mode, and circumstances of its infliction,\nquoted Tertullian as a witness for the primitive fathers, and the\nCovenanters and Ranters for these last centuries; brought passages\nfrom the \"Inferno\" of Dante, and from the sermons of Whitfield; nay,\nsupposing he confined himself to the chapters on the subject in Jeremy\nTaylor's work on \"The State of Man,\" would you think this a fair and\nbecoming method of reasoning? and if he avowed that he should ever\nconsider the Anglican Church committed to all these accessories of the\ndoctrine till its authorities formally denounced Taylor and Whitfield,\nand a hundred others, would you think this an equitable determination,\nor the procedure of a theologian?\n\n\n\nSo far concerning the Blessed Virgin, the chief but not the only\nsubject of your volume. And now, when I could wish to proceed, she\nseems to stop me, for the Feast of her Immaculate Conception is upon\nus; and close upon its octave, which is kept with special solemnities\nin the churches of this town, come the great antiphons, the heralds of\nChristmas. That joyful season, joyful for all of us, while it centres\nin him who then came on earth, also brings before us in peculiar\nprominence that Virgin Mother who bore and nursed him. Here she is not\nin the background, as at Eastertide, but she brings him to us in her\narms. Two great festivals, dedicated to her honor, to-morrow's and the\nPurification, mark out and keep the ground, and, like the towers of\nDavid, open the way to and fro for the high holiday season of the\nPrince of Peace. And all along it her image is upon it, such as we see\nit in the typical representation of the Catacombs. May the sacred\ninfluences of this time bring us all together in unity! May it destroy\nall bitterness on your side and ours! May it quench all jealous, sour,\nproud, fierce antagonism on our side; and dissipate all captious,\ncarping, fastidious refinements of reasoning on yours! May that bright\nand gentle lady, the Blessed Virgin Mary, overcome you with her\nsweetness, and revenge herself on her foes by interceding effectually\nfor their conversion!\n\nI am, yours, most affectionately,\nJohn H. Newman.\n\nTHE ORATORY, BIRMINGHAM,\n_In fest. S. Ambrosii_, 1865.\n\n{92}\n\n\nFrom The Sixpenny Magazine.\n\nHAVEN'T TIME\n\n\nA CHAPTER FOR PARENTS.\n\n\n\"That boy needs more attention,\" said Mr. Green, referring to his\neldest son, a lad whose wayward temper and inclination to vice\ndemanded a steady, consistent, wise, and ever-present exercise of\nparental watchfulness and authority.\n\n\"You may well say that,\" returned the mother of the boy, for to her\nthe remark had been made. \"He is getting entirely beyond me.\"\n\n\"If I only had the time to look after him?\" Mr. Green sighed as he\nuttered these words.\n\n\"I think you ought to take more time for a purpose like this,\" said\nMrs. Green.\n\n\"More time!\" Mr. Green spoke with marked impatience. \"What time have I\nto attend to him, Margaret? Am I not entirely absorbed in business?\nEven now I should be at the counting-house, and am only kept away by\nyour late breakfast.\"\n\nJust then the breakfast bell rang, and Mr. and Mrs. Green, accompanied\nby their children, repaired to the dining-room. John, the boy about\nwhom the parents had been talking, was among the number. As they took\ntheir places at the table he exhibited certain disorderly movements,\nand a disposition to annoy his younger brothers and sisters. But these\nwere checked, instantly, by his father, of whom John stood in some\nfear.\n\nBefore the children had finished eating, Mr. Green laid his knife and\nfork side by side on his plate, pushed his chair back, and was in the\nact of rising, when his wife said:\n\n\"Don't go yet. Just wait until John is through with his breakfast. He\nacts dreadfully the moment your back is turned.\"\n\nMr. Green turned a quick, lowering glance upon the boy, whose eyes\nshrank beneath his angry glance, saying as ho did so:\n\n\"I haven't time to stay a moment longer; I ought to have been at my\nbusiness an hour ago, But see here, my lad,\" addressing himself to\nJohn, \"there has been enough of this work. Not a day passes that I am\nnot worried with complaints about you. Now, mark me! I shall inquire\nparticularly as to your conduct when I come home at dinner-time; and,\nif you have given your mother any trouble, or acted in any way\nimproperly, I will take you severely to account. It's outrageous that\nthe whole family should be kept in constant trouble by you. Now, be on\nyour guard!\"\n\nA moment or two Mr. Green stood frowning upon the boy, and then\nretired.\n\nScarcely had the sound of the closing street-door, which marked the\nfact of Mr. Green's departure, ceased to echo through the house, ere\nJohn began to act as was his custom when his father was out of the\nway. His mother's remonstrances were of no avail; and, when she\nfinally compelled him to leave the table, he obeyed with a most\nprovoking and insolent manner.\n\nAll this would have been prevented if Mr. Green had taken from\nbusiness just ten minutes, and conscientiously devoted that time to\n{93} the government of his wayward boy and the protection of the\nfamily from his annoyances.\n\nOn arriving at his counting-house, Mr. Green found two or three\npersons waiting, and but a single clerk in attendance. He had felt\nsome doubts as to the correctness of his conduct in leaving home so\nabruptly, under the circumstances; but the presence of the customers\nsatisfied him that he had done right. Business, in his mind, was\nparamount to everything else; and his highest duty to his family he\nfelt to be discharged when he was devoting himself most assiduously to\nthe work of procuring for them the means of external comfort, ease,\nand luxury. Worldly well-doing was a cardinal virtue in his eyes.\n\nMr. Green was the gainer, perhaps, of two shillings in the way of\nprofit on sales, by being at his counting-house ten minutes earlier\nthan would have been the case had he remained with his family until\nthe completion of their morning meal. What was lost to his boy by the\nopportunity thus afforded for an indulgence in a perverse and\ndisobedient temper it is hard to say. Something was, undoubtedly,\nlost--something, the valuation of which, in money, it would be\ndifficult to make.\n\nMrs. Green did not complain of John's conduct to his father at\ndinner-time. She was so often forced to complain that she avoided the\ntask whenever she felt justified in doing so; and that was, perhaps,\nfar too often. Mr. Green asked no questions; for he knew, by\nexperience, to what results such questions would lead, and he was in\nno mood for unpleasant intelligence. So John escaped, as he had\nescaped hundreds of times before, and felt encouraged to indulge his\nbad propensities at will, to his own injury and the annoyance of all\naround him.\n\nIf Mr. Green had no time in the morning or through the day to attend\nto his children, the evening, one might think, would afford\nopportunity for conference with them, supervision of their studies,\nand an earnest inquiry into their conduct and moral and intellectual\nprogress. But such was not the case. Mr. Green was too much wearied\nwith the occupation of the day to bear the annoyance of the children;\nor his thoughts were too busy with business matters, or schemes of\nprofit, to attend to the thousand and one questions they were ready to\npour in upon him from all sides; or he had a political club to attend,\nan engagement with some merchant for the discussion of a matter\nconnected with trade, or felt obliged to be present at the meeting of\nsome society of which he was a member. So he either left home\nimmediately after tea, or the children were sent to bed in order that\nhe might have a quiet evening for rest, business reflection, or the\nenjoyment of a new book.\n\nMr. Green had so much to do and so much to think about that he had no\ntime to attend to his children; and this neglect was daily leaving\nupon them ineffaceable impressions that would inevitably mar the\nhappiness of their after lives. This was particularly the case with\nJohn. Better off in the world was Mr. Green becoming every day--better\noff as it regarded money; but poorer in another sense--poorer in\nrespect to home affections and home treasures. His children were not\ngrowing up to love him intensely, to confide in him implicitly, and to\nrespect him as their father and friend. He had no time to attend to\nthem, and rather pushed them away than drew them toward him with the\nstrong cords of affection. To his wife he left their government, and\nshe was not equal to the task.\n\n\"I don't believe,\" said Mrs. Green, one day, \"that John is learning\nmuch at the school where he goes. I think you ought to see after him a\nlittle. He never studies a lesson at home.\"\n\n\"Mr. Elden has the reputation of being one of our best teachers. His\nschool stands high,\" replied Mr. Green. {94} \"That may happen,\" said\nMrs. Green. \"Still, I really think you ought to know, for yourself,\nhow John is getting along. Of one thing I am certain, he does not\nimprove in good manners nor good temper in the least. And he is never\nin the house between school-hours, except to get his meals. I wish you\nwould require him to be at your counting-house during the afternoons.\nSchool is dismissed at four o'clock, and he ranges the streets with\nother boys, and goes where he pleases from that time until night.\n\n\"That's very bad,\"--Mr. Green spoke in a concerned voice,--\"very bad.\nAnd it must be broken up. But as to having him with me, that is out of\nthe question. He would be into everything, and keep me in hot water\nall the while. He'd like to come well enough, I do not doubt; but I\ncan't have him there.\"\n\n\"Couldn't you set him to do something?\"\n\n\"I might. But I haven't time to attend to him, Margaret. Business is\nbusiness, and cannot be interrupted.\"\n\nMrs. Green sighed, and then remarked:\n\n\"I wish you would call on Mr. Elden and have a talk with him about\nJohn.\"\n\n\"I will, if you think it best.\"\n\n\"Do so, by all means. And beside, I would give more time to John in\nthe evenings. If, for instance, you devoted an evening to him once a\nweek, it would enable you to understand how he is progressing, and\ngive you a control over him not now possessed.\"\n\n\"You are right in this, no doubt, Margaret.\"\n\nBut reform went not beyond this acknowledgment. Mr. Green could never\nfind time to see John's teacher, nor feel himself sufficiently at\nleisure, or in the right mood of mind, to devote to the boy even a\nsingle evening.\n\nAnd thus it went on from day to day, from month to month, and from\nyear to year, until, finally, John was sent home from school by Mr.\nElden with a note to his father, in which idleness, disorderly\nconduct, and vicious habits were charged upon him in the broadest\nterms.\n\nThe unhappy Mr. Green called immediately upon the teacher, who gave\nhim a more particular account of his son's bad conduct, and concluded\nby saying that he was unwilling to receive him back into his school.\n\nStrange as it may seem, it was four months before Mr. Green \"found\ntime\" to see about another school, and to get John entered therein;\nduring which long period the boy had full liberty to go pretty much\nwhere he pleased, and to associate with whom he liked. It is hardly to\nbe supposed that he grew any better for this.\n\nBy the time John was seventeen years of age, Mr. Green's business had\nbecome greatly enlarged, and his mind more absorbed therein. With him\ngain was the primary thing; and, as a consequence, his family held a\nsecondary place in his thoughts. If money were needed, he was ever\nready to supply the demand; that done, he felt that his duty to them\nwas, mainly, discharged. To the mother of his children he left the\nwork of their wise direction in the paths of life--their government\nand education; but she was inadequate to the task imposed.\n\nFrom the second school at which John was entered he was dismissed\nwithin three months, for bad conduct. He was then sent to school in a\ndistant city, where, removed from all parental restraint and\nadmonition, he made viler associates than any he had hitherto known,\nand took thus a lower step in vice. He was just seventeen, when a\nletter from the principal of this school conveyed to Mr. Green such\nunhappy intelligence of his son that he immediately resolved, as a\nlast resort, to send him to sea, before the mast--and this was done,\nspite of all the mother's tearful remonstrances, and the boy's threats\nthat he would {95} escape from the vessel on the very first\nopportunity.\n\nAnd yet, for all this sad result of parental neglect, Mr. Green\ndevoted no more time nor care to his children. Business absorbed the\nwhole man. He was a merchant, both body and soul. His responsibilities\nwere not felt as extending beyond his counting-house, further than to\nprovide for the worldly well-being of his family. Is it any cause of\nwonder that, with his views and practice, it should not turn out well\nwith his children; or, at least, with some of them?\n\nAt the end of a year John came home from sea, a rough, cigar-smoking,\ndram-drinking, overgrown boy of eighteen, with all his sensual desires\nand animal passions more active than when he went away, while his\nintellectual faculties and moral feelings were in a worse condition\nthan at his separation from home. Grief at the change oppressed the\nhearts of his parents; but their grief was unavailing. Various efforts\nwere made to get him into some business, but he remained only a short\ntime in any of the places where his father had him introduced.\nFinally, he was sent to sea again. But he never returned to his\nfriends. In a drunken street-brawl, that occurred while on shore at\nValparaiso, he was stabbed by a Spaniard, and died shortly afterward.\n\nOn the very day this tragic event took place, Mr. Green was rejoicing\nover a successful speculation, from which he had come out the gainer\nby two thousand pounds. In the pleasure this circumstance occasioned,\nall thoughts of the absent one, ruined by his neglect, were swallowed\nup.\n\nSeveral months elapsed. Mr. Green had returned home, well satisfied\nwith his day's business. In his pocket was the afternoon paper, which,\nafter the younger children were in bed, and the older ones out of his\nway, he sat down to read. His eyes turned to the foreign intelligence,\nand almost the first sentence he read was the intelligence of his\nson's death. The paper dropped from his hands, while he uttered an\nexpression of surprise and grief that caused the cheeks of his wife,\nwho was in the room, to turn deadly pale. She had not power to ask the\ncause of her husband's sudden exclamation; but her heart, that ever\nyearned toward her absent boy, instinctively divined the truth.\n\n\"John is dead!\" said Mr. Green, at length, speaking in a tremulous\ntone of voice.\n\nThere was from the mother no wild burst of anguish. The boy had been\ndying to her daily for years, and she had suffered for him worse than\nthe pangs of death. Burying her face in her hands, she wept silently,\nyet hopelessly.\n\n\"If we were only blameless of the poor child's death!\" said Mrs.\nGreen, lifting her tearful eyes, after the lapse of nearly ten\nminutes, and speaking in a sad, self-rebuking tone of voice.\n\nWhen those with whom we are in close relationship die, how quickly is\nthat page in memory's book turned on which lies the record of\nunkindness or neglect! Already had this page been turned for Mr.\nGreen, and conscience was sweeping therefrom the dust that well-nigh\nobscured the handwriting. He inwardly trembled as he read the\ncondemning sentences that charged him with his son's ruin.\n\n\"If we were only blameless of the poor child's death!\"\n\nHow these words of the grieving mother smote upon his heart. He did\nnot respond to them. How could he do so at that moment?\n\n\"Where is Edward?\" he inquired, at length.\n\n\"I don't know,\" sobbed the mother. \"He is out somewhere almost every\nevening. Oh! I wish you would look to him a little more closely. He is\npast my control.\"\n\n\"I must do so,\" returned Mr. Green, speaking from a strong conviction\nof the necessity of doing as his wife suggested; \"if I only had a\nlittle more time----\"\n\n{96}\n\nHe checked himself. It was the old excuse--the rock upon which all his\nbest hopes for his first-born had been fearfully wrecked. His lips\nclosed, his head was bowed, and, in the bitterness of unavailing\nsorrow, he mused on the past, while every moment the conviction of\nwrong toward his child, now irreparable, grew stronger and stronger.\n\nAfter that, Mr. Green made an effort to exercise more control over his\nchildren; but he had left the reins loose so long that his tighter\ngrasp produced restiveness and rebellion. He persevered, however; and,\nthough Edward followed too closely the footsteps of John, yet the\nyounger children were brought under salutary restraints. The old\nexcuse--want of time--was frequently used by Mr. Green to justify\nneglect of parental duties; but a recurrence of his thoughts to the\nsad ruin of his eldest boy had, in most cases, the right effect; and\nin the end he ceased to give utterance to the words--\"I haven't time.\"\nHowever, frequently he fell into neglect, from believing that business\ndemanded his undivided attention.\n\n------\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\n\nTHE SONG OF THE SHELL.\n\nWRITTEN ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE.\n\n\n  There's a music aloft in the air\n  As if devils were singing a song;\n  There's a shriek like the shriek of despair.\n  And a crash which the echoes prolong.\n\n  There's a voice like the voice of the gale,\n  When it strikes a tall ship on the sea;\n  There's a rift like the rent of her sail.\n  As she helplessly drifts to the lee.\n\n  There's a rush like the rushing of fiends.\n  Compelled by an horrible spell;\n  There's a flame like the flaming of brands,\n  Snatched in rage from the furnace of hell.\n\n  There's a wreath like the foam on the wave,\n  There's a silence unbroke by a breath;\n  There's a thud like the clod in a grave,\n  There are writhings, and moanings, and death!\n\n------\n\n{97}\n\nFrom The Lamp.\n\nALL-HALLOW EVE; OR, THE TEST OF FUTURITY.\n\nBY ROBERT CURTIS.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nThe chief was well aware of the reputation which the priest had\nobtained through the parish for medical skill, and was himself\nconvinced of how well he deserved it. Indeed, had the alternative\nrested in any case between Father Farrell and the dispensary doctor,\nthere was not a parishioner who would not have preferred his pastor's\nmedical as well as spiritual aid.\n\nThe chief, instead of ordering off the dispensary doctor to see young\nLennon upon a rumor that he was worse, went quietly to Father Farrell,\nwho must know the truth, and be able to give good advice as to what\nsteps, if any, were necessary to adopt.\n\nThe matter turned out to be another black-crow story. Father Farrell\nhad also heard it in its exaggerated form, and had not lost a moment\nin proceeding to the spot. Young Lennon had gone out to assist his\nfather in planting some potatoes--so far the rumor was correct. But he\nhad been premature in his own opinion of his convalescence. The very\nfirst stoop he made he felt quite giddy; and although he did not fall\nforward on his face, he was obliged to lean upon his father for\nsupport for a few moments. This little experiment served to keep him\nquiet for a while longer; but Father Farrell assured the chief that\nmatters were no worse than they had been--he might make his mind easy;\nthere was no injury beyond the flesh, which, of course, had become\nmuch sorer, and must do so for a few days still.\n\nThe chief, however, suggested the prudence, if not the necessity, of\nhaving a medical man to see him. \"Not,\" said he, \"but that I have as\nmuch, if not more, confidence in your own skill and experience than in\nany which is available in this wild district.\"\n\n\"That is rather an equivocal compliment; but perhaps it is fully as\nmuch as I deserve,\" said the priest.\n\n\"Well, I don't mean it as such, Father Farrell; but you know a great\nresponsibility would rest upon me, should anything unfortunate occur.\"\n\n\"I see. It would not do in a court of justice to put a priest upon the\ntable in a medical position. I certainly could not produce a diploma.\nYou are quite right, my dear sir; you would be held responsible.\nHowever, I can go the length to assure you that at present there is\nnot the slightest necessity for medical aid, particularly--between you\nand me--under existing circumstances, which I understand very well.\nThe matter was a mere accident I am fully persuaded. Bat, supposing\nfor a moment that it was not, I know young Lennon since he was a child\nrunning to school in his bare feet, with 'his turf and his\nread-a-ma-daisy;' and I am convinced that no power on earth would\ninduce him to prosecute Tom Murdock.\"\n\n\"Why? are they such friends?\"\n\n\"No; quite the reverse, and that is the very reason. But ask me no\nmore about it. Another objection I see to calling in the dispensary\ndoctor is this--that I am aware of an ill-feeling existing between him\nand Tom {98} Murdock about a prize at a coursing-match, which the\ndoctor thinks was unfairly given to Tom Murdock through his influence\nwith the judge; and the doctor was heard to say in reference to it,\n'that it was a long lane that had no turning.' Now here would be an\nopen for the doctor to put a turn on the lane, however straight it\nmight be in fact. He would not certify that Lennon's life was out of\ndanger--you would have to arrest Tom Murdock; young Lennon would go\ndistracted, and the two parishes would be in an uproar. Ill-will would\nbe engendered between all the young men of opposite sides, and all for\nnothing; for young Lennon will be as well as ever he was in ten days.\nThese are my views of the case. But if your official responsibility\nobliges you to differ with me, I am ready to hear you further.\"\n\nThis was a great oration of Father Farrell's, but it was both sensible\nand true from beginning to end, and it convinced the chief of the\npropriety of \"resting on his oars\" for a few days longer at all\nevents.\n\nThe result proved at least that there was more luck in leisure than\ndanger in delay. Emon-a-knock grew better; but it was by degrees. He\ncould not yet venture to attend to his usual daily labor, by which he\nso materially contributed to the support of the family. The weather\nwas fine, and \"the spring business\" was going forward rapidly in all\ndirections. Poor Emon fretted that he was not able to add his\naccustomed portion to the weekly earnings; but Father Farrell watched\nhim too closely. Once or twice he stole out to do some of their own\nwork, and let his father earn some of the high wages which was just\nthen to be had; but his own good sense told him that he was still\nunable for the effort. At the end of an hour's work the old idea\nhaunted him that an attempt had been made to murder him, and if he had\nbeen made a merchant-prince for it, he could not recollect how it had\nhappened. The only thing he did recollect distinctly about it was,\nthat Shanvilla won the day, and that he had been sent home in Winny\nCavana's cart and jennet--_that_, if he were in a raging fever, he\ncould never forget.\n\nBut it was a sad loss to the family, Emon's incapacity to work. He had\nbeen now three weeks ill; and although the wound in his head was in a\nfair way of being healed, there was still a confused idea in his mind\nabout the whole affair which he could not get rid of. At times, as he\nendeavored to review the matter as it had actually occurred, he could\nnot persuade himself but that it was really an accident; and while\nunder this impression he felt quite well, and able for his ordinary\nlabor. But there were moments when a sudden thought would cross his\nmind that it had been a secret and premeditated attempt upon his life;\nand then it was that the confusion ensued which rendered him unable to\nrecollect. What if it were really this attempt--supposing that\npositive proof could be adduced of the fact--what then? Would he\nprosecute Tom Murdock? Oh, no. Father Farrell was right; but he had\nnot formed his opinion upon the true foundation. Emon-a-knock would\nnot prosecute, even if he could do so to conviction. He would deal\nwith Tom Murdock himself if ever a fair opportunity should arise; and\nif not, he might yet be in a position more thoroughly to despise him.\n\nIn the meantime Lennon's family had not been improving in\ncircumstances. Emon was losing all the high wages of the spring's\nwork. Upon one or two occasions, when he stealthily endeavored to do a\nlittle on his own land, while his father was catching the ready penny\nabroad, he found, before he was two hours at work, the haunting idea\npress upon his brain; and he returned to the house and threw himself\nupon the bed confused and sad. In spite of this, however, the wound in\nhis head was now progressing more favorably, and {99} returning\nstrength renewed a more cheerful spirit within him. He fought hard\nagainst the idea which at times forced itself upon him. The priest,\nwho was a constant visitor, saw that all was not yet right. He took\nEmon kindly by the hand and said: \"My dear young friend, do you not\nfeel as well as your outward condition would indicate that you ought\nto be?\"\n\n\"Yes, Father Farrell, I thank God I feel my strength almost perfectly\nrestored. I shall be able, I hope, to give my poor father the usual\nhelp in a few days. The worst of it is that the throng of the spring\nwork is over, and wages are now down a third from what they were a\nmonth or three weeks ago.\"\n\n\"If _that_ be all that is fretting you, Emon, cheer up, for there is\nplenty of work still to be had; and if the wages are not quite so high\nas they were a while back, you shall have constant work for some time,\nwhich will be better than high wages for a start. I can myself afford\nto make up for some of the loss this unfortunate blow has caused you.\nYou must accept of this.\" And he pulled a pound-note from his breeches\npocket.\n\nIf occasionally there were moments when Emon's ideas were somewhat\nconfused, they were never clearer or sharper than as Father Farrell\nsaid this. It so happened that he was thinking of Winny Cavana at the\nmoment; indeed, it would be hard to hit upon the moment when he was\nnot. Shanvilla was proverbially a poor parish; and Father Farrell's\ncontinual and expressed regret was, that he was not able personally to\ndo more for the poor of his flock. Emon was sharp enough, and stout\nenough, to speak his mind even to his priest, when he found it\nnecessary.\n\nHe looked inquiringly into Father Farrell's face. \"No, Father Farrell,\nyou _cannot_ afford it,\" he said. \"It is your kindness leads you to\nsay so; and if you could afford it there are--and no man knows it\nbetter than you do--many still poorer families than ours in the parish\nrequiring your aid. But under no circumstances shall I touch _that_\npound.\"\n\nThe priest was found out, and became disconcerted; but the matter was\ncoming to a point, and he might as well have it out.\n\n\"Why do you lay such an emphasis upon the word _that_?\" said he. \"It\nis a very good one,\" he added, laughing.\n\n\"Well, Father Farrell, I am always ready and willing to answer you any\nquestions you may choose to ask me, for you are always discreet and\nconsiderate. Of course I must always answer any questions you have a\nright to ask; but you have no right to probe me now.\"\n\n\"Certainly not, Emon, but you know a counsel's no command.\"\n\n\"Your counsel, Father Farrell, is always good, and almost amounts to a\ncommand. I beg your pardon, if I have spoken hastily.\"\n\n\"Emon, my good young friend, and I will add, my dear young friend, I\ndo not wish to probe you upon any subject you are not bound to give me\nyour confidence upon; but why did you lay such an emphasis just now on\nthe word _that_? If you do not wish to answer me, you need not do so.\nBut you must take _this_ pound-note. You see I can lay an emphasis as\nwell as you when I think it is required.\"\n\n\"No, Father Farrell. If the note was your own, I might take the loan\nof it, and work it in with you, or pay you when I earned it. But I do\nnot think it is: there is the truth for you, Father Farrell.\"\n\n\"I see how it is, Emon, and you are very proud. However, the truth is,\nthe pound was sent to me anonymously for you from a friend.\"\n\n\"She might as well have signed her name in full,\" said Emon, sadly,\n\"for any loss that I can be at upon the subject--or perhaps you\nyourself, Father Farrell.\"\n\n\"Well, I was at no loss, I confess. But you were to know nothing about\nit, Emon; only you were so sharp. {100} There is no fear that your\nintellects have been injured by the blow, at all events. It was meant\nkindly, Emon, and I think you ought to take it--here.\"\n\n\"You think so, Father Farrell?\"\n\n\"I do; indeed I do, Emon.\"\n\n\"Give it me, then,\" he said, taking it; and before Father Farrell's\nface he pressed it to his lips. He then got a pen and ink, and wrote\nsomething upon it. It was nothing but the date; he wanted no\nmemorandum of anything else respecting it. But he would hardly have\nwritten even that, had he intended to make use of it.\n\nThe priest stood up to leave. He knew more than he chose to tell\nEmon-a-knock. But there was an amicable smile upon his lips as he held\nout his hand to bid him goodby.\n\nOh, the suspicion of a heart that loves!\n\n\"Father Farrell,\" he said, still holding the priest's hand, \"is this\nthe note, the very note, the identical note, she sent me?\"\n\n\"Yes, Emon; I would not deceive you about it. It is the very note;\nwhich, I fear,\" he added, \"is not likely to be of much use to you.\"\n\n\"Why do you say that, Father Farrell? You shall one day see the\ncontrary.\"\n\n\"Because you seem to me rather inclined to 'huxter it up,' as we say,\nthan to make use of it. Believe me, that was not the intention it was\nsent with; oh, no, Emon; it was sent with the hope that it might be of\nsome use, and not to be hoarded up through any morbid sentimentality.\"\n\n\"Give me one instead of it. Father Farrell, and keep this one until I\ncan redeem it.\"\n\n\"I have not got another, Emon; pounds are not so plenty with me.\"\n\n\"And yet you would have persuaded me just now that it was your own and\nthat you could afford to bestow it upon me!\"\n\n\"Pardon me, Emon, I would not have persuaded you; I was merely silent\nupon the subject until your suspicions made you cross-examine me. I\nwas then plain enough with you. I used no deceit; and I now tell you\nplainly that if you take this pound-note, you ought to use it;\notherwise you will give her who sent it very just cause for\nannoyance.\"\n\n\"Then it shall be as she wishes and as you advise, Father Farrell. I\ncannot err under your guidance. I shall use it freely and with\ngratitude; but you need not tell her that I know who sent it.\"\n\n\"Do you think that I am an _aumadhawn_, Emon? The very thing she was\nanxious to avoid herself. I shall never speak to her, perhaps, upon\nthe subject.\"\n\nThe priest then left him with a genuine and hearty blessing, which\ncould not fail of a beneficial influence.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nThe priest had been a true prophet and a good doctor, and perhaps it\nwas well for all parties concerned that the dispensary M.D. had been\ndispensed with. Emon now recovered his strength every day more and\nmore. The wound in his head had completely healed. There was scarcely\na mark left of where it had been, unless you blew his beautiful soft\nhair aside, when a slight hard ridge was just perceptible. Father\nFarrell had procured him a permanent job of some weeks, at rather an\nincrease of wages from what was \"going\" at the time, for the spring\nbusiness was now over and work was slack. But a gentleman who had\nrecently purchased a small property in that part of the country, and\nintended to reside, had commenced alterations in the laying-out of the\ngrounds about his \"mansion;\" and meeting Father Farrell one day, asked\nhim if he could recommend a smart, handy man for a tolerably long job.\nThere would be a good deal of \"skinning\" and cutting of sods, {101}\nlevelling hillocks, and filling up hollows, and wheeling of clay. For\nthe latter portion of the work, the man should have help. What he\nwanted was a tasty, handy fellow, who would understand quickly what\nwas required as it was explained to him.\n\nFather Farrell, as the gentleman said all this, thought that he must\nhave actually had Emon-a-knock in his mind's eye. He was the very man\non every account, and the priest at once recommended him. This job\nwould soon make up for all the time poor Emon had lost with his broken\nhead. And for his intelligence and taste Father Farrell had gone bail.\nThus it was that Emon after all had not broken the pound-note, but, in\nspite of the priest, had hoarded it as a trophy of Winny's love.\n\nEmon would have had a rather long walk every morning to his work, and\nthe same in the evening after it was over. But Mr. D---- on the very\nfirst interview with young Lennon, was sharp enough to find out his\nvalue as a rural engineer, and, for his own sake as well as Lennon's,\nhe made arrangements that he should stop at a tenant's house, not far\nfrom the scene of his landscape-gardening, which was likely to last\nfor some time. Mr. D---- was not a man who measured a day's work by\nits external extent. He looked rather to the manner of its\naccomplishment, and would not allow the thing to be \"run over.\" He did\nnot care for the expense; what he wanted was to have the thing well\ndone; and he gave Father Farrell great credit for his choice in a\nworkman. If he liked the job when it was finished, he did not say but\nthat he would give Lennon a permanent situation, as overseer, at a\nfixed salary. But up to this time he had not seen, nor even heard of,\nWinny Cavana, except what had been implied to his heart by the\npriest's pound-note. He was further now from Rathcash chapel than\never; nevertheless he would show himself there, \"God willing,\" next\nSunday. What was Tom Murdock's surprise and chagrin on the following\nSunday to observe \"that confounded whelp\" on the road before him, as\nhe went to prayers--looking, too, better dressed, and as well and\nhandsome as ever! He thought he had \"put a spoke in his wheel\" for the\nwhole summer at the least; and before that was over, he had determined\nto have matters irrevocably  _clinched_ if not _settled_ with Miss\nWinifred Cavana.\n\nAfter what manner this was to be accomplished was only known to\nhimself and three others, associates in his villany.\n\nThe matter had been already discussed in all its bearings. All the\narguments in favor of, and opposed to, its success had been exhausted,\nand the final result was, that the thing should be done, and was only\nwaiting a favorable opportunity to be put in practice. Some matters of\ndetail, however, had to be arranged, which would take some time; but\nas the business was kept \"dark\" there was no hurry. Tom Murdock's\nsecret was safe in the keeping of his coadjutors, whose \"oath of\nbrotherhood\" bound them not only to inviolable silence, but to their\nassistance in carrying out his nefarious designs.\n\nThe sight of young Lennon once more upon the scene gave a spur to\nTom's plans and determination. He had hoped that that \"accidental tip\"\nwhich he had given him would at least have had the effect of reducing\nhim in circumstances and appearance, and have kept him in his own\nparish. He knew that Lennon was depending upon his day's wages for\neven the sustenance of life; that there was a family of at least four\nbeside himself to support; and he gloated himself over the idea that a\nmonth or six weeks' sick idleness, recovering at best when there was\nno work to be had, would have left \"that whelp\" in a condition almost\nunpresentable even at his own parish chapel. What was his\nmortification, therefore, when he now beheld young Lennon before him\non the road!\n\n{102}\n\n\"By the table of war,\" he said in his heart, \"this must hasten my\nplans! I cannot permit an intimacy to be renewed in that quarter. I\nmust see my friends at once.\"\n\nWinny Cavana, although she had not seen Emon-a-knock since the\naccident, had taken care to learn through her peculiar resources how\n\"the poor fellow was getting on.\" Her friend Kate Mulvey was one of\nthese resources.\n\nAlthough it has not yet oozed out in this story, it is necessary that\nit should now do so: Phil M'Dermott, then, was a great admirer of Kate\nMulvey. He was one of those who advocated an interchange of\nparishioners in the courting line. He did not think it fair that\n\"exclusive dealing\" should be observed in such cases.\n\nNow, useless as it was, and forlorn as had been hitherto the hope,\nPhil M'Dermott, like all true lovers, could not keep away from his\ncold-hearted Kate. It was a satisfaction to him at all events \"to be\nlooking at her;\" and somehow since Emon's accident she seemed more\nfriendly and condescending in her manner to poor Phil. It will be\nremembered that Phil M'Dermott was a great friend of Emon-a-knock's,\nand it may now be said that he was a near neighbor. It was natural,\nthen, that Kate Mulvey should find out all about Emon from him, and\n\"have word\" for Winny when they met. This was one resource, and Father\nFarrell, as he sometimes passed Kate's door, was another. Father\nFarrell could guess very well, notwithstanding Kate's careless manner\nof asking, that his information would not rest in her own breast, and\ngave it as fully and satisfactorily as he could.\n\nKate Mulvey, however, \"would not for the world\" say a word to either\nPhil M'Dermott or Father Farrell which could be construed as coming\nfrom Winny Cavana to Emon-a-knock; she had Winny's strict orders to\nthat effect. But Kate felt quite at liberty to make any remarks she\nchose, as coming from herself.\n\nPoor Emon, upon this his first occasion of, it may be said, appearing\nin public after his accident, was greeted, after prayers were over,\nwith a genuine cordiality by the Rathcash boys, and several times\ninterfered with in his object of \"getting speech\" of Winny Cavana, who\nwas some distance in advance, in consequence of these delays.\n\nBut Winny was not the girl to be frustrated by any unnecessary prudery\non such an occasion.\n\n\"Father,\" she said, \"there's Emon at our chapel to-day for the first\ntime since he was hurt. Let us not be behindhand with the neighbors to\ncongratulate him on his recovery. I see all the Rathcash people are\nglad to see him.\"\n\n\"And so they ought, Winny; I'm glad you told me he was here, for I did\nnot happen to see him. Stand where you are until he comes up.\" And the\nold man stood patiently for some minutes while Emon's friends were\nexpressing their pleasure at his reappearance.\n\nWinny had kept as clear as possible of Tom Murdock since the accident\nat the hurling match; so much so that he could not but know it was\nintentional.\n\nTom had remarked during prayers that Winny's countenance had\nbrightened up wonderfully when young Lennon came into the chapel, and\ntook a quiet place not far inside the door; for he had been kept\noutside by the kind inquiries of his friends until the congregation\nhad become pretty throng. He had observed too, for he was on the\nwatch, that Winny's eyes had often wandered in the direction of the\ndoor up to the time when \"that whelp\" had entered; but from that\nmoment, when he had observed the bright smile light up her face, she\nhad never turned them from the officiating priest and the altar.\n\nTom had not ventured to walk home with Winny from the chapel for some\nSundays past, nor would he to-day. What puzzled him not a little was\nwhat his line of conduct ought to be with respect to Lennon, whom he\nhad not seen since the accident. His course {103} was, however, taken\nafter a few moments' reflection. He did not forget that on the\noccasion of the blow he had exhibited much sympathy with the sufferer,\nand had declared it to have been purely accidental. He should keep up\nthat character of the affair now, or make a liar of himself, both as\nto the past and his feelings.\n\n\"Beside,\" thought he, \"I may so delay him that Miss Winifred cannot\nhave the face to delay for him so long.\"\n\nJust then, as Emon had emancipated himself from the cordiality of\nthree or four young men, and was about to step out quickly to where he\nsaw Winny and her father standing on the road, Tom came up.\n\n\"Ah, Lennon!\" he said, stretching out his hand, \"I am glad to see you\nin this part of the country again. I hope you are quite recovered.\"\n\n\"Quite, thank God,\" said Emon, pushing by without taking his hand.\n\"But I see Winny and her father waiting on the road, and I cannot stop\nto talk to you;\" and he strode on. Emon left out the \"Cavana\" in the\nabove sentence on purpose, because he knew the familiarity its\nomission created would vex Tom Murdock.\n\n\"Bad luck to your impudence, you conceited cub, you!\" was Murdock's\nmental ejaculation as he watched the cordial greeting between him and\nWinny Cavana, to say nothing of her father, who appeared equally glad\nto see him.\n\nPhil M'Dermott had come for company that day with Emon, and had\nmanaged to join Kate Mulvey as they came out of chapel. She had her\neyes about her, and saw very well how matters had gone so far. For the\nfirst time in her life she noticed the scowl on Tom Murdock's brow as\nshe came toward him.\n\n\"God between us and harm, but he looks wicked this morning!\" thought\nshe; and she was almost not sorry when he turned suddenly round and\nwalked off without waiting for her so much as to \"bid him the time of\nday.\"\n\n\"That's more of it,\" said Tom to himself. \"There is that one now\ntaking up with that tinker.\"\n\nHe felt something like the little boy who said, \"What! will nobody\ncome and play with me?\" But Tom did not, like him, become a good boy\nafter that.\n\nHe watched the Cavanas and Lennon, who had not left the spot where\nLennon came up with them until they were joined by Kate And Phil\nM'Dermott, when they all walked on together, chatting and laughing as\nif nobody in the world was wicked or unhappy.\n\nHe dodged them at some distance, and was not a little surprised to see\nthe whole party-\"the whelp,\" \"the tinker,\" and all--turn up the lane\nand go into Cavana's house.\n\n\"_That will do_,\" said he; \"I must see my friends this very night, and\nbefore this day fortnight we'll see who will win the trick.\"\n\nEmon-a-knock and Phil M'Dermott actually paid a visit to old Ned\nCavana's that Sunday. Tom Murdock had seen them going in, and he\nminuted them by his silver hunting-watch--for he had one. His eye\nwandered from the door to his watch, and from his watch to the door,\nas if he were feeling the pulse of their visit. He thought he had\nnever seen Kate Mulvey looking so handsome, or Phil M'Dermott so clean\nor so well-dressed.\n\nBut it mattered not. If Kate was a Venus, Tom will carry out his plans\nwith respect to Winny, and let Phil M'Dermott work his own point in\nthat other quarter. Not that he cared much for Winny herself, but he\nwanted her farm, and he _hated \"that whelp Lennon.\"_\n\nThey remained just twenty-five minutes in old Cavana's; this for Kate\nMulvey was nothing very wonderful, but for two young men--neither of\nwhom had ever darkened his doors before--Tom thought it rather a long\nvisit.\n\n{104}\n\nThere they were now, going down the lane together, laughing and\nchatting, all three seemingly in good humor.\n\nCranky and out of temper as he was, Tom's observation was correct in\nmore matters than one, Phil M'Dermott was particularly well-dressed on\nthis occasion, his first visit to Rathcash chapel. Perhaps after\nto-day he may be oftener there than at his own.\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nPerhaps there was nothing extraordinary, after the encouragement which\nEmon had met with upon his first appearance at Rathcash chapel after\n\"the accident,\" if he found it pleasanter to \"overtake mass\" there\nthan to come in quietly at Shanvilla. The walk did him good. Be this\nas it may, he was now a regular attendant at a chapel which was a mile\nand a half further from his home than his own.\n\nTwo Sundays had now come round since Tom Murdock had seen the\nreception which \"that whelp\" had met with from the Cavanas, not only\nas he came out of the chapel, but in asking him up to the house, and,\nhe supposed, giving him luncheon; for the visits had been repeated\neach successive Sunday. Then that fellow M'Dermott had also come to\ntheir chapel, and he and Kate Mulvey had also gone up with the\nCavanas. This was now the third Sunday on which this had taken place;\nand not only Winny herself, but her father seemed to acquiesce in\nbringing it about.\n\nTom's fortnight had passed by, and he had not \"won the trick,\" as he\nhad threatened to do. \"Well,\" thought he, \"it cannot be done in a\nminute. I have been dealing the cards, and, contrary to custom, the\ndealer shall lead beside; and that soon.\"\n\nWinny's happy smile was now so continuous and so gratifying to her\nfather's heart, that if he had not become altogether reconciled to an\nincreased intimacy with Edward Lennon, he had at all events become a\nconvert to her dislike to Tom Murdock, and no mistake.\n\nIn spite of all his caution, one or two matters had crept out as to\nhis doings, and had come to old Ned's ears in such a way that no doubt\ncould remain on his mind of their veracity. He began to give Winny\ncredit for more sharpness than he had been inclined to do; and it\ncrossed his mind once that, if Winny was not mistaken about Tom\nMurdock's villany, she might not be mistaken either about _anybody\nelse's worth_. The thought had not individualized itself as yet. In\nthe meantime young Lennon's quiet and natural manner, his unvarying\nattention and respect for the old man himself, and his apparent\ncarelessness for Winny's private company, grew upon old Ned\ninsensibly; and it was now almost as a fixed rule that he paid a\nSunday visit after mass at Rathcash, the old man putting his hand upon\nhis shoulder, and facing him toward the house at the end of the lane,\nsaying, \"Come, Edward Lennon, the murphys will be teemed by the time\nwe get up, and no one can fault our bacon or our butter.\"\n\n\"_My_ butter, Emon,\" said Winny on one occasion, at a venture.\n\nHer father looked at her. But there was never another word about it.\n\nAll this was anything but pleasing to Tom Murdock, who always sulkily\ndogged them at some distance behind.\n\nNow we shall not believe that Emon-a-knock was such a muff, or Winny\nCavana such a prude, as to suppose that no little opportunity was\nseized upon for a kind soft word between them _unknownt_. Nor shall we\nsuppose that Kate Mulvey, who was always of the party, was such a\nmarplot as to obstruct such a happy casualty, should it occur,\nparticularly if Phil was to the fore.\n\nEmon's careless, loud laugh along the road, as he escorted Kate to her\nown door, gave evidence that his heart was light and that (as Kate\nthought, though she did not question him) {105} matters were on the\nright road for him. Winny, too, when they met, was so happy, and so\ndifferent from what for a while she had been, that Kate, although she\ndid not question her either, guessed that all was right with her too.\n\nMatters, as they now seemed to progress, and he watched them close,\nwere daggers to Tom Murdock's heart. He had seen Winny Cavana, on more\nthan one evening, leave the house and take the turn toward Kate\nMulvey's. On these occasions he had the meanness and want of spirit to\nwatch her movements; and although he could not satisfy himself that\nyoung Lennon came to meet her, he was not quite satisfied that he did\nnot.\n\nWinny invariably turned into Kate Mulvey's, and remained for a long\nvisit. Might not \"that hound\" be there?--Tom sometimes varied his\nepithets--might it not be a place of assignation? This was but the\nsuspicion of a low, mean mind like Tom Murdock's.\n\nThe fact is, since Tom's threat about \"winning the trick\" he had been\nrather idle. His game was not one which could be played out by\ncorrespondence--he was too cunning for that--and the means which he\nwould be obliged to adopt were not exactly ready at his hand. He saw\nthat matters were not pressing in another quarter yet, if ever they\nshould press, and he would \"ride a waiting race,\" and win\nunexpectedly. Thus the simile of Tom's thoughts still took their tone\nfrom the race-course, and he would \"hold hard\" for another bit.\nCircumstances, however, soon occurred which made him \"push forward\ntoward the front\" if he had any hope \"to come in first.\"\n\nEdward Lennon having finished his \"landscape gardening\" at Mr. D----s,\nand the overseership being held over for the present, had got another\nrather long job, on the far part of Ned Cavana's farm, in laying out\nand cutting drains, where the land required reclaiming. He had shown\nso much taste and intelligence, in both planning and performing, that\nold Ned was quite delighted with him, and began to regret \"that he had\nnot known his value as an agricultural laborer long before.\" There was\none other at least--if not two--who sympathized in that regret. At all\nevents, there he was now every day up to his hips in dirty red clay,\nscooping it up from the bottom of little drains more than three feet\ndeep, in a long iron scoop with a crooked handle. This job was at the\nfar end of Ned's farm, and, in coming to his work, Lennon need hardly\ncome within sight of the house, for the work lay in the direction of\nShanvilla. Emon did not \"quit work\" until it was late; he was then in\nanything but visiting trim, if such a thing were even possible. He,\ntherefore, saw no more of Winny on account of the job than if he had\nbeen at work on the Giant's Causeway. But a grand object had been\nattained, nevertheless--he was working for Ned Cavana, and had given\nhim more than satisfaction in the performance of the job, and on one\noccasion old Ned had called him \"Emon-a-wochal,\" a term of great\nfamiliarity. This was a great change for the better. If young Lennon\nhad been as well acquainted with racing phraseology as Tom Murdock, he\nalso would have thought that he would \"make a waiting race of it.\" But\nthe expression of _his_ thoughts was that he \"would bide his time.\"\n\nThe Sundays, however, were still available, and Emon did not lose the\nchance. He now because so regular an attendant at Rathcash chapel, and\nwent up so regularly with old Ned and his daughter after prayers, that\nit was no wonder if people began to talk.\n\n\"I donna what Tom Murdock says to all this, Bill,\" said Tim Fahy to a\nneighbor, on the road from the chapel.\n\n\"The sorra wan of me knows, Tim, but I hear he isn't over-well\nplaised.\"\n\n\"Arrah, what id he be plaised at? Is it to see a Shanvilla boy,\nwithout a cross, intherlopin' betune him an' his bachelor?\"\n\n\"Well, they say he needn't be a bit afeared, Lennon is a very good\nworkman, {106} and undherstan's dhrainin', an' ould Ned's cute enough\nto get a job well done; but he'd no more give his daughter with her\nfine fortin' to that chap, than he'd throw her an' it into the\nsay--b'lieve you me.\"\n\n\"There's some very heavy cloud upon Tom this while back, any way; and\nthough he keeps it very close, there's people thinks it's what she\nrefused him.\"\n\n\"The sorra fear iv her, Tim; she has more sinse nor that.\"\n\n\"Well, riddle me this, Bill. What brings that chap here Sunda' afther\nSunda', and what takes him up to ould Ned Cavana's every Sunda' afther\nmass? He is a very good-lookin' young fellow, an' knows a sheep's head\nfrom a sow's ear, or Tim Fahy's a fool.\"\n\n\"_Och badhershin_, doesn't he go up to walk home wid Kate Mulvey, for\nshe's always iv the party?\"\n\n\"And _badhershin_ yourself, Bill, isn't Phil M'Dermott always to the\nfore for Kate?--another intherloper from Shanvilla. I donna what the\nsorra the Rathcash boys are about.\"\n\nOther confabs of a similar nature were carried on by different sets as\nthey returned from prayers, and saw the Cavanas with their company\nturn up the lane toward the house. The young girls of the district,\ntoo, had their chats upon the subject; but they were so voluble, and\nsome of them so ill-natured, that I forbear to give the reader any\nspecimen of their remarks. One or two intimate associates of Tom\nventured to quiz him upon the state of affairs. Now none but an\nintimate friend, indeed, of Tom's should have ventured, under the\ncircumstances, to have touched upon so sore a subject, and those who\ndid, intimate as they were, did not venture to repeat the joke. No, it\nwas no joke; and that they soon found out. To one friend who had\nquizzed him privately he said, \"Suspend your judgment, Denis; and if I\ndon't prove myself more than a match for that half-bred _kiout_, then\ncondemn me.\"\n\nBut to another, who had quizzed him before some bystanders in rather a\nridiculous point of view, he turned like a bull-terrier, while his\nface assumed a scowl of a peculiarly unpleasant character.\n\n\"It is no business of yours,\" he said, \"and I advise you to mind your\nown affairs, or perhaps I'll make you.\"\n\nThe man drew in his horns, and sneaked off, of course; and from that\nmoment they all guessed that the business had gone against Tom, and\nthey left off quizzing.\n\nTom felt that he had been wrong, and had only helped to betray\nhimself. His game now was to prevent, if possible, any talk about the\nmatter, one way or the other, until his plans should be matured, when\nhe doubted not that success would gain him the approbation of every\none, no matter what the means.\n\nThe preface to his plans was, to spread a report that he had gone back\nto Armagh to get married to a girl with an immense fortune, and he\nendorsed the report by the fact of his leaving home; but whether to\nArmagh or not, was never clearly known.\n\nYoung Lennon went on with his job, at which old Ned told him \"to take\nhis time, an' do it well. It was not,\" he said, \"like digging a plot,\nwhich had to be dug every year, or maybe twice. When it was wance\nfinished and covered up, there it was; worse nor the first day, if it\nwas not done right; so don't hurry it over, Emon-a-wochal. I don't\nmind the expense; ground can't be dhrained for nothin', an' it id be a\nbad job if we were obliged to be openin' any of the dhrains a second\ntime, an' maybe not know where the stoppage lay; so take your time,\nand don't blame me if you botch it.\"\n\n\"You need not fear, sir,\" said Lennon. (He always said \"sir\" as yet.)\n\"You need not fear; if every drain of them does not run like the\nstream from Tubbernaltha, never give me a day's work again.\"\n\n{107}\n\n\"As far as you have gone, Emon, I think they are complate; we'll have\nforty carts of stones in afore Saturda' night. I hope you have help\nenough, boy.\"\n\n\"Plenty, sir, until we begin to cover in.\"\n\n\"Wouldn't you be able for that yourself? or couldn't you bring your\nfather with you? I'd wish to put whatever I could in your way.\"\n\n\"Thank you, sir, very much. I will do so if I want more help; but for\nthe lucre of keeping up his wages and mine, I would not recommend you\nto lose this fine weather in covering in the drains.\"\n\n\"You are an honest boy, Emon, and I like your way of talkin', as well\nas workin'; plaise God we won't see you or your father idle.\"\n\nUp to this it will be seen that Emon was not idle in any sense of the\nword. He was ingratiating himself, but honestly, into the good graces\nof old Ned; \"if he was not fishing, he was mending his nets;\" and the\nabove conversation will show that he was not a dance at that same.\n\nIt happened, upon one or two occasions, that old Ned was with Emon at\nleaving off work in the evening, and he asked him to \"cum' up to the\nhouse and have a dhrink of beer, or whiskey-and-wather, his choice.\"\n\nBut Emon excused himself, saying he was no fit figure to go into any\ndecent man's parlor in that trim, and indeed his appearance did not\nbelie his words; for he was spotted and striped with yellow clay, from\nhis head and face to his feet, and the clothes he brought to the work\nwere worth nothing.\n\n\"Well, you'll not be always so, Emon, when you're done wid the\nscoopin',\" said old Ned; and he added, laughing, \"The divil a wan o'\nme'd know you to be the same boy I seen cumin' out o' mass a Sunda'.\"\n\nEmon had heard, as everybody else had heard, that Tom Murdock had left\nhome, and he felt as if an incubus had been lifted off his heart. Not\nthat he feared Tom in any one way; but he knew that his absence would\nbe a relief to Winny, and, as such, a relief to himself.\n\nEmon was now as happy as his position and his hopes permitted him to\nbe; and there can be little doubt but this happiness arose from an\nunderstanding between himself and Winny; but how, when, or where that\nunderstanding had been confirmed, it would be hard to say.\n\nOld Ned's remarks to his daughter respecting young Lennon were nuts\nand apples to her. She knew the day would come, and perhaps at no far\ndistant time, when she must openly avow, not only a preference for\nEmon, but declare an absolute determination to cast her lot with his,\nand ask her father's blessing upon them. She was aware that this could\nnot, that it ought not to, be hurried. She hoped--oh, how fervently\nshe hoped!--that the report of Tom Murdock's marriage might be true:\nthat of his absence from home she knew to be so. In the meantime it\nkept the happy smile for ever on her lips to know that Emon was daily\ncreeping into the good opinion of her father. Oh! how could Emon, her\nown Emon, fail, not only to creep but to rush into the good opinion,\nthe very heart, of all who knew him? Poor enthusiastic Winny! But she\nwas right. With the solitary exception of Tom Murdock, there was not a\nhuman being who knew him who did not love Edward Lennon. But where is\nthe man with Tom Murdock's heart, and in Tom Murdock's place, who\nwould not have hated him as he did?\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\nTom Murdock, seeing that his hopes by fair means were completely at an\nend, and that matters were likely to progress in another quarter at a\nrate which made it advisable not to let the leading horse get too far\nahead, {108} determined to make a rush to the front, no matter whether\nhe went the wrong side of a post or not--let that be settled after.\n\nHe had left home, and left a report behind him, which he took care to\nhave industriously circulated, that he had gone to Armagh, and was\nabout to be married to \"a young lady\" with a large fortune, and that\nhe would visit the metropolis, Fermanagh, and perhaps Sligo, before he\nreturned. But he did not go further than an obscure public-house in a\nsmall village in the lower part of the county of Cavan. There he met\nthe materials for carrying out his plan. The object of it was shortly\nthis--to carry away Winny Cavana by force, and bring her to a\n_friend's_ house in the mountains behind the village adverted to. Here\nhe was to have an old buckle-beggar at hand to marry them the moment\nWinny's spirit was broken to consent. This man, a degraded clergyman,\nas the report went, wandered about the country in green spectacles and\na short, black cloak, always ready and willing to perform such a job;\ndoubly willing and ready for this particular one from the reward which\nTom had promised him. If even the marriage ceremony should fail,\neither through Winny's obstinacy or the clergyman's want of spirit to\ngo through with it in the face of opposition, still he would keep her\nfor ten days or a fortnight at this _friend's_ house, stopping there\nhimself too; and at the end of that time, should he fail in obtaining\nher consent, he would quit the country for a while, and allow her to\nreturn home \"so blasted in character\" that even \"that whelp\" would\ndisown her. There was a pretty specimen of a lover--a husband!\n\nIt was now the end of June. The weather had been dry for some time,\nand the nights were clear and mild; the stars shone brightly, and the\nearly dawn would soon present a heavy dew hanging on the bushes and\nthe grass. The moon was on the wane; but at a late hour of the night\nit was conspicuous in the heavens, adding a stronger light to that\ngiven by the clearness of the sky and the brilliancy of the stars.\n\nRathcash and Rathcashmore were sunk in still repose; and if silence\ncould be echoed, it was echoed by the stillness of the mountains\nbehind Shanvilla and beyond them. The inhabitants of the whole\ndistrict had long since retired to rest, and now lay buried in sleep,\nsome of them in confused dreams of pleasure and delight.\n\nThe angel of the dawn was scarcely yet awake, or he might have heard\nthe sound of muffled horses' feet and muffled wheels creeping along\nthe road toward the lane turning up to Rathcash house, about two hours\nbefore day; and he must have seen a man with a dark mask mounted on\nanother muffled horse at a little distance from the cart.\n\nPresently Tom Murdock--there is no use in simulating mystery where\nnone exists--took charge of the horse and cart to prevent them from\nmoving, while three men stole up toward the house. Ay, there is\nBully-dhu's deep bark, and they are already at the door.\n\n\"That dog! he'll betray us, boys,\" said one of the men.\n\n\"I'd blow his brains out if this pistol was loaded,\" said another;\n\"and I wanted Tom to give me a cartridge.\"\n\n\"He wouldn't let any one load but himself, and he was right; a shot\nwould be twiste as bad as the dog; beside, he's in the back yard, and\ncannot get out. Never heed him, but to work as fast as possible.\"\n\nOld Ned Cavana and Winny heard not only the dog, but the voices.\nWinny's heart foretold the whole thing in a moment, and she braced her\nnerves for the scene.\n\nThe door was now smashed in, and the three men entered. By this time\nold Ned had drawn on his trousers; and as he was throwing his coat\nover his head to got his arms into the sleeves he was seized, and ere\nyou could count ten he was pinioned, with his arms behind him and his\nlegs tied {109} at the ankles, and a handkerchief tied across his\nmouth. Thus rendered perfectly powerless, he was thrown back upon the\nbed, and the room-door locked. Jamesy Doyle, who slept in the barn,\nhad heard the crash of the door, and dressed himself in \"less than no\ntime,\" let Bully-dhu out of the yard, and brought him to the front\ndoor, in at which he rushed like a tiger. But Jamesy Doyle did not go\nin. That was not his game; but he peeped in at the window. No light\nhad been struck, so he could make nothing of the state of affairs\ninside, except from the voices; and from what he heard he could make\nno mistake as to the object of this attack. He could not tell whether\nTom Murdock was in the house or not, but he did not hear his voice.\nOne man said, \"Come, now, be quick, Larry; the sooner we're off with\nher the better.\"\n\nJamesy waited for no more; he turned to the lane as the shortest way,\nbut at a glance he saw the horse and cart and the man on horseback on\nthe road outside; and turning again he darted off across the fields as\nfast as his legs could carry him.\n\nBully-dhu, having gained access to the house, showed no disposition to\ncompromise the matter. \"No quarter!\" was his cry, as he flew at the\nnearest man to him, and seizing him by the throat, brought him to the\nground with a _sough_, where in spite of his struggles, he held him\nfast with a silent, deadly grip. He had learned this much, at least,\nby his encounter with the mastiff on New Year's day.\n\nCareless of their companion's strait, who they thought ought to be\nable to defend himself, the other two fellows--and powerful fellows\nthey were--proceeded to the bed-room to their left; they had locked\nthe door to their right, leaving poor old Ned tied and insensible on\nthe bed. Winny was now dressed and met them at the door.\n\n\"Are you come to commit murder?\" she cried, as they stopped her in the\ndoorway; \"or have you done it already? Let me to my father's room.\"\n\n\"The sorra harm on him, miss, nor the sorra take the hair of his head\nwell hurt no more nor your own. Come, put on your bonnet an' cloak,\nan' come along wid us; them's our ordhers.\"\n\n\"You have a master, then. Where is he? where is Tom Murdock?--I knew\nTom _Murder_ should have been his name. Where is he, I say?\"\n\n\"Come, come, no talk; but on wid your bonnet and cloak at wanst.\"\n\n\"Never; nor shall I ever leave this house except torn from it by the\nmost brutal force. Where is your master, I say? Is he afraid of the\nrope himself which he would thus put round your necks?\"\n\n\"Come, come, on wid your bonnet an' cloak, or, be the powers, we'll\ntake you away as you are.\"\n\n\"Never; where is your master, I say?\"\n\n\"Come, Larry, we won't put up wid any more of her pillaver; out wid\nthe worsted.\"\n\nHere Biddy Murtagh rushed in to her mistress's aid; but she was soon\noverpowered and tied \"neck and heels,\" as they called it, and thrown\nupon Winny's bed. They had the precaution to gag her also with a\nhandkerchief, that she might not give the alarm, and they locked the\ndoor like that at the other end of the house.\n\nLarry, whoever he was, then pulled a couple of skeins of coarse\nworsted from his pocket, while his companion seized Winny round the\nwaist, outside her arms; and the other fellow, who seemed expert, soon\ntied her feet together, and then her hands. A thick handkerchief was\nthen tied across her mouth.\n\n\"Take care to lave plenty of braithin' room out iv her nose, Larry,\"\nsaid the other ruffian; and, thus rendered unable to move or scream,\nthey carried her to the road and laid her on the car. The horseman in\nthe mask asked them where the third man was, and they replied that he\nmust have {110} \"made off\" from the dog, for that they neither saw nor\nheard him after the dog flew at him.\n\nThis was likely enough. He was the only man of the party in whom Tom\nMurdock could not place the most unbounded confidence.\n\n\"The cowardly rascal,\" he said. \"We must do without him.\"\n\nBut he had _not_ made off from the dog.\n\nThe cart was well provided--_to do Tom Murdock justice_--with a\nfeather-bed over plenty of straw, and plenty of good covering to keep\nout the night air. They started at a brisk trot, still keeping the\nhorses' feet and the wheels muffled; and they passed down the road\nwhere the reader was once caught at a dog-fight.\n\nBut to return, for a few minutes, to Rathcash house. Bully-dhu was\nworth a score of old Ned Cavana, even supposing him to have been at\nliberty, and free of the cords by which he was bound. The poor old man\nhad worked the handkerchief by which he had been gagged off his mouth,\nby rubbing it against the bed-post. He had then rolled himself to the\ndoor; but further than that he was powerless, except to ascertain, by\nplacing his chin to the thumb-latch, for he had got upon his feet,\nthat it was fastened outside. He then set up a lamentable demand for\nhelp--upon Winny, upon Biddy Murtagh, and upon Bully-dhu. The dog was\nthe only one who answered him, with a smothered growl, for he still\nheld fast by the grip he had taken of the man's throat. Poor Bully!\nyou need not have been so pertinacious of that grip--the man has been\n_dead_ for the last ten minutes! Finding that it was indeed so, from\nthe perfect stillness of the man, Bully-dhu released his hold, and lay\nlicking his paws and keeping up an angry growl, in answer to the old\nman's cries.\n\nWe must leave them and follow Jamesy Doyle across the fields, and see\nif it was cowardice that made him run so fast from the scene of\ndanger. Ah, no! Jamesy was not that sort of a chap at all. He was\nplucky as well as true to the heart's core. Nor was his intelligence\nand judgment at fault for a moment as to the best course for him to\nadopt. Seeing the fearful odds of three stout men against him, he knew\nthat he could do better than to remain there, to be tied \"neck and\ncrop\" like the poor old man and Biddy. So, having brought Bully-dhu\nround and given him 'his cue, he started off, and never drew breath\nuntil he found himself outside Emon-a-knock's window at Shanvilla, on\nhis way to the nearest police station.\n\n\"Are you there, Emon?\" said he, tapping at it.\n\n\"Yes,\" Emon replied from his bed; \"who are you, or what do you want?\"\n\n\"Jamesy Doyle from Rathcash house. Get up at wanst! They have taken\naway Miss Winny.\"\n\n\"Great heaven I do you say so? Here, father, get up in a jiffy and\ndress yourself. They have taken away Winny Cavana, and we must be off\nto the rescue like a shot. Come in, Jamesy, my boy.\" And while they\nwere \"drawing on\" their clothes, they questioned him as to the\nparticulars.\n\nBut Jamesy had few such to give them, as the reader knows; for, like a\nsensible boy, he was off for help without waiting for particulars.\n\nThe principal point, however, was to know what road they had taken.\nUpon this Jamesy was able to answer with some certainty, for ere he\nhad started finally off, he had watched them, and he had seen the cart\nmove on under the smothered cries of Winny; and he heard the horseman\nsay, \"Now, boys, through the pass between 'the sisters.'\"\n\n\"They took the road to the left from the end of the lane, that's all I\nknow; so let you cut across the country as fast as you can, an' you'll\nbe at Boher before them. Don't delay me now, for I must go on to the\npolice station an' hurry out the sargent {111} and his men; if you can\nclog them at the bridge till I cam' up with the police, all will be\nrights an' we'll have her back wid us. I know very well if I had a\nword wid Miss Winny unknown to the men, she would have sent me for the\npolice; but I took you in my way--it wasn't twenty perch of a round.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Jamesy, a thousand times! There, be off to the sergeant as\nfast as you can; tell him you called here, and that I have calculated\neverything in my mind, and for him and his men to make for\nBoher-na-Milthiogue bridge as fast as possible. There, be off, Jamesy,\nand I'll give you a pound-note if the police are at the bridge before\nTom Murdock comes through the pass with the cart.\"\n\n\"You may keep your pound, man! I'd do more nor that for Miss Winny.\"\nAnd he was out of sight in a moment.\n\nThe father and son were now dressed, and, arming themselves with two\nstout sticks, they did not \"let the grass grow under their feet.\" They\nhurried on until they came to the road turning down to where we have\nindicated that our readers were once caught at a dog-fight. Here Emon\nexamined the road as well as he could by the dim light which\nprevailed, and found the fresh marks of wheels. He could scarcely\nunderstand them. They were not like the tracks of any wheels he had\never seen before, and there were no tracks of horses' feet at all,\nalthough Jamesy had said there was a horseman beside the horse and\ncart.\n\nEmon soon put down these unusual appearances--and he could not well\ndefine them for want of light--to some cunning device of Tom Murdock;\nand how right he was!\n\n\"Come on, father,\" said he. \"I am quite certain they have gone down\nhere. I know Tom Murdock has plenty of associates in the county Cavan,\nand the pass between 'the sisters' is the shortest way he can take.\nBeside, Jamesy heard him say the words. Our plan must be to cut across\nthe country and get to Milthiogue bridge before they get through the\npass and so escape us. What say you, father--are you able and willing\nto push on, and to stand by me? Recollect the odds that are against\nus, and count the cost.\"\n\n\"Emon, I'll count nothing; but I'll--\n\n\"Here, father, in here at this gap, and across by the point of Mullagh\nhill beyond; we must get to Boher before them.\"\n\n\"I'll count no cost, Emon, I was going to tell you. I'm both able and\nwilling, thank God, to stand by you. You deserve it well of me, and so\ndo the Cavanas. God forbid I should renuage my duty to you and them!\nAren't ye all as wan as the same thing to me now?\"\n\nEmon now knew that his father knew all about Winny and him.\n\n\"Father,\" said he, \"that is a desperate man, and he'll stop at\nnothing.\"\n\n\"Is it sthrivin' to cow me you are, Emon?\"\n\n\"No, father; but you saw the state my mother was in as we left.\"\n\n\"Yes, I did, and why wouldn't she? But shure that should not stop us\nwhen we have right on our side; an' God knows what hoult, or distress,\nthat poor girl is in, or what that villain may do to her; an' what\nstate would your mother be in if you were left a desolate madman all\nyour life through that man's wickedness?\"\n\nThese were stout words of his father, and almost assured Emon that all\nwould be well.\n\n\"Father,\" he continued, \"if we get to the bridge before them, and can\nhold it for half an hour, or less, the police will be up with Jamesy\nDoyle, and we shall be all right.\"\n\nThe conversation was now so frequently interrupted in getting over\nditches and through hedges, and they had said so much of what they had\nto say, that they were nearly quite silent for the rest of the way,\nexcept where Emon pointed out to his father the easiest place to get\nover a ditch, or through a hedge, or up the face of a {112} hill. Both\ntheir hearts were evidently in their journey. No less the father's\nthan the son's: the will made the way.\n\nThe dappled specks of red had still an hour to slumber ere the dawn\nawoke, and they had reached the spot; there was the bridge, the\nBoher-na-Milthiogue of our first chapter, within a stone's throw of\nthem. They crept to the battlement and peered into the pass. As yet no\nsound of horse or cart, or whispered word, reached their ears.\n\n\"They must be some distance off yet, father,\" said Emon; \"thank God!\nThe police will have the more time to be up.\"\n\n\"Should we not hide, Emon?\"\n\n\"Certainly; and if the police come up before they do, they should hide\nalso. That villain is mounted; and if a strong defence of the pass was\nshown too soon, he would turn and put spurs to his horse.\"\n\nAs he spoke a distant noise was heard of horses' feet and unmuffled\nwheels. The muffling had all been taken off as soon as they had\nreached the far end of the pass between the mountains, and they were\nnow hastening their speed.\n\n\"The odds will be fearfully against us, father,\" said Emon, who now\nfelt more than ever the dangerous position he had placed his father\nin, and the fearful desolation his loss would cause in his mother's\nheart and in his home. He felt no fear for himself. \"You had better\nleave Tom himself to me, father. I know he will be the man on\nhorseback. Let you lay hold of the horse's head under the cart, and\nknock one of the men, or both, down like lightning, if you can. You\nhave your knife ready to cut the cords that tie her?\"\n\n\"I have, Emon; and don't you fear me; one of them shall tumble at all\nevents, almost before they know that we are on them. I hope I may kill\nhim out an' out; we might then be able for the other two. Do you think\nTom is armed?\" he added, turning pale. But it was so dark Emon did not\nsee it.\n\n\"I am not sure, but I think not He cannot have expected any\nopposition.\"\n\n\"God grant it, Emon! I don't want to hould you back, but don't be\n'fool-hardy,' dear boy.\"\n\n\"Do you want to cow me, father, as you said yourself, just now?\"\n\n\"No, Emon. But stoop, stoop, here they are.\"\n\nCrouching behind the battlements of the bridge, these two resolute men\nwaited the approach of the cavalcade. As they came to the mouth of the\npass the elder Lennon sprang to the head of the horse under the cart,\nand, seizing him with his left hand, struck the man who drove such a\nblow as felled him from the shaft upon which he sat. Emon had already\nseized the bridle of the horseman who still wore the mask, and pushing\nthe horse backward on his haunches, he made a fierce blow at the\nrider's head with his stick. But he had darted his heels--spurs he\nhad none--into his horse's sides, which made him plunge forward,\nrolling Emon on the ground. Forward to the cart the rider then rushed,\ncrying out, \"On, on with the cart!\" But Lennon's father was still\nfastened on the horse's head with his left hand, while with his right\nhe was alternately defending himself against the two men, for the\nfirst had somewhat recovered, who were in charge of it.\n\nTom Murdock would have ridden him down also, and turned the battle in\nfavor of a passage through; but Emon had regained his feet, and was\nagain fastened in the horse's bridle, pushing him back on his\nhaunches, hoping to get at the rider's head, for hitherto his blows\nhad only fallen upon his arms and chest. Here Tom Murdock felt the\nwant of the spurs, for his horse did not spring forward with life and\nforce enough upon his assailant.\n\nA fearful struggle now ensued between them. The men at the cart had\nnot yet cleared their way from the {113} desperate opposition given\nthem by old Lennon, who defendant himself ably, and at the same time\nattacked them furiously. He had not time, however, to cut the cords by\nwhich Winny was bound. A single pause in the use of his stick for that\npurpose would have been fatal. Neither had he been successful in\ngetting beyond his first position at the horse's head. During the\nwhole of this confused attack and defence, poor Winny Cavana, who had\nmanaged to shove herself up into a sitting posture in the cart,\ncontinued to cry out, \"Oh, Tom Murdock, Tom Murdock! even now give me\nup to these friends and be gone, and I swear there shall never be a\nword more about it.\"\n\nBut Tom Murdock was not the man either to yield to entreaties, or to\nbe baffled in his purpose. He had waled Edward Lennon with the butt\nend of his whip about the head and shoulders as well as he could\nacross his horse's head, which Lennon had judiciously kept between\nthem, at times making a jump up and striking at Tom with his stick.\n\nMatters had now been interrupted too long to please Tom Murdock, and\ndarting his heels once more into his horse's sides, he sprang forward,\nrolling young Lennon on the road again.\n\n\"All right now, lads!\" he cried; \"on, on with the cart!\" and he rode\nat old Lennon, who still held his ground against both his antagonists\nmanfully.\n\nBut all was not right. A cry of \"The police, the police!\" issued from\none of the men at the cart, and Jamesy Doyle with four policemen were\nseen hurrying up the boreen from the lower road.\n\nPerhaps it would be unjust to accuse Tom Murdock of cowardice even\nthen--it was not one of his faults--if upon seeing an accession of\nfour armed policemen he turned to fly, leaving his companions in for\nit. One of them fled too; but Pat Lennon held the other fast.\n\nAs Tom turned to traverse the mountain pass back again at full speed,\nLennon, who had recovered himself, sprang like a tiger once more at\nthe horse's head. Now or never he must stay his progress.\n\nTom Murdock tore the mask from his face, and, pulling a loaded pistol\nfrom his breast, he said: \"Lennon, it was not my intention to injure\nyou when I saw you first spring up from the bridge to-night; nor will\nI do so now, if your own obstinacy and foolhardy madness does not\nbring your doom upon yourself. Let go my horse, or by hell I'll blow\nyour brains out! this shall be no mere tip of the hurl, mind you.\" And\nhe levelled the pistol at his head, not more than a foot from his\nface.\n\n\"Never, with life!\" cried Lennon; and he aimed a blow at Tom's\npistol-arm. Ah, fatal and unhappy chance! His stick had been raised to\nstrike Tom Murdock down, and he had not time to alter its direction.\nHad he struck the pistol-arm upward, it might have been otherwise; but\nthe blow of necessity descended. Tom Murdock fired at the same moment,\nand the only difference it made was, that instead of his brains having\nbeen blown out, the ball entered a little to one side of his left\nbreast.\n\nLennon jumped three feet from the ground, with a short, sudden shout,\nand rolled convulsively upon the road, where soon a pool of bloody mud\nattested the murderous work which had been done.\n\nThe angel of the dawn now awoke, as he heard the report of the pistol\nechoing and reverberating through every recess in the many hearts of\nSlieve-dhu and Slieve-bawn. Tom Murdock fled at full gallop; and the\nhearts of the policemen fell as they heard the clattering of his\nhorse's feet dying away in quadruple regularity through the mountain\npass.\n\nJamesy Doyle, who was light of foot and without shoe or stocking,\nrushed forward, saying, \"Sergeant, I'll follow him to the end of the\npass, {114} an' see what road he'll take.\" And he sped onward like a\ndeer.\n\n\"Come, Maher,\" said the sergeant, \"we'll pursue, however hopeless.\nCotter, let you stop with the prisoner we have and the Young woman;\nand let Donovan stop with the wounded man, and stop the blood if he\ncan.\"\n\nSergeant Driscol and Maher then started at the top of their speed, in\nthe track of Jamesy Doyle, in full pursuit.\n\nThere were many turns and twists in the pass between the mountains. It\nwas like a dozen large letter S's strung together.\n\nDriscol stopped for a moment to listen. Jamesy was beyond their ken,\nround one or two of the turns, and they could not hear the horse\ngalloping now.\n\n\"All's lost,\" said the sergeant; \"he's clean gone. Let us hasten on\nuntil we meet the boy; perhaps he knows which road he took.\"\n\nJamesy had been stooping now and then, and peering into the coming\nlights to keep well in view the man whom he pursued. Ay, there he was,\nsure enough; he saw him, almost plainly, galloping at the top of his\nspeed.  Suddenly he' heard a crash, and horse and rider rolled upon\nthe ground.\n\n\"He's down, thank God!\" cried Jamesy, still rushing forward with some\nhope, and peering into the distance. Presently he saw the horse trot\non with his head and tail in the air, without his rider, while a dark\nmass lay in the centre of the road.\n\n\"You couldn't have betther luck, you bloodthirsty ruffian, you!\" said\nJamesy, who thought that it was heaven's lightning that, in justice,\nhad struck down Tom Murdock; and he maintained the same opinion ever\nafterward. At present, however, he had not time to philosophize upon\nthe thought, but rushed on.\n\nSoon he came to the dark mass upon the road. It was Tom Murdock who\nlay there stunned and insensible, but not seriously hurt by the fall.\nThere was nothing of heaven's lightning in the matter at all. It was\nthe common come-down of a stumbling horse upon a bad mountain road;\nbut the result was the same.\n\nJamesy was proceeding to thank God again, and to tie his legs, when\nTom came to.\n\nJamesy was sorry the man's _thrance_ did not last a little longer,\nthat he might have tied him, legs and arms. With his own handkerchief\nand suspenders. But he was late now, and not quite sure that Tom\nMurdock would not murder him also, and \"make off afoot.\"\n\nHere Jamesy thought he heard the hurried step of the police coming\nround the last turn toward him, and as Tom was struggling to his feet,\na bright thought struck him. He \"whipt\" out a penknife he had in his\npocket, and, before Tom had sufficiently recovered to know what he was\nabout, he had cut his suspenders, and given the waist-band of his\ntrousers a _slip_ of the knife, opening it more than a foot down the\nback.\n\nTom had now sufficiently recovered to understand what had happened,\nand to know the strait he was in. He had a short time before seen a\nman named Wolff play Richard III. in a barn in C.O.S.; and if he did\nnot roar lustily, \"A horse, a horse! my kingdom for a horse!\" he\nthought it. But his horse was nearly half a mile away, where a green\nspot upon the roadside tempted him to delay a little his journey home.\n\nTom was not yet aware of the approach of the police. He made a\ndesperate swipe of his whip, which he still held in his hand, at the\nboy, and sprung to his feet. But Jamesy avoided the blow by a side\njump, and kept roaring, \"Police, police!\" at the top of his voice. Tom\nnow found that he had been outwitted by this young boy. He was so\nhampered by his loose trousers about his heels that he could make no\nrun for it, and soon became the prisoner of Sergeant Driscol and his\ncompanion. Well done, Jamesy!\n\n\n\n\nTO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n{115}\n\nTranslated from Le Monde Catholique.\n\nFREDERICK HURTER.\n\n\nFrederick Hurter, the illustrious historian of Pope Innocent III.,\ndied on the 27th of August, 1865, in Gratz, Austria, in the\nsevens-eighth year of his age. Of all the great Catholic characters\nwhich we have lost during the past year, there were undoubtedly very\nfew who have shed a greater brilliancy on our era, and still our loss\nhas, comparatively, passed unnoticed. Germany has certainly paid some\nhomage to the memory of that great Christian; but outside that country\nalmost general silence has enshrouded his tomb. In France, for\nexample, not more than three or four religious newspapers have devoted\nto him even a few lines, and these all derived from a common source,\nand we should not be surprised if many of our own readers should now\nlearn for the first time, from this notice, the death of a man so\njustly celebrated.\n\nTo what, then, have we to ascribe this forgetfulness or indifference?\nPerhaps a simple comparison of dates will account for it. Hurter died,\nas we have stated, in the latter part of August, and La Morici\u00e8re in\nthe early part of the following month. It is therefore natural to\nconjecture that the memory of the great historian was almost\nforgotten, or for the time absorbed, in the midst of the extraordinary\nmanifestations and triumphal funeral ceremonies which have honored the\nremains of the immortal vanquished of Castelfidardo. It must be\nadmitted, however, that such was not just; it would have been better\nto allow to each his legitimate share of respect, and, without\nderogating from the glory of La Morici\u00e8re, render also to Hurter the\nhonor to which he was so justly entitled. Beside, their names were\ndestined to be associated, for both have fought under the same flag,\nalthough in a different manner. Both have been the champions of the\nPapal See, one with his brave sword and the other with his not less\nbrave pen; and both have left magnificent footprints in the religious\nannals of the nineteenth century.\n\nAnother explanation of this apparent neglect, more natural and perhaps\nmore truthful, might be found in the character of Frederick Hurter\nitself, and in that of his last writings. A long time previous to his\ndeath he had achieved the zenith of his fame; the latter part of his\nlong life being devoted to learned studies of undoubted merit and\nimmense advantage, but which have not had the same general attraction\nas his earlier productions, particularly with the French people. We\nfreely acknowledge that this fact does but little credit to the\nCatholic mind of France, but it is nevertheless undeniable. A kind of\ncomparative obscurity has covered with us the latter portion of\nHurter's life, and this, in our opinion, is the principal reason that\nthe news of his death has not created a deeper sensation in this\ncountry.\n\nIn order to repair, as far as it lies in our power, this injustice\nwhich the Catholics of Germany might well consider unfair or\nungrateful, we would like to render, in these few pages, at least a\nfeeble homage to the illustrious dead. We desire to gather together a\nfew of the glorious remembrances which are associated with his name,\nand, above all, to point out that insatiable love of truth and justice\nwhich {116} was the distinguishing feature of his character and which\nseems to have pervaded his whole being under all circumstances and at\nall times.\n\nFrederick Emmanuel Hurter was born of Protestant parents on the 19th\nof May, 1787, in Schaffhausen, Switzerland. His father was prefect of\nLugano; his mother remarkable for her intellect as well as for her\ndecision of character, having sprung from the noble family of the\nZieglers. When scarcely six years old, the child was deeply moved at\nhearing an account of the execution of Louis the Sixteenth, and before\nhe had attained the age of twelve years he had conceived such a\ndistaste for the excesses of the revolutionary spirit then prevailing\nthat it seems never to have forsaken him. At this early age he was an\neager student of the \"History of the Seven Years' War,\" and declared\nhimself in favor of Maria Theresa and against the King of Prussia. Two\nyears afterward a discussion having arisen between himself, his\nschool-fellows, and his teacher, on the relative merits of Pompey and\nCaesar, he promptly and energetically took the part of the former,\nbelieving that in the character of the latter was to be seen the\npersonification of the revolutionary spirit. These were the first\ngerms of that admirable sense of right which distinguished him on all\noccasions. There could even then be foreseen in that child the future\nman destined at some day to be the defender of the most august power\nin the world.\n\nFrom his youth upward, and doubtless from the same feeling of being\nright, he applied himself with marked attention to ascertain the true\nhistory of that most misrepresented epoch, the middle ages, its\nmonastic institutions, and its great pontiffs. Of the latter St.\nGregory VII. seemed to have most attracted him, and his youthful mind\nseems to have delighted in comparing him with the great men of ancient\nRome.\n\nHaving finished his preliminary studies in his native town, Hurter\nstudied in the different classes of theology at the University of\nG\u00f6ttingen, whence he obtained his diploma, and, having been first\nappointed pastor of an obscure village, was soon removed to\nSchaffhausen.\n\nIn 1824 he was appointed chancellor of the consistory; but neither his\ntheological studies nor the duties of his office as pastor, a calling\nhe had embraced through deference for his father rather than from\npersonal inclination, diverted him from the object of his early\npredilections. Thus, while at G\u00f6ttingen he found leisure to write a\n\"History of Theodoric, King of the Ostrogoths.\" It was his first essay\nas historian, being at the time only twenty years old.\n\nLater he wrote a book on the following subject, proposed by the\nNational Institute of France: \"The Civil State during the Government\nof the Goths, and the Fundamental Principles of the Legislation of\nTheodoric and his Successors.\" But this work remained among his\nmanuscripts unpublished. It was at Schaffhausen that he resumed his\nfavorite studies on the middle ages, and completed them. His great\nattraction was not, as might be expected, Gregory VII., but Innocent\nIII., probably on account of a collection of letters written by that\ngreat pontiff, published by Baluze, and which he had formerly bought\nat public sale at G\u00f6ttingen. He certainly had not then the remotest\nidea that that book would at some future day form the foundation of\nhis fame, and the means of a radical change in his Christian and\nsocial life. He commenced his book on Innocent III. in 1818, but it\nwas not until 1833 that the first volume appeared. The second was\npublished the year following. In 1835 he became president of the\nconsistory, an office which placed him at the head of the clergy of\nhis district, and which he resigned after fulfilling its duties for\nsix years. He published the third volume of his \"History of Pope\nInnocent\" in the meantime, and in {117} 1842 the fourth and last\nvolume was given to the press.\n\nThis \"History\" was not only a great literary success, it was more. It\nproduced a decided revolution in historical science. The effect of it\nin Switzerland, Germany, and in fact the whole of Europe, was immense.\nThe extraordinary part enacted by that great Pope was seen for the\nfirst time in its proper light. By the irresistible logic of facts,\nHurler demonstrated how the august institutions of the papacy\naccomplished its mission with a success which, up to his time, had\nnever been conjectured. Every one became convinced that it was the\npapacy alone that had mastered and tempered the overwhelming forces of\nthe half-civilized nations of Europe, in order to more eternal and\nspiritual ends. \"Since then,\" says Hurter himself, in his preface to\nthe third German edition of his first volume, page 21, \"a great number\nof inveterate errors were corrected, many traditional prejudices\ndissipated, many doubts removed; certain minds drew light therefrom,\nothers found a guide in it, and others attained _conviction_ from its\npages. Comparing the present with the past, people became more\ncircumspect in their judgments and less inconsistent in their\nconclusions, and at last an answer was found to the famous question of\nthe Roman governor, \"What is truth?\" (_Quid est veritas?_) \"Truth is\nwhat is based on the indisputable proofs of history and agrees with\nthe nature of all things.\" Sebastian Brunner, a distinguished German\nwriter, after reading the \"History of Innocent III.,\" gave the\nfollowing opinion of its author: \"I hold Mr. Hurter to be the greatest\nof historians; no one previous to him embraces a whole century in so\nadmirable a picture. Hurter is the apostolic historian of the\nnineteenth century.\" This apostleship of Frederick Hurter was the more\nefficient, being exercised by a Protestant, and, what was more, by the\npresident of a consistory. And beside, who would not yield to the\ntestimony of a man whose loyalty and integrity were above all\nsuspicion, and who had made it the rule of his life to observe the\nmost rigid impartiality in all his own views; to seek nothing but the\ntruth, and to honor virtue and merit wherever met, without excepting\nthose who differed from him, so as to neglect nothing in the\naccomplishment of his task in the most perfect possible manner? His\nindeed were admirable qualities, particularly when we consider how\nhistory was written in those times by writers looked upon as models\nand masters. But let us not enlarge on this topic; the \"History of\nInnocent\" is found in every library; let us rather show how that book\nearned for its author a reward far greater than mere worldly\nreputation.\n\nHis literary success, and, what was more, the undeniable services he\nhad rendered to the Catholic cause, could not but excite the jealousy\nand dislike of his fellow Protestants. His \"Excursion to Vienna and\nPresburg,\" which was published soon after he visited Austria, in 1839,\nexcited their anger to the highest degree. Blinded by their passions,\nthey resolved to put him on trial, so as to find him guilty and so\ndepose him. In his \"Expos\u00e9 of the Motives of his Conversion\" he states\nthat they put him the unfair question, \"Are you a Protestant at\nheart?\" \"This question,\" he continues, \"had no relation whatever with\nthe alleged facts bearing on my public office, but only with my\n'History of Innocent III.' and with a visit to Vienna. I refused to\nanswer, because they wanted rather to discover what I disbelieved than\nwhat I believed.\" This refusal excited a violent storm of indignation\nagainst him. After trying many times to avert it, and after suffering\nthe most unworthy attacks with patience and fortitude, he seized his\npen and fulminated his defense under the following title, \"President\nHurter and his Pretended Colleagues.\"\n\nMore painful trials still awaited him. Two of his daughters, one\nimmediately after the other, became afflicted with {118} a malady\nwhich was soon to deprive him of them, and, while prayers for their\nrecovery were being offered up in all the Catholic convents of\nSwitzerland, his puritanical opponents exhibited the most uncharitable\njoy, thrusting the dagger of grief still further into a parent's\nheart. A less energetic character would doubtless have succumbed to\nsuch cruel wounds, but Hurter remained true to the maxim of the poet:\n\n  \"Justum et tenacem propositi virum\n  Non civium ardor, prava jubentium,\n  Non vultus instantis _tyranni_\n     Mente quatit solida. . .\"\n\n\"The race of those tyrants is not yet extinct,\" he somewhere says. \"I\nfind still men who desire every one to bow before them, and that\neverything they do against those who dare discard such a miserable\nservitude should be commended.\"   [Footnote 21] Hurter did better than\nto imitate the ancient philosopher; he accepted his trials with truly\nChristian resignation, perceiving in them the call of God to newer and\nhigher duties. \"I discovered in them,\" he writes, \"the means of my\nsalvation and my sanctification. I look upon the storm which has burst\nover me as a signal on the road I have to follow. At the same time I\nreceived the deep conviction that no peace was to be expected with\nsuch people. My choice was therefore made. I threw off titles,\noffices, and incomes, and went back to private life because I was\ndisgusted with a sect which, through rationalism, upset all Christian\ndogmas, and, through pietism, tramples morals under foot.\"   [Footnote\n22] What hearty frankness, what Noble feelings, and what a true sense\nof justice!\n\n  [Footnote 21: Third ed., 1st vol. (Pref. P. V.)]\n\n  [Footnote 22: \"Life of Fr. Hurter,\" by A. de Saint Cheron, p. 120.\n  Some of the details of this article are extracted from this work, as\n  well as from an article published in \"Le Catholique\" of Mayence, of\n  September, 1865.]\n\n\nJustice he demanded as well for others as for himself; therefore he\ndid not fear to defend the Catholic cause in his books. In his work on\nthe \"Convents of Argovia and their Accusers\" (1841), and on the\n\"Persecutions of the Catholic Church in Switzerland\" (1843), he\ndenounces the tyranny of his Protestant compatriots in unmeasured\nterms. For this reason, also, he went to Paris in 1843 to plead,\nalthough in vain, the cause of the Catholics in Switzerland.\n\nHaving, as we have seen, resigned his position, he had ample leisure\nto devote himself to the more profound study of the Catholic doctrine,\nthe dogmas of which he had already inwardly admitted. The \"Symbolism\"\nof Moehler he found of great utility, and the \"Exposition of the Holy\nMass,\" by Innocent III., served greatly to strengthen his religious\nconvictions.\n\nHurter, however, was not precipitate. He desired that in taking so\nimportant a step conviction should be preceded by mature deliberation.\nAbout this time he writes: \"He would certainly be mistaken who should\nthink that I entered the _interior_ of the Catholic Church because I\nwas solely led away by its external forms. I was neither a wanderer\nnor hair-brained. Undoubtedly the exterior impressed me; but I was\nnot, however, therefore relieved from examining its fundamental\nprinciples with due care, or from studying the interior with proper\ncaution. I entered it first through curiosity, a mere visitor, as it\nwere, and I examined everything that I saw like one who, wanting to\npurchase a house, first looks closely at every part of it before\nclosing the bargain. In that way I think I acquired, on many points,\ntruer and more complete ideas than the frequenters of the house, and\nthose who have spent their lives in it. I have too long postponed my\nfree decision not to have earned the right to be able to decide\nwhether the house suits me or not, or if any changes be required.\"\n\nIt is interesting to see, in his \"Exposition of Motives,\" the\nnarration of all the doubts under which he labored previous to making\na final decision; how his mind gradually approached to a knowledge of\nthe truth as he progressed in his investigation; how a thousand\nexternal circumstances, designed by Providence, powerfully {119}\ncontributed to shake his will, and finally how his conversion was less\nhis own work than the effect of that divine favor solicited by\nCatholic charity, of which he speaks so feelingly in his \"Geburt und\nWiedergebart.\"\n\nThe struggle was at last over. On the 16th of June, the feast of St.\nFrancis Regis, he formally made his abjuration before Cardinal Ostini,\nformerly nuncio in Switzerland, at the Roman college, and five days\nafterward, on the feast of St. Louis de Gonzaga, he received the\nblessed sacrament in the presence of an immense congregation of the\nfaithful. The prophetic words of Gregory XVI. were then confirmed:\n\"_Spero che lei sera mio figlio_\" (I hope that one day you will be my\nson). The church and her head numbered one child more. God had thus\nrewarded by his grace the perfect sincerity which the humble penitent\nhad ever made the rule of his life. We may also be allowed to believe\nthat the sweet protection of the Mother of God had efficaciously\noperated in his favor, for even while a Protestant he had many times\npleaded her cause with his brethren.\n\nThe news of his conversion created quite different feelings. If the\ngreat Catholic family rejoiced, and with unanimous voice thanked God\nfor having favorably heard their prayers, Protestantism felt wounded\nto the very heart. The reason is easily understood. The edifying\nexample of humility exhibited by a man like Hurter was necessary to\nwin over a great number of souls until then irresolute and wavering,\nas some planets attract their satellites in space.\n\nAs to him, full of gratitude toward God, his soul replete with light\nand peace, his head high and serene, he went back to his native town\nto resume his literary labors in retirement, as well as to undergo a\nseries of new persecutions, the last consecration of the Christian. \"I\nam not so narrow-minded,\" he wrote some time afterward, \"that I did\nnot expect wicked judgments, base calumnies, and every kind of insult.\nFacts have, however, far exceeded my anticipations, and I must confess\nthat I did not think those men capable of going so far in their\nwickedness.\" Finally it became impossible for Hurter to remain longer\nat Schaffhausen, and, beside, a new and better career was soon opened\nfor him. He received from Vienna an invitation to become the\nhistoriographer of the empire. He accepted the appointment and entered\nupon the fulfilment of its duties. Safe from the interruptions caused\nby the troubles of 1848, he soon after accepted the position, of privy\ncouncillor and the patent of nobility which were tendered him.\n\nThe last portion of his life was devoted to the practice of Christian\nvirtues and to the completion of his great work on Ferdinand II. To\nthis book he devoted twenty years' arduous labor, and was fortunate\nenough to complete it one year previous to his death.\n\nIn commencing this work Hurter collected all his powerful faculties,\nintending to display in its composition all that remarkable mental\nenergy with which he had been gifted by nature. With incredible\npatience he examined one after another thousands of documents of all\nkinds long buried in the archives of the empire, and most of which\nwere utterly unknown even to the learned. He could not understand to\nbe history that which was not supported by undeniable documents. _Quod\nnon est in actis, non est in mundo_, was his maxim--a maxim, alas!\nwhich is too often neglected by the generality of our modern\nhistorians. Nothing excelled his perseverance, I might almost say his\nrapture, when he desired to throw light on an obscure fact, to fill a\nhiatus, or to discover any historical truth. Never, perhaps, were\nscruples of accuracy, and at the same time independence of thought and\ncourage in expression, carried to greater limits. Let us add, that\nwhen composing the \"History of Ferdinand II.\" he was filled with a\nstrong sympathy for his subject, and {120} in his admiration for that\ngreat man he could, like Tacitus, console himself with the sight of\nlike grievances, and say with the Roman historian: _Ego hoc quoque\nlaboris praemium petam, ut me a conspectu malorum, quae nostra tot per\nannos vidit aetas, tantisper, aum prisca illa tota mente repeto,\navertam, omnis expers curae quae scribentis animum, etsi non flectere\na vero, sollicitum tamen efficere possit._\n\nThis work of Hurter's consists of eleven volumes. The first seven\ncomprise the history of events from the reign of Archduke Charles,\nfather of Ferdinand II., to the coronation of the latter prince; the\nremaining four being exclusively devoted to the reign of Ferdinand. In\nthis comprehensive review of the events of that epoch the illustrious\nauthor has shown, by the light of true history, the great emperor and\nall the principal personages by whom he was surrounded, or in any way\nconnected; particularly portraying the Archduke Charles, the\nArchduchess Maria, that splendid model of a Christian mother, Gustavus\nAdolphus of Sweden, Tilly, and Wallenstein. Hurter studied the\ncharacter of the latter with particular zeal, first in his sketch of\nthe \"Material to be used for the History of Wallenstein\" (1855), and\nthen in the more elaborate monography, \"The last Four Years of\nWallenstein\" (1862), and finally in the \"History of Ferdinand\" itself.\nHe arrives at the conclusion that the Duke of Friedland had really\nbeen guilty of treason, and that his tragic end is in no way to be\nattributed to Ferdinand. At the same time he does full justice to the\ngreat qualities of Wallenstein, acknowledging in him great capacity\nfor organization, wonderful activity, and almost regal liberality; nor\ndoes he hesitate to class him among not only the greatest men of his\nage, but of all time.\n\nBut, as may be well understood, his great central figure was\nFerdinand, whom he considers a most admirable and accomplished type of\nall the virtues surrounding royalty, notwithstanding his memory has\nbeen burthened with such foul calumnies by Protestant historians and\ntheir copyists. To relieve his name from these unjust aspersions was a\ntask worthy of the genius of the historian of Innocent III. Having\nshown in the life of that pontiff the true embodiment of the Christian\nprinciples of the supreme priesthood, should he not also point out a\ntemporal prince as the personification of genuine Catholic royalty?\n\nWe would desire to reproduce here the incomparable portrait of\nFerdinand as it has been drawn by Hurter in his last volume, but,\nunfortunately, the limits of this article do not permit it. What\ncompensates us, in some measure, for being able to give only so feeble\nan idea of that great work is, that we hope soon to see the _studies_\nundertaken to speak of it more fully. We hope also that a competent\ntranslator will be soon found to give to France that work which, with\nthe \"History of Innocent III.,\" will immortalize the name of Hurter.\n\nYes, the great historian shall live in his writings, in which he has\nshown a soul so strong, so firm, so just, so humble, and yet so proud;\nso earnestly devoted to truth and so deeply adverse to falsehood,\nmeanness, and hypocrisy. He will live in those countless works of\ncharity of which he was the ever efficient author. He will live in the\nremembrance of so many hearts he has edified by his pious example,\nstrengthened by his advice, and brought back to the true path by his\nadmonitions. He will live, also, in the perpetual and grateful regard\nof a company, always so dear to him, to which he has given one of his\nsons, and whose motto he was proud to quote on the frontispiece of his\ngreat work. _Ad majorem Dei gloriam_.\n\nWe will end this sketch by repeating the words which an apostolic\nmissionary, now a cardinal, once applied to the great historian; they\ncannot be {121} better or more happily chosen to sum up his whole\nlife. Twenty years ago, after being a witness to his conversion, the\nAbb\u00e9 de Bonnechose, writing from Rome, says of him: \"_Justum deduxit\nDominus per vias rectas et ostendit illi regnum Dei, et dedit illi\nscientiam sanctorum; honestavit illum in laboribus et complevit\nlabores illius_\" (Sap. x.) Yes, Hurter's mind was right, and God led\nhim by the hand. He has shown him his kingdom on earth, the church of\nChrist, and the chair of Peter, where his authority sits enthroned,\nwhere he speaks and governs in the person of his vicar. It was he who\nendowed him with a knowledge of the science and philosophy of his\ndoctrine and of the divine mysteries of the faith, and inspired in him\nthose noble ideas the end and aim of which ought always to be the\nworship and exaltation of the true church, and the defence of the\npontificate when calumniated. He has blessed the labors which have\nbeen conducted with such success, filling them with spirit and energy,\nto the end that they may bear the fruits of immortality! _Honestavit\nillum in laboribus et complevit labores illius._\n\nJ. MARTINOF.\n\n------\n\nWORDS OF WISDOM.\n\nTRANSLATED FROM THE CHINESE BY DR. BOWRING.\n\n  To seek relief from doubt in doubt,\n    From woe in woe, from sin in sin--\n  Is but to drive a tiger out,\n    And let a hungry wolf come in.\n\n  Who helps a knave in knavery.\n  But aids an ape to climb a tree!\n  On an ape's head a crown you fling;\n  Say--Will that make the ape a king?\n\n  Know you why the lark's sweet lay\n    Man's divinest nature reaches?\n  He is up at break of day\n    Learning all that nature teaches.\n\n  The record of past history brings\n  Wisdom of sages, saints, and kings;\n  The more we read those reverend pages\n  The more we honor bygone ages!\n\n  Whate'er befit--whate'er befal.\n  One general law commandeth all:\n  There's no confusion in the springs\n  That move all sublunary things.\n  All harmony is heaven's vast plan--\n  All discord is the work of man!\n\n{122}\n\n\nFrom The Sixpenny Magazine.\n\nIRELAND AND THE INFORMERS OF 1798.\n\n\nThere has lately issued from the press a work under the title which\nheads our article, and which is amusing and instructive in the highest\ndegree. Were it not written by a man whose ability and character are\npledges for his veracity, we should rank it with Harrison Ainsworth's\nefforts, and designate it as an almost impossible romance. It has, as\nwe think, appeared at a very opportune and timely juncture, and, in\nour opinion, Mr. Fitzpatrick is entitled to great praise for the\ntalent, industry, and research evidenced in his volume.\n\nFrancis Higgins, the hero of Mr. Fitzpatrick's remarkable biographical\nsketch, and familiarly known by the title of \"The Sham Squire,\" was\nborn nobody exactly knows where, and reared nobody knows how. He\ncommenced his career, however, in stirring times, and when great\nevents were in their parturition, during which the history of Ireland\npresents a series of panoramic images--a mixture of light and\nshadow--instances of devoted fidelity and abounding rascality--\ngroupings of mistaken enthusiasm, selfish venality, and the most\nabhorrent domestic treason--such as we in vain look for in the annals\nof any other country or any other age. It is supposed that Higgins was\nborn in a Dublin cellar, and while yet of tender years became\nsuccessively \"errand-boy, shoeblack, and waiter in a\npublic-house\"--improving trades for one of so ripe a spirit, but which\nhe soon left, directed by a vaulting ambition, in order to become a\nwriting-clerk in an attorney's office. While in this position, he\ncommenced practice on his own account, by rejecting popery as\nunfashionable and impolitic, and by forging a series of legal\ndocuments purporting to show to all \"inquiring friends\" that he was a\nman of property and a government official. He had an object in this,\nas he was by this time to appear in a new character, as the lover of\nMiss Mary Anne Archer, who possessed a tolerable fortune and a foolish\nold father. Miss Archer happened to be a Roman Catholic, and was\nstrong in her faith; but this was only a trifle to Higgins, who again\nforsook the new creed for the old, and proved thereby, like Richard,\n\"a thriving wooer.\" They were married, and the Archer _p\u00e8re_ did at\nlast what he ought to have done at first, ferreted out the real\nantecedents of his precious son-in-law, and discovered that he had a\nvery clever fellow to deal with; while his daughter, finding, after a\nshort time, that her husband was \"by no means a desirable one,\" fled\nback to her bamboozled parent, who straightway indicted the pretender.\nHiggins was found guilty and imprisoned for a year, and it was during\nJudge Robinson's charge to the jury that he fastened the name of the\n\"Sham Squire\" on the prisoner, a sobriquet which stuck to him\npersistently during the remainder of his life, and proved a greater\ninfliction to his vanity than an apparently heavier penalty would have\nbeen. This was in 1767. \"Poor Mary Anne\" died of a broken heart, and\nher parents survived her for only a short lime; while the widower, in\norder to make his prison life endurable, paid his addresses to the\ndaughter of the gaoler and eventually married her, as her father was\npretty well to do in the world, the situation being a {123}\nmoney-making one, as the order of that day was, as proved before the\nIrish House of Commons, that \"persons were unlawfully kept in prison\nand loaded with irons, although not duly committed by a magistrate,\nuntil they had complied with the most exorbitant demands.\" When the\nSham's term of a year's imprisonment ended, he had life to begin anew,\nand for some years we find him exercising many vocations, such as\n\"setter\" for excise officers, billiard-marker, hosier, etc. For an\nassault as a \"setter,\" he was again tried and again convicted; but\nnothing daunted, as his old webs were broken, he proceeded in the\nconstruction of new. In 1775, we not only find him \"a hosier,\" but\npresident of the Guild of Hosiers; and in 1780 his services were\nengaged by Mr. David Gibbal, conductor of the \"Freeman's Journal,\"\nthen, as now, one of the most popular and well-conducted papers in\nIreland. But from the period of the Sham Squire's connection with it,\nit seems to have degenerated, as in April, 1784, the journals of the\nIrish House of Commons show an \"order\" that \"Francis Higgins, one of\nthe conductors of the 'Freeman's Journal,' do attend this house\nto-morrow morning.\" He did so, and escaped with a reproof. Having\ngained some knowledge of law in the solicitor's office, we now find\nhim anxious to become an attorney, which end he accomplished by the\naid and influence of his friend and patron John Scott, afterward\nchief-justice, and elevated to the peerage as Lord Clonmel, rather for\nhis political talents than his professional ones. From 1784 to 1787\nHiggins also acted as deputy coroner for Dublin. By a series of\nmanoeuvres he became the sole proprietor of the \"Freeman's Journal,\"\nand became at once what is called in Ireland \"a castle hack.\" Both as\nattorney and editor, the Sham Squire was now a man of importance, and\nmany called in on him. Shrewd, sharp, and clever, with a glib tongue\nand a facile pen, no business was either too difficult or too dirty\nfor him. He was made a justice of the peace by Lord Carhampton, who,\nas Colonel Luttrell, was designated by Grattan as \"a clever bravo,\nready to give an insult, and perhaps capable of bearing one;\" in fact,\nthe last allusion was deserved, as Luttrell had been called \"vile and\ninfamous\" by Scott without resenting it. Lord Carhampton became\ncommander-in-chief in Ireland, and during the outbreak of '98 was a\nmerciless foe to the rebels who fell into his hands. Higgins, by this\ntime, had become a great man, and lived in St. Stephen's Green, in\nmagnificent style, keeping his coach and entertaining the nobility. He\nwas a loyalist of the rosiest hue, and thought no mission too\nderogatory by which he might show his zeal. He attended divine service\nregularly, and that over, proceeded to \"Crane Lane,\" in order to count\nover and receive his share of the gains in a gambling house of which\nhe was principal proprietor, and which his influence with the police\nmagistrates prevented the suppression of--then to his editorial\nduties, which were to uphold the measures of government and its\nofficials, and to lampoon, cajole, or threaten all who dared to oppose\nthem.\n\nIt was in the disastrous period of '98, however, that the Sham\nSquire's most sterling qualities came into active requisition, as\nevidenced by the following extract of a letter written by the\nSecretary Cooke to Lord Cornwallis, then lord lieutenant of Ireland.\n\"Francis Higgins,\" he writes, \"proprietor of the 'Freeman's Journal,'\nwas the person who procured for me all the intelligence respecting\nLord Edward Fitzgerald, and got--to set him, and has given me\notherwise much information--\u00a3300;\" meaning thereby that his\nexcellency should sanction that annual amount for \"secret service,\"\nout of a sum of \u00a315,000, specially laid aside for that purpose. Beside\nthis, however, a lump sum of \u00a31000 was given to Higgins on the 20th of\nJune, 1798, for the betrayal of his friend; and, independent of this,\na confederate of his named Francis Magan, a barrister, {124} and a\nclose ally of Lord Edward, and who positively \"set\" the unfortunate\nnobleman at Higgins's instigation, received \u00a3600 and a pension of \u00a3200\nper annum for the worthy deed. Probably the most startling of all\nthese revelations of domestic treachery was the conduct of Leonard\nMcNally, barrister at law, and selected \"for his ability, truth, zeal,\nand sterling honesty,\" as Curran's assistant in defending the\nprisoners implicated in the rebellion. This fellow seems to have\noutsoared even Higgins and Magan in his duplicity, since not alone did\nhe keep government duly informed of the movements of the suspected,\nbut when on their trial he exhibited the greatest activity in\nsuggesting points for their defence, seconding his celebrated leader\nin his unwearied endeavors to save them, although he had previously\nmade known to the law officers what course the accused men's counsel\nmeant to take for the day, so that Curran and his legal friends were\npuzzled and surprised at having their best-concocted measures\nanticipated and baffled, although not a man of them ever thought of\nlooking to \"honest Mac\" as the cause. For this and other services\nMcNally received some thousands, and was gratified, in addition, with\na pension of \u00a3300 per annum. Singularly enough, the terrible secrets\nof Magan and McNally were well kept until long after their deaths, and\nuntil the publication of the \"Cornwallis Papers\" enabled inquirers to\nstrike on the true vein. Both these men are said to have been\ncorrupted by the Sham Squire, who seems to have been the\nMephistopheles of his time; but a still more notorious \"informer,\"\nbecause an open one, was Reynolds--Tom Reynolds--who was promised a\npension of \u00a32000 a year and a seat in parliament for his services, but\ndid not receive quite so much. In 1798, however, he received \u00a35000 and\na pension of \u00a31000 a year; and as his demands were always importunate,\nit is known that during the remainder of his life he extracted \u00a345,740\nfrom his employers. Reynolds went abroad and died there, as Ireland\nwould hardly have been for him either a safe or a pleasant residence;\nbut Magan and McNally lived at home for many a goodly year, and were\nlooked upon as honest men and sterling patriots to the last. Higgins\ndid not long survive his victims; he died suddenly, in 1802, worth\n\u00a320,000, a greater part of which, strange to say, he left for\ncharitable purposes!\n\nIn reviewing thus the history of this Irish Jonathan Wild and his\ndetestable comrogues, our object must, we hope, be evident. Their\nlives and actions are instructive in many ways, and never promised to\nbe more so than now. What happened then may happen again; treason will\nbe dogged by traitors to the end. Fear and avarice are omnipotent\ncounsellors, and, when coupled with talent and ingenuity, marvellous\nindeed are the misery they can cause and the wide-spread devastation\nthat travels in their track. That a needy and unscrupulous vagabond\nlike Higgins should hunt his dearest friends to the scaffold is not to\nbe wondered at; but that men of position and education like Reynolds,\nMcNally, and Magan should join in the chase, and for years after look\nhonest men in the face, evinces a hardihood of disposition and a\ncallosity of conscience which, as a lesson, is instructive, and, as an\nutter disregard of remorseful feeling, appears all but impossible. No\ndoubt such miscreants excuse their crimes on a plea of loyalty, and\nthe plea would be all-sufficient had they not stipulated for the\nprice, and had they not exulted in receiving it. There is something\nespecially abhorrent to our natures in those wretches who voluntarily\nplunge into the ranks of anarchy and disaffection at one time, and\nthen, when cowardice or cupidity overcomes them, overleap all the\nboundaries of honor and faith, and trade on the blood or suffering of\nthe unfortunate men who placed their liberties or lives in their\nsafe-keeping.\n\n{125}\n\nIn the notes which Mr. Fitzpatrick has appended to his biography of\nthe \"Sham Squire\" as \"addenda\" we have some well-authenticated and\nracy revelations of many of the singular Irish characters who\nflourished during the last thirty or forty years of the last century,\nand in the first few years of the beginning of this. Ireland appears\nto have been the \"paradise of adventurers\" in that day, as the times\nappear to have been out of joint, and the habits and general _morale_\nof the upper and middle ranks were to the last degree loose and\nirregular. As the manners and modes of action of a people are in a\nconsiderable degree fashioned and influenced by the example set them\nby those who are placed in authority over them, it is not too much to\nassert that a great deal of the lax morality, unscrupulous spirit, and\ngeneral demoralization were produced by some of the occupants of the\nvice-regal throne, and their \"courts,\" the character and course of\nlife of whom are painted by our author in anything but a seductive\nway. Brilliancy, show, pleasure, wit, and extravagance were the order\nof the day; lords-lieutenant were either dissipated _rou\u00e9s_, or\nincompetent imbeciles, and in either case they were sure to be coerced\nor cajoled by a mercenary tribe of political adventurers, who directed\ntheir actions and influenced their minds. We at once see by the\nwholesale corruption practised to bring about the Union, how utterly\ndepraved must have been the men who openly or covertly prostituted\nthemselves, when it was in contemplation; and never was political\nprofligacy more open and more daring in its violation of honor,\nprobity, and principle than in the abject submission of the Irish\nparliament, and its unhesitating anxiety to sell themselves, souls and\nbodies, to those who tempted them, and who had studied them far too\naccurately not to be sure of their prey. Amongst those who consented\nto accept the remuneration thus profusely offered them the lawyers\nbore a very prominent part; in fact, government could hardly have\nsucceeded without their aid; of these, Fitzgibbon, afterward Lord\nClare and chancellor, was the most forward and efficient. There was\nnever a man better adapted for the work he had to do. Bold, active,\nastute, and unscrupulous, he could be all things to all men; those\nwhom he could not cajole, he frightened; equally ready with the pen,\nthe pistol, and the tongue, he was neither to be daunted nor silenced;\nterrible in his vengeance, no windings of his victims could escape\nhim; and extravagant in his generosity (when the public purse had to\nbear the blunt), his jackals and partisans felt that their reward was\nsure, and therefore never hesitated to comply with his most exact\ndemands. Few men had a larger number of followers, therefore, and no\nman ever made a more unscrupulous use of them. He had nothing of the\nrecusant about him, however, and first and last he was consistent to\nhis party and to the Protestant creed which he had adopted in early\nlife, for he had been born and partly reared in the Roman Catholic\nfaith. In his personal demeanor he was a lion-hearted man; when hissed\nin the streets by the populace he calmly produced his pistols; and\nonce, on hearing that a political meeting against the Union was being\nheld, he rushed into the middle of the assembled mass, commanded the\nhigh-sheriff to quit the chair, and so closed the meeting. On the\nbench he was equally fearless, and when recommended to beware of\ntreachery, his answer was, \"They dare not; I have made them as tame as\ncats.\" \"If I live,\" he said, \"to see the Union completed, to my latest\nhour I shall feel an honorable pride in reflecting on the share I had\nin contributing to effect it.\" He did live to see it, and to take his\nseat in the British parliament; but matters were altogether altered\nthere. In his maiden effort he was rebuked by Lord Suffolk, called to\norder by the lord chancellor, while the Duke of Bedford indignantly\nsnubbed him by {126} exclaiming, \"We would not bear such insults from\nour _equals_, and shall we, my lords, tolerate them at the hands of\nmushroom nobility?\" while, to cap the climax, Pitt, after hearing him,\nturned to Wilberforce, and said loud enough to be heard by Lord Clare,\n\"Good G--d! did you ever, in all your life, listen to so\nthorough-paced a scoundrel as that!\" Disappointed and despairing, he\nreturned to Ireland, and died of a broken heart, while almost the last\nwords he uttered to a friend were, \"Only to think of it! I that had\nall Ireland at my disposal cannot now procure the nomination of a\nsingle gauger!\"\n\nJohn Scott, afterward Lord Chief-Justice Clonmel, was another\nprominent actor in those busy times. His birth was lowly, but his\ntalents were considerable; he was light and flippant rather than\nprofound, and he felt to the last a terrible mortification that his\nclaims had been postponed to those of Lord Clare. He had neither the\ngrasp of mind, nor the unhesitating manner of the chancellor, however;\nhe was apt to surround himself with companions, like the \"Sham\nSquire,\" for instance, who might be pleasant but were by no means\nreputable. Beside, his character for probity was distrusted; his first\nuprise in life was his wholesale appropriation of the property of a\nCatholic friend which he held in trust, as Catholics, at that time,\ncould not retain property in their hands, and which he refused to\ndisgorge. He was both venal and vindictive, and but too often\nprostituted his authority in pursuit of his passions. On one occasion,\nhowever, he was signally discomfited. A man of the name of Magee, who\nowned and edited the \"Evening Post,\" had frequently come under the\nlash, and was treated with no mercy. Magee's vengeance took a curious\nform. Lord Clonmel was an ardent lover of horticulture, and had spent\nmany thousand pounds in making his suburban villa a \"model.\" Magee\nknew this, and as the chief demesne was skirted by an open common from\nwhich a thick hedge alone separated it, the journalist proclaimed a\nrural _f\u00eate_, on an enormous scale, to be held on the vacant ground,\nand to which the whole Dublin population, gentle and simple, were\ninvited. Meats and liquors were given to an unlimited extent, and, in\nthe evening, when the \"roughs\" were primed with whiskey, several pigs\n(shaved and with their tails well soaped) were let out as part of the\namusement of the day. By preconcert, the affrighted animals were\ndriven against Lord Clonmel's inclosure, which they speedily\nover-leaped, followed by the mob. Trees, shrubs, flowers, vases, and\nstatues were in a wonderfully short time demolished in the \"fun,\"\nwhile, to make the matter still more deplorable, the owner of the\nproperty thus wantonly devoted to revenge stood on the steps of his\nown hall-door, and with alternate fits of imprecation and entreaty\nbesought the spoilers to desist, but in vain. Toward the close of his\nlife, Lord Clonmel became a hypochondriac, and, supposing himself to\nbe a tea-pot, hardly ventured to stir abroad lest he should be broken.\nOn one occasion, his great forensic antagonist, Curran, was told that\nClonmel was going to die at last, and was asked if he believed it. \"I\nbelieve,\" was the reply, \"that he is scoundrel enough to live or die\n_just as it meets his convenience_.\" Shortly before his death he said\nto Lord Cloncurry, \"My dear Val, I have been a fortunate man, or what\nthe world calls so; I am chief-justice and an earl; but were I to\nbegin life again, I would rather be a chimney-sweeper, than consent to\nbe connected with the Irish government.\"\n\nAnother \"celebrity\" was John Taler, \"bully, butcher, and buffoon,\" who\nwas afterward a peer and a judge. He was a bravo in the house and a\ndespot on the bench. He jested with the wretched he condemned, and\nseemed never so happy as when {127} the scaffold was before his eyes.\nHe was ignorant but ferocious, and when he could not conquer an\nopponent he would browbeat him.\n\n\"Give me a long day, my lord,\" said a culprit, whom he had just\ndoomed.\n\n\"I am sorry to say I can't oblige you, my friend,\" replied Lord\nNorbury, smiling; \"but I promise you a strong rope, which I suppose\nwill answer your purpose as well.\"\n\nWhen he died, and was about to be lowered into the grave himself, the\ntackle was rather short.\n\n\"Tare-an-agers, boys, don't spare the _rope_ on his lordship; don't\nyou know he was always fond of it?\" said one of the standers-by.\n\n\"I never saw a human face that so closely resembles that of a\nbull-dog!\" remarked one barrister to another in court.\n\n\"Let him get a grip of your throat, and you will find the resemblance\nstill closer,\" was the reply.\n\nThese and a hundred others, their equals, instruments, and\nsubordinates, may be supposed to represent the Irish \"turnspit\"\nelement; it must be acknowledged, however, that in contradistinction\nto them, there were sounding examples of men of a different and far\nsuperior class, such as the Leinsters, Charlemonts, Plunketts,\nCurrans, Ponsonbys, and so forth, who would have adorned any country,\nand who certainly contributed to relieve their own from the almost\nintolerable odium which the wholesale venal profligacy of a large\nnumber had brought upon it.\n\n------\n\nFrom Once a Week.\n\nTHE LEGEND OF THE LOCKHARTS.\n\nI.\n\n  King Robert on his death-bed lay, wasted in every limb,\n  The priests had left, Black Douglas now alone was watching him;\n  The earl had wept to hear those words, \"When I am gone to doom,\n  Take thou my heart and bear it straight unto the Holy Tomb.\"\n\nII.\n\n  Douglas shed bitter tears of grief--he loved the buried man.\n  He bade farewell to home and wife, to brother and to clan;\n  And soon the Bruce's heart embalm'd, in silver casket lock'd,\n  Within a galley, white with sails, upon the blue waves rock'd.\n\nIII.\n\n  In Spain they rested, there the king besought the Scottish earl\n  To drive the Saracens from Spain, his galley sails to furl;\n  It was the brave knight's eagerness to quell the Paynim brood.\n  That made him then forget the oath he'd sworn upon the rood.\n\nIV.\n\n  That was his sin; good angels frown'd upon him as he went\n  With vizor down and spear in rest, lips closed, and black brow bent:\n  Upon the turbans, fierce he spurr'd, the charger he bestrode\n  Was splash'd with blood, the robes and flags he trampled on the road.\n\n{128}\n\nV.\n\n  The Moors came fast with cymbal clash and tossing javelin,\n  Ten thousand horsemen, at the least, on Castille closing in;\n  Quick as the deer's foot snaps the ice, the Douglas thundered through,\n  And struck with sword and smote with axe among the heathen crew.\n\nVI.\n\n  The horse-tail banners beaten down, the mounted archers fled--\n  There came full many an Arab curse from faces smear'd with red,\n  The vizor fell, a Scottish spear had struck him on the breast;\n  Many a Moslem's frighten'd horse was bleeding head and chest.\n\nVII.\n\n  But suddenly the caitiffs turn'd and gathered like a net,\n  In closed the tossing sabres fast, and they were crimson wet,\n  Steel jarr'd on steel--the hammers smote on helmet and on sword,\n  But Douglas never ceased to charge upon that heathen horde.\n\nVIII.\n\n  Till all at once his eager eye discerned amid the fight\n  St. Clair of Roslyn, Bruce's friend, a brave and trusty knight.\n  Beset with Moors who hew'd at him with sabres dripping blood--\n  Twas in a rice-field where he stood close to an orange wood.\n\nIX.\n\n  Then to the rescue of St. Clair Black Douglas spurred amain,\n  The Moslems circled him around, and shouting charged again;\n  Then took he from his neck the heart, and as the case he threw,\n  \"Pass first in fight,\" he cried aloud, \"as thou wert wont to do.\"\n\nX.\n\n  They found him ere the sun had set upon that fatal day,\n  His body was above the case, that closely guarded lay.\n  His swarthy face was grim in death, his sable hair was stain'd\n  With the life-blood of a felon Moor, whom he had struck and brain*d.\n\nXI.\n\n  Sir Simon Lockhart, knight of Lee, bore home the silver case.\n  To shrine it in a stately grave and in a holy place,\n  The Douglas deep in Spanish ground they left in royal tomb.\n  To wait in hope and patient trust the trumpet of the doom.\n\n\n{129}\n\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nREMINISCENCES OF DR. SPRING.  [Footnote 23]\n\n  [Footnote 23: \"Personal Reminiscences of the Life and Times of\n  Gardiner Spring, Pastor of the Brick Presbyterian Church in the City\n  of New York.\" 2 vols. 12mo. New York: Charles Scribner & Company.]\n\nFew persons who have lived much in New York during the last quarter of\na century are not familiar with the dignified, resolute, yet kindly\ncountenance of the pastor of the Brick Presbyterian church. Fewer\nstill are ignorant of his reputation as a leading and representative\nman in his denomination; a keen polemic; a great promoter of\nmissionary, tract, and Bible societies; and, we may add, a very\ndetermined enemy of the Pope of Rome and all his aiders and abettors.\nFor more than fifty-five years he has preached to the same\ncongregation which gave him a call when he was first licensed as a\nminister. During his career thirteen Presidents of the United States,\nfrom Washington to Lincoln, have died; three Kings of England have\nbeen laid in their graves; the horrors of the Reign of Terror, the\nexecution of Louis XVI., the rise and fall of the first Napoleon, the\nshifting scenes of the Restoration, the Orleans rule, the second\nRepublic and the second Empire, have hurried each other across the\nstage of French history. He has long passed the scriptural term of the\nlife of man; and now, at the almost patriarchal age of eighty-one, he\ngives us a collection of reminiscences of what he has seen and done\nduring this protracted and eventful career.\n\nIt would be natural to suppose that such a book by such a man must be\nfull of interest. As one of the recognized leaders of a rich and\ninfluential religious denomination, and one of the oldest and most\nrespectable citizens of the first city of America, how many historical\ncharacters must he have met! to how many important events must he have\nbeen a witness! But any one who takes up these volumes in the hope of\nobtaining through them a clearer view of persons and times gone by,\nwill be disappointed. They are interesting, it is true, but not, we\nwill venture to say, in the way their author meant them to be. They\ncause us to wonder that the doctor should have seen so much and\nremembered so little. Yet as a picture of the life of a representative\nPresbyterian preacher and a complete exposure of the utter emptiness\nof the Presbyterian religion, these garrulous and random\n\"Reminiscences\" are the most entertaining pages we have read for many\na month. We propose to cull for our readers a few of the most\ninteresting passages.\n\nDr. Spring was born in Newburyport, Massachusetts, Feb. 24, 1785. His\nfather was a minister, of whom the son says that \"he would not shave\nhis face on the Lord's day, nor allow his wife to sew a button on her\nson's vest; and on one occasion, when his nephew, the late Adolphus\nSpring, Esq., arrived in haste on a Saturday evening with the message\nthat his father was on his bed of death, he would not mount his horse\nfor the journey of seventy miles until the Sabbath sun had gone down.\"\nThough young Gardiner used to wonder, when a boy, why he was not\nallowed to participate in the customary sports of children, he seems\nto have preserved a warm affection for both his parents, of whom he\nspeaks in a loving and reverential tone which we cannot too carefully\nrespect. The thought that most affected him on their death was {130}\n\"_that he had lost their prayers._\" Gardiner was sent to Yale College\nat the age of fifteen, and during \"a remarkable outpouring of the\nSpirit\" upon that rather unregenerate institution, in the year 1803,\nhe became, for a season, \"hopefully pious.\" He had been uneasy for\nsome time about the state of his soul, and one afternoon he resolved\nto pray, several hours, if necessary, until his sins were forgiven.\n\"There,\" he says, \"in the south entry of the old college, back side,\nmiddle room, third story, I wrestled with God as I had never wrestled\nbefore.\" The result of this spiritual struggle we do not profess to\nunderstand. He says that he rose from his knees without any hope that\nhe had found mercy, yet feeling considerably relieved. For several\nweeks he went about, peaceful and happy, when, unluckily, the Fourth\nof July came, with its speeches and fireworks, and his \"religious\nhopes and impressions all vanished as a morning cloud, and as the\nearly dew.\" It was five or six years before they came back again.\n\nWhen he graduated his father came to hear him speak, and at the close\nof the exercises gave him his blessing and told him to shift for\nhimself. So, there he was, twenty years old, with four dollars in his\npocket and a profession yet to be acquired. He borrowed two hundred\nand fifty dollars from a generous friend, obtained a situation as\nprecentor in a church, opened a singing school, and applied himself\nzealously to the study of law. Before long he married a young lady as\npoor as himself, and went with her in 1806 to Bermuda, where he taught\nschool for some time very successfully; but rumors of war between this\ncountry and Great Britain drove him back to the United States, and in\nhis twenty-fourth year he entered upon the practice of the law at New\nHaven.\n\nIn the meanwhile those uneasy feelings of the soul, which he seems\nunable to analyze (though we warrant a good confessor would quickly\nhave solved his perplexities) had not left him at peace. He writes to\nhis father from Bermuda upon the state of his interior man:\n\n  \"I should wish to go to heaven, because I should be pleased, with\n  its employment. Were all my sins mortified and I rendered perfectly\n  holy, I think I should the happy. . . . . Sometimes I can say, Lord,\n  I believe; help thou mine unbelief. .... I am avaricious; and in the\n  present state of my family, make money my god. I strain honesty _as\n  far as I can_ to gain a little.\"\n\nThis was certainly not a satisfactory condition of things. The lust\nfor mammon seems strong enough, but the aspirations for heaven might\nwell have been rather more ardent. He goes to church and sings and\nweeps, and the minister and elders crowd around him to see what is the\nmatter. He goes to prayer-meeting at last in New Haven, and there the\nconversion--such as it is--is effected: \"As the exercises closed and\nthe crowded worshippers rose to sing the doxology, I felt that I could\n'praise God from whom all blessings flow.' Praise! praise! It was\ndelightful to praise him! On the 24th of April following, I united\nwith the visible church under Mr. Stuart's pastorate, and began to be\nan active Christian.\"\n\nWe must say that this seems to be a very simple and easy process of\ngetting out of the power of the devil. Conversion, according to Dr.\nSpring's idea, is simply an emotion of the mind, a spasm of sentiment.\nIt includes neither satisfaction for the past, nor the performance of\nany definite religious duty in the present or the future. Any one who\ncan excite himself into the belief that he is regenerate, or tickle\nhis mind into the pleasant state indicated by the man who, when asked,\n\"How it felt to get religion?\" replied that \"it was just like having\nwarm water poured down your back\"--any such one, we say, may rest\nassured of his eternal safety. Dr. Spring is no more exacting with\nother candidates for conversion than he was with himself. To a sick\nman who inquires \"what he shall do?\" he answers: \"Believe on the Lord\nJesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.\"\n\n{131}\n\n\"But will you not tell me _how_ I shall go to him?\"\n\n\"Yes, I can tell you; you must not go in your own strength; for your\nstrength is weakness. You must not go in your own righteousness, for\nyou have none. You must feel your need of Christ, and see that he is\njust the Saviour adapted to your wants. You must adore, and love, and\ntrust him. . . . . Commit to him your entire salvation, and in all\nholy 'obedience live devoted to his service.'\" Now in all this there\nis just one practical suggestion, namely, to \"live devoted to God's\nservice\"--and that the man could not follow because he was dying. Let\nour readers contrast Dr. Spring's death-bed ministrations with what a\nCatholic priest would have said and done in similar circumstances. The\npriest would have given definite instruction and divine sacraments;\nthe preacher has nothing better to offer than a few commonplace\ngeneralities from his last Sunday's sermon.\n\nBut we must return to the reverend doctor's biography. Close upon the\nheels of his conversion came the resolution to be a minister. The\npecuniary difficulties in the way of this change of profession were\nsoon obviated by the generosity of a rich widow of Salem. There was\nanother obstacle, however, of a more serious nature. This was Mrs.\nSpring. She was \"not a professed Christian.\" She was \"a worldly\nwoman.\" She sought the honors of the world. She did not want to be a\nminister's wife. The doctor had a great respect for her. He was afraid\nto tell her of his resolution. We must let him describe in his own\nwords how he got out of the difficulty:\n\n  \"I then began a course of conduct which I have ever since pursued,\n  and that was, in all cases where my own duty was plain, and my\n  resolution formed, quietly to carry my resolution into effect, and\n  meet the storm afterward. I did so in the present instance, though\n  there was no other storm than a plentiful shower of tears. I said\n  nothing to my wife; nothing to any one except Mr. Evarts. I sent my\n  wife on a visit to my only sister, the wife of the Hon. Bezaleel\n  Taft, at Uxbridge, the native place of my father, where I engaged in\n  a few weeks to meet her, and make a further visit to Newburyport.\n  She had no suspicion of my views, and left me with the confident\n  expectation that she would return to New Haven.\n\n  \"In the meantime, after she left me, I was busily employed in\n  arranging my affairs for my removal to Andover. I announced my\n  purpose to the church at the next prayer-meeting, and received a\n  fresh impulse from their prayers and benedictions. Mr. Evarts took\n  my office and my business, and closed up my unsettled accounts with\n  his accustomed accuracy, and my ledger now records them. Mr. Smith,\n  my old teacher, laughed at me; Judge Daggett was silent. Judge\n  Rossiter said to me, 'Mr. Spring, the pulpit is your place; you were\n  formed for the pulpit rather than the bar.' My business in New Haven\n  was closed; my debts paid; my household furniture, small as it was,\n  was carefully stowed away; my law library, worth about four hundred\n  dollars, was disposed of, and I was on my way to Uxbridge,\n  Newburyport, Salem, and Andover.\n\n  \"When I reached Uxbridge, and was once more in the bosom of my\n  little family, I felt that the trial had come. I could not at once\n  disclose my plans to my wife, and was saved that painful interview\n  by the suspicions of Mr. Taft, who told her that he believed I was\n  going to be a clergyman! She laughed at him; but she saw a change in\n  my deportment, and began to suspect it herself. I told her all. She\n  went to her chamber and wept for a long time. But she came down,\n  subdued indeed, but placid as a lamb, and simply said, 'It is all\n  over now; I am ready.' Oh, how kindly has God watched over me! It\n  seems as though the promise was fulfilled, 'Return unto thy country\n  and to thy kindred, and I will deal well with thee.' Some day or two\n  before we left Uxbridge, Mr. Taft said to me, 'Brother Spring, I\n  have a case before Justice Adams this morning; you are still a\n  lawyer, and I want you to go and argue it with me.' The thought\n  struck me pleasantly, and I resolved to go; but instead of assisting\n  him, without his knowledge I engaged myself to what I thought the\n  weaker party; and my last effort at the bar was in battling with my\n  sister's husband, and in the place of my father's nativity.\"\n\n{132}\n\nAfter eight months devoted to the study of theology at the Andover\nseminary, Mr. Spring was licensed to preach and received a call from\nthe Brick church in New York. As a preliminary to his ordination, it\nwas necessary for him to preach a trial sermon before the presbytery,\nand to submit to an examination as to his orthodoxy. In this latter\ntest he did not give unqualified satisfaction, nevertheless they\npassed him, and he was duly ordained to the pastorship. As a salve, we\nsuppose, for their consciences, the presbytery deputed the Rev. Dr.\nMilledollar, one of their number, to talk with the young minister, and\ntry to reason him out of certain heterodox opinions which he\nentertained upon the subject of human ability. The result of the\ninterview was that, in Dr. Milledollar's judgment, \"the best way of\ncuring a man of such views was to dip his head in cold water.\"\n\nIt was but a dismal religion of which he now became the minister.\nTears, gloom, discomfort, and brokenness of heart were the\ncharacteristics of the spiritual life, and peace of mind was an\nalarming symptom of the dominion of the devil. \"Newark is again highly\nfavored,\" writes the minister to his parents: \"there are not less than\nfive hundred persons _very solemn_.\" \"My people appear solemn; they\nwere so at the lecture on Thursday evening.\" \"I preached on Monday to\na very solemn audience at my own house.\" \"The state of things in the\ncongregation, notwithstanding the war, is looking up. Our public\nmeetings and our social gatherings are more full and more solemn.\" He\nvisits Paris, and there passes an evening with a small party of his\ncountrymen: \"We could not refrain from weeping during the whole time\nwe were together.\" The quantity of tears shed in the course of the\nbook is positively appalling. Of course there is nothing that remotely\nresembles the gift of tears with which Almighty God sometimes rewards\nand consoles his saints. It is merely a perpetual gush of mawkish\nsentimentality, and we defy anybody to read these \"Reminiscences\"\nwithout having before him an image of the whole Brick church with\nchronic redness of the eyes. A member of the congregation went to the\ndoctor once with a request that he would baptize a child. He was not\none of the weepers, or, as Dr. Spring expresses it, \"not a religious\nman.\" The opportunity was too good to be lost. The doctor labored with\nhim, preached at him, probably wept at him, tried to impress him with\nthe solemnity and privilege of the transaction, did not baptize his\nchild, but finally prayed with him and urged him to come again. The\nresult of the exhortation is a good commentary upon the whole system\nof sentimental spasmodic religion: \"He went away,\" says Dr. Spring,\n\"and being requested by his wife to have another interview with me,\nreplied, 'No; _you will not catch me there again_.'\" We suppose that\nthe child was not baptized; but that, according to Dr. Spring, and in\nspite of the Bible, makes very little difference. It was his rule \"to\nbaptize only those children, one of whose parents was a professed\nChristian\"--that is to say, a member of the church; and except in one\ninstance he has never varied from this strict practice. \"That,\" he\nsays, \"was in the case of a sick and dying grandchild, whose father\nwas a man of prayer, but not a communicant, and I myself professed to\nstand _in loco parentis_, I now look upon the whole transaction as\nwrong.\"\n\nDr. Spring has done a great deal of theological fighting in his day;\nbut his foes have been chiefly those of his own household. Now and\nthen he has carried the war into foreign countries, as at the time of\nthe famous School Question in New York, when he had a tilt with Bishop\nHughes before the Common Council, and got decidedly the worst of it;\nbut for the most part he has devoted himself to intestine feuds. The\ncontroversy between Hopkinsians {133} and Calvinists in the\nPresbyterian denomination; the disputes in the American Bible Society;\nthe schism in the Young Men's Missionary Society of New York; the\neffort to create a division in the American Home Missionary Society;\nthe controversies about the New Haven school of theology and the\nexscinding acts of the General Assembly;--these and many other\nreligious quarrels took up a great deal of the doctor's time, and he\nstill writes about them with no little acrimony and personal feeling.\nWe subjoin a few extracts:\n\n  \"The wrath of the Philadelphia Synod is praising the Lord. We shall\n  have a battle in the spring, and lay a heavy hand upon that report.\n  I shall not hesitate to take my life in my hand if Providence allows\n  me to go to the Assembly.\"--_vol. i., p._70.\n\n  \"The Rev. Ezra Stiles Ely had published his celebrated work,\n  entitled 'The Contrast,' the object of which is to show the points\n  of difference between the views of Hopkinsian and Calvinistic\n  theology. It was addressed to prejudice and ignorance, and was aimed\n  at the youthful pastor of the Brick church.\"--_Vol. i., p._ 129.\n\n  \"I find my heart strangely _suspicious_. Sometimes I am resolved to\n  withdraw from the Missionary and Education cause, because I foresee\n  they will be scenes of contention. But then, again, I know they are\n  exposed to evils, and the church is exposed to evils, through the\n  mismanagement of these excellent institutions, which perhaps I may\n  prevent.\"--_Vol ii., p_. 78.\n\nWe doubt whether Dr. Spring's clerical brethren like the following\npassage; but anyhow, there is a great deal of truth in it:\n\n  \"There have been spurious revivals in my day, and the means of\n  promoting them are the index of their character. In such seasons of\n  excitement, great dependence is placed on the way and means of\n  _getting them up_, and little of the impression [sic] that not a\n  soul will be converted unless it be accomplished by the power of\n  God. Whatever the words of the leaders may profess, their conduct\n  proclaims, 'Mine own arm hath done this!' There is a familiarity, a\n  boldness, an irreverence in their prayers, which ill becomes worms\n  of the dust in approaching him before whom angels veil their faces.\n  A pious and poor woman, in coming out from a religious service thus\n  conducted, once said, 'I cannot think what it is that makes our\n  ministers _swear_ so in their prayers.' They count their converts,\n  and when they survey their work, there is a triumph, a self-reliant\n  exultation over it, which looks like the triumph of the pagan\n  monarch, when he exclaimed, 'Is not this great Babylon which I have\n  built!' And hence it is that so many of the subjects of such a work,\n  after the excitement is over, find that their own hearts have\n  deceived them, that they are no longer affected by solemn preaching\n  and solemn prayers, that _their past emotions were nothing more than\n  the operations of nature, and that when these natural causes have\n  exhausted their power there is no religion left.\"--Vol. i., p_. 219.\n\nDr. Spring gives a curious illustration of the length to which\nexcitement sometimes carries the poor victims of the revivalists, in\nthe case of a Mrs. Pierson, \"around whose lifeless body her husband\nassembled a company of _believers_, with the assurance that if they\nprayed in faith, she would be restored to life. Their feelings were\ngreatly excited, their impressions of their success peculiar and\nstrong. They prayed and prayed again, and prayed _in faith_, but they\nwere disappointed,\" vol. i., p. 229.\n\nHe is rather free sometimes in his criticisms upon his brother\nministers. He listens to a sermon from the Rev. Mr. Finney, a noted\nrevivalist, and says that there was nothing exceptionable in it\n\"except a vulgarity that indicated a want of culture, and a coarseness\nunbecoming the Christian pulpit.\" He hears a Mr. Broadway preach at\nsea, and thus records his impressions: \"I must say he is a _John Bull_\nof a preacher. What a pity that men who need to be taught what are the\nfirst principles of the oracles of God, should undertake to teach\nothers!\" We dare say Dr. Spring's judgment of both these gentlemen was\nsound; but we see no propriety in printing it.\n\nHe made several voyages to Europe, and travelled through France,\nGermany, and Great Britain. Respecting the state of Protestantism in\nFrance, he makes some significant admissions:\n\n  \"Protestantism in France is not what I have been in the habit of\n  considering it. {134} I knew it was in a measure corrupt, but not to\n  the extent in which I actually find it. I do not think that the\n  Romanists, as a body, have much confidence in the Roman religion.\n  But the mischief is that when thinking men throw off the bonds of\n  Romanism, _they relapse into infidelity_. . . . .\n  True religion in France _finds its most bitter and unwearied enemies\n  in Protestants themselves_. The Protestants of this country are high\n  Arians, if not absolute Socinians. There are now [1835] three\n  hundred and fifty-eight Protestant pastors in France, beside their\n  few vacant churches. _But there are comparatively few among them all\n  who love and obey the truth.\"--Vol, ii., pp._ 260, 361.\n\nThe pages devoted to his European tours are remarkable\nexemplifications of the truth of the old adage, that _coelum, non\nanimum, mutant qui trans mare currunt_. Wherever he goes, his breadth\nof vision seems bounded by his own pulpit. The venerable cathedrals of\nEurope, rich with the noblest memories, and the great historic places\nhaunted by the grandest associations of the past, fill him with no\nthoughts more elevated than those awakened by the Brick church. He\nsees everything distorted through the medium of his own inveterate\nprejudices. If he visits a religious shrine, he can think of nothing\nbut the abominations of the scarlet woman of Babylon. If he sees a\nconvent, he tells us a cock-and-bull story about subterranean passages\npaved with the bones of infants. If he witnesses some grand and\nimposing ceremonial, he throws up his eyes, rushes out of the church,\nand, while he shakes the dust off his feet, groans over the wickedness\nof the Romish priests and their blasphemous mummeries, farcical shows,\nand hypocritical disguises. One Sunday, while at Paris, he went with\nthe well-known missionary. Dr. Jonas King, and some other American\nfriends, to visit a hill called Mont Calvaire, near the city, to which\nnumbers of pilgrims were then resorting. They filled their pockets\nwith tracts, which they distributed, right and left, among the\nthousands that were going up and down the mountain. They even\ninterrupted kneeling worshippers at their prayers to give them tracts.\nThese valuable gifts were received with avidity, for, as the narrator\nelsewhere explains, our respectable parsons were mistaken for Catholic\nmissionaries. A few days afterward they made another excursion of the\nsame sort to Mont Calvaire. We give the conclusion of the adventure in\nthe words of Dr. King, from whose journal Dr. Spring copies it:\n\n  \"Mr. and Mrs. Wilder, and Miss Bertau, and Mr. Storrow's children,\n  had gone to Mount Calvary to distribute tracts and Testaments. Dr.\n  Spring and myself, having filled our pockets, and hats, and hands,\n  with tracts and Testaments, set off with the hope to find them. Just\n  as we began to ascend the mountain, we met them coming at a\n  distance. On meeting them, they informed us that they had been\n  stopped by the Commissary of the Police, and that a gendarme, by\n  order of the missionaries (Rom. C. M.), had taken away their tracts\n  and Testaments, and prohibited them in the name of the law to\n  distribute any more on Mount Calvary. Mr. W. advised us not to\n  proceed with the intention of distributing those which we had. We\n  however, went, giving to every one we met, till we came in sight of\n  the _gendarmes_, when we ceased giving, but occasionally let some\n  fall from our pockets, which the wind, which was very high,\n  scattered in all directions, and were gathered up by the crowd. At\n  length we arrived at the top of the mountain, took our stand on the\n  highest elevation near the cross, and there, in our own language,\n  offered up, each of us, a prayer to the God of heaven for direction,\n  and to have mercy on those tens of thousands that we saw around us,\n  bowing before graven images. _I then felt in some degree\n  strengthened to go on, and, taking a tract from my pocket, presented\n  it to a lady who stood near me, and who appeared to be a lady of\n  some distinction._ She received it with thanks, and I was not\n  noticed by the _gendarmes_. Dr. S. let some fall from his pocket,\n  and we made our way down to one of the stations. There he laid some\n  on the charity-box, while I stood before him, to hide what he did.\n  We then went to another station, and I gave ten or twelve to a lady,\n  whom I charged to distribute them.\"\n\nThe heroism of these Presbyterian missionaries, who go up and down\nhill, dropping divine truth from their coat-tails, reminds us of a\ncrazy old lady {135}so in New York, whose will was lately contested\nbefore our courts. She had peculiar ideas of her own on the subject of\npolitics and the war, and used to inscribe her thoughts on great paper\nkites, and give them to little boys to fly in the Central Park, in the\nbelief that the words would somehow or another be disseminated through\nthe city. Imagine St. Francis Xavier setting sail for the Indies with\nhis hat, and pockets, and hands full of tracts, scattering them\nbroad-cast along the inhospitable shores, or trusting them to the\nbreezes, like those charitable Buddhists Father Huc tells of, who go\nup a high mountain on windy days, and throw into the air little paper\nhorses, which being blown away are, as they believe, miraculously\nchanged into real horses for the benefit of belated travellers.\nSuppose Father Matthew, instead of preaching a crusade against\ndrunkenness, had contented himself with sneaking into shibeens and\ntaverns, and, behind the friendly shelter of a companion's back, had\ndeposited little bundles of temperance tracts on the top of every\nbarrel of whiskey, as if he expected them to explode like a torpedo,\nand fill the air with virtue. Or what would Dr. Spring think if some\nSunday, in the midst of his prayer, two or three Catholic priests\nshould march into the Brick church and distribute Challoner's\nCatechisms up and down the aisles, making the \"solemn\" Presbyterians\nget up from their knees to receive them? It would not be a bit more\noutrageous than the doctor's behavior during the mission on Mont\nCalvaire.\n\nAmerican travellers in Europe, especially of the fanatical sort, are\nbut too apt to disgrace themselves and their country by their conduct\nin sacred places. Here is another extract from Dr. Spring's book which\nno respectable American can read without blushing. The incident\noccurred in the famous cathedral of Rouen, built by William the\nConqueror, and reckoned the finest specimen of Gothic architecture in\nFrance:\n\n  \"A little circumstance occurred here that was somewhat amusing. [!]\n  Mr. Van Rensallear, in order to procure some little relic of the\n  place, instead of gathering some flowers, broke off the _nose_ of\n  one of the marble saints! He hoped to escape the detection of the\n  guide, but unfortunately, on leaving the cathedral, we had to pass\n  the mutilated statue, and were charged with the sacrilege. It was a\n  lady saint whose sanctity our gallantry had thus violated, and we\n  had to meet the most terrific volleys of abuse. A few glittering\n  coins, however, obtained absolution for us, but neither entreaty nor\n  cash could obtain the _nose_.\"\n\nThat must have been a funny scene one Sunday in crossing the ocean,\nwhen the doctor and his wife, and the rest of the passengers, held\nservice under difficulties:\n\n  \"We assembled for praise and prayer. Susan was quite sea-sick, yet\n  she came on deck. The day was cold, and she sat with _a hot potato\n  in each hand to keep her warm_.\"\n\nThis is certainly the oddest preparation for approaching the throne of\ngrace that we ever heard of.\n\nMrs. Spring is a prominent figure all through the book, giving her\nreverend husband advice and comfort, and helping him in the work of\nthe ministry, especially with regard to the women of the flock. He\nlaments in his introductory chapter that the death of his \"beloved\nMrs. Spring must leave a vacuum in these pages which nothing can\nfill.\" In the second volume he gives a long and detailed account of\nher sufferings in child-bed when she \"became the mother of a lovely\ndaughter.\" When she died in 1860, he wrote in his diary as follows:\n\n  \"I have been her husband and she my wife for four-and-fifty years;\n  our attachment has been mutual, and strong and sweet to the end. I\n  had no friend on earth in whom I had such reliance; no counsellor so\n  wise; no comforter so precious. For the last thirty years we have\n  rarely differed in opinion; when we did, I generally found she was\n  right and I was was wrong; and when I persevered in my {136}\n  judgment she knew how to yield her wishes to mine, and would\n  sometimes say with a smile, 'God has set the man above the woman.\n  You are _king_, my husband; but I am the queen!' In all my ministry,\n  in sickness and in health, at home and abroad, by night and by day,\n  I never knew her own convenience, comfort, or pleasure take the\n  place of my duty to the people of my charge. . . . . I bless God\n  that I had such a wife--that I had her at all, and that I had her so\n  long. . . . My darling wife, I give you joy: but what shall I do\n  without you?\"\n\nThis last question is soon answered in an unexpected manner. Only\neight pages further on, Dr. Spring, aged eighty, records the following\npassage:\n\n  \"_April 13th,_ 1865.--My sweet wife was too valuable a woman ever to\n  be forgotten. The preceding sketch furnishes but the outline of her\n  excellences, which I have presented more at large at the close of\n  the sermon commemorative of one who was my first love. I never\n  thought I could love another. But I was advanced beyond my\n  threescore years and ten, partially blind, and needed a helper\n  fitted to my age and condition; no one needs such a helper more than\n  a man in my advanced years. I sought, and God gave me another wife.\n  A few days only more than a year after the death of Mrs. Spring, on\n  the 14th of August, 1861, I was married to Abba Grosvenor Williams,\n  the only surviving child of the late Elisha Williams, Esq., a\n  distinguished member of the bar. She is the heiress of a large\n  Property, and retains it in her own hands. She is intent on her duty\n  as a wife, watchful of my wants, takes good care of me, is an\n  excellent housekeeper, and instead of adding to the expenses of my\n  household, shares them with her husband.\"--Vol. ii., pp. 91, 92.\n\nWith this extract, Dr. Spring may be left to the charity of our\nreaders. We have said nothing of the vanity which allows him freely to\nquote the commendations of his friends on his efforts in the pulpit\nand his publications through the press; because, inconsistent as it\nmay be with a very elevated piety, it is a weakness that might be\npardoned in such an old man. But we cannot help remarking how on every\npage he gives evidence of the utter baselessness of the thing he calls\nreligion; the unsubstantial, unsatisfying character of those human\nemotions which he perpetually mistakes for the operations of the Holy\nGhost; and the strangely unreal, unsanctified nature of the fit of\nmental perturbation which he denotes conversion and labors so hard to\nproduce. The conclusion to which every unprejudiced person must come,\non closing the volumes, is that Dr. Spring has lived in vain.\n\n------\n\n{137}\n\nMISCELLANY.\n\n_Arabian Laughing Plant_.--In Palgrave's \"Central and Eastern Arabia\"\nsome particulars are given in regard to a carious narcotic plant. Its\nseeds, in which the active principal seems chiefly to reside, when\npounded and administered in a small dose, produce effects much like\nthose ascribed to Sir Humphrey Davy's laughing gas; the patient\ndances, sings, and performs a thousand extravagances, till after an\nhour of great excitement to himself and amusement to the bystanders,\nhe falls asleep, and on awaking has lost all memory of what he did or\nsaid while under the influence of the drug. To put a pinch of this\npowder into the coffee of some unexpecting individual is not an\nuncommon joke, nor is it said that it was ever followed by serious\nconsequences, though an over quantity might perhaps be dangerous. The\nauthor tried it on two individuals, but in proportions if not\nabsolutely homoeopathic, still sufficiently minute to keep on the safe\nside, and witnessed its operation, laughable enough but very harmless.\nThe plant that hears these berries hardly attains in Kaseem the height\nof six inches above the ground, but in Oman were seen bushes of it\nthree or four feet in growth, and wide-spreading. The stems are woody,\nand of a yellow tinge when barked; the leaf of a dark green color, and\npinnated with about twenty leaflets on either side; the stalks smooth\nand shining; the flowers are yellow, and grow in tufts, the anthers\nnumerous, the fruit is a capsule, stuffed with greenish padding, in\nwhich lie imbedded two or three black seeds, in size and shape much\nlike French beans; their taste sweetish, but with a peculiar opiate\nflavor; the smell heavy and almost sickly.\n\n\n\n_The Congelation of Animals_.--It is generally supposed that certain\nanimals cannot be frozen without the production of fatal results, and\nthat others can tolerate any degree of congelation. Both these views\nhave been shown to be incorrect in a paper read before the French\nAcademy, by M. Pouchet. The writer arrives at the following\nconclusions: (1.) The first effect produced by the application of cold\nis contraction of the capillary blood-vessels. This may be observed\nwith the microscope. The vessels become so reduced in calibre that the\nblood-globules are unable to enter them. (2.) The second effect is the\nalteration in form and structure of the blood-globules themselves.\nThese alterations are of three kinds: (_a_) the nucleus bursts from\nthe surrounding envelope; (_b_) the nucleus undergoes alteration of\nform; (_c_) the borders of the globule become crenated, and assume a\ndeeper color than usual. (3.) When an animal is completely frozen, and\nwhen, consequently, its blood-globules have become disorganized, it is\ndead--nothing can then re-animate it. (4.) When the congelation is\npartial, those organs which have been completely frozen become\ngangrenous and are destroyed. (5.) If the partial congelation takes\nplace to a very slight extent, there are not many altered globules\nsent into the general circulation; and hence life is not compromised.\n(6.) If, on the contrary, it is extensive, the quantity of altered\nglobules is so great that the animal perishes. (7.) On this account an\nanimal which is partially frozen may live a long time if the\ncongelation is maintained, the altered globules not entering into the\ngeneral circulation; but, on the contrary, it dies if heat be suddenly\napplied, owing to the blood becoming charged with altered globules.\n(8.) In all cases of fatal congelation the animal dies from\ndecomposition or alteration of the blood-globules, and not from\nstupefaction of the nervous system.\n\n\n\n_Ordnance and Targets_.--The Admiralty having erected a new target,\nrepresenting a portion of the side of the _Hercules_, experiments were\nmade at Shoeburyness which proved that a thickness of armor casing had\nbeen attained which afforded perfect security against even the largest\nguns recently constructed. The target has a facing of {138} 9-inch\narmor-plates, and contains altogether eleven inches thickness of iron.\nAgainst this three 12-ton shunt guns were fired, at a distance of only\n200 yards, with charges varying from 45 lbs. to 60 lbs. of powder. One\nsteel shot, of 300 lbs. weight, 10-1/2 inches in diameter, fired with\n60 lbs. of powder, at a velocity of 1,450 feet per second, barely\nbroke through the armor, without injuring the backing. Sir William\nArmstrong has expressed his conviction, in the _Times_, that the\n600-pounder gun will be unable to penetrate this target, and that it\nwill, in fact, require a gun carrying 120 lbs. of powder and steel\nshot to pierce this massive shield. Mr. W. C. Unwin has pointed out,\nin a letter to the _Engineer_, that for similar guns with shot of\nsimilar form, and charges in a constant ratio to the weight of the\nshot, the velocity is nearly constant. Then, assuming the resistance\nof the plates to be as the squares of their thicknesses, it follows\nthat when the diameter of the shot increases, as well as the thickness\nof the armor, the maximum thickness perforated will (by theory) vary\nas the cube root of the weight of the shot, or, in other words, as the\ncalibre of the gun; and the weight of the shot necessary to penetrate\ndifferent thicknesses of armor will be as the cubes of those\nthicknesses. The ratio deduced from the Shoeburyness experiments is\nsomewhat less than this, being as the 2.5 power and the 5.2 power\nrespectively. Practical formula deduced from experiments are given,\nwhich agree with Sir William Armstrong's conclusion, and prove that a\ngun which can effectively burn a charge of at least 100 lbs. of powder\nwill be required to effectually penetrate the side of the _Hercules_.\n\n\n_The Moa's Egg_.--Since our last issue a splendid specimen of the egg\nof the Dinornis has been exhibited in this country, put up to auction,\nand \"bought in\" by the proprietors for \u00a3125. Some interesting details\nconcerning the history of gigantic birds' eggs have been supplied by a\ncontemporary, and we quote them for our readers: In 1854, M. Geoffroy\nde St. Hilaire exhibited to the French Academy some eggs of the\nEpyornis, a bird which formerly lived in Madagascar. The larger of\nthese was 12.1 inches long, and 11.8 inches wide; the smaller one was\nslightly less than this. The Museum d'Histoire Naturelle at Paris also\ncontains two eggs, both of which are larger than the one recently put\nup for sale, the longer axis of which measures 10 inches, and the\nshorter 7 inches. In the discussion which followed the reading of M.\nde St. Hilaire's paper, M. Valenciennes stated it was quite impossible\nto judge of the size of a bird by the size of its egg, and gave\nseveral instances in point. Mr. Strickland, in some \"Notices of the\nDodo and its Kindred,\" published in the \"Annals of Natural History\"\nfor November, 1849, says that in the previous year a Mr. Dumarele, a\nhighly respectable French merchant at Bourbon, saw at Port Leven,\nMadagascar, an enormous egg, which held \"_thirteen wine quart bottles\nof fluid_.\" The natives stated that the egg was found in the jungle,\nand \"observed that such eggs were _very, very rarely_ met with.\" Mr.\nStrickland appears to doubt this, but there seems no reason to do so.\nAllowing a pint and a half to each of the so-called \"quarts,\" the egg\nwould hold 19-1/2 pints. Now, the larger egg exhibited by St. Hilaire\nheld 17-1/2 pints, as he himself proved. The difference is not so very\ngreat. A word or two about the nests of such gigantic birds. Captain\nCook found, on an island near the north-east coast of New Holland, a\nnest \"of a most enormous size. It was built with sticks upon the\nground, and was no less than six-and-twenty feet in circumference, and\ntwo feet eight inches high.\" (Kerr's \"Collection of Voyages and\nTravels,\" xiii. 318.) Captain Flinders found two similar nests on the\nsouth coasts of New Holland, in King George's Bay. In his \"Voyage,\netc.,\" London, 1818, he says: \"They were built upon the ground, from\nwhich they rose above two feet, and were of vast circumference and\ngreat interior capacity; the branches of trees and other matter of\nwhich each nest was composed being enough to fill a cart.\"--_The\nReader_.\n\n\n\n_The Birds of Siberia_.--In an important treatise, published under the\npatronage of the Imperial Geographical Society of St. Petersburg, and\nwhich is the second of a series intended to be issued on Siberian\nzoology, the author, Herr Radde, not only records the species, but\ngives an account of the period of the migration of Siberian birds. He\n{139} gives a list of 368 species, which he refers to the following\norders: Rapaces, 36; Scansores, 19; Oscines, 140; Gallinaceae, 18;\nGrallatores, 74; and Natatores, 81. Concerning the migration of\nbirds, Herr Radde confirms the result arrived at by Von Middendorf in\nhis learned memoir, \"Die Isepiptesen Russlands;\" the most important of\nthem being, (1) that the high table-land of Asia and the bordering\nranges of the Altai, Sajan, and Dauria retard the arrival of the\nmigratory birds; (2) eastward of the upper Lena, toward the east\ncoast of Siberia, a considerable retardation of migrants is again\nnoticeable; and (8) the times of arrival at the northern edge of the\nMongolian high steppes are altogether earlier than those of the same\nspecies on the Amoor.\n\n\n_Plants within Plants_.--In one of the recent numbers of the \"Comptes\nRendus,\" N. Tr\u00e9cul gives an account of some curious observations,\nshowing that plants sometimes are formed within the cells of existing\nones. He considers that the organic matter of certain vegetable cells\ncan, when undergoing putrefaction, transform itself into new species,\nwhich differ entirely from the species in which they are produced. In\nthe bark of the elder, and in plants of the potato and stone-crop\norder, he found vesicles full of small tetrahedral bodies containing\nstarchy matter, and he has seen them gradually transformed into minute\nplants by the elongation of one of their angles.\n\n\n\n_The Extract of Meat_.--Baron Liebig, who has favored us with some\nadmirable samples of this excellent preparation, has also forwarded to\nus a letter in which he very clearly explains what is the exact\nnutritive value of the _extractum carnis_: \"The meat,\" says the baron,\n\"as it comes from the butcher, contains two different series of\ncompounds. The first consists of the so-called albuminous principles\n(albumen, fibrin) and of glue-forming membrane. Of these, fibrin and\nalbumen have a high nutritive power, although not if taken by\nthemselves. The second series consists of crystallizable substances,\nviz., creatin, creatinin, sarcin, which are exclusively to be found in\nmeat; further, of non-crystallizable organic principles and salts\n(phosphate and chloride of potassium), which are not to be found\nelsewhere. All of these together are called the extractives of meat.\nTo the second series of substances beef-tea owes its flavor and\nefficacy, the same being the case with the _extractum carnis_, which\nis, in fact, nothing but solid beef-tea--that is, beef-tea from which\nthe water has been evaporated. Beside the substances already\nmentioned, meat contains, as a non-essential constituent, a varying\namount of fat. Now neither fibrin nor albumen is to be found in the\n_extractum carnis_ which bears my name, and gelatine (glue) and fat\nare purposely excluded from it. In the preparation of the extract the\nalbuminous principles are left in the residue. This residue, by the\nseparation of all soluble principles, which are taken up in the\nextract, loses its nutritive power, and cannot be made _an article of\ntrade_ in any palatable form. Were it possible to furnish the market\nat a reasonable price with a preparation of meat containing both the\nalbuminous and extractive principles, such a preparation would have to\nbe preferred to the _extractum carnis_, for it would contain all the\nnutritive constituents of the meat. But there is, I think, no prospect\nof this being realized.\" These remarks show very clearly the actual\nvalue of the extract. It is, in fact, concentrated beef-tea; but it is\nneither the equivalent of flesh on the one hand, nor an imperfectly\nnutritive substance on the other. It is, nevertheless, a most valuable\npreparation, and now commands an extensive sale in these countries and\nabroad; and it is, furthermore, the only valuable form in which the\ncarcases of South American cattle (heretofore thrown away as\nvalueless) can be utilized.--_Popular Science Review_.\n\n------\n\n{140}\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\n\nLIFE OF THE MOST REVEREND JOHN HUGHES,\nD.D., First Archbishop of New York.\nWith Extracts from his Private Correspondence. By John R.\nG. Hassard. Pp. 519. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1866.\n\nMr. Hassard is one of our most promising writers. He contributed\nseveral excellent articles to \"Appleton's Cyclopaedia,\" edited \"The\nCatholic World\" with judgment and good taste for several months at its\nfirst establishment, and since that time has occupied the position of\neditor of the Chicago \"Republican.\" This is his first literary essay\nof serious magnitude, and a more delicate or difficult task could not\nwell have been confided to his hands. He has fulfilled it with care,\nthoroughness, and impartiality. The style in which it is written is\nremarkably correct and scholarly, and exhibits a thorough acquaintance\nwith the English language as well as a pure and discriminating taste\nin the choice of words. It is a kind of style which attracts no\nattention to itself or to the author, but is simply a medium through\nwhich the subject-matter of the work is presented to the reader's\nmind; and this, in our view, is no small merit. The subject-matter\nitself is prepared and arranged in a methodical, accurate, and\ncomplete manner, which leaves nothing in that regard to be desired.\nThe work belongs to that class of historical compositions which\nchronicle particular events and incidents, relate facts and\noccurrences as they happened, and leave them, for the most part, to\nmake their own impression. The author has endeavored to take\nphotographs of his illustrious subject, and of the scenes of his\nprivate and public life, but not to paint a picture or his character\nand his times. Those who are already familiar with the scenes, the\npersons, and the circumstances brought into view in connection with\nthe personal history of the archbishop, and who were personally\nacquainted with himself, could ask for no more than is furnished in\nthis biography. We have thought, however, in reading it, that other\nreaders would miss that filling up and those illuminating touches from\nthe author's pen which would make the history as vivid and real to\ntheir minds as it is made to our own by memory. A graphic and complete\nview of the history of the Catholic Church, so far as Archbishop\nHughes was a principal actor in it, and of the results of his labors\nin the priesthood and episcopate, is necessary to a just estimate of\nhis ecclesiastical career, is still a _desideratum_. In saying this,\nwe do not intend to find fault with Mr. Hassard for not supplying it.\nHe has accomplished the task which he undertook in a competent manner,\nand produced a work of sterling merit and lasting value. We could wish\nthat the biographies of several other distinguished prelates, of the\nsame period, might be written with the same minuteness and fidelity,\nand, above all others, those of Bishop England and Archbishop Kenrick.\nVery few men could endure the ordeal of passing through the hands of a\nbiographer so coldly impartial as Mr. Hassard. But those who are able\nto pass through it, and who still appear to be great men, and to have\nlived a life of great public service, may be certain that their\ngenuine, intrinsic worth will be recognized after their death, and not\nbe thought to be the coinage of an interested advocate, or the\nfurbished counterfeit whose glitter disappears in the crucible.\nMoreover, the reader of history will be satisfied that he gets at the\nreality of things, and the writer of history that he has authentic\ndata and materials on which to base his judgments of men and events.\nNo doubt this species of history would disclose many defects and\nweaknesses, many human infirmities and errors, in the individuals who\nfigure in it, and lay bare much that is unsightly and repulsive in the\nstate of things as described. This is true of all ecclesiastical\nhistory. Truth dissipates many romantic and poetic illusions of the\nimagination, which loves to picture to itself an ideal state of\nperfection and ideal heroes far different from the real world and real\nmen. Nevertheless, it manifests more clearly the heroic and divine\nelement really existing and working in the world and in men, and\nmanifesting itself especially in the Catholic Church. {141} We\nbelieve, therefore, that the divinity of the Catholic religion would\nonly be more clearly exhibited, the more thoroughly its history in the\nUnited States was brought to light. We believe, also, that the\ncharacter and works of its valiant and loyal champions will be the\nmore fully vindicated the more dispassionately and impartially they\nare tried and judged.\n\nA calm consideration of the condition of Catholicity, thirty-five or\nforty years ago in this country, in contrast with its present state,\nwill enable us to judge of the work accomplished by the men who have\nbeen the principal agents in bringing about the change. Let us reflect\nfor a moment what a difference it would have made in the history of\nthe Catholic religion here, if some eight or ten of the principal\nCatholic champions had not lived; and we may then estimate the power\nand influence they have exerted. Leaving aside the numerical and\nmaterial extension of the Catholic Church under the administration of\nits prelates and the clergy of the second order, we look at the change\nin public sentiment alone, and the vindication of the Catholic cause\nby argument at the bar of common reason, where it has gained a signal\nargumentative triumph over Protestantism and prejudice, through the\nability and courage of its advocates and the soundness of their cause.\nThe principal men among the first champions of the Catholic faith who\nbegan this warfare were, in the Atlantic states, Dr. Cheverus, Dr.\nEngland, Dr. Hughes, and Dr. Power. We speak from an intimate and\nperfect knowledge of the common Protestant sentiment on this matter,\nand with a distinct remembrance of the dread which these last three\nnames, and the veneration which the first of them, inspired. Every one\nwho knows what the almost universal sentiment of the Protestant\ncommunity respecting the Catholic religion and its hierarchy was, is\nwell aware that it was a sentiment of intense abhorrence mingled with\nfear. It was looked upon as a system of preternatural wickedness and\nmight, and yet, by a strange inconsistency, as a system of utter folly\nand absurdity, which no reasonable and conscientious man could\nintelligently and honestly embrace. The priesthood were regarded as a\nspecies of human demons, and those among them who possessed\nextraordinary ability, were believe to have a diabolical power to make\nthe worse appear the better reason and the devil an angel of light.\nThose whose sanctity was so evident that it broke down all prejudice,\nas Bishop Cheverus, were supposed not to be initiated into the\nmysteries of the Catholic religion, but to be at heart really\nProtestants, blinded to the errors of their system by education, and\nduped by their more cunning associates, like \"Father Clement\" in the\nwell-known tale of that name. The Catholic clergy were shunned and\nostracised, looked on as outlaws and public enemies, worthy of no\ncourtesy and no mercy. Their religion was regarded as unworthy of a\nhearing, a thing to be scouted and denounced, trampled upon like a\nnoxious serpent and crushed, _if possible_. _Contempt_ would be the\nproper word to express the common estimation of it, if there had not\nbeen too much fear and hatred to make contempt possible. Its\nantagonists wished and tried to despise it and its advocates, but\ncould not. Every sort of calumny and vituperation was showered upon\nthem by the preachers, the lecturers, and the writers for the press\nwho made Catholicity their theme. Some, perhaps many, honorable\nexceptions, which were always multiplying with time, must be\nunderstood, particularly in Boston, Baltimore, and Charleston. John\nHughes, the poor Irish lad, who had knelt behind the hay-rick on his\nfather's farm to pray to God and the Blessed Virgin to make him a\npriest, who had come to this country with no implement to clear his\nway to greatness but the pick and shovel which he manfully grasped,\nwas one of those who were chosen to lead the van in the assault\nagainst this rampart of prejudice. That he vanquished his proud and\nscornful antagonists is an undoubted fact. Beginning his studies, as a\nfavor reluctantly conceded to him on account of his importunity, at a\nlater period than usual, with a grammar in one hand and a spade in the\nother, he was first a priest, faithful to his duty among many\nfaithless, courageous and enterprising among many who were timid,\nstrong among many weak, staunch and unflinching in a time of schism,\nscandal, and disaster, and bold enough not only to lay new foundations\nfor the church of Philadelphia, which others have since built upon,\nwhile the old ones were half crumbled, and to repress mutiny and\ndisorder in the ranks of his own people, but to {142} attack,\nsingle-handed, the enemies who were exulting over the discord and\nfeebleness which they thought foreboded the disruption of the Catholic\nbody. This, too, almost without encouragement, and with no hearty\nsupport from those who were older and more thoroughly trained and\nequipped in the service than himself. He became the coadjutor and\nsuccessor of the very man who had refused his first application to be\nallowed to purchase the privilege of studying under him, by his daily\nlabor. He died the metropolitan of a province embracing all New York,\nNew Jersey, and New England, and including eight suffragan bishoprics\nwith more than a million of Catholics; confessedly the most\nconspicuous man among his fellow-bishops in the view of Catholics and\nProtestants alike, one of the most trusted and honored of his compeers\nat the See of Rome, well known throughout Catholic Christendom, a\nconfidential adviser and a powerful supporter of the United States\ngovernment, a recognized illustrious citizen of the American republic\nas well as one of the ornaments of his native country, with all the\nsigns and tributes of universal honor and respect at his funeral\nobsequies which are accorded to distinguished personal character or\nofficial station. Let the most severe and impartial critic apply his\nmind to separate, in this distinguished and useful career, the\npersonal and individual force impelling the man through it, from the\nconcurrence of Divine Providence, the aid of favorable circumstances\nand high position, the supernatural power of the character with which\nhe was marked, and of the system which he administered, and the\nstrength and volume of the current of events on which he was borne,\nand, if we mistake not, he will find something strong enough to stand\nall his tests. An ordinary man might have worked his way into the\npriesthood, fulfilled its duties with zeal and success, attained the\nepiscopal and metropolitan dignity, won respect by his administration,\nand left a flourishing diocese to his successor. But an ordinary man\ncould never have gained the power and influence possessed by\nArchbishop Hughes. Our early and original impressions of his\nremarkable power of intellect and will have been strengthened and\nfixed by reading his biography, and the greatness of the influence\nwhich he exerted in behalf of the Catholic religion is, to our mind,\nestablished beyond a doubt. His chivalrous and valiant combat with\nJohn Breckinridge, at Philadelphia, was a victory not only decisive\nbut full of results. We know, from a distinct remembrance of the\nopinions expressed at the time, that Mr. Breckinridge was generally\nthought, by Protestants, to have been discomfited. We have heard him\nspeak himself of the affair with the tone of one who had exposed\nhimself to a dangerous encounter with an enemy superior to himself,\nfor the public good, and barely escaped with his life. We remember\ntaking up the book containing the controversy, from a sentiment of\ncuriosity to know what plausible argument could possibly be offered\nfor the Catholic religion, and undergoing, in the perusal, a\nrevolution of opinion, which rendered a return to the old state of\nmind inherited from a Puritan education impossible. This we believe is\nbut an instance exemplifying the general effect of the controversy\nupon candid and thinking minds, not hopelessly enslaved to prejudice.\nWe remember hearing him preach in the full vigor of his intellectual\nand physical manhood, in the cathedral of New York, soon after his\nconsecration, and the impression of his whole attitude, countenance,\nmanner of delivery, and cast of thought is still vivid and _unique_.\nThose who have seen the archbishop only during the last fifteen years,\nhave seen a breaking-down, enfeebled, almost worn-out man, incapable\nof steady, vigorous exertion, and oppressed by a weight of care and\nresponsibility which was too great for him. To judge of his ability\nfairly it is necessary to have seen and heard him in his prime, before\nill-health had sapped his vigor. And to appreciate the best and most\ngenial qualities and dispositions of the man, it is necessary to have\nmet him in familiar, unrestrained intercourse, apart from any official\nrelation and away from his diocese--or, at least, in those times when\nall official anxieties and cares of government were put aside and his\nmind relaxed in purely friendly conversation. That he was a great man,\na true Christian prelate, and accomplished a great work in the service\nof the church, of his native countrymen, and of the country of his\nadoption, is, we believe, the just verdict of the most competent\njudges and of the public at large upon the facts of his life. He will\nnot be forgotten, for his life and acts are too closely {143}\ninterwoven with public history and his influence has been too marked\nto make that possible. We trust that those who enjoy the blessings of\na securely and peacefully established Catholic Church will not be\ndisposed to forget the men who, in more troubled times, have won by\ntheir valor the heritage upon which we have entered. The record of\ntheir lives and labors is of great value, and this one, in particular,\nis worthy of the perusal of every Catholic and every American, and has\nin it a kind of romantic charm and dramatic grouping which does not\nbelong to the life of one who has been more confined to the seclusion\nof study or the ordinary pastoral routine.\n\nWe regret the mention made of Dr. Forbes's defection, and the\npublicity which is again given to painful matters which had become\nburied in oblivion. It appears to us that, as Dr. Forbes has not\npublicly assailed either the church or the late archbishop, it was\nunnecessary to allude to him in any way, and it would have been more\ngenerous to have suppressed the remarks made in the archbishop's\nprivate correspondence. The mechanical execution of the work is in\ngood style, and we recommend it to our readers as necessary to every\nCatholic library.\n\n\nAN AMERICAN DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.\nBy Noah Webster, LL.D. Thoroughly Revised and Greatly Enlarged and\nImproved, by Chauncey A. Goodrich, D.D., Late Professor of Rhetoric\nand Oratory, and also Professor of the Pastoral Charge in Yale\nCollege, and Noah Porter, D.D., Clark Professor of Moral Philosophy\nand Metaphysics in Yale College. Royal quarto, pp. 1840. Springfield,\nMass.: G. & C. Meiriam. 1866.\n\nThere have been published, within the last twenty-five years, several\neditions of \"Webster's Dictionary,\" but the present one, the title of\nwhich is given above, seems to be the crowning effort of dictionary\nmaking. It surpasses all other editions of the same work both in its\ntypography, its illustrations--some 3,000 in number--and its\nphilological completeness. \"Webster's Dictionary\" has always been of\nhigh authority in this country, and is now held in great repute in\nEngland, where it is accepted by several writers as the best authority\nin defining the English language. The present edition is a most\nbeautiful one, and contains all the modern words which custom has\nengrafted upon our language. It also contains, in its pronouncing\ntable of Scripture proper names, a supplementary list of the names\nfound in the Douay Bible, but not in King James's version. In fact,\ncare has been taken to make this edition as free as possible from\npartisan and theological differences in regard to the definitions of\ncertain words which heretofore got a peculiarly Protestant twitch when\nbeing defined. The publishers deserve great praise for the manner in\nwhich they have done their portion of the work; it is a credit and an\nhonor to the American press.\n\n\nTHE CRITERION; OR, THE TEST OF TALK ABOUT FAMILIAR THINGS:\nA Series of Essays. By Henry T. Tuckerman. 12mo., pp. 377. New York:\nHurd & Houghton. 1866.\n\nMr. H. T. Tuckerman is a man of letters, and we thought he would not\nbe likely to put his name to anything discreditable to an enlightened\nauthor; but, to judge from many things in the above production, we\nthink he has missed his vocation, and would find more appropriate\nemployment as a contributor to the publications of the American Tract\nSociety, or the magazine put forth, monthly, by the \"Foreign and\nChristian Union.\" Else, why is every pope \"shrewd,\" every priest an\n\"incarnation of fiery zeal?\" why \"the lonely existence and the subtle\neye of the Catholic?\" why \"the medical Jesuit, who, like his religious\nprototype, operates through the female branches, and thus controls the\nheads of families, regulating their domestic arrangements, etc.?\" why\n\"Bloody Mary\" and \"Rom_ish?_\" why is \"superstition the usual trait of\nRomanists?\" and this: \"One may pace the chaste aisles of the\nMadeleine, and feel his devotion stirred, perhaps, by the dark\ncatafalque awaiting the dead in the centre of the spacious floor; and\nthen what to him is the doctrine of transubstantiation?\" (!) We are\ntruly sorry to see these indications of a spirit with which we think\nthe author will find very little sympathy outside the clique of\nbenighted readers of the publications above quoted.\n\n{144}\n\nCHRIST THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD.\nBy C. J. Vaughan, D.D., Vicar of Doncaster. 18mo., pp. 269. Alexander\nStrahan, London and New York. 1865.\n\nThis beautiful little volume contains twelve sermons, or rather\nreligious essays, written in a pleasing style, but altogether too\nlengthy and too exhaustive in character. We have no doubt but that the\nauthor is a good preacher, and if these essays were ever preached by\nhim as sermons, they were listened to with pleasure. But in their\npresent shape, enlarged, systematized, and--shall we say--almost too\ncarefully prepared for the press, they are a little tiresome. One\nfeels in reading them how much the naturalness, as well as the\nelegance of diction, is marred by the vague evangelical phraseology,\n\"coming to Christ,\" \"laying hold on Christ,\" etc., which occurs so\nconstantly in these pages. The author, being a Low Evangelical\nChurchman, gives us, of course, \"justification by faith\" and the\nCalvinistic view of the Fall. Yet, in the latter half of the volume he\nseems to speak more like one who imagines that man has something to do\nfor his own justification, and takes a higher and nobler view of\nhumanity. We give the following passage from the last sermon, entitled\n\"Cast out and found,\" as a good specimen of what we should call\npractical preaching. \"When Jesus found him, he said unto him. Dost\nthou believe on the Son of God? 'Thou!' The word is emphatic in the\noriginal, 'Thou--believest thou?' We are glad to escape into the\ncrowd, and shelter ourselves behind a church's confession. But a day\nis coming, in which nothing but an individual faith will carry with it\neither strength or comfort. It will be idle to say in a moment of keen\npersonal distress, such as probably lies before us in life and\ncertainly in death and in judgment, 'Every one believes--all around\nus believe--the world itself believes in the Son of God:' there is no\nstrength and no help there: the very object of Christ's finding thee\nand speaking to thee is to bring the question home, 'Dost _thou_\nbelieve?' A trying, a fearful moment, when Christ, face to face with\nman's soul, proposes that question! Perhaps that moment has not yet\ncome to you. You have been fighting it off. You do not wish to come to\nthese close quarters with it. The world does not press you with it.\nThe world is willing enough that you should answer it in the general;\nand even if you ever say, 'I believe in Jesus Christ his only Son our\nLord,' it shall be in a chorus of voices, almost robbing the\nindividual of personality, and making 'I' sound like 'we.' But if ever\nyour religion is to be a real thing, if ever it is to enable you to do\nbattle with a sin, or to face a mortal risk, if ever it is to be a\nreligion for the hour of death, or for the day of judgment, you must\nhave had that question put to you by yourself, and you must have\nanswered it from the heart in one way. Then you will be a real\nChristian, not before!\"\n\nThe book is elegantly got up in the style and care for which the\npublisher is noted.\n\n\n\nBOOKS RECEIVED.\n\nFrom P. O'Shea, 27 Barclay street. New York:\nNos. 18, 19, and 20 of Darras' History of the Church.\n\n\nFrom P. Donahoe, Boston: The Peep o' Day; or,\nJohn Doe, and the Last Baron of Crana. By\nthe O'Hara Family. 12mo., pp. 204 and 243.\n\n\nFrom Hon. Wm. H. Seward. Secretary of State,\nWashington, his speech on the \"Restoration\nof the Union,\" delivered in New York, Feb. 22, 1866.\n\n\nFrom Peter F. Cunningham, Philadelphia: The Life of Blessed John\nBerchmans, of the Society of Jesus. Translated from the French. With\nan Appendix, giving an account of the Miracles after Death which have\nbeen approved by the Holy See. From the Italian of Father Boreo, S.J.\n1 vol. 12mo., pp. 358.\n\n\nFrom John Murphy & Co., Baltimore: The Apostleship of Prayer. A Holy\nLeague of Christian Hearts united with the Heart of Jesus, to obtain\nthe Triumph of the Church and the Salvation of Souls. Preceded by a\nBrief of the Sovereign Pontiff Plus IX., the approbation of several\nArchbishops and Bishops and Superiors of Religious Congregations. By\nthe Rev. H. Ramiero, of the Society of Jesus. Translated from the\nlatest French Edition, and Revised by a Father of the Society. With\nthe approbation of the Most Rev. Archbishop Spalding. 12mo., pp. 393.\n\n\nFrom Kelly & Piet, Baltimore: Life in the Cloister; or, Faithful and\nTrue. By the author of \"The World and Cloister.\" 12mo., pp. 224.\n\n------\n{145}\n\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD\n\nVOL. III., NO. 14--MAY, 1866.\n\n\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\n\nPROBLEMS OF THE AGE.\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\nWe wish to state distinctly and openly, at the outset of this work,\nthat the solution given of the problems therein discussed is a\nsolution derived from the Catholic faith. Its sole object will be to\nmake an exposition of the doctrines of the Catholic faith bearing on\nthese problems. By an exposition, is not meant a mere expansion or\nparaphrase of the articles of the Creed, but such a statement as shall\ninclude an exhibition of their positive, objective truth, or\nconformity to the real order of being and existence; and of their\nreasonableness or analogy to the special part of that universal order\nlying within the reach of rational knowledge. In doing this we choose\nwhat appears to us the best and simplest method. It differs, however,\nin certain respects, from the one most in vogue, and therefore\nrequires a few preliminary words of explanation.\n\nThe usual method is, to proceed as far as possible in the analysis of\nthe religious truths provable by reason, to introduce afterward the\nevidences of revealed religion, and finally to proceed to an\nexposition of revealed doctrines. We have no wish to decry the many\nvaluable works constructed on this plan, but simply to vindicate the\npropriety of following another, which is better suited to our special\npurpose. We conceive it not to be necessary to follow the first method\nin explaining the faith of a Christian mind, because the Christian\nmind itself does not actually attain to faith by this method. We do\nnot proceed by a course of reasoning through natural theology and\nevidences of revelation to our Christian belief. We begin by\nsubmitting to instruction, and receiving all it imparts at once,\nwithout preliminaries. The Christian child begins by saying \"Credo in\nUnum Deum.\" This is the first article of his faith. It is proposed to\nhim, by an authority which he reveres as divine, as the first and\nprincipal {146} article of a series of revealed truths. If that act is\nright and rational, it can be justified on rational grounds. It can be\nshown to be in conformity to the real order. If it is in conformity to\nthe real order, it is in conformity also to the logical order. The\nexposition of the real order of things is the exposition of truth, and\nis, therefore, sound philosophy. A child who has attained the full use\nof his reason and received competent instruction, either has, or has\nnot, a faith; not merely objectively certain, but subjectively also,\nas certain and as capable of being rationally accounted for, though\nnot by his own reflection, as that of a theologian. If he has this\nsubjective certitude, a simple explication of the creditive act in his\nmind will show the nature and ground of it in the clearest manner. If\nhe has not, children and simple persons who are children in science,\n_i.e._, the majority of mankind, are incapable of faith--a conclusion\nwhich oversets theology.\n\nWe have now indirectly made known what our own method will be; namely,\nto present the credible object in contact or relation with the\ncreditive subject, as it really is when the child makes the first\ncomplete act of faith. Instead of inviting the reader to begin at the\nviewing point of a sceptic or atheist, and reason gradually up from\ncertain postulates of natural reason, through natural theology, to the\nCatholic faith, we invite him to begin at once at the viewing point of\na Catholic believer, and endeavor to get the view which one brought up\nin the church takes of divine truth. We do not mean to ask him to take\nanything for granted. We will endeavor to show the internal coherence\nof Catholic doctrine, and its correspondence with the primitive\njudgments of reason. We cannot pretend to exhibit systematically the\nevidence sustaining each portion of this vast system. It would only be\ndoing over again a work already admirably done. We must suppose it to\nbe known or within the reach of the knowledge of our readers, and in\nvarying degrees admitted by different classes of them, contenting\nourselves with indicating rather than completing the line of argument\non special topics.\n\nThe Catholic reader will see in this exposition of the Catholic idea\nonly that which he already believes, stated perhaps in such a way as\nto aid his intellectual conception of it. The Protestant reader,\naccordingly as he believes less or more of the Catholic Creed, will\nsee in it less or more to accept without argument, together with much\nwhich he does not accept, but which is proposed to his consideration\nas necessary to complete the Christian idea. The unbeliever will find\nan affirmation of the necessary truths of pure reason, together with\nan attempt to show the legitimate union between the primitive ideal\nformula and the revealed or Christian formula, binding them into one\nsynthesis, philosophically coherent and complete.\n\nII.\n\nRELATION OF THE CREDIBLE OBJECT\nAND THE CREDITIVE SUBJECT.\n\nLet us begin with a child, or a simple, uneducated adult, who is in a\nstate of perpetual childhood as regards scientific knowledge. Let us\ntake him as a creditive subject or Christian believer, with the\ncredible object or Catholic faith in contact with his reason from its\nearliest dawn. Before proceeding formally to analyze his creditive\nact, we will illustrate it by a supposed case.\n\nLet us suppose that, when our Lord Jesus Christ was upon earth, he\nwent to visit a pagan in order to instruct him in the truths of\nreligion. We will suppose him to be intelligent, upright, and sincere,\nwith as much knowledge of religious truth as was ordinarily attainable\nthrough the heathen tradition. Let us suppose him to receive the\ninstructions of Christ with faith, to be baptized, and to remain ever\nafter a firm and undoubting {147} believer in the Christian doctrine.\nNow by what process does he attain a rational certitude of the truth\nof the revelation made by the lips of Christ?\n\nIn the first place, the human wisdom and virtue of our Lord are\nintelligible to him by the human nature common to both, and in\nproportion to his own personal wisdom and goodness. Having in himself,\nby virtue of his human nature, the essential type of human goodness,\nhe is able to recognize the excellence of one in whom it is carried to\nits highest possible perfection. The human perfection visible in Jesus\nChrist predisposes him to believe his testimony. The testimony that\nJesus Christ bears of himself is that he is the Son of God. This\ndeclaration includes two propositions. The chief term of the first\nproposition is \"God.\" The chief term of the second proposition is\n\"Jesus Christ.\" The first term includes all that can be understood by\nthe light of reason concerning the Creator and his creative act. The\nsecond term includes all that can be apprehended by the light of faith\nconcerning the interior relations of God, the incarnation of the Son,\nor Word, the entire supernatural order included in it, and the entire\ndoctrine revealed by Christ. The idea expressed by the first term is\nalready in the mind of the pagan, as the first and constitutive\nprinciple of his reason. His reflective consciousness of this idea and\nhis ability to make a correct and complete explication of its contents\nare very imperfect. But when the distinct affirmation and explication\nof the idea of God are made to him by one who possesses a perfect\nknowledge of God, he has an immediate and certain perception of the\ntruth of the conception thus acquired by his intelligence. God has\nalready affirmed himself to his reason, and Christ, in affirming God\nto his intellect, has only repeated and manifested by sensible images,\nand in distinct, unerring language, this original affirmation.\n\nIt is otherwise with the affirmation which Christ makes respecting the\nsecond term. God does not affirm to his reason by the creative act the\ninternal relations of Father and Son, completed by the third, or Holy\nSpirit, and therefore, although it is a necessary truth, and in itself\nintelligible as such, it is not intelligible as a necessary truth to\nhis intellect. The incarnation, redemption, and other mysteries\naffirmed to him by Christ, are not in themselves necessary truths, but\nonly necessary on the supposition that they have been decreed by God.\nThe certitude of belief in all this second order of truths rests,\ntherefore, entirely on the veracity of God, authenticating the\naffirmation of his own divine mission made by Jesus Christ. We must,\ntherefore, suppose that this affirmation is made to the mind of the\npagan with such clear and unmistakable evidence of the fact that the\nveracity of God is pledged to its truth, that it would be irrational\nto doubt it. Catholic doctrine also requires us to suppose that Christ\nimparts to him a supernatural grace, as the principle of a divine\nfaith and a divine life based upon it. The nature and effect of this\ngrace must be left for future consideration.\n\nThese truths received on the faith of the testimony of the Son of God\nby the pagan are not, however, entirely unintelligible to his natural\nreason. We can suppose our Lord removing his difficulties and\nmisapprehensions, showing him that these truths do not contradict\nreason, but harmonize with it as far as it goes, and pointing out to\nhim certain analogies in the natural order which render them partially\napprehensible by his intellect. Thus, while his mind cannot penetrate\ninto the substance of these mysteries, or grasp the intrinsic reason\nof them after the mode of natural knowledge, it can nevertheless see\nthem indirectly, as reflected in the natural order, and by\nresemblance, and rests its undoubting belief of them on the revelation\nmade by Jesus Christ, attested by the veracity of God.\n\n{148}\n\nIn this supposed case, the pagan has the Son of God actually before\nhis eyes, and with his own ears can hear his words. This is the\ncredible object. He is made inwardly certain that he is the Son of God\nby convincing evidence and the illustration of divine grace. This is\nthe creditive subject, in contact with the credible object. It\nexemplifies the process by which God has instructed the human race\nfrom the beginning, a process carried on in the most perfect and\nsuccessful manner in the instance we are about to examine of a child\nbrought up in the Catholic Church.\n\nThe mind of the child has no prejudices and no imperfect conceptions\nderived from a perverted and defective instruction to be rectified.\nIts soul is in the normal and natural condition. The grace of faith is\nimparted to it in baptism, so that the rational faculties unfold under\nits elevating and strengthening influence with a full capacity to\nelicit the creditive act as soon as they are brought in contact with\nthe credible object. This credible object, in the case of the child,\nas in that of the pagan, is Christ revealing himself and the Father.\nHe reveals himself, however, not by his visible form to the eye, or\nhis audible word to the ear, but by his mystical body the church,\nwhich is a continuation and amplification of his incarnation. The\nchurch is visible and audible to the child as soon as his faculties\nbegin to open. At first this is only in an imperfect way, as Jesus\nChrist was at first only known in an imperfect way to the pagan above\ndescribed. As he merely knew Christ at first as a man, and in a purely\nhuman way, so the child receives the instruction of his parents,\nteachers, and pastors, in whom the church is represented, in regard to\nthe truths of faith, just as he does in regard to common matters. He\nbegins with a human faith, founded in the trusting instincts of\nnature, which incline the young to believe and obey their superiors.\nAs soon as his reason is capable of understanding the instruction\ngiven him, he is able to discover the strong probability of its truth.\nHe sees this dimly at first, but more and more clearly as his mind\nunfolds, and the conception of the Catholic Church comes before it\nmore distinctly. Some will admit that even a probability furnishes a\nsufficient motive for eliciting an act of perfect faith. This is the\ndoctrine of Cardinal de Lugo, and it has been more recently propounded\nby that extremely acute and brilliant writer, Dr. John Henry Newman.\n[Footnote 24]\n\n  [Footnote 24: Since the above was written the author has seen reason\n  to suspect that he misunderstood Dr. Newman. The point will be more\n  fully discussed hereafter.]\n\nAccording to their theory, the undoubting firmness of the act of faith\nis caused by an imperate act of the will determining the intellect to\nadhere firmly to the doctrine proposed, as revealed by God. There are\nmany, however, who will not be satisfied with this, and we acknowledge\nthat we are of the number. It appears to us that the mind must have\nindubitable certitude that God has revealed the truth in order to a\nperfect act of faith. Therefore we believe that the mind of the child\nproceeds from the first apprehension of the probability that God has\nrevealed the doctrines of faith to a certitude of the fact, and that,\nuntil it reaches that point, its faith is a human faith, or an\ninchoate faith, merely. The ground and nature of that certitude will\nbe discussed hereafter. In the meantime, it is sufficient to remark\nthat the child or other ignorant person apprehends the very same\nground of certitude in faith with the mature and educated adult, only\nmore implicitly and obscurely, and with less power to reflect on his\nown acts. Just as the child has the same certainty of facts in the\nnatural order with an adult, so it has the same certainty of facts in\nthe supernatural order. When we have once established the proper\nground of human faith in testimony in general, and of the certitude of\nour rational judgments, we have no need of a particular application to\nthe case of {149} children. It is plain enough that, so soon as their\nrational powers are sufficiently developed, they must act according to\nthis universal law. So in regard to faith. When we have established in\ngeneral its constitutive principles, it is plain that the mind of the\nchild, just as soon as it is capable of eliciting an act of faith,\nmust do it according to these principles.\n\nThe length of lime, and the number of preparatory acts requisite,\nbefore the mind of a child is fully capable of eliciting a perfect act\nof faith, cannot be accurately determined, and may vary indefinitely.\nIt may require years, months, or only a few weeks, days, or hours.\nWhenever it does elicit this perfect act, the intelligible basis of\nthe creditive act may be expressed by the formula, _Christus creat\necclesiam_,   [Footnote 25] In the church, which is the work of Christ\nand his medium or instrument for manifesting himself, the person and\nthe doctrine of Christ are disclosed. In the first term of the\nformula, _Christus_, is included another proposition, viz., _Christus\nest Filius Dei_.   [Footnote 26] Finally, in the last term of the\nsecond proposition is included a third, _Deus est creator mundi_.\n[Footnote 27] The whole may be combined into one formula, which is\nonly the first one explicated, _Christus, Filius Dei, qui est creator\nmundi, creat ecclesiam._[Footnote 28]\n\n  [Footnote 25:  Christ creates the Church.]\n\n  [Footnote 26: Christ Is the Son of God.]\n\n  [Footnote 27:  God is the creator of the world.]\n\n  [Footnote 28: Christ, the Son of God, who is the creator of the\n  world, creates the Church.]\n\nIn this formula we have the synthesis of reason and faith, of\nphilosophy and theology, of nature and grace. It is the formula of the\nnatural and supernatural worlds, or rather of the natural universe,\nelevated into a supernatural order and directed to a supernatural end.\nIn the order of instruction, _Ecclesia_ comes first, as the medium of\nteaching correct conceptions concerning God, Christ, and the relations\nin which they stand toward the human race. These conceptions may be\ncommunicated in positive instruction in any order that is convenient.\nWhen they are arranged in their proper logical relation, the first in\norder is _Deus creat mundum_, including all our rational knowledge\nconcerning God. The second is _Christus est Filius Dei_, which\ndiscloses God in a relation above our natural cognition, revealing\nhimself in his Son, as the supernatural author and the term of final\nbeatitude. Lastly comes _Christus creat ecclesiam_, in which the\nchurch, at first simply a medium for communicating the conceptions of\nGod and Christ, is reflexively considered and explained, embracing all\nthe means and institutions ordained by Christ for the instruction and\nsanctification of the human race, in order to the attainment of its\nfinal end. In the conception of God the Creator, we have the natural\nor intelligible order and the rational basis of revelation. In the\nconception of the Son, or Word, we have the super-intelligible order\nin its connection with the intelligible, in which alone we can\napprehend it. God reveals himself and his purposes by his Word, and we\nbelieve on the sole ground of his veracity. The remaining conceptions\nare but the complement of the second.\n\nAll this is expressed in the Apostles' Creed. In the first place, by\nits very nature, it is a symbol of instruction, presupposing a\nteacher. The same is expressed in the first word, \"Credo,\" explicitly\ndeclaring the credence given to a message sent from God. The first\narticle is a confession of God the Father, followed by the confession\nof the Son and the Holy Ghost. After this comes \"Sanctam Ecclesiam\nCatholicam,\" with the other articles depending on it, and lastly the\nultimate term of all the relations of God to man, expressed in the\nwords \"Vitam aeternam.\"\n\nHaving described the actual attitude of the mind toward the Creed at\nthe time when its reasoning faculty is developed, and the method by\nwhich {150} instruction in religious doctrines is communicated to it,\nwe will go over these doctrines in detail, in order to explain and\nverify them singly and as a whole. The doctrine first in order is that\nwhich relates to God, and this will accordingly be first treated of,\nin the ensuing number.\n\n------\n\nFrom The Dublin University Magazine\n\n\nGLASTONBURY ABBEY, PAST AND PRESENT,\n\nTHE RISE OF THE BENEDICTINES.   [Footnote 29]\n\n  [Footnote 29: Authorities.--Acta Sanctoram: Butler's Lives of the\n  Saints; Gregory's Dialogues; Mabillon Acta Sanct.; Ord; Benedicti;\n  Zeigelbauer's Hist. Rei Liter.; Fosbrooke and Dugdale.]\n\nAs Glastonbury Abbey was one of the chief ornaments of the Benedictine\nOrder; as that order was one of the greatest influences, next to\nChristianity itself, ever brought to bear upon humanity; as the\nfounder of that order and sole compiler of the rule upon which it was\nbased must have been a legislator, a leader, a great, wise, and good\nman, such as the world seldom sees, one who, unaided, without example\nor precedent, compiled a code which has ruled millions of beings and\nmade them a motive-power in the history of humanity; as the work done\nby that order has left traces in every country in Europe--lives and\nacts now in the literature, arts, sciences, and social life of nearly\nevery civilized community--it becomes imperatively necessary that we\nshould at this point investigate these three matters--the man, the\nrule, and the work:--the man, St. Benedict, from whose brain issued\nthe idea of monastic organization; the rule by which it was worked,\nwhich contains a system of legislation as comprehensive as the\ngradually compiled laws of centuries of growth; and the work done by\nthose who were subject to its power, followed out its spirit, lived\nunder its influence, and carried it into every country where the\ngospel was preached.\n\nFar away in olden times, at the close of the fifth century, when the\ngorgeous splendor of the Roman day was waning and the shades of that\nlong, dark night of the middle ages were closing in upon the earth;\njust at that period when, as if impelled by some instinct or led by\nsome mysterious hand, there came pouring down from the wilds of\nScandinavia hordes of ferocious barbarians who threatened, as they\nrolled on like a dark flood, to obliterate all traces of civilization\nin Europe--when the martial spirit of the Roman was rapidly\ndegenerating into the venal valor of the mercenary--when the western\nempire had fallen, after being the tragic theatre of scenes to which\nthere is no parallel in the history of mankind--when men, aghast at\nhuman crime and writhing under the persecutions of those whom history\nhas branded as the \"Scourge of God,\" sought in vain for some shelter\nagainst their kind--when human nature, after that struggle between\nrefined corruption and barbarian ruthlessness, lay awaiting the night\nof troubles which was to fall upon it as a long penance for human\ncrime--just at this critical period in the world's history appeared\nthe man who was destined to rescue from the general destruction of\nRoman life the elements of a future civilization; to provide an asylum\nto which art might flee with her choicest treasures, where science\nmight labor in safety, where {151} learning might perpetuate and\nmultiplied its stores, where the oracles of religion might rest\nsecure, and where man might retire from the woe and wickedness of a\nworld given up to destruction, live out his life in quiet, and make\nhis peace with his God.\n\nThat man was St. Benedict, who was born of noble parents about the\nyear 480, at Norcia, a town in the Duchy of Spoleto; his father's name\nwas Eutropius, his grandfather's Justinian. Although the glory of Rome\nwas on the decline, her schools were still crowded with young\ndisciples of all nations, and to Rome the future saint was sent to\nstudy literature and science. The poets of this declining age have\nleft behind them a graphic picture of the profligacy and dissipation\nof Roman life---the nobles had given themselves up to voluptuous and\nenervating pleasures, the martial spirit which had once found vent in\ndeeds with whose fame the world has ever since rung, had degenerated\ninto the softer bravery which dares the milder dangers of a love\nintrigue, or into the tipsy valor loudest in the midnight brawl. The\nsons of those heroes who in their youth had gone out into the world,\nsubdued kingdoms, and had been drawn by captive monarchs through the\nstreets of Rome in triumph, now squandered the wealth and disgraced\nthe name of their fathers over the dice-box and the drinking cup.\nRoman society was corrupt to its core, the leaders were sinking into\nthe imbecility of licentiousness, the people were following their\nsteps with that impetuosity so characteristic of a demoralized\npopulace, whilst far up in the rude, bleak North the barbarian, with\nthe keen instinct of the wild beast, sat watching from his lonely\nwilds the tottering towers of Roman glory--the decaying energies of\nthe emasculated giant--until the moment came when he sallied forth and\nwith one hardy blow shattered the mighty fabric and laid the victors\nof the world in abject slavery at his feet. Into this society came the\nyouthful Benedict, with all the fresh innocence of rustic purity, and\na soul already yearning after the great mysteries of religion;\nadmitted into the wild revelry of student life, that prototype of\nmodern Bohemianism, he was at once disgusted with the general\nprofligacy around him. The instincts of his youthful purity sickened\nat the fetid life of Rome, but in his case time, instead of\nreconciling him to the ways of his fellows, and transforming, as it so\noften does, the trembling horror of natural innocence into the wild\nintrepidity of reckless license, only strengthened his disgust for\nwhat he saw, and the timid, thoughtful, pensive student shrank from\nthe noisy revelry, and sought shelter among his books.\n\nAbout this time, too, the idea of penitential seclusion was prevalent\nin the West, stimulated by the writings and opinions of St. Augustine\nand St. Jerome. It has been suggested that the doctrine of asceticism\nwas founded upon the words of Christ, \"If any man will come after me,\nlet him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.\"  [Footnote\n30] St. Gregory himself dwells with peculiar emphasis upon this\npassage, which he expounds thus, \"Let us listen to what he said in\nthis passage--let him who will follow me deny himself; in another\nplace it is said that we should forego our possessions; here it is\nsaid that we should deny _ourselves_, and perhaps it is not laborious\nto a man to relinquish his possessions, but it is very laborious to\nrelinquish _himself_. For it is a light thing to abandon what one has,\nbut a much greater thing to abandon what _one is_.\"   [Footnote 31]\nFired by the notion of self-mortification imparted to these words of\nChrist by their own material interpretation, these men forsook the\nworld and retired to caves, rocks, forests, anywhere out of sight of\n{152} their fellow-mortals--lived on bitter herbs and putrid water,\nexposed themselves to the inclemency of the winter and the burning\nheats of summer.\n\n  [Footnote 30: Matt. xvi. 24.]\n\n  [Footnote 31: St. Greg. Hom, 32 in Evangel.]\n\nSuch was the rise and working of asceticism, which brought out so many\nanchorites and hermits. Few things in the history of human suffering\ncan parallel the lives of these men.\n\nAs regards conventual life, that is, the assemblage of those who\nministered in the church under one roof, sharing all things in common,\nthat may be traced back to the apostles and their disciples, who were\nconstrained to live in this way, and, therefore, we find that wherever\nthey established a church, there they also established a sort of\ncollege, or common residence, for the priests of that church. This is\nevident from the epistles of Ignatius, nearly all, of which conclude\nwith a salutation addressed to this congregation of disciples,\ndwelling together, and styled a \"collegium.\" His epistle to the Church\nat Antioch concludes thus, \"I salute the sacred College of Presbyters\"\n(Saluto Sanctum Presbyterorum Collegium). The Epistle ad Philippenses,\n\"Saluto S. Episcopum et sacrum Presbyterorum Collegium\"--so also the\nepistles to the Philadelphians, the Church at Smyrna, to the\nEphesians, and to the Trallians.\n\nBut when St. Benedict was sent as a lad to Rome, the inclination\ntoward the severer form of ascetic life, that of anchorites and\nhermits, had received an impulse by the works of the great fathers of\nthe church, already alluded to; and the pensive student, buried in\nthese more congenial studies, became imbued with their spirit, and was\nsoon fired with a romantic longing for a hermit life. At the tender\nage of fifteen, unable to endure any longer the dissonance between his\ndesires and his surroundings, he flood from Rome, and took refuge in a\nwild, cavernous spot in the neighboring country. As he left the city\nhe was followed by a faithful nurse, Cyrilla by name, who had brought\nhim up from childhood, had tended him in his sojourn at Rome, and now,\nthough lamenting his mental derangement, as she regarded it, resolved\nnot to leave her youthful charge to himself, but to watch over him and\nwait upon him in his chosen seclusion. For some time this life went\non, St. Benedict becoming more and more attached to his hermitage, and\nthe nurse, despairing of any change, begged his food from day to day,\nprepared it for him, and watched over him with a mother's tenderness.\nA change then came over the young enthusiast, and he began to feel\nuneasy under her loving care. It was not the true hermit life, not the\nrealization of that grand idea of solitude with which his soul was\nfilled; and under the impulse of this new emotion he secretly fled\nfrom the protection of his foster-mother, and, without leaving behind\nhim the slightest clue to his pursuit, hid himself among the rocks of\nSubiaco, or, as it was then called, Sublaqueum, about forty miles\ndistant from Rome. At this spot, which was a range of bleak, rocky\nmountains with a river and lake below in the valley, he fell in with\none Romanus, a monk, who gave him a monastic dress, with a hair shirt,\nled him to a part on the mountains where there was a deep, narrow\ncavern, into which the sun never penetrated, and here the young\nanchorite took up his abode, subsisting upon bread and water, or the\nscanty provisions which Romanus could spare him from his own frugal\nrepasts; these provisions the monk used to let down to him by a rope,\nringing a bell first to call his attention. For three years he pursued\nthis life, unknown to his friends, and cut off from all communication\nwith the world; but neither the darkness of his cavern nor the\nscantiness of his fare could preserve him from troubles. He was\nassailed by many sore temptations.\n\nOne day that solitude was disturbed by the appearance of a man in the\n{153} garb of a priest, who approached his cave and began to address\nhim; but Benedict would hold no conversation with the stranger until\nthey had prayed together, after which they discoursed for a long time\nupon sacred subjects, when the priest told him of the cause of his\ncoming. The day happened to be Easter Sunday, and as the priest was\npreparing his dinner, he heard a voice saying, \"You are preparing a\nbanquet for yourself, whilst my servant Benedict is starving;\" that he\nthereupon set out upon his journey, found the anchorite's cave, and\nthen producing the dinner, begged St. Benedict to share it with him,\nafter which they parted. A number of shepherds, too, saw him near his\ncave, and as he was dressed in goat-skins, took him at first for some\nstrange animal; but when they found he was a hermit, they paid their\nrespects to him humbly, brought him food, and implored his blessing in\nreturn.\n\nThe fame of the recluse of Subiaco spread itself abroad from that time\nthrough the neighboring country; many left the world and followed his\nexample; the peasantry brought their sick to him to be healed,\nemulated each other in their contributions to his personal\nnecessities, and undertook long journeys simply to gaze upon his\ncountenance and receive his benediction. Not far from his cave were\ngathered together in a sort of association a number of hermits, and\nwhen the fame of this youthful saint reached them they sent a\ndeputation to ask him to come among them and take up his position as\ntheir superior. It appears that this brotherhood had become rather lax\nin discipline, and, knowing this, St. Benedict at first refused, but\nsubsequently, either from some presentiment of his future destiny, or\nactuated simply by the hope of reforming them, he consented, left his\nlonely cell, and took up his abode with them as their head.\n\nIn a very short time, however, the hermits began to tire of his\ndiscipline and to envy him for his superior godliness. An event then\noccurred which forms the second cognizance by which the figure of St.\nBenedict may be recognized in the fine arts. Endeavors had been made\nto induce him to relax his discipline, but to no purpose; therefore\nthey resolved upon getting rid of him, and on a certain day, when the\nsaint called out for some wine to refresh himself after a long\njourney, one of the brethren offered him a poisoned goblet. St.\nBenedict took the wine, and, as was his custom before eating or\ndrinking anything, blessed it, when the glass suddenly fell from his\nhands and broke in pieces. This incident is immortalized in\nstained-glass windows, in paintings, and frescoes, where the saint is\neither made to carry a broken goblet, or it is to be seen lying at his\nfeet. Disgusted with their obstinacy he left them, voluntarily\nreturned to his cavern at Subiaco, and dwelt there alone. But the\nfates conspired against his solitude, and a change came gradually over\nthe scene. Numbers were drawn toward the spot by the fame of his\nsanctity, and by-and-bye huts sprang up around him; the desert was no\nlonger a desert, but a colony waiting only to be organized to form a\nstrong community. Yielding at length to repeated entreaties, he\ndivided this scattered settlement into twelve establishments, with\ntwelve monks and a superior in each, and the monasteries were soon\nafter recognized, talked about, and proved a sufficient attraction to\ndraw men from all quarters, even from the riotous gaieties of\ndeclining Rome.\n\nWe will mention one or two incidents related of St. Benedict, which\nclaim attention, more especially as being the key to the artistic\nmysteries of Benedictine pictures. It was one of the customs in this\nearly Benedictine community for the brethren not to leave the church\nimmediately after the divine office was concluded, but to remain for\nsome time in silent mental prayer. One of the brethren, however, took\nno delight in this holy {154} exercise, and to the scandal of the\nwhole community used to walk coolly out of the church as soon as the\npsalmody was over. The superior remonstrated, threatened, but to no\npurpose; the unruly brother persisted in his conduct. St. Benedict was\nappealed to, and when he heard the circumstances of the case, said he\nwould see the brother himself. Accordingly, he attended the church,\nand at the conclusion of the divine office, not only saw the brother\nwalk out, but saw also what was invisible to every one else--a _black\nboy_ leading him by the hand. The saint then struck at the phantom\nwith his staff, and from that time the monk was no longer troubled,\nbut remained after the service with the rest.\n\nSt. Gregory also relates an incident to the effect that one day as a\nGothic monk was engaged on the border of the lake cutting down\nthistles, he let the iron part of his sickle, which was loose, fall\ninto the water. St. Maur, one of Benedict's disciples--of whom we\nshall presently speak--happened to be standing by, and, taking the\nwooden handle from the man, he held it to the water, when the iron\nswam to it in miraculous obedience.\n\nAs we have said, the monasteries grew daily in number of members and\nreputation; people came from far and near, some belonging to the\nhighest classes, and left their children at the monastery to be\ntrained up under St. Benedict's protection. Amongst this number, in\nthe year 522, came two wealthy Roman senators, Equitius and Tertullus,\nbringing with them their sons, Maurus, then twelve years of age, and\nPlacidus, only five. They begged earnestly that St. Benedict would\ntake charge of them, which he did, treated them as if they had been\nhis own sons, and ultimately they became monks under his rule, lived\nwith him all his life, and after his death became the first\nmissionaries of his order in foreign countries, where Placidus won the\ncrown of martyrdom. Again, St. Benedict nearly fell a victim to\njealousy. A priest named Florentius, envying his fame, endeavored to\npoison him with a loaf of bread, but failed. Benedict once more left\nhis charge in disgust; but Florentius, being killed by the sudden fall\nof a gallery, Maurus sent a messenger after him to beg him to return,\nwhich he did, and not only wept over the fate of his fallen enemy, but\nimposed a severe penance upon Maurus for testifying joy at the\njudgment which had befallen him. The incident of the poisoned loaf is\nthe third artistic badge by which St. Benedict is to be known in art,\nbeing generally painted as a loaf with a serpent coiled round it.\nThese artistic attributes form a very important feature in monastic\npainting, and in some instances become the only guide to the\nrecognition him the subject. St. Benedict is sometimes represented\nwith all these accompaniments--the broken goblet, the loaf with the\nserpent, and in the background the figure rolling in the briers. St.\nBernard, who wrote much and powerfully against heresy, is represented\nwith the accompanying incident in the background of demons chained to\na rock, or being led away captive, to indicate his triumphs over\nheretics for the faith. Demons placed at the feet indicate Satan and\nthe world overcome. Great preachers generally carry the crucifix, or,\nif a renowned missionary, the standard and cross. Martyrs carry the\npalm. A king who has resigned his dignity and entered a monastery has\na crown lying at his feet. A book held in the hand represents the\ngospel, unless it be accompanied by pen and ink-horn, when it implies\nthat the subject was an author, as in the case of Anselm, who is\nrepresented as holding in his hands his work on the incarnation, with\nthe title inscribed, \"_Cur Deus Homo_,\" or it may relate to an\nincident in the life, as the blood-stained book, which St. Boniface\nholds, entitled \"De Bono Mortis,\" a work he was devotedly fond of,\nalways {155} carried about with him, and which was found after his\nmurder in the folds of his dress stained with his blood. But the\nhighest honor was the stigmata or wounds of Christ impressed upon the\nhands, feet, and side. This artistic pre-eminence is accorded to St.\nFrancis, the founder of the order which bears his name, and to St.\nCatharine, of Siena. A whole world of history lies wrapped up in these\nartistic symbols, as they appear in the marvellous paintings\nillustrative of the hagiology of the monastic orders which are\ncherished in half the picture galleries and sacred edifices of Europe,\nand form as it were a living testimony and a splendid confirmation of\nthe written history and traditions of the church.\n\nAlthough, at the period when we left St. Benedict reinstalled in his\noffice as superior, Christianity was rapidly being established in the\ncountry, yet there were still lurking about in remote districts of\nItaly the remains of her ancient paganism. Near the spot now called\nMonte Cassino was a consecrated grove in which stood a temple\ndedicated to Apollo. St. Benedict resolved upon clearing away this\nrelic of heathendom, and, fired with holy seal, went amongst the\npeople, preached the gospel of Christ to them, persuaded them at\nlength to break the statue of the god and pull down the altar; he then\nburned the grove and built two chapels there--the one dedicated to St.\nJohn the Baptist and the other to St. Martin. Higher up upon the\nmountain he laid the foundation of his celebrated monastery, which\nstill bears his name, and here he not only gathered together a\npowerful brotherhood, but elaborated that system which infused new\nvigor into the monastic life, cleared it of its impurities,\nestablished it upon a firm and healthy basis, and elevated it, as\nregards his own order, into a mighty power, which was to exert an\ninfluence over the destinies of humanity inferior only to that of\nChristianity itself. St. Benedict, with the keen perception of genius,\nsaw in the monasticism of his time, crude as it was, the elements of a\ngreat system. For five centuries it had existed and vainly endeavored\nto develop itself into something like an institution, but the grand\nidea had never yet been struck out--that idea which was to give it\npermanence and strength. Hitherto the monk had retired from the world\nto work out his own salvation, caring little about anything else,\nsubsisting on what the devotion of the wealthy offered him from\nmotives of charity; then, as time advanced, they acquired possessions\nand wealth, which tended only to make them more idle and selfish. St.\nBenedict detected in all this the signs of decay, and resolved on\nrevivifying its languishing existence by starting a new system, based\nupon a rule of life more in accordance with the dictates of reason. He\nwas one of those who held as a belief that to live in this world a man\nmust do something--that life which consumes, but produces not, is a\nmorbid life, in fact, an impossible life, a life that must decay, and\ntherefore, imbued with the importance of this fact, he made labor,\ncontinuous and daily labor, the great foundation of his rule. His vows\nwere like those of other institutions--poverty, chastity, and\nobedience--but he added labor, and in that addition, as we shall\nendeavor presently to show, lay the whole secret of the wondrous\nsuccess of the Benedictine Order. To every applicant for admission,\nthese conditions were read, and the following words added, which were\nsubsequently adopted as a formula: \"This is the law under which thou\nart to live and to strive for salvation; if thou canst observe it,\nenter; if not, go in peace, thou art free.\" No sooner was his\nmonastery established than it was filled by men who, attracted by his\nfame and the charm of the new mode of life, came and eagerly implored\npermission to submit themselves to his rule. Maurus and Placidus, his\nfavorite disciples, still {156} remained with him, and the tenor of\nhis life flowed on evenly.\n\nAfter Belisarius, the emperor's general, had been recalled, a number\nof men totally incapacitated for their duties were sent in his place.\nTotila, who had recently ascended the Gothic throne, at once invaded\nand plundered Italy; and in the year 542, when on his triumphant\nmarch, after defeating the Byzantine army, he was seized with a strong\ndesire to pay a visit to the renowned Abbot Benedict, who was known\namongst them as a great prophet. He therefore sent word to Monte\nCassino to announce his intended visit, to which St. Benedict replied\nthat he would be happy to receive him. On receiving the answer he\nresolved to employ a stratagem to test the real prophetic powers of\nthe abbot, and accordingly, instead of going himself, he caused the\ncaptain of the guard to dress himself in the imperial robes, and,\naccompanied by three lords of the court and a numerous retinue, to\npresent himself to the abbot as the kingly visitor. However, as soon\nas they entered into his presence, the abbot detected the fraud, and,\naddressing the counterfeit king, bid him put off a dress which did not\nbelong to him. In the utmost alarm they all fled back to Totila and\nrelated the result of their interview; the unbelieving Goth, now\nthoroughly convinced, went in proper person to Monte Cassino, and, on\nperceiving the abbot seated waiting to receive him, he was overcome\nwith terror, could go no further, and prostrated himself to the\nground.   [Footnote 32] St. Benedict bid him rise, but as he seemed\nunable, assisted him himself. A long conversation ensued, during which\nSt. Benedict reproved him for his many acts of violence, and concluded\nwith this prophetic declaration: \"You have done much evil, and\ncontinue to do so; you will enter Rome; you will cross the sea; you\nwill reign nine years longer, but death will overtake you on the\ntenth, when you will be arraigned before a just God to give an account\nof your deeds.\" Totila trembled at this sentence, besought the prayers\nof the abbot, and took his leave. The prediction was marvellously\nfulfilled; in any case the interview wrought a change in the manner of\nthis Gothic warrior little short of miraculous, for from that time he\ntreated those whom he had conquered with gentleness. When he took\nRome, as St. Benedict had predicted he should, he forbade all carnage,\nand insisted on protecting women from insult; stranger still, in the\nyear 552, only a little beyond the time allotted him by the\nprediction, he fell in a battle which he fought against Narses, the\neunuch general of the Greco-Roman army. St. Benedict's sister,\nScholastica, who had become a nun, discovered the whereabouts of her\nlost brother, came to Monte Cassino, took up her residence near him,\nand founded a convent upon the principles of his rule. She was,\ntherefore, the first Benedictine nun, and is often represented in\npaintings, prominent in that well-known group composed of herself, St.\nBenedict, and the two disciples, Maurus and Placidus.\n\n  [Footnote 32: \"Quem cum a longe sedentem cerneret, non ausus\n  accedero sese in terram dedit.\"--St. Greg. Dial., lib. ii., c. 14.]\n\nIt appears that her brother was in the habit of paying her a visit\nevery year, and upon one occasion stayed until late in the evening, so\nlate that Scholastica pressed him not to leave; but he persisting, she\noffered a prayer that heaven might interpose and prevent his going,\nwhen suddenly a tempest came on so fierce and furious that he was\ncompelled to remain until it was over, when he returned to his\nmonastery. Two days after this occurrence, as he was praying in his\ncell, he beheld the soul of his beloved sister ascending to heaven in\nthe form of a dove, and the same day intelligence was brought him of\nher death. This vision forms the subject of many of the pictures in\nBenedictine nunneries. One short month after the decease of this\naffectionate sister, St. {157} Benedict, through visiting and\nattending to the sick and poor in his neighborhood, contracted a fever\nwhich prostrated him; he immediately foretold his death, and ordered\nthe tomb in which his sister lay in the church to be opened. On the\nsixth day of his illness he asked to be carried to it, where he\nremained for some time in silent, prayerful contemplation; he then\nbegged to be removed to the steps of the high alter, where, having\nreceived the holy viaticum, he suddenly stretched out his arms to\nheaven and fell back dead. This event took place on Saturday, the 21st\nMarch, 543, in the 63d year of his age. He was buried by the side of\nhis sister Scholastica, on the very spot, it is said, where he threw\ndown the altar of Apollo. In the seventh century, however, some of his\nremains were dug up, brought to France, and placed in the Abbey of\nFleury, from which circumstance it took the name of St. Benoit, on the\nLoire. After his death his disciples spread themselves abroad over the\ncontinent and founded monasteries of his name and rule. Placidus\nbecame a martyr, and was canonized; Maurus founded a monastery in\nFrance, was also introduced to England, and from his canonized name,\nSt. Maurus, springs one of the oldest English names--St. Maur,\nSeymaur, or Seymour.\n\nDivesting this narrative of its legendary accompaniments, and judging\nof St. Benedict, the man, by the subsequent success of his work, and\nthe influence of his genius upon the whole mechanism of European\nmonasticism, and even upon the destinies of a later civilization, we\nare compelled to admit that he must have been a man whose intellect\nand character were far in advance of his age. By instituting the vow\nof labor, that peculiarity in his rule which we shall presently\nexamine more fully, he struck at the root of the evils attending the\nmonasticism of his times, an evil which would have ruined it as an\ninstitution in the fifth century had he not interposed, and an evil\nwhich in the sixteenth century alone caused its downfall in England.\n\nBefore proceeding to examine the rule upon which all the greatness of\nthe Benedictine order was based, it will be necessary to mention the\ntwo, earliest mission efforts of the order. The first was conducted\nunder the immediate direction of St. Benedict himself, who in the year\n534 sent Placidus, with two others, Gordian and Donatus, into Sicily,\nto erect a monastery upon land which Tertullus, the father of\nPlacidus, had given to St. Benedict. Shortly after the death of the\nsaint, Innocent, bishop of Mans, in France, sent Flodegarde, his\narchdeacon, and Hardegarde, his steward, to ask for the assistance of\nsome monks of St. Benedict's monastery, for the purpose of introducing\nthe order into France. St. Maurus was selected for the mission, and,\naccompanied by Simplicius, Constantinian, Antony, and Faustus, he set\nout from Monte Cassino, and arrived in France the latter end of the\nyear 543; but to their great consternation, upon reaching Orleans,\nthey were told that the Bishop of Mans was dead, and another hostile\nto their intentions had succeeded him. They then bent their steps\ntoward Anjou, where they founded the monastery of Glanfeuil, from\nwhose cloisters issued the founders of nearly all the Benedictine\ninstitutions in France. From these two centres radiated that mighty\ninfluence which we shall now proceed to examine.\n\nAs we have in a former paper sketched the internal structure of the\nmonastery, we will before going further fill each compartment with its\nproper officers, people the whole monastery with its subjects, and\nthen examine the law which kept them together.\n\nThe abbot was, of course, the head and ruler of the little kingdom,\nand when that officer died the interval between his death and the\ninstallation {158} of his successor was beautifully called the\n\"widowhood of the monastery.\" The appointment was considered to rest\nwith the king, though the Benedictine rule enjoined a previous\nelection by the monks and then the royal sanction. This election was\nconducted in the chapter-house: the prior who acted as abbot daring\nthe time the mitre was vacant summoned the monks at a certain hour,\nthe license to elect was then read, the hymn of the Holy Ghost sung,\nall who were present and had no vote were ordered to leave, the\nlicense was repeated--three scrutators took the votes separately, and\nthe chanter declared the result--the monks then lifted up the elect on\ntheir shoulders, and, chanting the _Te Deum_, carried him to the high\naltar in the church, where he lay whilst certain prayers were said\nover him; they then carried him to the vacant apartments of the late\nabbot, which were thrown open, and where he remained in strict\nseclusion until the formal and magnificent ceremony of installation\nwas gone through. In the meantime the aspect of the monastery was\nchanged, the signs of mourning were laid aside, the bells which had\nbeen silent were once more heard, the poor were again admitted and\nreceived relief, and preparations were at once commenced for the\ninstallation. Outside also there was a commotion, for the peasantry,\nand in fact all the neighborhood, joined in the rejoicings. The\nimmense resources of the refectory were taxed to their utmost, for the\ninstallation of the lord abbot was a feast, and to it were invited all\nthe nobility and gentry in the neighborhood. On the day of the\nceremony the gate of the great church was thrown open to admit all who\nwere to witness the solemn ceremony, and, as soon as the bells had\nceased, the procession began to move from the cloisters, headed by the\nprior, who was immediately followed by the priest of the divine\noffice, clad in their gorgeous ceremonial robes; then followed the\nmonks, in scapulary and cowled tunic, and last of all the lay brethren\nand servants; the newly elect and two others who were to officiate in\nhis installation remained behind, as they were not to appear until\nlater. The prior then proceeded to say mass, and just before the\ngospel was read there was a pause, during which the organ broke out\ninto strains of triumphant music, and the newly chosen abbot with his\ncompanions were seen to enter the church, and walk slowly up the aisle\ntoward the altar. As they approached they were met by the prior (or\nthe bishop, if the abbey were in the jurisdiction of one), who then\nread the solemn profession, to which the future abbot responded; the\nprior and the elect then prostrated themselves before the high altar,\nin which position they remained whilst litanies and prayers were\nchanted; after the litany the prior arose, stood on the highest step\nof the altar, and whilst all were kneeling in silence pronounced the\nwords of the benediction; then all arose, and the abbot received from\nthe hands of the prior the rule of the order and the pastoral staff, a\nhymn was sung, and, after the gospel, the abbot communicated, and\nretired with his two attendants, to appear again in the formal\nceremony of introduction. During his absence the procession was\nre-formed by the chanter, and, at a given signal, proceeded down the\nchoir to meet the new abbot, who reappeared at the opposite end\nbare-footed, in token of humility, and clad no longer in the simple\nhabit of a monk, but with the abbot's rich dalmatic, the ring on his\nfinger, and a glittering mitre of silver, ornamented with gold, on his\nbrow. As soon as he had entered he knelt for a few moments in prayer\nupon a carpet, spread on the upper step of the choir; when he arose he\nwas formally introduced as the lord high abbot, led to his stall, and\nseated there with the pastoral staff in his hand. The monks then\nadvanced, according to {159} seniority, and, kneeling before him, gave\nhim the kiss of peace, first upon the hand, and afterward, when\nrising, upon the month. When this ceremony was over, amid the strains\nof the organ and the uplifted voices of the choir, the newly\nproclaimed arose, marched through the choir in full robes, and,\ncarrying the pastoral staff, entered the vestiary, and then proceeded\nto divest himself of the emblems of his office. The service was\nconcluded, the abbot returned to his apartments, the monks to the\ncloisters, the guests to prepare for the feast, and the widowhood of\nthe abbey was over. The sway of the abbot was unlimited--they were all\nsworn to obey him implicitly, and he had it in his power to punish\ndelinquents with penances, excommunication, imprisonment, and in\nextreme cases with corporal punishment--he ranked as a peer, was\nstyled \"My Lord Abbot,\" and in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries\nkept an equal state and lived as well as the king on the throne: some\nof them had the power of conferring the honor of knighthood, and the\nmonarch himself could not enter the monastery without permission. The\nnext man in office to the abbot was the prior,  [Footnote 33] who, in\nthe absence of his superior, was invested with full powers; but on\nother occasions his jurisdiction was limited--in some monasteries he\nwas assisted by sub-priors, in proportion to the size of the\ninstitution and number of its inmates.\n\n  [Footnote 33: Heads of priories were priors also, but they were\n  equally subject to their respective abbeys.]\n\nAfter the prior in rank came the precentor or chanter, an office only\ngiven to a monk who had been brought up in the monastery from a child.\nHe had the supervision of the choral service, the writing out the\ntables of divine service for the monks, the correction of mistakes in\nchanting, which he led off from his place in the centre of the choir;\nhe distributed the robes at festivals, and arranged processions. The\ncellarer was intrusted with the food, drink, etc., of the monastery,\nalso with the mazers or drinking cups of the monks, and all other\nvessels used in the cellar, kitchen, and refectory; he had to attend\nat the refectory table, and collect the spoons after dinner. The\ntreasurer had charge of the documents, deeds, and moneys belonging to\nthe monastery; he received the rents, paid all the wages and expenses,\nand kept the accounts. The sacristan's duties were connected with the\nchurch; he had to attend to the altar, to carry a lantern before the\npriest, as he went from the altar to the lecturn, to cause the bell to\nbe rung; he took charge of all the sacred vessels in use, prepared the\nhost, the wine, and the altar bread. The almoner's duty was to provide\nthe monks with mats or hassocks for their feet in the church, also\nmatting in the chapter-house, cloisters, and dormitory stairs; he was\nto attend to the poor, and distribute alms amongst them, and in the\nwinter warm clothes and shoes. After the monks had retired from the\nrefectory, it was his duty to go round and collect any drink left in\nthe mazers to be given away to the poor. The kitchener was filled by a\ndifferent monk every week in turn, and he had to arrange what food was\nto be cooked, go round to the infirmary, visit the sick and provide\nfor them, and superintend the labors of his assistants. The infirmarer\nhad care of the sick; it was his office to administer to their wants,\nto give them their meals, to sprinkle holy water on their beds every\nnight after the service of complin. A person was generally appointed\nto this duty who, in case of emergency, was competent to receive the\nconfession of a sick man. The porter was generally a grave monk of\nmature age; he had an assistant to keep the gate when he delivered\nmessages, or was compelled to leave his post. The chamberlain's\nbusiness was to look after the beds, bedding, and shaving room, to\nattend to the dormitory windows, and to have the chambers swept, and\nthe straw of the beds changed once every year, and under his {160}\nsupervision was the tailory, where clothes, etc., were made and\nrepaired. There were other offices connected with the monastery, but\nthese were the principal, and next to these came the monks who formed\nthe convent with the lay brethren and novices. If a child were\ndedicated to God by being sent to a monastery, his parents were\nrequired to swear that he would receive no portion of fortune,\ndirectly or indirectly; if a mature man presented himself, he was\nrequired to abandon all his possessions, either to his family or to\nthe monastery itself, and then to enter as a novitiate. In order to\nmake this as trying as possible, the Benedictine rule enjoined that no\nattention should be at first paid to an applicant, that the door\nshould not be even opened to him for four or five days, to test his\nperseverance. If he continued to knock, then he was to be admitted to\nthe guests' house, and after more delay to the novitiate, where he was\nsubmitted to instruction and examination. Two months were allowed for\nthis test, and if satisfactory, the applicant had the rule read to\nhim, which reading was concluded with the words used by St. Benedict\nhimself, and already quoted: \"This is the law under which thou art to\nlive, and to strive for salvation. If thou canst observe it, enter; if\nnot, go in peace, thou art free.\" The novitiate lasted one year, and\nduring this time the rule was read and the question put thrice. If at\nthe end of that time the novice remained firm, he was introduced to\nthe community in the church, made a declaration of his vows in\nwriting, placed it on the altar, threw himself at the feet of the\nbrethren, and from that moment was a monk. The rule which swayed this\nmass of life, wherever it existed, in a Benedictine monastery, and\nindirectly the monasteries of other orders, which are only\nmodifications of the Benedictine system, was sketched out by that\nsolitary hermit of Subiaco. It consists of seventy-three chapters,\nwhich contain a code of laws regulating the duties between the abbot\nand his monks, the mode conducting the divine services, the\nadministration of penalties and discipline, the duties of monks to\neach other, and the internal economy of the monastery, the duties of\nthe institution toward the world outside, the distribution of charity,\nthe kindly reception of strangers, the laws to regulate the actions of\nthose who were compelled to be absent or to travel; in fine,\neverything which could pertain to the administration of an institution\ncomposed of an infinite variety of characters subjected to one\nabsolute ruler. It has elicited the admiration of the learned and good\nof all subsequent ages. It begins with the simple sentence: \"Listen, O\nson, to the precepts of the master! Do not fear to receive the counsel\nof a good father, and to fulfil it fully, that thy laborious obedience\nmay lead thee back to him from whom disobedience and weakness have\nalienated thee. To thee, whoever thou art, who renouncest thine own\nwill to fight under the true King, the Lord Jesus Christ, and takest\nin hand the valiant and glorious weapons of obedience, are my words at\nthis moment addressed.\" The first words, \"Ausculta, O fili!\" are often\nto be seen inscribed on a book placed in the hands of St. Benedict, in\npaintings and stained glass. The preamble contains the injunction of\nthe two leading principles of the rule; all the rest is detail,\nmarvellously thorough and comprehensive. These two grand principles\nwere obedience and labor--the former became absorbed in the latter,\nfor he speaks of that also as a species of labor--\"Obedientiae\nlaborem;\" but the latter was the genius, the master-spirit of the\nwhole code. There was to be labor, not only of contemplation, in the\nshape of prayer, worship, and self-discipline, to nurture the soul,\nbut labor of action, vigorous, healthy, bodily labor, with the pen in\nthe scriptorium, with the spade in the fields, with the hatchet in the\nforest, or with the trowel on the walls. Labor of some sort there must\nbe daily, but no idleness: that was branded as \"the {161} enemy of the\nsoul\"--\"Otiositas inimica est animiae.\" It was enjoined with all the\nearnestness of one thoroughly imbued with the spirit of the great\nMaster, who said, \"Work whilst it is yet day, for the night cometh,\nwhen no man shall work;\" who would not allow the man he had restored\nto come and remain with him--that is, to lead the life of religious\ncontemplation, but told him to \"go home to thy friends, and tell them\nhow great things the Lord hath done for thee, and hath had compassion\non thee!\" That is the life of religious activity. The error of the\nearly monasticism was the making it solely a life of contemplation.\nReligious contemplation and religious activity must go together. In\nthe contemplation the Christian acquires strength, in the activity he\nuses that strength for others; in the activity he is made to feel his\nweakness and driven to seek for aid in contemplation and prayer.\n\nBut, beside being based upon divine authority and example, this\ninjunction of labor was formed upon a clear insight into and full\nappreciation of one of the most subtle elements of our constitution.\nIt is this, that without labor no man can live; exist he may, but not\nlive. This is one of the great mysteries of life--its greatest\nmystery; and its most emphatic lesson, which, if men would only learn,\nit would be one great step toward happiness, or at least toward that\nhighest measure of happiness attainable below. If we can only realize\nthis fact in the profundity of its truth, we shall have at once the\nkey to half the miseries and anomalies which beset humanity. Passed\nupon man, in the first instance, by the Almighty as a curse, yet it\ncarried in it the germ of a blessing; pronounced upon him as a\nsentence of punishment, yet there lurked in the chastisement the\nFather's love. Turn where we may, to the pages of bygone history or to\nthe unwritten page of everyday life, from the gilded saloons of the\nnoble to the hut of the peasant, we shall find this mysterious law\nworking out its results with the unerring precision of a fundamental\nprinciple of nature. Where men obey that injunction of labor, no\nmatter what their station, there is in the act the element of\nhappiness, and wherever men avoid that injunction there is always the\nshadow of the unfulfilled curse darkening their path. This is the\ngreat clue to the balance of compensation between the rich and the\npoor. The rich man has no urgent need to labor; his wealth provides\nhim with the means of escape from the injunction, and there is to be\nfound in that man's life, unless he, in some way, with his head or\nwith his hands, works out his measure of the universal task, a\ndissonance and a discord, a something which, in spite of all his\nwealth and all his luxury, corrupts and poisons his whole existence.\nIt is a truth which cannot be ignored--no man who has studied life\nclosely has failed to notice it, and no merely rich man lives who has\nnot felt it and would not confess to its truth, if the question were\npressed upon him. But in the case of the man who works, there is in\nhis daily life the element of happiness, cares flee before him, and\nall the little caprices and longings of the imagination--those\ngad-flies which torment the idle--are to him unknown. He fulfils the\nmeasure of life; and whatever his condition, even if destitute in\nworldly wealth, we may be assured that the poor man has great\ncompensations, and if he sat down with the rich man to count up\ngrievances would check off a less number than his wealthier brother.\nWhatever his position, man should labor diligently; if poor he should\nlabor and he may become rich, and if rich he should labor still, that\nall the evils attendant upon riches may disappear. Pure health steals\nover the body, the mind becomes dear, and the little miseries of life,\nthe petty grievances, the fantastic wants, the morbid jealousies, the\nwasting weariness, and the terrible sense of vacuity which haunt {162}\nthe life of one-half of the rich in the world, all flee before the\ntalisman of active labor; nor should we be discouraged by failure, for\nit is better to fail in action than to do nothing. After all, what is\ncommonly called failure we shall find to be not altogether such if we\nexamine more closely. We set out upon some action or engagement, and\nafter infinite toil we miss the object of that action or engagement,\nand they say we have failed; but there is consolation in this\nincontrovertible fact, that although we may have missed the particular\nobject toward which our efforts have been directed, yet we have not\naltogether failed. There are many collateral advantages attendant upon\nexertion which may even be of greater importance than the attainment\nof the immediate object of that exertion, so that it is quite possible\nto fail wholly in achieving a certain object and yet make a glorious\nsuccess. Half the achievements of life are built up on failures, and\nthe greater the achievement, the greater evidence it is of persistent\ncombat with failure. The student devotes his days and nights to some\nintellectual investigation, and though he may utterly fail in\nattaining to the actual object of that search, yet he may be drawn\ninto some narrow diverging path in the wilderness of thought which may\nlead him gradually away from his beaten track on to the broad open\nlight of discovery. The navigator goes out on the broad ocean in\nsearch of unknown tracts of land, and though he may return, after long\nand fruitless wanderings, yet in the voyages he has made he has\nacquired experience, and may, perchance, have learned some fact or\nthing which will prove the means of saving him in the hour of danger.\nThose great luminaries of the intellectual firmament--men who devoted\ntheir whole lives to investigate, search, study, and think for the\nelevation and good of their fellows--have only succeeded after a long\ndiscipline of failure, but by that discipline their powers have been\ndeveloped, their capacity of thought expanded, and the experience\ngradually acquired which at length brought success. There is, then, no\ntotal failure to honest exertion, for he who diligently labors must in\nsome way reap. It is a lesson often reiterated in apostolic teaching\nthat \"whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth;\" and the truth of that\nlesson may be more fully appreciated by a closer contemplation of\nlife, more especially this phenomenon of life in which we see the\nFather's love following close upon the heels of his chastisement. The\nman who works lives, but he who works not lives but a dying and a\nhopeless life.\n\nThat vow of labor infused new vitality into the monks, and instead of\nliving as they had hitherto done upon the charity of the public, they\nsoon began not only to support themselves, but to take the poor of\ntheir neighborhood under their own especial protection. Whenever the\nBenedictines resolved on building a monastery, they chose the most\nbarren, deserted spot they could find, often a piece of land long\nregarded as useless, and therefore frequently given without a price,\nthen they set to work, cleared a space for their buildings, laid their\nfoundations deep in the earth, and by gradual but unceasing toil,\noften with their own hands, alternating their labor with their\nprayers, they reared up those stately abbeys which still defy the\nravages of age. In process of time the desert spot upon which they had\nsettled underwent a complete transformation--a little world populous\nwith busy life sprang up in its midst, and far and near in its\nvicinity the briers were cleared away--the hard soil broken\nup--gardens and fields laid out, and soon the land, cast aside by its\nowners as useless, bore upon its fertile bosom flowers, fruit, corn,\nin all the rich exuberance of heaven's blessing upon man's\ntoil--plenty and peace smiled upon the whole scene--its halls were\nvocal with the voice of praise and the incense of charity arose {163}\nto heaven from its altars. They came upon the scene poor and\nfriendless--they made themselves rich enough to become the guardians\nof the poor and friendless; and the whole secret of their success, the\nmagic by which they worked these miracles, was none other than that\ngolden rule of labor instituted by the penetrating intellect of their\ngreat founder; simple and only secret of all success in this world,\nnow and ever--work--absolute necessity to real life, and, united with\nfaith, one of the elements of salvation.\n\nBefore we advance to the consideration of the achievements of the\nBenedictine order, we wish to call attention to a circumstance which\nhas seldom, if ever, been dwelt upon by historians, and which will\nassist us in estimating the influence of monachism upon the embryo\ncivilization of Europe.\n\nIt is a remarkable fact that two great and renowned phases of life\nexisted in the world parallel to each other, and went out by natural\ndecay just at the same period: chivalry and monasticism. The latter\nwas of elder birth, but as in the reign of Henry VIII. England saw the\nlast of monasticism, so amid some laughter, mingled with a little\nforced seriousness, did she see the man who was overturning that old\nsystem vainly endeavoring to revive the worn-out paraphernalia of\nchivalry. The jousts and tournaments of Henry's time were the sudden\nflashing up of that once brilliant life, before its utter extinction.\nBoth had been great things in the world--both had done great things,\nand both have left traces of their influence upon modern society and\nmodern refinement which have not yet been obliterated, and perhaps\nnever will be. It may then be interesting and instructive if we were\nto endeavor to compare the value of each by the work it did in the\nworld. The origin of monasticism we have already traced; that of\nchivalry requires a few comments. Those who go to novels and romances\nfor their history, have a notion that chivalry existed only in the\nthirteenth, fourteenth, and fifteenth centuries, the periods chosen\nfor the incidents of those very highly colored romances which belong\nto that order of writing. There is also a notion that it sprang out of\nthe Crusades, which, instead of being its origin, were rather the\nresult of the system itself. The real origin of chivalry may be fairly\ntraced to that period when the great empire of the West was broken up\nand subdivided by the barbarians of the North. Upon the ruins of that\nempire chivalry arose naturally. The feudal system was introduced,\neach petty state had a certain number of vassals, commanded by\ndifferent chiefs, on whose estates they lived, and to whom they swore\nfealty in return for their subsistence; these again looked up to the\nking as head.\n\nBy-and-bye, as the new form of life fell into working order, it became\nevident that these chiefs, with their vassals, were a power in\nthemselves, and by combination might interfere with, if not overthrow,\nthe authority of the king himself. Their continued quarrels amongst\nthemselves were the only protection the king had against them, but\ngradually that ceased, and a time came when there was no occupation\nfor the superfluous valor of the country; retainers lay about\ncastleyards in all the mischief of idleness, drunken and clamorous;\nthe kings not yet firmly seated on their thrones looked about for some\ncurrent into which they might divert this dangerous spirit. The\ncondition of things in the states themselves was bad enough; the laws\nwere feebly administered; it was vain for injured innocence to appeal\nagainst the violence of power; the sword was the only lawgiver, and\nstrength the only opinion. Women were violated with impunity, houses\nburned, herds stolen, and even blood shed without any possibility of\nredress for the injured. This state of things was the foundation of\nchivalry. {164} Instinctively led, or insidiously directed to it,\nstrong men began to take upon themselves the honor of redressing\ngrievances, the injured woman found an armed liberator springing up in\nher defence, captives were rescued by superior force, injuries\navenged, and the whole system--by the encouragement of the petty kings\nwho saw in this rising feeling a vent for the idle valor they so much\ndreaded--soon consolidated itself, was embellished and made attractive\nby the charm of gallantry, and the rewards accorded to the successful\nby the fair ladies who graced the courts. Things went on well, and\nthat dangerous spirit which threatened to overturn royalty now became\nits greatest ornament. In process of time it again outgrew its work,\nand with all the advantages of organization and flatteries of success,\nit once more became the tenor of the crowned heads of Europe. At this\ncrisis, however, an event occurred which, in all probability, though\nit drained Europe of half her manhood, saved her from centuries of\nbloodshed and anarchy; that event was the banishment of the Christians\nand the taking of Jerusalem by the Saracens. Here was a grand field\nfor the display of chivalry. Priestly influence was brought to bear\nupon the impetuous spirits of these chevaliers, religious fervor was\naroused, and the element of religious enthusiasm infused into the\nwhole organization; fair ladies bound the cross upon the breasts of\ntheir champions, and bid them go and fight under the banners of the\nMother of God. The whole continent fired up under the preaching of\nPeter the Hermit; all the rampant floating chivalry of Europe was\naroused, flocked to the standards of the church, and banded themselves\ntogether in favor of this Holy War; whilst the Goth, the Vandal, and\nthe Lombard, sitting on their tottering thrones, encouraged by every\nmeans in their power this diversion of the prowess they had so much\ndreaded, and began to see in the troubles of Eastern Christianity a\nfitting point upon which to concentrate the fighting material of\nEurope out of their way until their own position was more thoroughly\nconsolidated. The Crusades, however, came to an end in time, and\nEurope was once more deluged with bands of warriors who came trooping\nhome from Eastern climes changed with new ideas, new traditions, and\nfilled with martial ardor. But now the Goth, the Vandal, and the\nLombard had made their position secure, and the knights and chieftains\nfell back naturally upon their old pursuit of chivalry, took up arms\nonce more in defence of the weak and injured against the strong and\noppressive. That valor which had fought foot to foot with the swarthy\nSaracen, had braved the pestilence of Eastern climes and the horrors\nof Eastern dungeons, soon enlisted itself in the more peaceable lists\nof the joust and tournament, and went forth under the inspiration of a\nmistress's love-knot to do that work which we material moderns consign\nto the office of a magistrate and the arena of a quarter sessions.\n\nIt was in this later age of chivalry, when the religious element had\nblended with it, and it was dignified with the traditions of religious\nchampionship, that the deeds were supposed to be done which form the\nsubject of those wonderful romances;--that was more properly the\nperfection of the institution; its origin lay, as we have seen, much\nfurther back.\n\nAs regards the difference between the work and influence of chivalry\nand monasticism, it is the same which always must exist between the\nphysical and the moral--the one was a material and the other was a\nspiritual force. The orders of chivalry included all the physical\nstrength of the country, its active material; but the monastery\nincluded all its spiritual power and thinking material. Chivalry was\nthe instrument by which mighty deeds were done, but the intellect\nwhich guided, directed, and in {165} fact used that instrument was\ndeveloped and matured in the seclusion of the cloister. By the\nadoption of a stringent code of honor as regards the plighted word,\nand a gallant consideration toward the vanquished and weak, chivalry\ndid much toward the refinement of social intercommunication and\nassuaging the atrocities of warfare. By the adoption, also, of a\ngentle bearing and respectful demeanor toward the opposite sex, it\nelevated woman from the obscurity in which she lay, and placed her in\na position where she could exercise her softening influence upon the\nrude customs of a half-formed society; but we must not forget that the\ngallantry of chivalry was, after all, but a glossing over with the\nsplendors of heroism the excrescences of a gross licentiousness--a\nlicentiousness which mounted to its crisis in the polished gallantry\nof the court of Louis XIV. Monasticism did more for woman than\nchivalry. It was all very well for _preux chevaliers_ to go out and\nfight for the honor of a woman's name whom they had never seen; but we\nfind that when they were brought into contact with woman they behaved\nwith like ruthless violence to her whatever her station may have\nbeen--no matter whether she was the pretty daughter of the herdsman,\nor the wife of some neighboring baron, she was seized by violence,\ncarried off to some remote fortress, violated and abandoned.\nMonasticism did something better, it provided her when she was no\nlonger safe, either in the house of her father or her husband, with an\nimpregnable shelter against the licentious pursuit of these _preux\nchevaliers_; it gave her a position in the church equal to their own;\nshe might become the prioress or the lady abbess of her convent; she\nwas no longer the sport and victim of chivalrous licentiousness, but a\npure and spotless handmaiden of the Most High--a fellow-servant in the\nchurch, where she was honored with equal position and rewarded with\nequal dignities--a far better thing this than chivalry, which broke\nskulls in honor of her name, whilst it openly violated the sanctity of\nher person. It may be summed up in a sentence. Monasticism worked long\nand silently at the foundation and superstructure of society, whilst\nchivalry labored at its decoration.\n\nWhen we mention the fact that the history of the mere literary\nachievements of the Benedictine order fills four large quarto volumes,\nprinted in double columns, it will be readily understood how\nimpossible it is to give anything like an idea of its general work in\nthe world in the space of a short summary. That book, written by\nZeigelbauer, and called \"Historia Rei Literariae Ordinis Sancti\nBenedicti,\" contains a short biography of every monk belonging to that\norder who had distinguished himself in the realms of literature,\nscience, and art. Then comes Don Johannes Mabillon with his ponderous\nwork, \"Acta Sanctorum Ordinis Sancti Benedicti.\" These two authorities\ngave a minute history of that marvellous institution, of whose glories\nwe can only offer a faint outline.\n\nThe Benedictines, after the death of their founder, steadily\nprospered, and as they prospered, sent out missionaries to preach the\ntruth amongst the nations then plunged in the depths of paganism. It\nhas been estimated that they were the means of converting upwards of\nthirty countries and provinces to the Christian faith. They were the\nfirst to overturn the altars of the heathen deities in the north of\nEurope; they carried the cross into Gaul, into Saxony and Belgium;\nthey placed that cross between the abject misery of serfdom and the\ncruelty of feudal violation; between the beasts of burden and the\nbeasts of prey--they proclaimed the common kinship of humanity in\nChrist the Elder Brother.\n\nStrange to say, some of its most distinguished missionaries were\nnatives of our own country. It was a {166} Scottish monk, St. Ribanus,\nwho first preached the gospel in Franconia--it was an English monk,\nSt. Wilfred, who did the same in Friesland and Holland in the year\n683, but with little success--it was an Englishman, St. Swibert, who\ncarried the cross to Saxony, and it was from the lips of another\nEnglishman, St. Ulfred, that Sweden first heard the gospel--it was an\nEnglishman and a Devonshire man, St. Boniface, who laid aside his\nmitre, put on his monk's dress, converted Germany to the truth, and\nthen fell a victim to the fury of the heathen Frieslanders, who\nslaughtered him in cold blood. Four Benedictine monks carried the\nlight of truth into Denmark, Sweden, and Gothland, sent there in the\nninth century by the Emperor Ludovicus Pius. Gascony, Hungary,\nLithuania, Russia, Pomerania, are all emblazoned on their banners as\nvictories won by them in the fight of faith; and it was to the\ndevotion of five martyr monks, who fell in the work, that Poland\ntraces the foundation of her church.\n\nIt is a remarkable fact in the history of Christianity, that in its\nearliest stage--the first phase of its existence--its tendency was to\nelevate peasants to the dignity of apostles, but in its second stage\nit reversed its operations and brought kings from their thrones to the\nseclusion of the cloister--humbled the great ones of the earth to the\ndust of penitential humility. Up to the fourth century Christianity\nwas a terrible struggle against principalities and powers: then a time\ncame when principalities and powers humbled themselves at the foot of\nthat cross whose followers they had so cruelly persecuted. The\ninnumerable martyrdoms of the first four centuries of its career were\nfollowed by a long succession of' royal humiliations, for, during the\nsixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth centuries, in addition to what took\nplace as regards other orders, no less than ten emperors and twenty\nkings resigned their crowns and became monks of the Benedictine order\nalone. Amongst this band of great ones the most conspicuous are the\nEmperors Anastasius, Theodosius, Michael, Theophilus, and Ludovicus\nPius. Amongst the kings are Sigismund of Burgundy, Cassimir of Poland,\nBamba of Spain, Childeric and Theodoric of France, Sigisbert of\nNorthumberland, Ina of the West Saxons, Veremunde of Castille, Pepin\nof Italy, and Pipin of Acquitaine. Adding to these their subsequent\nacquisitions, the Benedictines claim up to the 14th. century the honor\nof enrolling amongst their number twenty emperors and forty-seven\nkings: twenty sons of emperors and forty-eight sons of kings--amongst\nwhom were Drogus, Pipin, and Hugh, sons of Charlemagne; Lothair and\nCarlomen, sons of Charles; and Fredericq, son of Louis III. of France.\nAs nuns of their order they have had no less than ten empresses and\nfifty queens, including the Empresses Zoa Euphrosyne, St. Cunegunda,\nAgnes, Augusta, and Constantina; the Queens Batilda of France, Elfreda\nof Northumberland, Sexburga of Kent, Ethelberga of the West Saxons,\nEthelreda of Mercia, Ferasia of Toledo, Maud of England. In the year\n1290 the Empress Elizabeth took the veil with her daughters Agnes,\nqueen of Hungary, and the Countess Cueba; also Anne, queen of Poland,\nand Cecily, her daughter. In the wake of these crowned heads follow\nmore than one hundred princesses, daughters of kings and emperors.\nFive Benedictine nuns have attained literary distinction--Rosinda, St.\nElizabeth, St. Hildegardis, whose works were approved of by the\nCouncil of Treves, St. Hiltrudis, and St. Metilda.\n\nFor the space of 239 years 1 month and 26 days the Benedictines\ngoverned the church in the shape of 48 popes chosen from their order,\nmost prominent among whom was Gregory the Great, through whose means\nthe rule was introduced into England. Four of these pontiffs came from\nthe original {167} monastery of Monte Cassino, and three of them\nquitted the throne and resumed the monastic life--Constantine II.,\nChristopher I., and Gregory XII. Two hundred cardinals had been monks\nin their cloisters--they produced 7,000 archbishops, 15,000 bishops,\nfifteen of whom took off their mitres, resumed their monks' frock, and\ndied in seclusion; 15,000 abbots; 4,000 saints. They established in\ndifferent countries altogether 87,000 monasteries, which sent out into\nthe world upwards of 15,700 monks, all of whom attained distinction as\nauthors of books or scientific inventors. Rabanus established the\nfirst school in Germany. Alcuin founded the University of Paris, where\n30,000 students were educated at one time, and whence issued, to the\nhonor of England, St. Thomas \u00e0 Becket, Robert of Melun, Robert White,\nmade cardinal by Celestine II., Nicholas Broakspear, the only\nEnglishman ever made Pope, who filled the chair under the title of\nAdrian IV., and John of Salisbury, whose writings give us the best\ndescription of the learning both of the university and the times.\nTheodore and Adrian, two Benedictine monks, revived the University of\nOxford, which Bede, another of the order, considerably advanced. It\nwas in the obscurity of a Benedictine monastery that the musical scale\nor gamut--the very alphabet of the greatest refinement of modern\nlife--was invented, and Guido d'Arezzo, who wrested this secret from\nthe realms of sound, was the first to found a school of music.\nSylvester invented the organ, and Dionysius Exiguus perfected the\necclesiastical computation.\n\nEngland in the early periods of her history contributed upwards of a\nhundred sons to this band of immortals, the most distinguished of whom\nwe will just enumerate--St. Cuthbert, bishop of Lindisfarne, whose\nlife Bede has written, and whose \"Ordinationes\" and \"De Vita\nMonastica\" have reached to our times. St. Benedict Biscop, the founder\nof the monasteries of St. Peter and St. Paul, at Wearmouth and Jarrow,\na nobleman by birth, and a man of extraordinary learning and ability,\nto whom England owes the training of the father of her ecclesiastical\nhistory, the Venerable Bede. St. Aldhelm, nephew of King Ina, St.\nWilfrid, St Brithwald, a monk of Glastonbury, elevated to the dignity\nof Archbishop of Canterbury, which he held over thirty-seven years.\nHis works which have come down to us are a \"Life of St. Egwin, bishop\nof Worcester,\" and the \"Origin of the Monastery of Evesham.\" Tatwin,\nwho succeeded him in the archbishopric. Bede the Venerable, who was\nskilled in all the learning of the times, and; in addition to Latin\nand Greek, was versed in Hebrew; he wrote an immense number of works,\nmany of which are lost, but the best known are the greater portion of\nthe \"Saxon Chronicle,\" which was continued after his death as a\nnational record; and his \"Ecclesiastical History,\" which gives to\nEngland a more compendious and valuable account of her early church\nthan has fallen to the lot of any other nation. He was also one of the\nearliest translators of the Scriptures, and oven on his death-bed\ndictated to a scribe almost up to the final moment; when the last\nstruggle came upon him he had reached as far as the words, \"But what\nare they among so many,\" in the sixth chapter of St. John's Gospel,\nand the ninth verse. St. Boniface, already alluded to as the apostle\nof Germany, was a native of Devonshire. He was made Archbishop of\nMentz, but being possessed with an earnest longing to convert the\nheathen Frieslanders, he retired from his archbishopric, and putting\non his monk's dress took with him no other treasure than a book he was\nvery fond of reading, called \"De Bono Mortis,\" went amongst these\npeople, who cruelly beat him to death in the year 755; and the book\nstained with his blood {168} was cherished as a sacred relic long\nafter. Alcuin, whom we have already mentioned as the founder of the\nUniversity of Paris, was a Yorkshireman, and was educated under Bede.\nHe lived to become the friend of Charlemagne, and next to his\nvenerable master was the greatest scholar and divine in Europe; he\ndied about the year 790. John Asser, a native of Pembrokeshire, is\nanother of these worthies. It is supposed that Alfred endowed Oxford\nwith professors, and settled stipends upon them, under his influence,\nhe being invited to the court of that monarch for his great learning.\nHe wrote a \"Commentary\" upon Boethius de Consolatione Philosophiae,\nthe \"Life of King Alfred,\" and the \"Annals of Great Britain.\" St.\nDunstan, a monk of Glastonbury, the best known of all these great\nEnglishmen, died Archbishop of Canterbury; but as we shall have much\nto say of him hereafter we pass on to St. Ethelwold, his pupil, also a\nmonk at Glastonbury, distinguished for his learning and piety, for\nwhich he was made abbot of the Monastery of Abingdon, where he died in\nthe year 984. Ingulphus, a native of London, was made Abbot of\nCroyland, in Lincolnshire, in the year 1075. A history of the abbey\nover which he presided has been attributed to him, but its\nauthenticity has been gravely disputed. Alfric, a noted grammarian.\nFlorence, of Worcester, was another great annalist, who in his\n\"Chronicon ex Chronici\" brings the history down to the year 1119, that\nin which he died; his book is chiefly valuable as a key to the \"Saxon\nChronicle.\" William, the renowned monk of Malmesbury, the most elegant\nof all the monastic Latinists, was born about the time of the Norman\nConquest. His history consists of two parts, the \"Gesta Regum\nAnglorum,\" in five books, including the period between the arrival of\nthe Saxons and the year 1120. The \"Historia Novella,\" in three books,\nbrings it down to the year 1142. He ranks next to Bede as an historic\nwriter, most of the others being mere compilers and selectors from\nextant chronicles. He also wrote a work on the history of the English\nbishops, called \"De Gestis Pontificum Anglorum,\" in which he speaks\nout fearlessly and without sparing: also a treatise on the antiquity\nof Glastonbury Abbey, \"De Antiquitate Glastoniensis Ecclesiae;\" his\nstyle is most interesting, and he is supposed to have written\nimpartially, separating the improbable from the real, and gives us\nwhat can readily be appreciated as a fair and real picture of the\nstate of things, more especially of the influence and policy of the\nNorman court, and the opening of the struggle between the two races.\nEadmer was another contemporaneous celebrity with William of\nMalmesbury; he was the author of a history of his own times, called\n\"Historia Novorum sive Sui Secula,\" which is spoken of very highly by\nWilliam of Malmesbury; it contains the reigns of William the Conqueror\nand Rufus, and a portion of that of Henry I., embracing a period\nextending from 1066 to 1122. Matthew Paris, another historian who\nlived about the year 1259, closes our selection from the long list of\nBritish worthies who were members of the Benedictine order.\n\nWhen we reflect that all the other monastic systems, not only of the\npast, but even of the present day, are but modifications of this same\nrule, and that it emanated from the brain, and is the embodiment of\nthe genius of the solitary hermit of Monte Cassino, we are lost in\nastonishment at the magnitude of the results which have sprung from so\nsimple an origin. That St. Benedict had any presentiment of the future\nglory of his order, there is no sign in his rule or his life. He was a\ngreat and good man, and he produced that comprehensive rule simply for\nthe guidance of his own immediate followers, without a thought beyond.\nBut it was blessed, {169} and grew and prospered mightily in the\nworld. He has been called the Moses of a favored people; and the\ncomparison is not inapt, for he lead his order on up to the very\nborders of the promised country, and after his death, which, like that\nof Moses, took place within sight of their goal, they fought their way\nthrough the hostile wilds of barbarism, until those men who had\nconquered the ancient civilizations of Europe lay at their feet, bound\nin the fetters of spiritual subjection to the cross of Christ. The\nwild races of Scandinavia came pouring down upon southern Europe in\none vast march of extermination, slaying and destroying as they\nadvanced, sending before them the terror of that doom which might be\nseen in the desolation which lay behind them; but they fell,\nvanquished by the power of the army of God, who sallied forth in turn\nto reconquer the world, and fighting not with the weapons of fire and\nsword, but, like Christian soldiers, girt about with truth, and having\non the breastplate of righteousness, they subdued these wild races,\nwho had crushed the conquerors of the earth, and rested not until they\nhad stormed the stronghold, and planted the cross triumphantly upon\nthe citadel of an ancient paganism. Time rolled on, and the gloom of a\nlong age of darkness fell upon a world whose glory lay buried under\nRoman ruins. Science had gone, literature had vanished, art had flown,\nand men groped about in vain in that dense darkness for one ray of\nhope to cheer them in their sorrow. The castle of the powerful baron\nrose gloomily above them, and with spacious moat, dense walls, and\nbattlemented towers, frowned ominously upon the world which lay abject\nat its feet. In slavery men were born, and in slavery they lived. They\npandered to the licentiousness and violence of him who held their\nlives in his hands, and fed them only to fight and fail at his\nbidding. But far away from the castle there arose another building,\nmassive, solid, and strong, not frowning with battlemented towers, nor\nisolated by broad moats; but with open gates, and a hearty welcome to\nall comers, stood the monastery, where lay the hope of humanity, as in\na safe asylum. Behind its walls was the church, and clustered around\nit the dwelling-places of those who had left the world, and devoted\ntheir lives to the service of that church, and the salvation of their\nsouls. Far and near in its vicinity the land bore witness to assiduous\nculture and diligent care, bearing on its fertile bosom the harvest\nhope of those who had labored, which the heavens watered, the sun\nsmiled upon, and the winds played over, until the heart of man\nrejoiced, and all nature was big with the promise of increase. This\nwas the refuge to which religion and art had fled. In the quiet\nseclusion of its cloisters science labored at its problems and\nperpetuated its results, uncheered by applause and stimulated only by\nthe pure love of the pursuit. Art toiled in the church, and whole\ngenerations of busy fingers worked patiently at the decoration of the\ntemple of the Most High. The pale, thoughtful monk, upon whose brow\ngenius had set her mark, wandered into the calm retirement of the\nlibrary, threw back his cowl, buried himself in the study of\nphilosophy, history, or divinity, and transferred his thoughts to\nvellum, which was to moulder and waste in darkness and obscurity, like\nhimself in his lonely monk's grave, and be read only when the spot\nwhere he labored should be a heap of ruins, and his very name a\ncontroversy amongst scholars.\n\nWe should never lose sight of this truth, that in this building, when\nthe world was given up to violence and darkness, was garnered up the\nhope of humanity; and these men who dwelt there in contemplation and\nobscurity were its faithful guardians--and this was more particularly\nthe case with that great order whose foundation we {170} have been\nexamining. The Benedictines were the depositaries of learning and the\narts; they gathered books together, and reproduced them in the silence\nof their cells, and they preserved in this way not only the volumes of\nsacred writ, but many of the works of classic lore. They started\nGothic architecture--that matchless union of nature with art--they\nalone had the secrets of chemistry and medical science; they invented\nmany colors; they were the first architects, artists, glass-stainers,\ncarvers, and mosaic workers in mediaeval times. They were the original\nilluminators of manuscripts, and the first transcribers of books; in\nfine, they were the writers, thinkers, and workers of a dark age, who\nwrote for no applause, thought with no encouragement, and worked for\nno reward. Their power, too, waxed mighty; kings trembled before their\ndenunciations of tyranny, and in the hour of danger fled to their\naltars for safety; and it was an English king who made a pilgrimage to\ntheir shrines, and prostrate at the feet of five Benedictine monks,\nbared his back, and submitted himself to be scourged as a penance to\nhis crimes.\n\nNearly fourteen hundred years have rolled by since the great man who\nfounded this noble order died; and he who in after years compiled the\n\"Saxon Chronicle\" has recorded it in a simple sentence, which, amongst\nthe many records of that document, we may at least believe, and with\nwhich we will conclude the chapter--\"This year St. Benedict the Abbot,\nfather of all monks, went to heaven.\"\n\n------\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nSAINTS OF THE DESERT,\n\nBY THE REV. J. H. NEWMAN, D.D.\n\n\n\n1. Some old men came to Abbot Antony, who, to try their spirits,\nproposed to them a difficult passage of Scripture.\n\nAs each in turn did his best to explain it, Antony said: \"You have not\nhit it.\"\n\nTill Abbot Joseph said: \"I give it up.\"\n\nThen cried Antony: \"_He_ has hit it; for he owns he does not know it.\"\n\n\n2. When the Abbot Arsenius was at the point of death, his brethren\nnoted that he wept. They said then: \"Is it so? art thou too afraid, O\nfather?\"\n\nHe answered: \"It is so; and the fear that is now upon me has been with\nme ever since I became a monk.\"\n\nAnd so he went to sleep.\n\n\n3. Abbot Pastor said: \"We cannot keep out bad thoughts, as we cannot\nstop the wind rushing through the door; but we can resist them when\nthey come.\"\n\n\n\n4. Abbot Besarion said, when he was dying: \"A monk ought to be all\neye, as the cherubim and seraphim.\"\n\n\n\n5. They asked Abbot Macarius how they ought to pray.\n\nThe old man made answer: \"No need to be voluble in prayer; but stretch\nforth thy hands frequently, and say, 'Lord, as thou wilt, and as thou\nknowest, have mercy on me.' And if war is coming on, say, 'Help!' And\nhe who himself knoweth what is expedient for thee, will show thee\nmercy.\"\n\n\n\n6. On a festival, when the monks were at table, one cried out to the\nservers, \"_I_ eat nothing dressed, so bring me some salt.\"\n\nBlessed Theodore made reply: \"My brother, better were it to have even\nsecretly eaten flesh in thy cell than thus loudly to have refused it.\"\n\n\n\n7. An old man said: \"A monk's cell is that golden Babylonian furnace\nin which the Three Children found the Son of God.\"\n\n------\n\n{171}\n\n\n[ORIGINAL]\n\nCHRISTINE:\n\nA TROUBADOUR'S SONG,\n\nIN FIVE CANTOS.\n\nBY GEORGE H. MILES.   [Footnote 34]\n\n  [Footnote 34: Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year\n  1886, by Lawrence Kehoe, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court\n  of the United States for the Southern District of New York.]\n\n(Continued)\n\n\n\nTHE THIRD SONG.\n\nI.\n\n\n  Fronting the vine-clad Hermitage,--\n  Its hoary turrets mossed with age,\n  Its walls with flowers and grass o'ergrown,--\n      A ruined Castle, throned so high\n      Its battlements invade the sky,\n  Looks down upon the rushing Rhone.\n  From its tall summits you may see\n  The sunward slopes of C\u00f4te Rotie\n  With its red harvest's revelry;\n  While eastward, midway to the Alpine snows,\n  Soar the sad cloisters of the Grande Chartreuse.\n\n  And here, 'tis said, to hide his shame,\n  The thrice accursed Pilate came;\n  And here the very rock is shown.\n      Where, racked and riven with remorse,\n      Mad with the memory of the Cross,\n  He sprang and perished in the Rhone.\n  'Tis said that certain of his race\n  Made this tall peak their dwelling place.\n  And built them there this castle keep\n  To mark the spot of Pilate's leap.\n\n{172}\n\n  Full many the tale of terror told\n      At eve, with changing cheek,\n  By maiden fair and stripling bold,\n  Of these dark keepers of the height\n  And, most of all, of the Wizard Knight,\n      The Knight of Pilate's Peak.\n  His was a name of terror known\n      And feared through all Provence;\n  Men breathed it in an undertone.\n      With quailing eye askance,\n  Till the good Dauphin of Vienne,\n      And Miolan's ancient Lord,\n  One midnight stormed the robber den\n      And gave them to the sword;\n  All save the Wizard Knight, who rose\n  In a flame-wreath from his dazzled foes;\n  All save a child, with golden hair.\n  Whom the Lord of Miolan deigned to spare\n      In ruth to womanhood,\n  And she, alas, is the maiden fair\n      Who wept in the walnut wood.\n\n  But who is he, with step of fate,\n  Goes gloomily through the castle gate\n       In me morning's virgin prime?\n  Why scattereth he with frenzied hand\n  The fierce flame of that burning brand,\n      Chaunting an ancient rhyme?\n  The eagle, scared from her blazing nest,\n  Whirls with a scream round his sable crest.\n  What muttereth he with demon smile.\n  Shaking his mailed hand the while\n      Toward the Chateau of La S\u00f4ne,\n  Where champing steed and bannered tent\n  Gave token of goodly tournament,\n      And the Golden Dolphin shone?\n  \"Woe to the last of the Dauphin's line,\n  When the eagle shrieks and the red lights shine\n      Bound the towers of Pilate's Peak!\n  Burn, beacon, burn!\"--and as he spoke\n  From the ruined towers curled the pillared smoke,\n  As the light flame leapt from the ancient oak\n      And answered the eagle's shriek.\n  Man and horse down the hillside sprang\n  And a voice through the startled forest rang--\n      \"I ride, I ride to win my bride.\n      Ho, Eblis! to thy servants side;\n            Thou hast sworn no foe\n            Shall lay me low\n  Till the dead in arms against me ride.\"\n\n{173}\n\n\nII.\n\n  Deliciously, deliciously\n      Cometh the dancing dawn,\n  Christine, Christine comes with it,\n      Leading in the morn.\n          Beautiful pair!\n      So cometh the fawn\n          Before the deer.\n  Christine is in her bower\n      Beside the swift Is\u00e8re\n  Weaving a white flower\n      With her dark brown hair.\n      Never, O never,\n          Wandering river.\n      Though flowing for ever,\n          E'er shalt thou mirror\n      Maiden so fair!\n\n  Hail to thee, hail to thee,\n      Beautiful one;\n  Maiden to match thee,\n      On earth there is none.\n  And there is none to tell\n      How beautiful thou art:\n  Though oft the first Rudel\n      Has made the Princes start,\n  When he has strung his harp and sung\n      The Lily of Provence,\n  Till the high halls have rung\n      With clash of lifted lance\n  Vowed to the young\n      Christine of France.\n\n      Ah, true that he might paint\n  The blooming of thy cheek.\n  The blue vein's tender streak\n      On marble temple faint;\n      Lips in whose repose\n      Ruby weddeth rose.\n      Lips that parted show\n      Ambushed pearl below:\n  Or he may catch the subtle glow\n      Of smiles as rare as sweet,\n  May whisper of the drifted snow\n      Where throat and bosom meet.\n  And of the dark brown braids that flow\n      So grandly to thy feet.\n      Ah, true that he may sing\n      Thy wondrous mien.\n\n{174}\n\n  Stately as befits a queen,\n  Yet light and lithe and all awing\n      As becometh Queen of air\n  Who glideth unstepping everywhere.\n  And he might number e'en\n      The charms that haunt the drapery--\n  Charms that, ever changing, cluster\n  Round thy milk-white mantle's lustre,--\n      Maiden mantle that is part of thee.\n      Maiden mantle that doth circle thee\n          With the snows of virgin grace;\n  Halo-like around thee wreathing,\n  Spirit-like about thee breathing\n          The glory of thy face.\n\n  But these dark eyes, Christine?\n      Peace, poet, peace,\n      Cease, minstrel, cease!\n  But these dear eyes, Christine?\n      Mute, O mute\n      Be voice and lute!\n  O dear dark eyes that seem to dwell\n  With holiest things invisible,\n      Who may read your oracle?\n  Earnest eyes that seem to rove\n      Empyrean heights above,\n  Yet aglow with human love.\n      Who may speak your spell?\n  Dear dark eyes that beam and bless,\n  In whose luminous caress\n  Nature weareth bridal dress,--\n  Eyes of voiceless Prophetess,\n      Your meanings who may tell!\n          O there is none!\n      Peace, poet, peace.\n      Cease, minstrel, cease,\n          For there is none!\n  O eyes of fire without desire,\n      O stars that lead the sun!\n          But minstrel cease,\n          Peace, poet, peace.\n      Tame Troubadour be still;\n          Voice and lute\n          Alike be mute,\n      It passeth all your skill!\n\n      Sooth thou art fair,\n      O ladye dear.\n          Yet one may see\n  The shadow of the east in thee;\n\n{175}\n\n          Tinting to a riper flush\n          The faint vermilion of thy blush;\n          Deepening in thy dark brown hair\n          Till sunshine sleeps in starlight there.\n  For she had scarce seen summers ten,\n      When erst the Hermit's call\n      Sent all true Knights from bower and hall\n  Against the Saracen.\n  Young, motherless, and passing fair,\n  The Dauphin durst not leave her there,\n      Within his castle lone,\n  To kinsman's cold or casual care,\n      Not such as were his own:\n  And so the sweet Proven\u00e7al maid\n  Shared with her sire the first Crusade.\n  And you may hear her oft,\n  In accents strangely soft.\n  Still singing of the rose's bloom\n      In Sharon,--of the long sunset\n      That gilds lamenting Olivet,\n  Of eglantines that grace the gloom\n      Of sad Gethsemane;\n  And of a young Knight ever seen\n  In evening walks along the green\n      That fringes feeble Silo\u00eb.\n\n  Young, beautiful, and passing fair--\n  The ancient Dauphin's only heir,\n      The fairest flower of France,--\n  Knights by sea and Knights by land\n  Came to claim the fair white hand,\n      With sigh and suppliant lance;\n          And many a shield\n          Displayed afield\n  The Lily of Provence.\n      Ladye love of prince and bard\n      Yet to one young Savoyard\n          Swerveless faith she gave--\n      To the young knight ever seen\n      When moonlight wandered o'er the green\n          That gleams o'er Silo\u00eb's wave.\n  And he, blest boy, where lingers he?\n      For the Dauphin hath given slow consent\n      That, after a joyous tournament,\n  The stately spousals shall be.\n\n  Christine is in her bower\n      That blooms by the swift Is\u00e8re,\n  Twining a white flower\n      With her dark brown hair.\n\n{176}\n\n      The skies of Provence\n      Are bright with her glance,\n  And nature's matin organ floods\n      The world with music from the myriad throats\n      Of the winged Troubadours, whose joyous notes\n  Brighten the rolling requiem of the woods.\n      With melody, flowers, and light\n          Hath the maiden come to play,\n      As fragile, fair, and bright\n          And lovelier than they?\n      O no, she has come to her bower\n          That blooms by the dark Is\u00e8re\n      For the bridegroom who named the first hour\n          Of day-dawn to meet her there:\n      But the bridal morn on the hills is born\n          And the bridegroom is not here.\n      Hie thee hither, Savoyard,\n      On such an errand youth rides hard.\n      Never knight so dutiful\n      Maiden failed so beautiful:\n          And she in such sweet need,\n          And he so bold and true!--\n  She will watch by the long green avenue\n      Till it quakes to the tramp of his steed;\n  Till it echoes the neigh of the gallant Grey\n        Spurred to the top of his speed.\n\n  In the dark, green, lonely avenue\n      The Ladye her love-watch keepeth,\n  Listening so close that she can hear\n      The very dripping of the dew\n          Stirred by the worm as it creepeth;\n              Straining her ear\n          For her lover's coming\n              Till his steed seems near\n          In the bee's far humming.\n      She stands in the silent avenue,\n          Her back to a cypress tree;\n      O Savoyard once bold and true,\n          Late bridegroom, where canst thou be?\n      Hark! o'er the bridge that spans the river\n          There cometh a clattering tread,\n      Never was shaft from mortal quiver\n          Ever so swiftly sped.\n              Onward the sound,\n              Bound after, bound,\n          Leapeth along the tremulous ground.\n\n{177}\n\n  From the nodding forest darting.\n  Leaves, like water, round them parting.\n      Up the long green avenue,\n      Horse and horseman buret in view.\n  Marry, what ails the bridegroom gay\n      That he strideth a coal black steed,\n  Why cometh he not on the gallant Grey\n      That never yet failed him at need?\n  Gone is the white plume, that clouded his crest,\n  And the love-scarf that lightly lay over his breast;\n  Dark is his shield as the raven's wing\n  To the funeral banquet hurrying.\n  Came ever knight in such sad array\n  On the merry morn of his bridal day?\n  The Ladye trembles, and well she may;\n  Saints, you would think him a fiend astray.\n  A plunge, a pause, and, fast beside her.\n  Stand the sable horse and rider.\n  Alas, Christine, this shape of wrath\n  In Palestine once crossed thy path;\n  His arm around thy waist, I trow,\n  To bear thee to his saddle-bow.\n      But thy Savoyard was there.\n  In time to save, tho' not to smite,\n  For the demon fled into the night\n      From Miolan's matchless heir.\n  Alas, Christine, that lance lies low--\n      Lies low on oaken bier!\n\n  Low bent the Wizard, till his plume\n  O'ershadowed her like falling doom:\n  She feels the cold casque touch her ear,\n  She hears the whisper, hollow, clear,--\n  \"From Acre's strand, from Holy Land,\n  O'er mountain crag, through desert sand,\n  By land, by sea, I come for thee.\n  And mine ere sunset shalt thou be!\n  Dost know me, girl?\"\n              The visor raises--\n  God, 'tis the Knight of Pilate's Peak!\n      As if in wildered dream she gazes,\n  Gazing as one who strives to shriek.\n  She cannot fly, or speak, or stir,\n  For that face of horror glares, at her\n      Like a phantom fresh from hell.\n  She gave no answer, she made no moan;\n  Mute as a statue overthrown.\n  Her fair face cold as carved stone,\n      Swooning the maiden fell.\n\n{178}\n\n  The sun has climbed the golden hills\n  And danceth down with the mountain rills.\n  Over the meadow the swift beams run\n  Lifting the flowers, one by one,\n  Sipping their chalices dry as they pass,\n  And kissing the beads from the bending grass.\n  The Dauphin's chateau, grand and grey,\n  Glows merrily in the risen day;\n  His castle that seemeth ancient as earth,\n  Lights up like an old man in his mirth.\n  Through the forest old, the sunbeams bold\n      Their glittering revel keep,\n  Till, in arrowy gold, on the chequered wold\n      In glancing lines they sleep.\n  And one sweet beam hath found its way\n  To the violet bank where the Ladye lay.\n  O radiant touch! perchance so shone\n  The hand that woke the widow's son.\n\n  She sighs, she stirs; the death-swoon breaks;\n      Life slowly fires those pallid lips;\n  And feebly, painfully, she wakes,\n      Struggling through that dark eclipse.\n  Breathing fresh of Alpine snows,\n  Breathing sweets of summer rose.\n  Murmuring songs of soft repose,\n  The south wind on her bosom blows:\n  But she heeds it not, she hears it not;\n      Fast she sits with steady stare.\n      The dew-drops heavy on her hair,\n      Her fingers clasped in dumb despair,\n          Frozen to the spot:\n  While o'er her fierce and fixed as fate,\n  The fiend on his spectral war-horse sate.\n  A horrible smile through the visor broke,\n  And, quoth he,\n              \"I but watched till my Ladye woke.\n  Get thee a flagon of Shiraz wine,\n  For the lips must be red that answer mine!\"\n  Cleaving the woods, like the wind he went.\n  His face o'er his shoulder backward bent,\n  Crying thrice--\"We shall meet at the Tournament!\"\n\n      Clasping the cypress overhead,\n      Christine rose from her fragrant bed.\n      And a prayer to Mother Mary sped.\n      Hold not those gleaming skies for her\n      The same unfailing Comforter?\n      And those two white winged cherubim,\n      She once had seen, when Christmas hymn\n          Chimed with the midnight mass,\n      Scattering light through the chapel dim,\n          Alive in me stained glass--\n\n{179}\n\n  What fiend could harm a hair of her.\n  While those arching-wings took care of her?\n  And our Ladye, Maid divine,\n  Mother round whose marble shrine\n  She wreathed the rose of Palestine\n      So many sinless years,\n  Will not heaven's maiden-mother Queen\n      Regard her daughter's tears!\n  Yes!--through the forest stepping slow,\n  Tranquil mistress of her woe,\n      Goeth the calm Christine;\n  And but for yonder spot of snow\n  Upon each temple, none may know\n      How stem a storm hath been.\n  For never dawned a brighter day,\n  And the Ladye smileth on her way,\n  Greeting the blue-eyed morn at play\n      With earth in her spangled green.\n          A single cloud\n          Stole like a shroud\n  Forth from the fading mists that hid\n  The crest of each Alpine pyramid;\n  Unmovingly it lingers over\n  The mountain castle of her lover;\n      While over Pilate's Peak\n  Hangs the grey pall of the sullen smoke,\n  Leaps the lithe flame of the ancient oak\n      And the eagle soars with a shriek.\n  Full well she knew the curse was near.\n  But that heart of hers had done with fear.\n  By St. Antoine, not steadier stands\n      Mont Blanc's white head in winter's whirl\n      Than that calm, fearless, smiling girl\n  With her bare brow upturned and firmly folded hands.\n\n      Back to her bower so fair\n          Christine her way, is wending;\n      Over the dark Is\u00e8re\n          Silently she's bending,\n      Thus communing with the stream.\n      As one who whispers in a dream:\n      \"Waters that at sunset ran\n      Round the Mount of Miolan;\n      Stream, that binds my love to me,\n      Whisper where that lover be;\n      Wavelets mine, what evil things\n      Mingle with your murmurings;\n      Tell me, ere ye glide away.\n      Wherefore doth the bridegroom stay?\n      Hath the fiend of Pilate's Peak\n      Met him, stayed him, slain him--speak!\n\n{180}\n\n  Speak the worst a Bride may know,\n  God hath armed my soul for woe;\n  Touching heaven, the virgin snow\n  Is firmer than the rock below.\n  Lies my love upon his bier,\n  Answer, answer, dark Is\u00e8re!\n  Hark, to the low voice of the river\n  Singing '_Thy love is lost for ever!_'\n  Weep with all thy icy fountains,\n  \"Weep, ye cold, uncaring mountains,\n      I have not a tea!\n  Stream, that parts my love from me,\n  Bear this bridal rose with thee;\n  Bear it to the happy hearted,\n  Christine and all the flowers have parted!\"\n\n  They are coming from the castle,\n      A bevy of bright-eyed girls,\n  Some with their long locks braided,\n      Some with loose golden curls.\n  Merrily 'mid the meadows\n      They win their wilful way;\n  Winding through sun and shadow,\n      Rivulets at play.\n  Brows with white rosebuds blowing,\n      Necks with white pearl entwined.\n  Gowns whose white folds imprison\n      Wafts of the wandering wind.\n  The boughs of the charm\u00e8d woodland\n     Sing to the vision sweet.\n  The daisies that crouch in the clover\n      Nod to their twinkling feet.\n  They see Christine by the river,\n      And, deeming the bridegroom near,\n  They wave her a dewy rose-wreath\n      Fresh plucked for her dark brown hair.\n  Hand in hand tripping to meet her,\n      Birdlike they carol their joy.\n  Wedding soft Proven\u00e7al numbers\n      To a dulcet old strain of Savoy.\n\n{181}\n\nTHE GREETING.\n\n  Sister, standing at Love's golden gate.\n          Life's second door--\n      Fleet the maidentime is flying.\n      Friendship fast in love is dying,\n  Bridal fate doth separate\n      Friends evermore.\n\n  Pilgrim seeking with thy sandalled feet\n          The land of bliss;\n      Sire and sister tearless leaving,\n      To thy beckoning palmer cleaving--\n  Truant sweet, once more repeat\n          Our parting kiss.\n\n  Wanderer filling for enchanted isle\n          Thy dimpling sail;\n      Whither drifted, all uncaring.\n      So with faithful helmsman faring,\n  Stay and smile with us, awhile,\n          Before the gale.\n\n  Playmate, hark! for all that once was ours\n          Soon rings the knell:\n      Glade and thicket, glen and heather,\n      Whisper sacredly together;\n  Queen of ours, the very flowers\n          Sigh forth farewell.\n\n  Christine looked up, and smiling stood\n  Among the choral sisterhood:\n  But some who sprang to greet her, stayed\n  Tiptoe, with the speech unsaid;\n  And, each the other, none knew why.\n  Questioned with quick, wondering eye.\n  One by one, their smiles have flown.\n  No lip is laughing but her own;\n  And hers, the frozen smile that wears\n  The glittering of unshed tears.\n  \"Ye nave sung for me, I will sing for ye,\n      My sisters fond and fair.\"\n  And she bent her head till the chaplet fell\n      Adown in the deep Is\u00e8re.\n\n\nTHE REPLY.\n\n      Bring me no rose-wreath now:\n  But come when sunset's first tears fall.\n  When night-birds from the mountain call--\n          Then bind my brow,\n\n      Roses and lilies white--\n  But tarry till the glow-worms trail\n  Their gold-work o'er the spangled veil\n          Of falling night\n\n{182}\n\n      Twine not your garland fair\n  Till I have fallen fast asleep;\n  Then to my silent pillow creep\n          And leave it there--\n\n      There in the chapel yard!--\n  Come with twilight's earliest hush,\n  Just as day's last purple flush\n          Forsakes the sward.\n\n      Stop where the white cross stands.\n  You'll find me in my wedding suit,\n  Lying motionless and mute,\n          With folded hands.\n\n      Tenderly to my side:\n  The bridegroom's form you may not see\n  In the dim eve, but he will be\n          Fast by his bride.\n\n      Soft with your chaplet move.\n  And lightly lay it on my head:\n  Be sure you wake not with rude tread\n          My jealous love.\n\n      Kiss me, then quick away;\n  And leave us, in unwatched repose,\n  With the lily and the rose\n          Waiting for day!\n\n\n  But hark! the cry of the clamorous horn\n  Breaks the bright stillness of the morn.\n  From moated wall, from festal hall\n  The banners beckon, the bugles call,\n  Already flames, in the lists unrolled\n  O'er the Dauphin's tent, the Dolphin gold.\n  A hundred knights in armor glancing.\n  Hurry afield with pennons dancing,\n  Each with a vow to splinter a lance\n  For Christine, the Lily of Provence.\n          \"Haste!\" cried Christine;\n      \"Sisters, we tarry late.\n      Let not the tourney wait\n          For its Queen!\"\n      And, toward the castle gate,\n  They take their silent way along the green.\n\n\n\nTO BE CONTINUED\n\n\n------\n\n{183}\n\n\n\nFrom The Literary Workman.\n\nJENIFER'S PRAYER.\n\nBY OLIVER CRANE.\n\nIN THREE PARTS.\n\n\n\nPART II.\n\nMary Lorimer returned in safety to Beremouth under Horace Erskine's\ncare, welcomed as may be supposed by the adopted father and her\nmother. Not that \"Mother Mary,\" as Lady Greystock in the old Claudia\nBrewer days used to call her, could ever welcome Horace. She had never\nliked him; she had always felt that there was some unknown wrong about\nhis seeking and his leaving Claudia; she had been glad that a long\nabsence abroad had kept him from them while her darling Mary had been\ngrowing up; and it was with a spasm of fear that she heard of his\nspending that autumn at her sister's. And yet she had consented to his\nbringing Mary home. Yes, she had consented, for Mr. Brewer in his\noverflowing hospitality had asked him to come to them--had regretted\nthat they had seen so little of him of late years--and had himself\nsuggested that he should come when Mary returned.\n\nNine years does a great deal; it may even pay people's debts\nsometimes. But it had not paid Horace Erskine's debts: on the\ncontrary, it had added to them with all the bewildering peculiarities\nthat belong to calculations of interests and compound interests. He\nhad got to waiting for another man's death. How many have had to\nbecome in heart death-dealers in this way! It was known that he would\nbe his uncle's heir, and his uncle added to what he supposed Horace\npossessed a good sum yearly; making the man rich as he thought, and\ncausing occasionally a slight passing regret that Horace was so\nsaving. \"He might do so much more if he liked on his good income,\" the\nelder Mr. Erskine would say. But he did not know of the many sums for\never paying to keep things quiet till death, the great paymaster,\nshould walk in and demand stern rights of himself, the elder, and pass\non the gold that we all must leave behind to the nephew, the younger\none.\n\nBut in the nine years that had passed since the coward took his\nrevenge on a brave woman by doing that which killed her husband, great\nthings had happened to pretty Minnie Lorimer. The \"county people\" had\nbeen after her--those same old families who had flouted her mother,\nand prophesied eternal poverty to her poor pet baby--fatherless, too!\na fact that finished the story of their faults with a note of peculiar\ninfamy.\n\nThat a man of good family should marry without money, become the\nfather of a lovely child, and _die_--that the mother should go back to\nthat old poverty-stricken home where that stiff-looking maid-servant\nlooked so steadily into the faces of all who stood and asked\nadmittance--that they should pretend to be happy!--altogether, it was\nreally too bad.\n\nWhy did not Mrs. Lorimer, widow, go out as a governess? Who was to\nbring up that unfortunate child on a paltry one hundred a year? Of\ncourse {184} she begged for help. Of course they were supported by Mr.\nErskines's charity. A pretty humiliation of Lorimer's friends and\nrelations!\n\nAltogether, the whole of the great Lansdowne Lorimer connection had\npronounced that to have that young widow and her daughter belonging to\nthem was a trial very hard to bear. They had not done talking when\nMary made that quiet walk to church--no one but her mother and Jenifer\nbeing in the secret--and reappeared in the county after a few months'\nabsence as mistress of Beremouth. Mr. Brewer had counted his money,\nand had told the world what it amounted to. And this time he never\napologized, he only confessed himself a person scarcely deserving of\nrespect, because he had done so little good with the mammon of\nunrighteousness. But Mary now would tell him how to manage. He did\nperhaps take a little to the humble line. He hoped the world would\nforget and forgive his former shortcomings; such conduct would\nassuredly not now be persevered in; and that resolution was fulfilled\nwithout any doubt. The splendors of Beremouth were something to talk\nabout, and the range of duties involved in a large hospitality were\nadmirably performed.\n\nOld Lady Caroline, whose pianoforte survived in Mrs. Morier's house at\nMarston, considered the matter without using quite as many words as\nher neighbors. \"That man will be giving money to Lorimer's child.\" She\nwas quite right. He had already invested five thousand pounds for\nMinnie. Lady Caroline (what an odd pride hers was!) went to Beremouth,\nand got upon business matter with \"Mother Mary.\"\n\nShe would give that child five thousand pounds in her will if Mr.\nBrewer would not give her anything. Alas! it was already given. Mr.\nBrewer used to count among his faults that, with him, it was too much\na word and a blow, especially when a good action was in question, and\nthis curious unusual fault he had decidedly committed in the case of\nMinnie Lorimer. The money was hers safe enough, invested in the hands\nof trustees. \"Safe enough,\" said Mr. Brewer exultingly; and then,\nlooking with a saddened air on Lady Caroline, he added, gravely, that\nit couldn't be helped! \"The man's a saint or a fool, I can't tell\nwhich,\" was Lady Caroline's very cute remark. \"The most unselfish\nidiot that ever lived. Does Mary like him, or laugh at him, I wonder?\"\n\nBut Lady Caroline cultivated Mr. Brewer's acquaintance. Not in an evil\nway, but because she had been brought up to _use_ the world, and to\nslave all mankind who would consent to such persecution. Not wickedly,\nI repeat, but with a fixed intention she cultivated Mr. Brewer, and\nshe got money out of him.\n\nMr. Brewer still made experiments with ten pounds. He helped Lady\nCaroline in her many charities, as long as her charities were confined\nto food and clothing, so much a week to the poor, and getting good\nnursing for the sick. But once Lady Caroline used that charity purse\nfor purposes of \"souping\"--it has become an English word, so I do not\nstop to explain it--and then Mr. Brewer scolded her. Nobody had ever\ndisputed any point with Lady Caroline. But Mr. Brewer explained, with\na most unexpected lucidity, how it would be _right_ for him to make\nher a Catholic, and yet _wrong_ for her to try her notions of\nconversion on him.\n\nLady Caroline kept up the quarrel for two years. She upbraided him for\nhis neglect, on his own principles, of Claudia. She abused him for the\ndifferent conduct pursued about his son. Mr. Brewer confessed his\nfaults and stood by his rights at the same time. Two whole years Lady\nCaroline quarrelled, and Mr. Brewer never left the field. And\nafterward, some time after, when Lady Caroline was in her last\nillness, she said: \"I believe that man Brewer may be right after all.\"\nWhen she was dead young Mary Lorimer had double the sum that had {185}\nbeen originally offered, and Freddy her largest diamond ring.\n\nBut another thing had to come out of all this. Mrs. Brewer became a\nCatholic; and that fact had made her recall her daughter to her\nside--that fact had made Horace Erskine say, at the inn at Hull, that\nhe dreaded for the girl he, spoke to the influence of the home and the\npeople she was going to--that fact had brought that passion of tears\nto Mary Lorimer's eyes, and had made her feel so angrily that he had\ntaken an advantage of her.\n\nHere, then, we are back again to the time at which we began the story.\nMary got home and was welcomed.\n\nThe day after their arrival, if we leave Beremouth and its people, and\ngo into Marston to Mrs. Morier, \"old Mrs. Morier\" they called her now,\nwe shall see Jenifer walk into the pleasant upstairs drawing-room,\nwhere the china glittered on comer-shelves, and large jars stood under\nthe long inlaid table, and say to her mistress: \"Eleanor is come, if\nyou please, ma'am.\"\n\nMrs. Morier looked up from her knitting. She had been sitting by the\nwindow, and the beautiful old lady looked like a picture, as Jenifer\noften declared, as she turned the face shadowed by fine lace toward\nher servant with a sweet, gentle air, and smiling said, \"And so you\nwant to go to Clayton--and Eleanor is to stay till you come back?\"\n\"Yes, ma'am--it's the anniversary.\" \"Go, then,\" said the gentle lady.\n\"And you must not leave me out of your prayers, my good Jenifer; for\nyou may be sure that I respect and value them.\" \"I'll be back in good\ntime,\" said Jenifer; and the door closed, and Mrs. Morier continued\nher knitting.\n\nSoon she saw from the window that incomparable Jenifer. Her brown\nlight stuff gown, the black velvet trimming looking what Jenifer\ncalled _rich_ upon the same. Buttons as big as pennies all the way\ndown the front--the good black shawl with the handsome border that\nhad been Mr. Brewer's own present to her on the occasion of his\nwedding; the fine straw bonnet and spotless white ribbon--the crowning\nglory of the black lace veil--oh, Jenifer was _somebody_, I can tell\nyou, at Marston; and Jenifer looked it.\n\nIt was with nothing short of a loving smile that Mrs. Morier watched\nher servant. Servant indeed, but true, tried, and trusty friend also;\nand when the woman was out of sight, and Mrs. Morier turned her\nthoughts to Jenifer's prayer, and what little she knew of it, she\nsighed--the sigh came from deep down, and the sigh was lengthened, and\nher whole thoughts seemed to rest upon it--it was breathed out, at\nlast, and when it died away Mrs. Morier sat doing nothing in peaceful\ncontemplation till the door opened, and she whom we have heard called\nEleanor came in with inquiries as to the proper time for tea.\n\nI think that this Eleanor was perhaps about eight-and-twenty years of\nage. She was strikingly beautiful. Perhaps few people have ever seen\nanything more faultlessly handsome than this young woman's form and\nface. She looked younger than she was. The perfectly smooth brow and\nthe extraordinary fair complexion made her look young. No one would\nhave thought, when looking at Eleanor, that she had ever _worked_. If\nthe finest and loveliest gentlewoman in the world had chosen to put on\na lilac cotton gown, and a white checked muslin apron, and bring up\nMrs. Morier's early tea, she would perhaps have looked a little like\nEleanor; provided her new employment had not endowed her with a\nmomentary awkwardness. But admiration, when looking at this woman, was\na little checked by a sort of atmosphere of pain--or perhaps it was\nonly patience--that surrounded the beautiful face, and showed in every\ngesture and movement, and rested on the whole being, as it were.\n\n{186}\n\nEleanor suffered. And it was the pain of the mind and heart, not of\nthe body--no one who had sufficient sensibility to see what I have\ndescribed could ever doubt that the inner woman, not the outer fleshly\nform of beauty, suffered; and that the woe, whatever it was, had\nwritten _patience_ on that too placid brow.\n\n\"And are they all well at Dr. Rankin's?\" \"Very well, ma'am, I believe.\nI saw Lady Greystock in her own rooms an hour before I came away. I\nsaid that I was coming here, and she said\"--Eleanor smiled--\"Lady\nGreystock said, ma'am, 'My duty to grandmamma Morier--mind you give\nthe message right.'\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said Mrs. Morier, \"Lady Greystock is wonderfully well.\" \"There\nis nothing the matter with her, ma'am.\" \"Except that she never goes to\nBeremouth.\" What made the faint carnation mount to Eleanor's\nface?--what made the woman pause to collect herself before she\nspoke?--\"Oh, ma'am, she is right not to try herself. She'll go there\none day.\" \"I suppose you like being at Dr. Rankin's?\" \"Very much. My\nplace of wardrobe-woman is not hard, but it is responsible. It suits\nme well. And Mrs. Rankin is very good to me. And I am near Lady\nGreystock.\" \"How fond you are of her!\" \"There is not anything I would\nnot do for her,\" said the woman with animation. \"I hope, indeed Dr.\nRankin tells me to believe, that I have had a great deal to do with\nLady Greystock's cure. She has treated me like a sister; and I can\nnever feel for any one what I feel for her.\" \"Lady Greystock always\nspeaks of you in a truly affectionate way. She says you have known\nbetter days.\" \"_Different_ days; I don't say _better_. I have nothing\nto wish for. Ever since the time that Lady Greystock determined on\nstaying at Blagden, I have been quite happy.\" \"You came just as she\ncame.\" \"Only two months after.\" \"And did you like her from the first?\"\n\"Oh, Mrs. Morier, you know she was very ill when she came. I never\nthought of love, but of every care and every attention that one woman\ncould show to another. Had it been life for life, I am sure she might\nhave had _my_ life--that was all that I _then_ thought. But when she\nrecovered and loved me for what I had done for her, then it was love\nfor love. Lady Greystock gave me a new life, and I will serve her as\nlong as I may for gratitude, and as a thanksgiving.\"\n\nWhen Eleanor was gone, her pleasant manner, her beauty, the music of\nher voice, and the indescribable grace that belonged to her remained\nwith Mrs. Morier as a pleasant memory, and dwelling on it, she\nlingered over her early tea, and ate of hashed mutton, making\nmeditation on how Eleanor had got to be Jenifer's great friend; and\nwhether their both being Catholics was enough to account for it.\n\nThis while Jenifer walked on toward Clayton. She stood at last on the\ntop of a wide table-land, and looked from the short grass where the\nwild thyme grew like green velvet, and the chamomile gave forth\nfragrance as you trod it under foot, down a rugged precipice into the\nlittle seaport that sheltered in the cove below. The roofs of the\nstrange, dirty, tumble-down houses were packed thickly below her. The\nnature of the precipitous cliff was to lie in terraces, and here and\nthere goats and donkeys among the branching fern gave a picturesque\nvariety to the scene, and made the practical Jenifer say to herself\nthat Clayton Cove was not \"that altogether abominable\" when seen to\nthe best advantage on the afternoon of a rich autumn day. A zigzag\npath, rather difficult to get upon on account of the steepness of the\nbroken edge and the rolling stones, led from Jenifer's feet down to\nthe terraces; short cuts of steps and sliding stones led from terrace\nto terrace, and these paths ended, as it appeared to the eye, in a\nchimney-top that sent up a volume of white smoke, and a {187} pleasant\nscent of wood and burning turf. By the side of the house that owned\nthe chimney, which was whitewashed carefully, and had white blinds\ninside the green painted wood-work of small sash windows, appeared\nanother roof, long, high, narrow, with a cross on the eastern gable,\nand that was the Catholic chapel--the house Father Daniels lived in;\nand after a moment's pause down the path went Jenifer with all the\nspeed that a proper respect for her personal safety permitted. When\nthe woman got to the last terrace, she opened a wicket gate, and was\nin a sunny garden, still among slopes and terraces, and loaded with\nflowers. Common flowers no doubt, but who ever saw Father Daniels's\nCanterbury bells and forgot them? There, safe in the bottom walk,\nwide, and paved with pebbles from the beach, Jenifer turned not to the\nright where the trellised back-door invited, but to the left, where\nthe west door of the chapel stood open--and she walked in. There was\nno one there. She knelt down. After a while she rose, and kneeling\nbefore the image of our Lady, said softly: \"Mother, she had no mother!\nEleven years this day since that marriage by God's priest, and at his\nholy altar--eleven years this day since that marriage which the laws\nof the men of this country deny and deride. Mother, she had no mother!\nOh, mighty Mother! forget neither of them. Remember her for her\ntrouble, and him for his sin.\" Not for vengeance but for salvation,\nshe might have added; but Jenifer had never been accustomed to explain\nher prayers. Then she knelt before the adorable Presence on the altar,\nand her prayer was very brief--\"My life, and all that is in it!\"--was\nit a vain repetition that she said it again and again? Again and\nagain, as she looked back and thought of what _it had been_; as she\nthought of that which _it was_; and knew of the future that, blessed\nby our Lady's prayers, she should take it, whatever it might be, as\nthe will of God. And so she said it; by so doing offering _herself_.\nOne great thing had colored all her life; had, to her, been _life_--\n_her_ life; she, with that great shadow on the past, with the weight\nof the cross on the present, with the fear of unknown ill on the\nfuture, gathered together all prayer, all hope, all fear, and gave it\nto God in those words of offering that were, on her lips, an earnest\nprayer; the prayer of submission, of offering, of faith--\"_My life,\nand all that is in it_.\"\n\nJenifer could tell out her wishes to the Mother of God, and had told\nthem, in the words she had used, but it was this woman's way to have\nno wishes when she knelt before God himself. \"My life, and all that is\nin it;\" that was Jenifer's prayer.\n\nAfter a time she left the chapel, putting pieces of money, many, into\nthe church box, and went into the house. She knew Mrs. Moore, the\npriest's housekeeper, very well. She was shown into Father Daniels's\nsitting-room. He was a venerable man of full seventy years of age, and\nas she entered he put down the tools with which he was carving the\nornaments of a wooden altar, and said, \"You are later than your note\npromised. I have therefore been working by daylight, which I don't\noften do.\" She looked at the work. It seemed to her to be very\nbeautiful. \"It is fine and teak-wood,\" said Father Daniels; \"part of a\nwreck. They brought it to me for the church. We hope to get up a\nlittle mariner's chapel on the south side of the church before long,\nand I am getting ready the altar as far as I can with my own hands.\n'Mary, star of the sea'--that will be our dedication. The faith\nspreads here. Mistress Jenifer; and I hope we are a little better than\nwe used to be.\" And Father Daniels crossed himself and thanked God for\nhis grace that had blessed that wild little spot, and made many\nChristians there. {188} Jenifer smiled, as the holy man spoke in a\nplayful tone, and she said, \"It is the anniversary, father.\" \"Of\nEleanor's marriage. Yes. I remembered her at mass. Has she heard\nanything of him?\" \"Yes, father; she has heard his real name, she\nthinks. She has always suspected, from the time that she first began\nto suspect evil, that she had never known him by his real name--she\nnever believed his name to be Henry Evelyn, as he said when he married\nher.\"\n\n\"And what is his real name?\"\n\n\"Horace Erskine,\" said Jenifer.\n\n\"What!\" exclaimed Father Daniels, with an unusual tone of alarm in his\nvoice. \"The man who was talked of for Lady Greystock before she\nmarried--the nephew of Mrs. Brewer's sister's husband!\" \"Yes, sir.\"\n\"Is she sure?\" \"No. She has not seen him. But she has traced him, she\nthinks. Corny Nugent, who is her second cousin, and knew them both\nwhen the marriage took place, went as a servant to the elder Mr.\nErskine, and knew Henry Evelyn, as they called him in Ireland, when he\ncame back from abroad. He _thought_ he knew him. Then Horace Erskine,\nfinding he was an Irishman, would joke him about his religion, and how\nhe was the only Catholic in the house, and how he was obliged to walk\nfive miles to mass. Time was when Mr. Erskine, the uncle, would not\nhave kept a Catholic servant. But since Mr. and Mrs. Brewer married,\nhe has been less bigoted. He took Corny Nugent in London. It was just\na one season's engagement. But when they were to return to Scotland\nthey proposed to keep him on, and he stayed. After a little Horace\nErskine asked him about Ireland; and even if he knew such and such\nplaces; and then he came by degrees to the very place--the very\npeople--to his own knowledge of them. Corny gave crafty answers. But\nhe disliked the sight of the man, and the positions he put him into.\nSo he left. He left three months ago. And he found out Eleanor's\ndirection, and told her that surely--surely and certainly--her\nhusband, Henry Evelyn, was no other than his late master's nephew, who\nhad been trying to marry more than one, only always some unlooked-for\nand unaccountable thing had happened to prevent it. Our Lady be\npraised, for her prayers have kept off that last woe--I make no\ndoubt--thank God!\"\n\n\"How many years is it since they married?\" \"Eleven, to-day. I keep the\nanniversary. He is older than he looks. He is thirty-two, this year,\nif he did not lie about his age, as well as everything else. He told\nFather Power he was of age. He said, too--God forgive him--that he was\na Catholic.\"\n\n\"But when I followed Father Power at Rathcoyle,\" said the priest,\n\"there was no register of the marriage. I was sent for on the\nafternoon of the marriage day. I found Father Power in a dying state.\nHe was an old man, and had long been infirm. The marriage was not\nentered. It was known to have taken place. Your niece and her husband\nwere gone. I walked out that evening to your brother's farm. He knew\nnothing of the marriage. He had received a note to say that Eleanor\nwas gone with her husband, and that they would hear from them when\nthey got to England. Why Father Power, who was a saintly man, married\nthem, I do not know. It was unlawful for him to marry a Catholic and a\nProtestant. If your sister went through no other marriage, she has no\nclaim on her Protestant husband. If she could prove that he passed\nhimself off as a Catholic, she might have some ground against\nhim--but, can she?\"\n\n\"No, sir; on the contrary, she knew that she was marrying a\nProtestant; she had hopes of converting him; she learnt from {189}\nhimself, afterward, that he had deceived the priest. She had said to\nhim that she would many him if Father Power consented. He came back\nand said that the consent had been given. He promised to marry her in\nDublin conformably to the license he had got there--or there he had\nlived the proper time for getting one, so he declared. But I have\nceased to believe anything he said. Then my brother wrote the girl a\ndreadful letter to the direction in Liverpool that she had sent to\nhim. Then, after some months, she wrote to me at Marston. She was\ndeserted, and left in the Isle of Man. She supported herself there for\nmore than a year. I told Mr. Brewer that I knew a sad story of the\ndaughter of a friend, and one of her letters, saying her last gold was\nchanged into silvery and that she was too ill and worn oat to win\nmore, was so dreadful, that I feared for her mind. So Mr. Brewer went\nto Dr. Rankin, and got her taken in as a patient, at first, and when\nshe got well she was kept on as wardrobe-woman. She had got a tender\nheart; when she heard of Lady Greystock's trial, she took to her. Dr.\nRankin says he could never have cured Lady Greystock so perfectly nor\nso quickly, but for Eleanor.\"\n\n\"That is curious,\" said Father Daniels, musingly. \"Have you been in\nIreland since the girl left it with her husband?\"\n\n\"I never was there in my life. My mother was Irish, and she lived as a\nservant in England. She married an Englishman, and she had two\ndaughters, my sister--Eleanor's mother--and myself. My mother went\nback to Ireland a year after her husband's death, on a visit, and she\nleft my sister and me with my father's family. She married in Ireland\nalmost directly, and married well, a man with a good property, a\nfarmer. She died, and left one son. My sister and I were four and five\nyears older than this half-brother of ours. Then time wore on and my\nsister Ellen went to Ireland, and she married there, and the fever\ncame to the place where they lived, and carried them both off, and she\nleft me a legacy--my niece Eleanor--oh, sir I with such a holy letter\nof recommendation from her death-bed. Poor sister! Poor, holy soul!\nOur half-brother asked to have Eleanor to stay with him when she knew\nenough to be useful on the farm. He was a good Christian, and I let\nhim take the girl. She was very pretty, people said, and I wished her\nto marry soon. Then there came--sent, he said, by a great rich English\nnobleman--a man who called himself a gardener, or something of that\nsort. He lodged close by; he made friends with my brother. He was\noften off after rare bog-plants, and seemed to lead a busy if an easy\nlife. He would go to mass with them. But they knew he was a\nProtestant. Eleanor knew that her uncle would not consent to her\nmarrying a Protestant. But, poor child, she gave her heart away to the\ngentleman in disguise. He had had friends there--a fishing party. Sir,\nhe never intended honorably; but they were married by the priest, and\nhe got over the holy man, whom everybody loved and honored, with his\nfalseness, as he had got over the true-hearted and trusting woman whom\nhe had planned to desert.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Father Daniels, \"you know I succeeded this priest for a\nshort time at Rathcoyle. He died on that wedding day. I never\nunderstood how it all happened. I left a record to save Eleanor's\nhonor; but she has no legal claim on her husband--it ought not to have\nbeen done.\" Jenifer shrank beneath the plainness of that truth--\"_My\nlife, and all that is in it,_\" her heart said, sinking, as it were, at\nthe sorrow that had come on the girl whom her sister had left to her\nwith her dying breath.\n\n\"She ought not to have trusted a man who was a Protestant, and not\nwilling to marry her in the only way that is legal by the Irish\nmarriage-law.\" \"_My life, and all that is in it._\" {190} So hopelessly\nfell on her heart every word that the priest spoke, that, but for that\noffering of all things to God, poor Jenifer could scarcely have borne\nher trial.\n\n\"And if this Henry Evelyn should turn out to be Horace Erskine, why,\nhe will marry some unhappy woman some time, of course, and the law of\nthe land will give him one wife, and by the law of God another woman\nwill claim him. Oh, if people would but obey holy church, and not try\nto live under laws of their own inventing.\" \"_My life, and all that is\nin it!_\" Again, only that could have made Jenifer bear the trials that\nwere presented to her.\n\n\"And if gossip spoke truth he was very near marrying Lady Greystock\nonce--Mr. Brewer, himself, thought it was going to be.\" One more great\nact of submission--\"_My life, and all that is in it!_\"--came forth\nfrom Jenifer's heart. She loved Mr. Brewer, with a faithful sort of\nworship--if such a trial as that had come on him through her\ntrouble!--_that_ was over; _that_ had been turned aside; but the\nthought gave rise to a question, even as she thanked God for the\naverted woe.\n\n'\"Is it Eleanor's duty to find out if Henry Evelyn and Horace Erskine\nare one?\" \"Yes,\" said the priest \"Yes; it is. It is everybody's duty\nto prevent mischief. It is her duty, as far as lies in her power, to\nprevent sin.\"\n\n\"And if it proves true--that which Corny Nugent says, what then?\"\n\n\"Be content for the present. It is a very difficult case to act in.\"\n\nPoor Jenifer felt the priest to be sadly wanting in sympathy--she\nturned again to him who knows all and feels all, and she offered up\nthe disappointment that _would_ grow up in her heart--\"_My life, and\nall that is in it!_\"\n\nShe turned to go; and then Father Daniels spoke so kindly, so\nsolemnly, with such a depth of sympathy in the tone of his voice--\"God\nbless you, my child;\" and the sign of the cross seemed to bless her\nsensibly. \"Thank you, father!\" And, without lifting her eyes, she left\nthe room and the house; and still saying that prayer that had grown to\nbe her strength and her help, she went up the steep rugged path to the\nspreading down; and then she turned round and looked on the great sea\nheaving, lazily under the sunset rays, that painted it in the far\ndistance with gold and red, and a silvery light, till it touched the\nruby-colored sky, and received each separate ray of glory on its\nbreast just where earth and heaven seemed to meet--just where you\ncould fancy another world looking into the depths of the great sea\nthat flowed up into its gates. It seemed to do Jenifer good. The whole\nscene was so glorious, and the glory was so far-spreading--all the\nworld seemed to rest around her bathed in warm light and basking in\nthe smile of heaven. She stood still and said again, in a sweet soft\nvoice: \"_My life, and all that is in it!_\"\n\nHer great dread that day when Mr. Brewer had told her to put him and\nhis into her prayer, had been lest the punishment of sin should come\non the man who had deserted her dear girl, and lest that sin's effect\nin a heart-broken disease should fall on the girl herself.\n\nWhen Mr. Brewer said, \"Put me and mine into that prayer, Jenifer,\" the\nthought had risen that she would tell him of Eleanor. She had told\nhim, and he had helped her. But she had never thought that, by acting\non the impulse, the two women whose hearts Horace Erskine had crushed,\nas a wilful child breaks his playthings when he has got tired or out\nof temper, had been brought together under one roof, and made to love\neach other. Yet so it had been. The woman who could do nothing but\npray _had_ prayed; and a thing had been done which no human\ncontrivance could have effected. And as Jenifer stood gazing on the\nheavens that grew brighter and brighter, and on the water that\nreflected every glory, and seemed to bask with a living motion in the\ngreat magnificence that was poured upon it, she recollected how great\na pain had been {191} spared her; she thought how terrible it would\nhave been if Claudia Brewer had married Horace Erskine--Horace\nErskine, the husband of the deserted Eleanor; and she gave thanks to\nGod.\n\nNow she drew her shawl tighter round her, and walked briskly on. She\ngot across the down, and over a stone stile in the fence that was its\nboundary from the road. She turned toward Marston, and walked fast--it\nwas almost getting cold after that glorious sunset, and she increased\nher pace and went on rapidly. She soon saw a carriage in the road\nbefore her, driving slowly, and meeting her. When it came near enough\nto recognize her, the lady who drove let her ponies go, and then\npulled up at Jenifer's side. \"Now, Mistress Jenifer,\" said Lady\nGreystock, looking bright and beautiful in the black hat, and long\nstreaming black feather, that people wore in those days, \"here am I to\ndrive you home. I knew where you were going. Eleanor tells me her\nsecrets. Do you know that? This is an anniversary; and you give gifts\nand say prayers. Are you comfortable? I am going to drive fast to\nplease the ponies; they like it, you know.\" And very true did Lady\nGreystock's words seem; for the little creatures given their heads\nwent off at a pace that had in it every evidence of perfect good will.\n\"I came to drive you back, and to pick up Eleanor, and drive her to\nBlagden after I had delivered you up safely to grandmamma Morier.\nMother Mary came to see me this afternoon. You had better go and see\nMinnie soon. Jenifer\"--Jenifer looked up surprised at a strange tone\nin Lady Greystock's voice---\"Jenifer,\" speaking very low, \"if you can\npray for my father and his wife, and all he loves, pray now. It would\nbe hard for a man to be trapped by the greatness of his own good\nheart.\"\n\n\"Is there anything wrong, my dear?\" Jenifer spoke softly, and just as\nshe had been used to speak to the Claudia Brewer of old days.\n\n\"I can't say more,\" Lady Greystock replied; \"here we are at Marston.\"\nThen she talked of common things; and told James, the man-servant, to\ndrive the horses up and down the street while she bade Mrs. Morier\n\"Good night.\" And they went into the house, and half an hour after\nLady Greystock and Eleanor had got into the pony carriage, and were\ndriving away. The quiet street was empty once more. The little\nexcitement made by Lady Greystock and her ponies subsided. Good-byes\nwere spoken, and the quiet of night settled down on the streets and\nhouses of Marston.\n\nJenifer had wondered over Lady Greystock's words; and comforted\nherself, and stilled her fears, and set her guesses all at rest by\nthose few long-used powerful words--\"_My life, and all that is in\nit!_\" She offered life, and gave up its work and its trials to God;\nand Jenifer, too, was at rest then.\n\nBut at Clayton things were not quite in the same peaceful state as in\nthat little old-fashioned inland town. Clayton was very busy; and\namong the busy ones, though busy in his own way, was Father Daniels.\n\nThat morning a messenger had brought him a packet from Mrs. Brewer;\nfor \"Mother Mary\" since becoming a Catholic had wanted advice, and\nwanted strength, and she had sought and found what she wanted, and now\nshe had sent to the same source for further help. As soon as Jenifer\nwas gone, Father Daniels put away his teak-wood and his carving tools,\nand packed up his drawings and his pencils. He was a man of great\nneatness, and his accuracy in all business, and his fruitful\nrecollection of every living soul's wants, as far as they had ever\nbeen made known to him, were charming points of his character--\npoints, that is, natural gifts, that the great charity which belonged\nto his priesthood adorned and made meritorious.  {192} While he\n\"tidied away his things,\" as his housekeeper Mrs. Moore used to say,\nbethought and he prayed--his mind foresaw great possible woe; he knew,\nwith the knowledge that is made up of faith and experience united,\nthat some things seem plainly to know no other master than prayer.\nPeople are prayed out of troubles that no other power can touch. Every\nnow and then this fact seems to be imprinted in legible characters on\nsome particular woe, actual or threatened; and though Father Daniels,\nlike a holy priest, prayed always and habitually, he yet felt, as we\nhave said, with respect to the peculiar entanglements that the letter\nfrom Mrs. Brewer in the morning and the revelation made by Jenifer in\nthe afternoon seemed to threaten. So, when he again sat down, it was\nwith Mrs. Brewer's letter before him on the table, and a lamp lighted,\nand \"the magnifiers,\" to quote Mrs. Moore again, put on to make the\ndeciphering of Mrs. Erskine's handwriting as easy as possible. Mrs.\nBrewer's was larger, blacker, plainer--and her note was short. It only\nsaid: \"Read my sister's letter, which I have just received. It seems\nso hard to give up the child; it would be much harder to see her less\nhappy than she has always been at home. I don't like Horace Erskine.\nIt is as if I was kept from liking him. I really have no reason for my\nprejudice against him. Come and see me if you can, and send or bring\nback the letter.\" Having put this aside. Father Daniels opened Mrs.\nErskine's letter. It must be given just as it was written to the\nreader:\n\n  DEAREST MARY:\n\n  \"You must guess how dreadful your becoming a Catholic is to us. I\n  cannot conceive why, when you had been happy so long--these thirteen\n  years--you should do this unaccountable thing now. There must have\n  been some strange influence exercised over you by Mr. Brewer. I\n  feared how it might be when, nine years ago, your boy was born, and\n  you gave him up so weakly. However, I think you will see plainly\n  that you have quite forfeited a mother's rights over Mary. She is\n  seventeen, and will not have a happy home with you now. Poor child,\n  she would turn Catholic to please you, and for peace sake, perhaps.\n  But you cannot _wish_ such a misery for her. She will, I suppose,\n  soon be the only Protestant in your house. I can't help blaming old\n  Lady Caroline, even after her death; for she certainly brought the\n  spirit of controversy into Beremouth, and stirred up Mr. Brewer to\n  think of his rights. Now, I write to propose what is simply an act\n  of justice on your part, though really, I must say, an act of great\n  grace on the part of my husband. Horace is in love with Mary. As to\n  the fancy he was supposed to have for Claudia, I _know_ that _that_\n  was only a fancy. He was taken with her wilful, spoilt-child\n  ways--you certainly did not train her properly--and he wanted her\n  money. Of course as you had been married four years without\n  children, he did not suspect anything about Freddy. It was an\n  entanglement well got rid of; and Claudia wanted no comforting, that\n  was plain enough. But it is different now. Horace _is_ in love\n  _now_. And if Mary is not made a Catholic by Mr. Brewer and you and\n  old Jenifer, she will say, 'Yes,' like a good child. We are\n  _extremely_ fond of her. And Mr. Erskine generously offers to make a\n  very handsome settlement on her. I consider a marriage, and a very\n  speedy one, with Horace the best thing; now that you have, by your\n  own act, made her home so homeless to her. I am sure you ought to be\n  very thankful for so obviously good an arrangement of difficulties.\n  Let me hear from you as soon as Horace arrives. He is going to speak\n  to you directly.\n   \"Your affectionate sister,\n      \"Lucia Erskine.\n\n  \"P.S.--As Mr. Brewer has always said that, Mary being his adopted\n  child, he should pay her on her marriage the full interest of the\n  money which will be hers at twenty-one, {193} of course Horace\n  expects that, as we do. Lady Caroline's ten thousand, Mr. Brewer's\n  five thousand, and the hundred a year for which her father insured\n  his life, and which I find that you give to her, will, with Horace's\n  means, make a good income; and to this Mr. Erskine will, as Mary is\n  my niece, add very liberally. I cannot suppose that you can think of\n  objecting. L. E.\"\n\nFather Daniels read this letter over very carefully. Then he placed\nit, with Mrs. Brewer's note, in his pocket-book, and immediately\nputting on his hat, and taking his stick, he walked into the kitchen.\n\n\"Where's your husband?\" to Mrs. Moore.\n\n\"Mark is only just outside, sir.\"\n\n\"I shall be back soon. Tell him to saddle the cob.\" One of Mr.\nBrewer's experiments had been to give Father Daniels a horse, and to\nendow the horse with fifty pounds a year, for tax, keep, house-rent,\nphysic, saddles, shoes, clothing, and general attendance. It was, we\nMay say as we pass on, an experiment which answered to perfection. The\ncob's turnpikes alone remained as a grievance in Mr. Brewer's mind. He\nrather cherished the grievance. Somehow it did him good. It certainly\ndeprived him of all feeling of merit. All thought of his own\ngenerosity was extinguished beneath the weight of a truth that could\nnot be denied--\"that cob is a never-ending expense to Father Daniels!\"\nHowever, this time, without a thought of the never-ending turnpike's\ntax, the cob was ordered; being late, much to Mr. and Mrs. Moore's\nsurprise; and Father Daniels walked briskly out of the garden, down\nthe village seaport, past the coal-wharves, where everything looked\nblack and dismal, and so pursued his way on the top of the low edge of\nthe cliff, to a few tidy-looking houses half a mile from Clayton,\nwhich were railed in from the turfy cliff-side, and had painted on\ntheir ends, \"Good bathing here.\" The houses were in a row. He knocked\nat the centre one, and it was opened by a man of generally a seafaring\ncast. \"Mr. Dawson in?\" \"Yes, your reverence. His reverence, Father\nDawson, is in the parlor;\" and into the parlor walked Father Daniels.\nIt was a short visit made to ascertain if his invalid friend could say\nmass for him the next morning at a later hour than usual--the hour for\nthe parish mass, in fact; and to tell him why. They were dear friends\nand mutual advisers. They now talked over Mrs. Erskine's letter.\n\n\"There can be no reason in the world why Miss Lorimer should not marry\nHorace Erskine if she likes him, provided he is not Henry Evelyn. He\nstands charged with being Henry Evelyn, and of being the doer of Henry\nEvelyn's deeds. You must tell Mrs. Brewer. It is better never to tell\nsuspicions, if you can, instead, tell facts. In so serious a matter\nyou may be obliged to tell suspicions, just to keep mischief away at\nthe beginning. Eleanor must see the man. As to claiming him, that's\nuseless. She acted the unwise woman's part, and she most bear the\nunwise woman's recompense. He'll find somebody to marry him, no doubt;\nbut no woman ought to do it; no marriage of his can be right in God's\nsight. So the course in the present instance is plain enough.\" Yes, it\nwas plain enough; so Father Daniels walked back to Clayton and mounted\nthe cob, and rode away through the soft sweet night air, and got to\nBeremouth just after ten o'clock.\n\n\"I am come to say mass for you to-morrow,\" he said to Mr. Brewer, who\nmet him in the hall. \"No, I won't go into the drawing-room. I won't\nsee any one to-night. I am going straight to the chapel.\"\n\n{194}\n\n\"Ring for night prayers then in five minutes, will you?\" said Mr.\nBrewer. And Father Daniels, saying \"Yes,\" walked on through the hall,\nand up the great stair-case to his own room and the chapel, which,\nwere side by side. In five minutes the chapel bell was rung by the\npriest. Mrs. Brewer looked toward her daughter. \"Mary must do as she\nlikes;\" said Mr. Brewer, in his open honest way driving his wife\nbefore him out of the room. There stood Horace Erskine. It was as if\nall in a moment the time for the great choice had come. They were at\nthe door--the girl stood still. They were gone, they were crossing the\nhall; she could hear Mr. Brewer's shoes on the carpet--not too late\nfor her to follow. Her light step will catch theirs--they may go a\nlittle further still before the very last moment comes. Her mother or\nHorace? How dearly she loved her mother, how her child's heart went\nafter her, all trust and love--and Horace, _did_ she love him?--love\nhim well enough to stay _there--there_ and _then_, at a moment that\nwould weigh so very heavily in the scale of good and evil, right or\nwrong? If he had not been there she might have stayed, if she stayed\nnow that he was there, should she not stay with him--more, leave her\nmother and stay with him? Thought is quick. She stood by the table;\nshe looked toward the door, she listened--Horace held out his\nhand--\"With me, Mary--with _me_!\" And she was gone. Gone even while he\nspoke, across the hall, up the stairs and at that chapel door just as\nthis last of the servants, without knowing, closed it on her. Then\nMary went to her own room just at the head of the great stair-case,\nand opened the doors softly, and knelt down, keeping it open, letting\nthe stair-case lamp stray into the darkness just enough to show her\nwhere she was. There she knelt till the night prayers were over, and\nwhen Mr. Brewer passed her door, she came out, a little glad to show\nthem that she had not been staying down stairs with Horace. He smiled,\nand put his hand inside her arm and stopped her from going down. \"My\ndear child,\" he said, \"I have had the great blessing of my life given\nto me in the conversion of your mother. If God's great grace, for the\nsake of his own blessed mother, should fall on you, you will not\nquench it, my darling. Meanwhile, I shall never have a better time\nthan _this_ time to say, that I feel more than ever a father to you.\nThat if you will go on treating me with the childlike candor and trust\nthat I have loved to see in you, you will make me happier than you can\never guess at, dear child.\" And then he kissed her, and Minnie eased\nher heart by a few sobs and tears, and her head rested on his\nshoulder, and she thanked him for his love. Then Father Daniels came\nout of the chapel, and advanced to where they stood. Mary had long\nknown the holy man. He saw how it was in an instant. \"Welcome home,\nMary; you see I come soon. And now--when I am saying mass to-morrow,\nstay quietly in your own room, and pray to be taught to love God. Give\nyourself to him. Don't trouble about questions. His you are. Rest on\nthe thought--and we will wait on what may come of it. I shall remember\nyou at mass to-morrow. Good-night. God bless you.\"\n\n\"I can't come down again. My eyes are red,\" said Mary, to Mr. Brewer,\nwhen they were again alone. And he laughed at her. \"I'll send mamma\nup,\" he said. And Mary went into her room. But she had taken no part\n_against_ her mother; so her heart said, and congratulated itself. She\nhad not left her, and stayed with Horace. She had had those few words\nwith her step-father. That was over, and very happily too. She had\nseen Father Daniels again. It was getting speedily like the old\nthings, and the old times, before the long visit to Scotland, where\nHorace Erskine was the sun of her {195} new world. Somehow she felt\nthat he was losing power every moment--also she felt, a little\nresentfully, that there had been things said or thought, or\ninsinuated, about the dear home she was loving so well, which were\nunjust, untrue, unkind; nay, more, cruel, shameful!--and so wrong to\nunite _her_ to such ideas; to make her a party to such thoughts. In\nthe midst of her resentment, her mother came in. \"Nobody ever was so\ncharming looking,\" was the first thought. \"How young she looks--how\nmuch younger and handsomer than Aunt Erskine. What a warm loving\natmosphere this house always had, and _has_.\" The last word with the\nemphasis of a perfect conviction. \"And so you have made your eyes red\non papa's coat--and I had to wipe the tears off with my\npocket-handkerchief. Oh, you darling, I am sure Horace Erskine thought\nwe had beaten you!\" Then kisses, and laughter; not quite without a tear\nor two on both, sides, however. \"Now, my darling, Horace has told us\nhis love story--and so he is very fond of you?\" \"Mamma, mamma, I love\nyou better than all the earth.\" Kisses, laughter, and just one or two\ntears, all over again.\n\n\"My darling child, you have been some months away from us--do you\nthink you can quite tell your own mind on a question which is\nlife-long in its results? I mean, that the thing that is pleasant in\none place may not be so altogether delightful in another. I should\nlike you to decide so great a question while in the full enjoyment of\nyour own rights _here_. This is your _home_. _This_ is what you will\nhave to exchange for something else when you marry. You are very young\nto marry--not eighteen, remember. Whenever you decide that question, I\nshould like you to decide it on your own ground, and by your own\nmother's side.\"\n\n\"I wonder whether you know how wise you are?\" was the question that\ncame in answer. \"Do you know, mother, that I cried like a baby at\nHull, because I felt all you have said, and even a little more, and\nthought he was unkind to press me. You know Aunt Erskine had told me;\nand Horace, too, in a way--and he said at Hull he dreaded the\ninfluence of this place, and--and--\" \"But there is nothing for _you_\nto dread. This home is yours; and its influence is good; and all the\nlove you command here is your safety.\" Mrs. Brewer spoke boldly, and\nquite with the spirit of heroism. She was standing up for her rights.\nBut Mr. Brewer stood at the door. \"The lover wants to smoke in the\npark in the moonlight. Some information just to direct his thoughts,\nyou little witch,\" for his step-child had tried to stop his mouth with\na kiss--\n\n\"Papa, I am so happy. I won't, because I can't, plan to leave\neverything I love best in the world just as I come back to it.\" \"But\nyou must give Erskine some kind of an answer. The poor fellow is\nreally very much in earnest. Come and see him.\" \"No, I won't,\" said\nMary, very much as the wilful Claudia might have uttered the words.\nBut Mary was thinking that there was a great contrast between the\ngenial benevolence she had come to, and the indescribable _something_\nwhich was _not_ benevolence in which she had lived ever since her\nmother had become a Catholic. Mr. Brewer almost started. \"I mean,\npapa, that I must live here unmolested at least one month before I can\nfind out whether I am not always going to love _you_ best of all\nmankind. Don't you think you could send Horace off to Scotland again\nimmediately?\" \"Bless the child! Think of the letters that have\npassed--you read them, or knew of them?\" \"_Knew_ of them,\" said Mary,\nnodding her head confidentially, and looking extremely naughty. \"Well;\nand I asked him here!\" \"Yes; I know that.\" \"And you now tell me to\nsend him away! {196} My dear!\" exclaimed Mr. Brewer, looking\nappealingly at his wife. \"Dearest, you must tell Mr. Erskine that Mary\nreally would like to be left quiet for awhile. Say so now; and\nto-morrow you can suggest his going soon, and returning in a few\nweeks.\" \"And to-morrow I can have a cold and lie in bed. Can't I?\"\nsaid Mary. But now they ceased talking, and heard Horace Erskine go\nout of the door to the portico. \"There! he's gone. And I am sure I can\nsmell a cigar--and I could hate smoking, couldn't I?\" Mother and\nfather now scolded the saucy child, and condemned her to solitude and\nsleep. And when they were gone the girl put her head out of the open\nwindow, and gazed across the spreading park, so peaceful in its\nfar-stretching flat, just roughened in places by the fern that had\nbegun to get brown under the hot sun; and then she listened to the\nsound of the wind that came up in earnest whispers from the woody\ncorners, and the far-off forests of oak. The sound rose and fell like\nwaves, and the silence between those low outpourings of mysterious\nsound was loaded with solemnity.\n\nDo the whispering woods praise him; and are their prayers in the tall\ntrees? She was full of fancies that night. But the words Father\nDaniels had said to her seemed to her to come again on the\nnight-breeze, and then she was quiet and still. And yet--and\nyet--though she _tried_ to forget, and _tried_ to keep her mind at\npeace, the spirit within would rise from its rest, and say that she\nhad left an atmosphere of evil speaking and uncharitableness; that\nmalice and harsh judgment had been hard at work, and all to poison\n_home_, and to win her from it.\n\nAnd while she was trying to still these troublings of the mind, Mr.\nBrewer, by her mother's side, was reading for the first time Mrs.\nErskine's letter, which Father Daniels had returned. \"My dear, my\ndear,\" said Mr. Brewer, \"a very improper letter. I think Mary is a\nvery extraordinary girl not to have been prejudiced against me. I\nshall always feel grateful to her. And as to this letter, which I call\na very painful letter, don't you think we had better burn it?\" And so,\nby the assistance of a lighted taper, Mr. Brewer cleared that evil\nthing out of his path for ever.\n\n\"Eleanor,\" said Lady Greystock, \"how lovely this evening is. The moon\nis full, and how glorious! Shall we drive by a roundabout way to\nBlagden? James,\" speaking to the man who occupied the seat behind,\n\"how far is it out of our way if we go through the drive in Beremouth\nPark, and come out by the West Lodge into the Blagden turnpike road?\"\n\"It will be two miles further, my lady. But the road is very good, and\nthe carriage will run very light over the gravelled road in the park.\"\n\"Then we'll go.\" So on getting to the bottom of the street in which\nMrs. Morier lived, Lady Greystock took the road to Beremouth; and the\nponies seemed to enjoy the change, and the whole world, except those\nthree who were passing so pleasantly through a portion of it, seemed\nto sleep beneath the face of that great moon, wearing, as all full\nmoons do, a sweet grave look of watching on its face.\n\n\"Isn't it glorious? Isn't it grand, this great expanse and this\nperfect calm? Ah, there goes a bat; and a droning beetle on the wing\njust makes one know what silence we are passing through. How pure the\nair feels. Oh, what blessings we have in life--how many more than we\nknow of. I think of that in the still evenings often. Do you,\nEleanor?\"\n\n\"Yes, Lady Greystock.\" But Eleanor spoke in a very calm,\nbusiness-like, convinced sort of manner; not the least infected by the\ntears of tenderness and the poetical feeling that Lady Greystock had\nbetrayed.\n\n{197}\n\n\"Yes, Lady Greystock And when in great moments\"--\"Great moments! I\nlike that,\" said Claudia--\"when I have those thoughts I think of\nyou.\" \"Of me?\" \"Yes. And I am profoundly struck by the goodness of\nGod, who endowed the great interest of my life with so powerful an\nattraction for me. I must have either liked or disliked you. I am so\nglad to love you.\"\n\n\"Eleanor, I wish you would tell me the story of your life.\" They had\npassed through the lodge gates now, and were driving through Beremouth\nPark. \"You were not always what you are now.\"\n\n\"You will know it one day,\" said Eleanor, softly. \"Oh, see how the\nmoon comes out from behind that great fleecy cloud; just in time to\nlight us as we pass through the shadows which these grand oaks cast.\nWhat lines of silver light lie on the road before us. It is a treat to\nbe out in such a place on such a night as this. Stay, stay, Lady\nGreystock. What is that?\"\n\nLady Greystock pulled up suddenly, and standing full in the moonlight,\non the turf at the side of the carriage, was a tall, strong-built man.\nHe took off his cap with a respectful air, and said, \"I beg pardon. I\ndid not intend to stop you. But if you will allow me I will ask your\nservant a question.\" He addressed Lady Greystock, and did not seem to\nlook at Eleanor, though she was nearest to him. Eleanor had suddenly\npulled a veil over her face; but Lady Greystock had taken hers from\nher hat, and her uncovered face was turned toward the man with the\nmoonlight full upon it. He said to the servant, \"Can you tell me where\na person called Eleanor Evelyn is to be found? Mrs. Evelyn she is\nprobably called. I want to know where she is.\" Before James, who had\nlong known the person by his mistress's side as Mrs. Evelyn, could\nspeak, or recover from his very natural surprise, Eleanor herself\nspoke. \"Yes,\" she said, \"Mrs. Evelyn lives not far from Marston. I\nshould advise you to call on Mrs. Jenifer Stanton, who lives at\nMarston with Mrs. Morier. She will tell you about her.\" \"She who lives\nwith Madam Morier, of course?\" said the man. \"Yes; the same.\"\n\"Goodnight.\"\n\n\"Good night,\" said Lady Greystock in answer, and obeying Eleanor's\nwhispered \"Drive on,\" she let the ponies, longing for their stable,\nbreak into their own rapid pace, and, soon out of the shadows, they\nwere in the light--the broad, calm, silent light--once more.\n\n\n\n\nTO BE CONTINUED\n\n------\n\n{198}\n\n\nTranslated from Le Correspondant\n\nA PRETENDED DERVISH IN TURKESTAN.  [Footnote 35]\n\nBY \u00c9MILE JONVEAUX\n\n  [Footnote 35: \"Herman Vamb\u00e9ry's Travels In Central Asia.\" Original\n  German edition. Leipzic: Brockhaus,1865. Paris: Xavier. French\n  translation by M. Forgues. Paris: Hachette.]\n\n\nA brilliant imagination, a sparkling and ready wit, an indomitable\nenergy, the happy gift of seeing and painting man and things in a\nlively manner, such are the qualities which we remark at first in the\nnew explorer of central Asia. But he is not only a bold traveller, a\ndelightful story-teller, full of spirit and originality, we must\nrecognize also in him a learned orientalist, an eminent ethnologist\nand linguist.\n\nBorn in 1832, in a small Hungarian town, he began at an early age to\nstudy with passion the different dialects of Europe and Asia,\nendeavoring to discover the relations between the idioms of the East\nand West. Observing the strong affinity which exists between the\nHungarian and the Turco-Tartaric dialects, and resolved to return to\nthe cradle of the Altaic tongues, he went to Constantinople and\nfrequented the schools and libraries with an assiduity which in a few\nyears made of him a true effendi. But the nearer he approached the\ndesired end, the greater was his thirst for knowledge. Turkey began to\nappear to his eyes only the vestibule of the Orient; he resolved to go\non, and to seek even in the depths of Asia the original roots of the\nidioms and races of Europe.  [Footnote 36] In vain his friends\nrepresented to him the fatigues and perils of such a tour. Infirm as\nhe was (a wound had made him lame), could he endure a long march over\nthose plains of sand where he would be obliged to fight against the\nterror of tempest, the tortures of thirst--where, in fine, he might\nencounter death under a thousand forms? and then, how was he to force\nhis way among those savage and fanatic tribes, who are afraid of\ntravellers; and who a few years before had destroyed Moorcraft,\nConolly, and Stoddart? Nothing could shake the resolution of Vamb\u00e9ry;\nhe felt strong enough to brave suffering, and as to the dangers which\nthreatened him from man, his bold and inventive spirit would furnish\nhim the means to avert them in calling to his assistance their very\nsuperstitions. Was he not as well versed in the knowledge of the Koran\nand the customs of Islam as the most devout disciple of the Prophet?\nHe would disguise himself in the costume of a pilgrim dervish, and so\nwould go through Asia, distributing everywhere benedictions, but\nmaking secretly his scientific studies and remarks. His foreign\nphysiognomy might, it is true, raise against him some obstacles. But\nhe counted on his happy star, and, above all, on his presence of mind,\nto succeed at last. These difficulties were renewed often in the\ncourse of his adventurous tour; more than once the suspicious look of\nsome powerful tyrant was fixed upon him as if to say: \"Your features\nbetray you; you are a European!\" The extraordinary coolness, the\ningenious expedients to which Vamb\u00e9ry had recourse in these\nemergencies, give to the story of his travels an interest which\nnovelists and dramatists might envy. To this powerful charm, the work\nof which we give a rapid sketch unites the merit of containing {199}\nthe most valuable notes on the social and political relations, the\nmanners and character, of the races which inhabit Central Asia.\n\n\n\n\n\n  [Footnote 36: The linguistic and ethnographical studies form a\n  separate volume, which the author proposes to publish very soon.]\n\n\nI.\n\nIt was early in July, 1862, that Vamb\u00e9ry, leaving Tabriz, began his\nlong and perilous journey. Persia, at this period of the year, does\nnot offer the enchanting spectacle which the enthusiastic descriptions\nof poets lead us to imagine. This boasted country displays only to the\neye a heaven of fire, burning and desert plains, through the midst of\nwhich sometimes advances slowly a caravan covered with dust, exhausted\nby fatigue and heat. After a monotonous and painful march of fifteen\ndays, our traveller sees at last rising from the horizon the outlines\nof a number of domes, half lost in a bluish fog. This is Teheran, the\ncelestial city, the seat of sovereignty, as the natives pompously call\nit.\n\nIt was not easy to penetrate into this noble city; a compact crowd\nfilled the streets, asses, camels, mules laden with straw, barley, and\nother marketable articles jostled each other in the strangest\nconfusion. \"Take care! Take care!\" vociferated the passers-by; each\none pressed, pushed, and blows of sticks and even of sabres were\ndistributed with surprising liberality. Vamb\u00e9ry succeeded in getting\nsafe and sound out of this tumult; he repaired to the summer residence\nof the Turkish ambassador, where all the effendis were assembled under\na magnificent silken tent. Haydar Effendi, who represented the sultan\nat the court of the Shah, had known the Hungarian traveller in\nConstantinople; he received him most cordially, and very soon the\nguests, gathered round a splendid banquet, began to call up souvenirs\nof Stamboul, of the Bosphorus, and their delightful landscapes, so\ndifferent from the arid plains of Persia.\n\nThe contrast of character is not less noticeable between the two\nnations who divide the supremacy of the Mohammedan world. The Ottoman,\nin consequence of his close relations with the West, is more and more\npenetrated by European manners and civilization, and gains by this\ncontact an incontestable superiority. The Persian preserves more the\nprimitive type of the Orientals, his mind is more poetic, his\nintelligence more prompt, his courtesy more refined; but proud of an\nantiquity which loses itself in the night of time, he is deeply\nhostile to our sciences and arts, of which he does not comprehend the\nimportance. Some choice spirits, indeed, have endeavored to rejuvenate\nthe worm-eaten institutions of Persia, and to lead their country in\nthe way of progress. The pressing solicitations of the minister\nFerrukh Khan engaged, some years ago, several nations of Europe,\nBelgium, Prussia, Italy, to send ambassadors in the hope of forming\npolitical and commercial relations with Iran; but their efforts were\nchecked, Persia not being ripe for this regeneration.\n\nThanks to the generous hospitality of Haydar Effendi, Vamb\u00e9ry was\nrested from his fatigues. Impatient to continue his journey, he wished\nto take immediately the road to Herat; his friends dissuaded him from\nit, because the hostilities just declared between the sultan of this\nprovince and the sovereign of the Afghans rendered communications\nimpossible. The northern route was quite as impracticable; it would\nhave been necessary to cross during the winter months the vast deserts\nof central Asia. The traveller was forced to await a more favorable\nseason. To remove gradually the obstacles which prevented the\nrealization of his plan, he began immediately to draw around him the\ndervishes who every year pass through Teheran on their way to Turkey.\nThese pilgrims or hadjis never fail to address themselves to the\nOttoman embassy, for they are all _Sunnites_ and {200} recognize the\nemperor of Constantinople as their spiritual head; Persia, on the\ncontrary, belongs to the sect of the _Shiites_, who may be called the\nProtestants of Islam, with so profound a horror have they inspired the\nfaithful believers of Khiva, Bokhara, Samarcande, etc. Vamb\u00e9ry, who\nproposed to visit all these fanatic states, had then adopted the\ncharacter of a pious and zealous Sunnite. Very soon it was noised\nabroad among the pilgrims that Reschid Effendi (_nom de guerre_ of our\ntraveller) treated the dervishes as brothers, and that he was no doubt\nhimself a dervish in disguise.\n\nIn the morning of the 20th of March, 1862, four hadjis presented\nthemselves before him whom they regarded as the devoted protector of\ntheir sect. They came to complain of Persian officials who, on their\nreturn from Mecca, had imposed upon them an abusive tax long since\nabolished. \"We do not demand the money of his excellency the\nambassador,\" said he who appeared to be the chief; \"the only object of\nour prayers is, that in future the Sunnites may be able to visit the\nholy places without being forced to endure the exactions of the\ninfidel Shiites.\" Surprised at the disinterestedness of this language,\nVamb\u00e9ry considered more attentively the austere countenances of his\nguests. In spite of their miserable clothing, a native nobility\ndiscovered itself in them; their words were frank, their looks\nintelligent. The little caravan of which they made a part, composed in\nall of twenty-four persons, was returning to Bokhara. The resolution\nof the European was immediately taken; he said to the pilgrims that\nfor a long time he had had an extreme desire to visit Turkestan, this\nhearth of Islamite piety, this holy land which contained the tombs of\nso many saints. \"Obedient to this sentiment,\" said he, \"I have quitted\nTurkey; for many months I have awaited in Persia a favorable\nopportunity, and I thank God that have at last found companions with\nwhom I may be able to continue my journey and accomplish my purpose.\"\n\nThe Tartars were at first much astonished. How could an effendi,\naccustomed to a life of luxury, resolve to encounter so many dangers,\nto endure so many trials? The ardent faith of the pretended Sunnite\nwas hardly efficient to explain this prodigy, so the dervishes felt\nthemselves bound to enlighten him on the sad consequences to which\nthis excess of zeal might expose him. \"We shall travel,\" they said,\n\"for whole weeks without encountering a single dwelling, without\nfinding the least rivulet where we can quench our thirst. More than\nthat, we shall run the risk of perishing by the robbers who infest the\ndesert, or of being swallowed up alive by tempests of sand. Reflect\nagain, seigneur effendi, we would not be the cause of your death.\"\nThese words were not without their effect, but, after coming so far,\nVamb\u00e9ry was not easily discouraged. \"I know,\" said he to the pilgrims,\n\"that this world is an inn where we sojourn for some days, and from\nwhich we soon depart to give place to new travellers. I pity those\nrestless spirits who, not content with having thought of the present,\nembrace in their solicitude a long future. Take me with you, my\nfriends; I am weary of this kingdom of error, and I long to leave it.\"\n\nPerceiving in him so firm a resolve, the chiefs of the caravan\nreceived the pretended Reschid as a travelling companion. A fraternal\nembrace ratified this engagement, and the European felt not without\nsome repugnance the contact of these ragged garments which long use\nhad impregnated with a thousand offensive odors.\n\nFollowing the advice of one of the dervishes, Hadji Bilal, who\nentertained a particular friendship for him, the traveller cut his\nhair, adopted the Bokhariot costume, and the better to play the part\nof a pilgrim, an enemy of all worldly superfluity, he left behind his\nbedding, his linen, everything, in {201} short, which in the eyes of\nthe Tartars had the least appearance of refinement or luxury. Some\ndays after, he rejoined his companions in the caravansery where the\nhadjis had promised to meet him. There Vamb\u00e9ry ascertained, to his\ngreat surprise, that the miserable garments which had disgusted him so\nmuch were the state robes of the dervishes; their travelling dress was\ncomposed of numerous rags, arranged in the most picturesque manner and\nfastened at the waist by a fragment of rope. Hadji Bilal, raising his\narms in the air, pronounced the prayer of departure, to which all the\nassistants responded by the sacramental _amen_, placing the hand upon\nthe beard.\n\nVamb\u00e9ry quitted Teheran not without sadness and misgiving. In this\ncity, placed on the frontiers of civilization, he had found devoted\nfriends; now, in the company of strangers, he was about to face at\nonce the perils of the desert and those, more to be feared, which\nthreatened him from the cruelty of the inhabitants of the cities. He\nwas roused from these reflections by joyous ballads sung by many of\nthe pilgrims, others related the adventures of their wandering life or\nboasted of the charms of their native country, the fertile gardens of\nMergolan and Khokand. Sometimes their patriotic and religious\nenthusiasm led them to intone verses from the Koran, in which Vamb\u00e9ry\nnever failed to join with a zeal which did honor to the strength of\nhis lungs. He had then the satisfaction of observing the dervishes\nlook at one another and say, in an undertone, that Hadji Rescind was a\ntrue believer, who, without doubt, thanks to the good examples before\nhis eyes, would soon walk in the steps of the saints.\n\nAt the end of five days the pilgrims reached the mountain of\nMazendran, the western slope of which extends its base to the Caspian\nsea. Here the sterility of the country yields to the freshest, the\nrichest vegetation; splendid forests, prairies covered with thick\ngrass, extend themselves everywhere before the charmed eye of the\ntraveller, and from time to time the murmur of a waterfall delights\nhis ear. The sight of this smiling country drove away all the sad\npresentiments which had possessed the soul of Vamb\u00e9ry; mounted upon a\ngently-treading mule, he arrives full of confidence at Karat\u00e8pe, where\nhe is to embark upon the Caspian sea. There an Afghan of high birth,\nwhom the pretended Reschid had met upon his journey, and who knew the\nconsideration which he enjoyed at the Ottoman embassy, offered him the\nhospitality of his house. The news of the arrival of pilgrims had\ncollected a great number of visitors; squatted along the walls of the\nhouses, they fixed upon Vamb\u00e9ry looks of mingled distrust and\ncuriosity. \"He is not a dervish,\" said some, \"you can see that by his\nfeatures and complexion.\" \"The hadjis,\" replied others, \"pretend that\nhe is a near relation of the Turkish ambassador.\" All then, shaking\ntheir heads with a mysterious air, said in an undertone, \"Only Allah\ncan know what this foreigner is after.\" During this time, Vamb\u00e9ry\npretended to be plunged in a profound meditation; in which as a\nProtestant, he committed a grave imprudence, for the Orientals, liars\nand hypocrites themselves, cannot believe in frankness, and always\ninfer the contrary of whatever is told them. These suspicions,\nmoreover, had nearly frustrated at the outset the bold designs of the\nEuropean. The captain of the Afghan ship, employed in provisioning the\nRussian garrison, had consented for a small sum to take all the hadjis\nin his ship across the arm of the sea which divides Karat\u00e8pe from\nAshourada. But learning the reports which were in circulation\nregarding our traveller, he refused to permit him to embark; \"his\nattachment for the Russians not allowing him,\" he said, \"to facilitate\nthe secret designs of an emissary of Turkey.\" In vain Hadji Bilal,\nHadji Salih, and others of the caravan endeavored to change his {202}\nresolution. All was useless, and Vamb\u00e9ry was doubting whether he\nshould not be forced to retrace his steps, when his companions\ngenerously declared that they would not proceed without him.\n\nToward evening, the dervishes learned that a Turcoman named Yakaub\nproposed from a religious motive, and without desiring any recompense,\nto take them in his boat. The motive of this unexpected kindness was\nvery soon discovered. Yakaub, having drawn Vamb\u00e9ry apart, confessed to\nhim in an embarrassed tone, which contrasted singularly with his wild\nand energetic physiognomy, that he nourished a profound and hopeless\npassion for a young girl of his tribe; a Jew, a renowned magician who\nresided at Karat\u00e8pe, had promised to prepare an infallible talisman if\nthe unhappy lover were able to procure for him thirty drops of essence\nof rose direct from Mecca. \"You hadjis,\" added the Tartar, casting\ndown his eyes, \"never quit the holy places without bringing away some\nperfume; and as you are the youngest of the caravan, I hope that you\nwill comprehend my vexation better than the others, and that you will\nhelp me.\" The companions of Vamb\u00e9ry had in fact several bottles of the\nessence, of which they gave a part to the Turkoman, and this precious\ngift threw the son of the desert into a genuine ecstasy.\n\nThe voyagers passed two days on a _k\u00e8seboy_ a boat provided with a\nmast and two unequal sails, which the Tartars use for the transport of\ncargoes. It was almost night when Yakaub cast anchor before Ashourada,\nthe most southerly of the Russian possessions in Asia. The czar\nmaintains constantly on this coast steamers charged with repressing\nthe depredations of the Turkomen, which formerly inspired terror\nthroughout the province. All natives before approaching the port of\nAshourada must be provided with a regular passport, and must submit to\nthe inspection of the Russian functionaries. This visit caused Vamb\u00e9ry\nsome alarm; would not the sight of his features, a little too\nEuropean, provoke from the Russian agent an indiscreet exclamation of\nsurprise? and would not his incognito be betrayed? Happily, on the day\nof their arrival Easter was celebrated in the Greek Church, and, on\naccount of this solemnity, the examination was a mere formality. The\npilgrims continued their voyage, and landed the next day at\nGomusht\u00e8pe, a distance of only three leagues from Ashourada.\n\n\n\nII.\n\nThe hadjis were received by a chief named Khandjan, to whom they had\nletters of recommendation. The noble Turkoman was a man of about forty\nyears; his fine figure, his dress of an austere simplicity, the long\nbeard which fell upon his breast, gave him a dignified and imposing\nair. He advanced toward his guests, embraced them several times, and\nled the way to his tent. The news of the arrival of dervishes had\nalready spread among the inhabitants; men, women, and children threw\nthemselves before the pilgrims, disputing with one another the honor\nof touching their garments, believing that they thus obtained a share\nin the merits of these saintly personages. \"These first scenes of\nAsiatic life,\" says Vamb\u00e9ry, \"astonished me so much that I was\nconstantly doubting whether I should first examine the singular\nconstruction of their tents of felt, or admire the beauty of the\nwomen, enveloped in their long silken tunics, or yield to the desire\nmanifested by the arms and hands extended toward me. Strange\nspectacle! Young and old, without distinction of sex or rank, pressed\neagerly round these hadjis covered yet with the holy dust of Mecca.\nFancy my amazement when I saw women of great beauty, and even young\ngirls, rush through the crowd to embrace me. These demonstrations of\nsympathy and respect, however, became fatiguing when we {203} arrived\nat the tent of the chief _ishan_ (priest), where our little caravan\nassembled. Then began a singular contest. Each one solicited as a\nprecious boon the right of receiving under his tent the poor\nstrangers. I had heard of the boasted hospitality of the nomad tribes\nof Asia, but I never could have imagined the extent of it. Khandjan\nput an end to the dispute by himself distributing among the\ninhabitants his coveted guests. He reserved only Hadji Bilal and\nmyself, who were considered the chiefs of the caravan, and we followed\nhim to his _ooa_ (tent).\"\n\nA comfortable supper, of boiled fish and curdled milk, awaited the two\npilgrims. The touching kindness with which he had been received, the\ncomfort by which he was surrounded, filled Vamb\u00e9ry with a joy which\naccorded ill with the gravity of his assumed character of dervish. His\nfriend Hadji Bilal felt bound to advise him upon this subject. \"You\nhave remarked already,\" said he, \"that my companions and I distribute\n_fatiha_ (blessings) to every one. You must follow our example. I know\nit is not the custom in _Roum_ (Turkey), but the Turkomen expect it\nand desire it. You will excite great surprise if, giving yourself out\nfor a dervish, you do not take completely the character of one. You\nknow the formula of this blessing; you must, then, put on a serious\nface and bestow your benedictions. You can add to them _nefes_ (holy\nbreathings) when you are called to the sick; but do not forget to\nextend at the same time your hand, for every one knows that the\ndervishes subsist by the piety of the faithful, and they never leave a\ntent without receiving some little present.\"\n\nThe Hungarian traveller profited so well by the advice of Hadji Bilal\nthat, five days after his arrival at Gomusht\u00e8pe, a crowd of believers\nand sick people besieged him from the moment that he rose, soliciting,\none his blessing, another his sacred breathing, a third the talisman\nthat was to cure him. Thanks to the complaisance and marvellous tact\nwhich characterized him, Vamb\u00e9ry henceforth identified himself\ncompletely with the venerable personage of Hadji Reschid, and never\nduring a period of two years escaped him the smallest gesture or word\nwhich could possibly betray him. His reputation for sanctity increased\nevery day, and procured for him numerous offerings, which he received\nwith a truly Mussulman gravity. This increasing confidence permitted\nthe European to form with the Turkomen frequent intimacies, of which\nhe profited to study the social relations of these tribes, to discover\nthe innumerable ramifications of which they are composed, and to form\nan exact idea of the bonds which unite elements in appearance so\nheterogeneous and confused. But he was obliged to exercise great\nprudence; a dervish, wholly preoccupied with heavenly things, never\nought to ask the smallest question in regard to affairs purely\nworldly. Fortunately, the Tartars, so terrible and so impetuous, when\nthey have completed their forays, pass the remainder of their time in\nabsolute idleness, and then they amuse themselves with interminable\npolitical and moral discussions. Vamb\u00e9ry, dropping his beads with an\nexterior of pious revery, lent an attentive ear to all these\nconversations, of which he never lost the slightest detail.\n\nOne thing which surprised him among the Turkomen was to see that if\nall are too proud to obey, no one seems ambitious to command. \"We are\na people without a head,\" they say; \"and we wish no head. Every one is\nking in our country,\" Yet, notwithstanding the absence of all\nrestraint, of all authority, these savage robbers, the terror of their\nneighbors, live together amicably, and we find among them fewer\nrobberies and murders, and more morality than among the majority of\nthe Asiatic people. {204} This is explained by the action of an\nall-powerful law, which exercises over the inhabitants of the desert\nmore empire than religion itself; we speak of the _Deb_, that is to\nsay, the custom, the traditions. An invisible sovereign, obeyed\neverywhere, it sanctions robbery and slavery, and all the\nprescriptions of Islam fall to the ground before it. \"How,\" asked\nVamb\u00e9ry one day of a Tartar famous for his robberies and his great\npiety, \"how can you sell your Sunnite brother, when the Prophet has\nsaid expressly: Every Mussulman is free?\" \"Bah!\" he replied, \"the\nKoran, this book of God, is more precious than a man, and yet you buy\nand sell it; Joseph, the son of Jacob, was a prophet, and yet they\nsold him, and was he ever the worse for it?\" The influence of Deb\nextends throughout central Asia; in converting themselves to the\nworship of Mohammed, the nomad tribes have taken only the exterior\nform; they adored formerly the sun, the fire, and other natural\nphenomena--they personify them to-day under the name of Allah.\n\nMany ancient and singular customs are found everywhere in central\nAsia; marriage is accompanied by characteristic rites. The young girl,\nin her rich bridal costume, bravely bestrides a furious courser, whom\nshe urges to his utmost speed; with one hand she holds the rein, with\nthe other she presses to her bosom a lamb just killed, which the\nbridegroom, mounted also on a fast horse, endeavors to take from her.\nAll the young people of the tribe take a part in the eager pursuit,\nand the sandy desert then becomes the theatre of this fantastic\ncontest.\n\nThe ceremonies prescribed for funerals are not less singular. When a\nmember of a Turkoman family dies, the mourners come every day for an\nentire year, at the hour when the deceased expired, to utter sobs and\ncries, in which the relations are bound to join. This custom seems to\nprove that the Tartars, superior in this respect to civilized people,\nconsecrate to their dead a remembrance more profound and more durable;\nbut, in fact, one must abate a little of this praise; the tears and\nprolonged mourning are only a matter of form, and Vamb\u00e9ry often could\nhardly suppress a smile when he saw the head of the family tranquilly\nsmoking his pipe or enjoying his repast, interrupting himself now and\nthen to join the noisy lamentations of the choir. It is the same with\nthe ladies; they cry, they weep in the most lugubrious fashion,\nwithout ceasing to turn the wheel or rock the cradle. But what then?\nis not human nature the same everywhere, and do the Turkoman ladies\ndiffer so much from our inconsolable widows, to whom, as La Fontaine\nsays with good-natured malice, \"mourning very soon becomes an\nornament.\"\n\nVamb\u00e9ry, venerated as one of the elect of the prophet, often passed\nhis evenings among these Tartar families. Then, surrounded by a large\naudience, the troubadour, accompanying himself upon the guitar,\nchanted the poetry of Koroghi, of Aman Mollah, or more frequency of\nMakhdumkuli, the Ossian of the desert, whom his compatriots regard as\na demigod. This holy personage, who had never studied in the colleges\nof Bokhara, received the gift of all science by a divine inspiration.\nHe was one day transported in a dream to Mecca, in presence of the\nProphet and of the first caliphs. Seized with respect and fear at the\nsight of this august assembly, he prostrated himself, and, throwing\naround him a timid look, perceived Omar, the patron of the Turkomen,\nwho, with a benevolent air, signed him to approach. He received then\nthe benediction of the Prophet, a light blow on the forehead, which\nawakened him. From this moment a celestial poesy flowed from his lips;\nhe composed heroic hymns which the Tartars regard to-day as the most\nbeautiful productions of the human mind.\n\n{205}\n\nAbout this time, a mollah having undertaken a trip to Atabeg and the\nG\u00f6klen, our traveller seized the occasion to examine the Greek ruins\nwhich perpetuate among these savage people the remembrance of the\nconquests of Alexander. He recognized the wall built by the Macedonian\nhero to oppose a barrier to the menacing stream of the desert tribes.\nThe legend of the Turkomen shows how the oriental imagination clothes\nthe events of history with poetic and religious fiction. Alexander,\nthey say, was a profoundly religious Mussulman; and as the saints\nexercise all power over the invisible world, he commanded the spirits\nof darkness, and it was by his order that the genii built the sacred\nwall.\n\nNotwithstanding the generous hospitality of Khandjan, Vamb\u00e9ry began to\nget tired of his residence at Gomusht\u00e8pe. The continual raids of the\nTurkomen peopled their tents with a crowd of Persian slaves, whose\ntortures revolted any one who had a spark of humanity. These unhappy\nbeings, surprised for the most part in a nocturnal attack, were\ndragged from their families, and loaded with heavy chains which\nbetrayed the slightest movement and hindered every attempt at flight.\nKhandjan himself possessed two young Iranians of eighteen and twenty\nyears, and, singularly enough, this man, so good and so hospitable,\noverwhelmed these young men with injuries and insults on the slightest\npretext. Our traveller could not, without betraying himself, manifest\nthe least compassion for these poor slaves. Notwithstanding, the pity\nwhich they sometimes surprised in his looks induced them to address\nhim. They begged him to write to their relatives, imploring them to\nsell cattle, gardens, and dwellings in order to release them from this\nfrightful captivity; for the Turkomen often maltreat their prisoners\nmerely in the hope of obtaining a great ransom for them.\n\nVamb\u00e9ry then learned with joy that the khan of Khiva, for whom the\nphysicians had prescribed the use of buffalo's milk, had sent his\nchief of caravans to Gomusht\u00e8pe to buy two pair of these animals, in\norder to have them acclimated in his own country. To join an officer\nwho knew the invisible paths of the desert better than the most\nexperienced guides, was an unexpected good fortune for the pilgrims,\nand Vamb\u00e9ry urged Hadji Bilal to improve so good an opportunity; but\nHadji Bilal was surprised at the impatience of his friend, and\nremarked that it was extremely childish. \"It is of no use to be in a\nhurry,\" said he; \"you will remain on the banks of the Gorghen until\ndestiny shall decree that you quench your thirst at another river, and\nit is impossible to tell when the will of Allah will be manifested.\"\nThis answer was not particularly satisfactory to Vamb\u00e9ry; but he could\nnot attempt the desert alone; he was forced then to submit to the\noriental slowness of his companions.\n\nThe little caravan was to return to Etrek, the capital of a tribe of\nwarriors, to wait until the chief of caravans should join it. One of\nthe most renowned chiefs of this tribe came just at this time to\nGomusht\u00e8pe. His name was Kulkhan-_le-Pir_ (chief). His sombre and wild\nphysiognomy, little calculated to inspire confidence, never brightened\nat the sight of the pious pilgrims; nevertheless, out of regard for\nKhandjan, he consented to take the hadjis under his protection,\nrecommending to them to be ready to start with him in two days, for he\nawaited in order to return to his tent at Etrek only the arrival of\nhis son, who had gone on a raid. Kulkhan spoke of this expedition with\nthe paternal pride which makes the heart of a European beat in\nlearning that his son has covered himself with glory on the field of\nbattle. Some hours later, the young man, followed by seven Turkomen,\nappeared on the banks of the Gorghen. A great crowd had gathered, and\nadmiration was painted upon every face when the proud cavaliers threw\nthemselves with their {206} prey, ten magnificent horses, into the\nmidst of the river, which they crossed swimming. They landed\nimmediately, and even Vamb\u00e9ry, in spite of the contempt with which\nthese acts of pillage inspired him, could not take his eyes from these\nbold warriors, who, in their short riding-habit, the chest covered\nwith their abundant curling hair, gaily laid down their arms.\n\nAbout noon the next day the traveller quitted Gomusht\u00e8pe, and was\nescorted for a considerable distance by Khandjan, who wished to fulfil\npunctually all the duties of hospitality. It was not without heartfelt\nregret that he parted from this devoted host, from whom he had\nreceived so many marks of interest. The pilgrims travelled toward the\nnorth-east; their road, which led them from the coast, was bordered by\nmany mounds raised by the Turkomen in memory of their illustrious\ndead. When a warrior dies, every man of his tribe is bound to throw at\nleast seven shovelsful of earth upon his grave. So these mausoleums\noften appear like little hills. This custom must be very ancient among\nthe Asiatics; the Huns brought it into Europe, and we find traces of\nit to-day in Hungary. Half a league from Gomusht\u00e8pe the little caravan\nreached magnificent prairies, the herbage of which, knee-high, exhaled\na delicious fragrance. But these blessings of nature are thrown away\nupon the Turkomen, who, wholly occupied in robbery and pillage, never\ndream of enriching themselves by peaceful, pastoral occupations.\n\"Alas!\" thought our European, \"what charming villages might shelter\nthemselves in this fertile and beautiful country. When will the busy\nhum of life replace the silence of death which broods over these\nregions?\"\n\nApproaching Etrek, the landscape suddenly changes. This lonely verdure\nis exchanged for the salt lands of the desert, whose rank odor and\nrepulsive appearance seem to warn the traveller of the sufferings\nwhich await him in these immense solitudes. Little by little Vamb\u00e9ry\nfelt the ground become soft under foot; his camel slipped, buried\nhimself at each step, and gave such evident signs of intending to\nthrow him in the mud, that he thought it prudent to dismount without\nwaiting for a more pressing invitation. After tramping an hour and a\nhalf in the mire the pilgrims reached Kara Sengher (black wall), where\nrose the tent of their host, Kulkhan-le-Pir. The district of Etrek is,\nto the populations of Mazendran and Taberistan, a by-word of terror\nand malediction. \"May you be carried to Etrek,\" is the most terrible\nimprecation which fury can extort from a Persian. One cannot pass\nbefore the tents of the Turkomen of Etrek without seeing the unhappy\nIranian slaves, wasted by fatigue and privations, and bent under the\nweight of their chains. But the nomad tribes of Tartary offer a\nsingular mixture of vice and virtue, of justice and lawlessness, of\nbenevolence and cruelty. Vamb\u00e9ry, in his character of dervish, made\nfrequent visits among the Tartars. He always returned loaded with\npresents and penetrated with gratitude for their charitable\nhospitality. To this sentiment succeeded a profound horror at the\nbarbarous treatment inflicted upon their slaves. At Gomusht\u00e8pe such a\nspectacle had already revolted him; and yet this city, compared to\nEtrek, might be considered the _Ultima Thule_ of humanity and\ncivilization.\n\nOne day, returning to his dwelling, Vamb\u00e9ry met one of the slaves of\nKulkhan, who, in a piteous tone, begged him to give him to drink. This\nunfortunate being had labored ever since morning in a field of melons,\nexposed to the heat of a burning sun, without any other food than salt\nfish, and without a drop of water to quench his thirst. The sight of\nthis poor sufferer, and of the cheers which ran down over his thick\nblack beard, made Vamb\u00e9ry forget the danger {207} to which an\nimprudent compassion might expose himself. He gave his bottle to the\nslave, who drank eagerly and fled, not without having passionately\nthanked his benefactor.\n\nAnother time the European and Hadji Bilal called on a rich Tartar,\nwho, learning that Vamb\u00e9ry was a disciple of the Grand Turk, cried,\nwith great glee, \"I will show you a spectacle which will delight you;\nwe know how well the Russians and the Turks agree, and I will show you\none o\u00a3 your enemies in chains.\" He then called a poor Muscovite slave,\nwhose pallid features and expression of profound sadness touched\nVamb\u00e9ry to the heart. \"Go and kiss the feet of this effendi,\" said the\nTurkoman to the prisoner. The poor fellow was about to obey, but our\ntraveller stopped him by a gesture, saying that he had that morning\nbegun a great purification and that he did not wish to be defiled by\nthe touch of an infidel.\n\nAt last a messenger came to inform the pilgrims that the chief of\ncaravans was about to leave, and that he would meet them at noon the\nnext day on the shore opposite Etrek. The hadjis therefore began their\njourney, escorted by Kulkhan-le-Pir, who, thanks to the introduction\nof Kulkhan, neglected nothing for the security of his guests. Now, as\nthese districts are infested by brigands and very dangerous for\ncaravans, the protection of this _graybeard_ was very useful to the\ntravellers. Kulkhan was, in fact, the spiritual guide and grand\nhigh-priest of these fierce robbers; he united to a character\nnaturally ferocious a consummate hypocrisy which made him a curious\ntype of the desert chiefs. One ought to have heard this renowned\nbandit, who had ruined so many families, explaining to his assembled\ndisciples the rites prescribed for purifications, and telling them how\na good Mussulman ought to cut his moustache, etc. A sort of pious\necstasy, a perfect serenity, the fruit of a good conscience, was\nvisible meanwhile upon the countenances of these men, as if they\nalready enjoyed a foretaste of the delight of Mohammed's paradise.\n\nThe chief of caravans now joined the pilgrims. Vamb\u00e9ry desired very\nmuch to win the good graces of so important a man, and was, therefore,\nmuch alarmed when he saw that this dignitary, who had received the\nother pilgrims with marks of great respect, treated him with great\ncoldness. Hadji Bilal eagerly undertook the defence of his friend.\n\"All this,\" he cried angrily, \"is no doubt the work of that miserable\nMehemmed, who, even while we were in Etrek, tried to make us believe\nthat our Hadji Reschid, so holy and so learned in the Koran, was a\nEuropean in disguise! The Lord, pardon my sins!\" This was the favorite\nexclamation of the good dervish in his moments of greatest agitation.\n\"Be patient,\" he added, addressing his companion, \"once arrived at\nKhiva, I will set this opium-eater right.\" Mehemmed was an Afghan\nmerchant, born at Kandahar, who had frequently met Europeans. He\nthought he discovered in Vamb\u00e9ry a secret agent travelling, no doubt,\nwith great treasure, and he hoped, by frightening him, to extort from\nhim considerable sums; but the European was too cunning to be taken in\nthis trap, and he found a secure protection in his reputation for\nsanctity and in the generous friendship of Hadji Bilal.\n\nThis incident had no immediate consequences. The chief of caravans,\nwho was now chief of the united caravans, ordered each pilgrim\ncarefully to fill his bottle, for they would travel now many days\nwithout meeting any spring. Vamb\u00e9ry followed the example of his\ncompanions, but with a negligent air which Hadji Salih thought himself\nbound to reprove. \"You do not know yet,\" said he, \"that in the desert\neach drop of water becomes a drop of life. The thirsty traveller\nwatches over his bottle as a miser over his treasure; it is as\nprecious to him as his eye-sight.\"\n\nThey travelled the whole day over a sandy soil, at times slightly\nundulating, but where it was impossible to discover the least trace of\na path. The sun alone indicated their course, and during the night the\n_kervanbashi_ (chief of caravans) guided himself by the polar star,\ncalled by the Turkomen the iron pin, because it is motionless.\nGradually the sand gave place to a hard and flinty soil, on which\nthrough the silent night resounded the foot-fall of the camels. At\nday-break the caravan stopped to take some hours of rest, and\npresently Vamb\u00e9ry perceived the kervanbashi engaged eagerly in\nconversation with Hadji Bilal and Hadji Salih, the subject of which\ntheir looks, constantly directed toward him, sufficiently indicated.\nHe pretended not to observe it, and occupied himself with renewed\nearnestness in turning over the pages of the Koran. Some moments after\nhis friends came to him, and said \"his foreign features excited the\ndistrust of the kervanbashi, for this man had already incurred the\nanger of the king because he had some years before conducted to Khiva\na European, whom this single journey had enabled to put down on paper\nwith diabolical art all the peculiarities of the country, and he never\nshould be able to save his head if he committed another such blunder.\nIt is with great difficulty,\" added the dervishes, \"that we have\npersuaded him to take you with us, and he has made it a condition,\nfirst, that you shall consent to be searched, and secondly, that you\nwill swear, by the tomb of the Prophet, that you will not carry about\nyou secretly a _wooden pen_ as these detestable Europeans always do.\"\n\nThese words, we may imagine, were not very agreeable to Vamb\u00e9ry, but\nhe had too much self-control to permit his agitation to be seen.\nPretending to be very angry, he turned toward Hadji Salih, and, loud\nenough to be heard by the chief of caravans, replied, \"Hadji, you have\nseen me in Teheran, and you know who I am; say to the kervanbashi that\nan honest man ought not to listen to the gossip of an infidel.\" This\npretended indignation produced the desired effect; no one afterward\nexpressed a doubt in regard to the pilgrim. Vamb\u00e9ry could not resolve\nto keep his promise, and, whatever it might have cost him to deceive\nhis friends, he continued to make in secret some rapid notes. \"Let one\nimagine,\" says he, to excuse himself, \"the latter disappointment of a\ntraveller who arriving at last, after long efforts and great peril,\nbefore a spring for which he has eagerly sighed, finds himself\nforbidden to moisten his parched lips.\"\n\nThe caravan advanced slowly through the desert; in compassion for the\ncamels, who suffered much from the sand, upon which they could hardly\nwalk, the pilgrims dismounted when the road became very bad. These\nforced marches were a severe trial to Vamb\u00e9ry on account of his\nlameness; but he endeavored to forget, his fatigue and to take a part\nin the noisy conversations of his companions. The nephew of the\nkervanbashi, a Turkoman of Khiva, entertained a particular affection\nfor him; full of respect for his character as dervish, and won by the\nbenevolence of his looks, he took great pleasure in talking to him of\nhis _tent_, the only manner in which the prescriptions of the Prophet\npermitted him to speak of the young wife whom he had left at home.\nSeparated for a whole year from the object of his tenderness, Khali\nMallah appealed to the science of the pretended hadji to pierce the\nveil which absence had placed between himself and his family. Vamb\u00e9ry\ngravely took the Koran, pronounced some cabalistic words, closed his\neyes, and opened the book precisely at a passage in which women are\nspoken of. He interpreted the sacred text so as to draw from it an\noracle sufficiently vague, at which the young Tartar was transported\nwith joy.\n\nOn the 27th of May the travellers reached the table-lands of\nKorentaghi, a chain of mountains surrounded by vast valleys, to the\nwest of which extend ruins probably of Greek origin. {209} The nomads\nwho inhabit this district came in crowds to visit the caravan, and for\nsome hours the encampment had the appearance of a bazaar. The\nmerchants and drovers who accompanied the kervanbashi concluded\nimportant bargains with the natives, mostly on credit; but Vamb\u00e9ry was\nsurprised to see the debtor, instead of giving the note as a guarantee\nto the creditor, tranquilly put it in his own pocket. Our European\ncould not refrain from speaking of this, and he received from one of\nthe merchants this answer of a patriarchal simplicity: \"What should I\ndo with the paper? it would not do me any good; but the debtor\nrequires it in order to remind him of the amount of the debt and of\nthe time when it is to be paid.\"\n\nTwo days after a dark blue cloud appeared in the horizon toward the\nnorth; this was Petit-Balkan, the elevation, the picturesque\nlandscapes, and the rich mineral resources of which are celebrated in\nall Turkoman poetry. The travellers passed along the chain of\nmountains, perceiving here and there green and fertile prairies, and\nyet the profound solitude of these beautiful valleys filled the soul\nwith a vague sadness. Beyond commences the Great Desert, where the\ntraveller marches for many weeks without finding a drop of water to\nquench his thirst, or a tree to shelter him from the rays of the sun.\nIn winter the cold is intense, in summer the heat; but the two seasons\npresent an equal danger, and frequent tempests swallow up whole\ncaravans under drifts of snow or whirlwinds of sand.\n\n\"In proportion,\" says Vamb\u00e9ry, \"as the outlines of Balkan disappear\nfrom the horizon, the limitless desert shows itself, terrible and\nmajestic. I had often thought that imagination and enthusiasm enter\nlargely into the profound impression produced by the sight of these\nimmense solitudes. I deceived myself. In my own beloved country I have\noften seen vast plains of sand; in Persia I have crossed the salt\ndesert; but how different were my feelings to-day! It is not\nimagination, it is nature herself who lights the sacred torch of\ninspiration. The interminable hills of sand, the utter absence of\nlife, the frightful calm of death, the purple tints of the sun at his\nrising and setting, all warn us that we are in the Great Desert, all\nfill our souls with an inexpressible emotion.\"\n\nAfter travelling many days, the provision of water beginning to be\nexhausted, Vamb\u00e9ry knew for the first time the horrible tortures of\nthirst. \"Alas!\" he thought, \"saving and blessed water, the most\nprecious of all the elements, how little have I known your value! what\nwould I not give at this moment for a few drops of your divine\nsubstance!\" The unfortunate traveller had lost his appetite, he\nexperienced an excessive prostration, a devouring fire consumed his\nveins, he sank upon the ground in a state of complete exhaustion.\nSuddenly he heard resound the magic words, \"Water! water!\" He looked\nup and saw the kervanbashi distribute to each of his companions two\nglasses of the precious liquid. The good Turkoman had the habit\nwhenever he crossed the desert of hiding a certain quantity of water,\nwhich he distributed to the members of his caravan when their\nsufferings became intolerable. This unexpected succor revived the\nstrength of Vamb\u00e9ry, and he acknowledged the justice of the Tartar\nproverb: \"The drop of water given in the desert to the traveller dying\nof thirst, effaces a hundred, years of sin.\"\n\nThe next day numerous tracks of gazelles and wild asses announced to\nthe travellers that springs were to be found in the neighborhood;\nthither they hastened to fill their bottles, and, relieved now from\nall anxiety lest water should fail them before their arrival at Khiva,\nthey gave themselves up to transports of joyful enthusiasm. Toward\nevening they reached the table-land of Kaflankir, an island {210} of\nverdure in the midst of a sea of sand. Its fertile soil, covered with\nluxuriant vegetation, gives asylum to a great number of animals; two\ndeep trenches surround this oasis, which the Turkomen say are ancient\nbranches of the Oxus. The caravan, instead of going directly to Khiva,\nmade a circuit to avoid a tribe of marauders; the first of June it\narrived within sight of the great Tartar city, which, with its domes,\nits minarets, its smiling gardens, the luxuriant vegetation which\nsurrounds it, appeared to the travellers, worn by the monotony of the\ndesert, an epitome of the delights of nature and of civilization.\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nOn entering the city their admiration was somewhat lessened. Khiva is\ncomposed of three or four thousand houses, constructed of earth,\nscattered about in all directions and surrounded by a wall, also of\nclay, ten feet high. But at every step the pious Khivites offered them\nbread and dried fruits, begging their blessing. For a long time Khiva\nhad not received within its walls so great a number of hadjis; every\nface expressed astonishment and admiration, and on all sides resounded\nacclamations of welcome. Entering into the bazaar, Hadji Bilal intoned\na sacred canticle, in which his companions joined; the voice of\nVamb\u00e9ry predominated; and his emotion was very great when he saw the\nsurrounding crowd rush toward him, to kiss his hands, his feet covered\nwith dust, and even the rags which composed his dress.\n\nAccording to the usage of the country, the travellers returned\nimmediately to the caravan which served as custom-house. The principal\n_mehrum_ (royal chamberlain) fulfilled the functions of director;\nhardly had he addressed the usual questions to the kervanbashi when\nthe miserable Afghan before spoken of, furious at having been thwarted\nin his avaricious designs, advancing, cried in a tone of raillery: \"We\nhave brought to Khiva three interesting quadrupeds, and a biped who is\nnot less so.\" The first part of the expression, of course, alluded to\nthe buffaloes which had been brought from Gomusht\u00e8pe; the second was\npointed at Vamb\u00e9ry. Instantly all eyes were fixed upon him, and he\ncould distinguish among the murmurs of the crowd the words: \"Spy,\nEuropean, Russian.\" Imagine his agitation! The khan of Khiva, a cruel\nfanatic, had the reputation of reducing to slavery or destroying by\nhorrible tortures all suspected strangers. In this emergency Vamb\u00e9ry\nwas not intimidated; often he had considered the possible consequences\nof his bold enterprise, and looked death in the face.\n\nThe mehrum, lifting his brows, considered the foreign countenance of\nthe unknown, and rudely ordered him to approach. Vamb\u00e9ry was about to\nreply when Hadji Bilal, who did not know what was going on, eagerly\nentered to introduce his friend to the Khivite officer; the exterior\nof the Turkoman dervish inspired so much confidence that suspicions\nwere instantly changed into respectful excuses.\n\nThis peril avoided, Vamb\u00e9ry could not deny that his European features\nraised in his way every moment new difficulties; he must have a\npowerful protector always ready to defend him. He presently remembered\nthat an important man, named Shukrullah Bay, who had been for ten\nyears ambassador to the sultan from the khan of Khiva, must know\nConstantinople and every official of that city. Vamb\u00e9ry thought he\nshould find in this dignitary the support which he desired, and he\nrepaired the same day to the _medusse_ (college) of Mohammed Emin\nKhan, where he resided. Informed that an effendi, recently arrived\nfrom Stamboul, wished to see him, the ex-minister immediately\nappeared. His surprise, already very great, was not diminished when he\nsaw enter a mendicant covered with {211} rags and frightfully\ndisfigured; but after exchanging a few words with his strange visitor,\nhis distrust vanished; he addressed him question after question\nregarding his friends whom he had left at Constantinople, and, from\nthe mere pleasure of hearing him speak of them, he forgot to raise a\ndoubt regarding the supposed quality of the traveller. \"In the name of\nGod, my dear effendi,\" said he at last, \"how could you quit such a\nparadise as Stamboul to come into our frightful country?\" The\npretended Reschid sighed deeply. \"Ah, pir!\" he replied, putting a hand\nupon his eyes in sign of obedience. Shukrullah was too good a\nMussulman not to understand these words; he was persuaded that his\nguest belonged to some order of dervishes, and had been charged by his\n_pir_ (spiritual chief) with some mission which a disciple was bound\nto accomplish even at the peril of his life. Without asking any\nfarther explanations, he merely inquired the name of the order to\nwhich Vamb\u00e9ry was attached. Vamb\u00e9ry mentioned the Nakish bendi,\n[Footnote 37] implying that Bokhara was the end of his pilgrimage, and\nhe retired, leaving the Khivite minister marvelling at his learning,\nhis wit, his sanctity, and his extensive acquaintance.\n\n  [Footnote 37: A celebrated order which originated in Bokhara, where\n  its principal establishment still exists.]\n\nThe khan, hearing of the arrival of a Turk, the first who had ever\ncome from Constantinople to Khiva, sent in all haste a _yasoul_\n(officer of the court) to give the European a small present and inform\nhim that the _hazret_ (sovereign) would give him audience the same\nevening, for he greatly desired to receive the blessing of a dervish\nborn in the holy land. Our voyager, therefore, accompanied by\nShukrullah Bay, who made it a point to present him, repaired to the\npalace of the formidable monarch. We will leave Vamb\u00e9ry to relate\nhimself this curious interview:\n\n\"It was the hour of public audience, and the principal entrance and\nhalls of the palace were filled with petitioners of every rank, sex,\nand age. The crowd respectfully made way at our approach, and my ear\nwas agreeably tickled when I heard the women say to each other: 'See\nthe holy dervish from Constantinople; he comes to bless our khan, and\nmay Allah hear his prayer!' Shukrullah Bay had taken care to make it\nknown that I was very intimate with the highest dignitaries in\nStamboul, and that nothing should be omitted to render my reception\nmost solemn. After waiting a few moments, two yasouls came to take me\nby the arm, and, with the most profound demonstrations of respect,\nconducted me in the presence of Seid Mehemmed Khan.\n\n\"The prince was seated upon a sort of platform, his left arm resting\nupon a velvet cushion, his right hand holding a golden sceptre.\nAccording to the prescribed ceremonial, I raised my two hands, a\ngesture which was immediately imitated by the khan and others present;\nthen I recited a verse from the Koran, followed by a prayer much used\nbeginning with the words: '_Allahuma Rabbina_.' I concluded with an\n_amen_, which I pronounced with a resounding voice, holding my beard\nwith both hands. '_Kaboul bolgay!_' (may thy prayer be heard),\nresponded in unison all the assistants. Then I approached the\nsovereign and exchanged with him the _mousafeha_,  [Footnote 38] after\nwhich I retired a few steps. The khan addressed me several questions\nregarding the object of my journey, and my impressions in crossing the\nGreat Desert.\n\n  [Footnote 38: Salute prescribed by the Koran, during which the right\n  and left hand of each party are placed flatly one upon the other. ]\n\n\"'My sufferings have been great,' I replied, 'but my reward is greater\nyet, since I am permitted to behold the splendor of your glorious\nmajesty. I return thanks to Allah for this favor, and I see in it a\ngood omen for the rest of my pilgrimage.'\n\n{212}\n\n\"The king, evidently flattered, asked how long I proposed to remain at\nKhiva, and if I were provided with the necessary funds for pursuing my\njourney.\n\n\"'My intention,' I replied, 'is to visit before my departure the tombs\nof the saints who repose in the vicinity of Khiva. As to the means of\npursuing my journey, I give myself no anxiety. We dervishes occupy\nourselves very little with such trifles. The sacred breathing which I\nhave received from the chief of my order suffices, moreover, to\nsustain me four or five days without any other nourishment; therefore\nthe only prayer which I address to heaven is that your majesty may\nlive a hundred and twenty years.'\n\n\"My words had gained the good graces of the khan; he offered me twenty\nducats, and promised to make me a present of an ass. I declined the\nfirst of these presents, because poverty is the necessary attribute of\na dervish; but I accepted the animal with gratitude, not without\npiously remarking that the precept of the Prophet requires that a\nwhite ass should be used for pilgrimages. The king assured me that I\nshould have one of this color, and he put an end to the interview,\nbegging me to accept at least during my short residence in his capital\ntwo _tenghe_ (1 franc 50 centimes) a day for my maintenance.\n\n\"I retired joyfully, receiving at every step the respectful homage of\nthe crowd, and regained my own dwelling. Once alone, I uttered a sigh\nof satisfaction, thinking of the danger which I had incurred, and the\nhappy manner in which I had escaped it. This dissolute khan, savage\nand brutal tyrant, had treated me with unexampled kindness; I was now\nfree from all fear, and at liberty to go where I liked. During the\nentire evening, the audience of the khan was present to my mind; I saw\nagain the Asiatic despot, with his pallid countenance, his eyes deeply\nsunk in the orbits, his beard sprinkled with white, his white lips and\ntrembling voice. So, I thought, Providence has permitted that\nfanaticism itself should serve as a bit to this suspicious and cruel\ntyrant.\"\n\nIt was soon understood in Khiva that the dervish of Constantinople was\nin great favor with the khan, therefore the notables of the city\ndelayed not to overwhelm him with visits and invitations; the\n_oulemas_ especially, anxious to enlighten themselves with his light,\nasked him a thousand questions regarding various religious\nobservances. Vamb\u00e9ry, repressing his impatience, was obliged to spend\nwhole hours instructing these fervent disciples on the manner of\nwashing the feet, the hands, the face; explaining to them how, not to\nviolate any precept, the true believers ought to sit down, to rise, to\nwalk, sleep, etc. The pretended pilgrim, who was supposed to be a\nnative of Stamboul, venerated seat of religion, passed for an\ninfallible oracle, for the sultan of Constantinople and the grandees\nof his court are regarded at Khiva as the most accomplished observers\nof the law. They there represent the Turkish emperor as _coiff\u00e9_ in a\nturban at least fifty or sixty yards long, wrapped in a long trailing\nrobe, and wearing a beard which falls to the girdle. To inform the\nKhivites that this prince dresses like a European, and has his clothes\ncut by Dusautoy, would only excite their pious indignation; any one\nwho would attempt to disabuse them on these points would pass for an\nimpostor, and would only risk his own life. Vamb\u00e9ry was obliged to\nanswer the most ridiculous questions: one wished to know if in the\nwhole world there was any city to be compared to Khiva; another, if\nthe meals of the grand sultan were sent to him every day from Mecca,\nand if it only took one minute for them to come from the Kaaba to the\npalace at Constantinople. What would these pious enthusiasts say if\nthey could know with what honor _Chateau-Lafitte and Chateau-Margeaux_\nfigure upon the table of the actual successor of the Prophet?\n\n{213}\n\nThe convent which gave asylum to the pilgrims served also as a public\nsquare; it contained a mosque, the court of which, ornamented with a\npiece of water surrounded with beautiful trees, was the favorite\nlounge of all the idle people in town. The women came there to fill\nthe heavy jugs which they afterward carried to their dwellings. More\nthan one of these recalled to the European the daughters of his dear\nHungary; he took great pleasure in watching them, and never refused\nthem his blessing, his powder of life, or even his sacred breathing,\nwhich had the power of curing all infirmities. On these occasions, the\nsick person squatted upon the threshold of the door, the pretended\ndervish, moving his lips as if in prayer, extended a hand over the\npatient, then he breathed three times upon her and uttered a profound\nsigh. Very often the innocent creatures fancied that they had\nexperienced immediate relief, so great is the power of the\nimagination!\n\nDuring the time that Vamb\u00e9ry was at Khiva, a fair had assembled there\nfrom twenty leagues round all the rich natives. Most of these came to\nthe markets not so much to buy and sell as to gratify that love of\ndisplay so inveterate among the Orientals; their purchases were often\nlimited to a few needles or similar trifles; but it was an excellent\noccasion to parade their beautiful horses, to display their richest\nclothes and their finest weapons. Khiva, moreover, is the centre of an\nactive commerce; beside the fruits, which enjoy great renown, and are\nexported to Persia, Turkey, Russia, and China, the stalls of the fair\ncontain excellent manufactured articles. Beside the _urgendi\ntchapani_, a kind of dressing robe made of woollen or silken stuffs of\ntwo colors, are displayed the linens of Tash-hauz, the bronzes of\nKhiva, muslins, calicoes, cloth, sugar, iron sent by Russia to be\nexchanged for cotton, silk, and furs, which the caravans deliver in\nthe spring at the markets of Orenbourg, and in the autumn at those of\nAstrakan. The transactions with Bokhara are equally important: they\nexport thither robes and linens, and receive in exchange tea, spices,\npaper, and fancy articles.\n\nVamb\u00e9ry, divided between the friendship of Hadji Bilal and his daily\nincreasing intimacy with Shukrullah Bay, led a very agreeable life at\nKhiva. Unhappily this calm was troubled by the secret intrigues of the\nmehter (minister of the interior), who was a personal enemy of the\nKhivite ambassador. He persuaded the khan that our traveller was a\nsecret agent of the sultan of Bokhara, and Seid Mehemmed resolved to\nhave a second interview with the would-be dervish, and submit him to a\nstrict examination. Vamb\u00e9ry, exhausted by the extreme heat, was taking\na siesta in his cell when he was warned by a messenger to report\nhimself to the sovereign. Surprised at this unexpected order, he\ndeparted with some anxiety. In order to reach the palace he was\nobliged to cross the grand square, where were assembled all the\nprisoners taken in a recent war against the neighboring tribe of the\nTchandors, and the sight of these unfortunate beings impressed him\nmost painfully. The khan in company with the mehter awaited his\narrival; he overwhelmed him with artful questions, and said that,\nknowing how thoroughly versed he was in the worldly sciences, he\nshould like very much to see him write some lines after the manner of\nStamboul. The necessary materials having been brought, Vamb\u00e9ry wrote\nthe following epistle, when, under pompous flowers of rhetoric, he\nslipped in a bit of raillery pointed at the mehter, who was extremely\nvain of his own beautiful writing:\n\n{214}\n\n  \"Most majestic, powerful, terrible, and formidable monarch and\n  sovereign:\n\n  \"Inundated with the royal favor, the poorest and most humble of your\n  servants has, until this day, consecrated little time to the study\n  of penmanship, for he remembers the Arab proverb: 'Those who have a\n  beautiful handwriting have ordinarily very little wit.' But he knows\n  also the Persian adage: 'Every defect which pleases a king becomes a\n  virtue.' This is why he ventures respectfully to present these\n  lines.\"\n\nThe khan, charmed with the pompous eloquence of our traveller, made\nhim sit beside him, offered him tea and bread, and had with him a long\npolitical conversation, the subject of which had been agreed upon\nbeforehand. In his quality of dervish, the adroit European maintained\nan austere silence. Seid Mehemmed drew from him with great difficulty\nsome sententious phrases, which offered not the slightest pretext to\nthe malicious designs of the mehter.\n\nOn leaving the royal audience, a yasoul conducted Vamb\u00e9ry to the\ntreasurer to receive his daily allowance. He was obliged to cross a\nvast court, where a horrible spectacle awaited him. Three hundred\nTchandors, covered with rags and wasted by hunger till they looked\nlike living skeletons, were expecting the sentence which was to decide\ntheir fate. The younger ones, chained one to another by iron collars,\nwere to be sold as slaves or given as presents to the favorites of the\nking. More cruel punishments were reserved for those whose age caused\nthem to be considered as chiefs. While some of them were conducted to\nthe block upon which already many heads had fallen, eight of these\nunhappy old men were thrown upon the ground while the executioner tore\nout their eyes. It is impossible to enter upon the frightful details\nof these barbarous punishments. Arriving at the office of the\ntreasurer, Vamb\u00e9ry found him singularly occupied in sorting silken\nvestments of dazzling colors, covered with large golden embroidery.\nThese were the _khilat_, or robes of honor, which were to be sent to\nthe camp to recompense the services of the warriors; they were\ndesignated as robes of four, twelve, twenty, or forty heads. This\nsingular mode of distinguishing them, which the designs upon the\ntissue in no way explained, having excited the curiosity of Vamb\u00e9ry,\nhe inquired the reason. \"What!\" was the reply, \"have you never seen\nsimilar ones in Turkey? In that case, come to-morrow to assist at the\ndistribution of these glorious emblems. The most beautiful of these\nvestments are intended for those soldiers who have brought forty\nenemies' heads, the most simple for those who have furnished only\nfour.\" In spite of the horror which this custom inspired, the European\ncould not without exciting suspicion refuse the invitation thus\nextended to him. Accordingly, the next morning he saw arrive in the\nprincipal square of Khiva a hundred cavaliers covered with dust; each\none of them led at least one prisoner fastened to the pommel of the\nsaddle, or to the tail of his horse; women and children bound in the\nsame manner making a part of the booty. Beside, all the soldiers\ncarried behind them large bags filled with heads cut off from the\nvanquished. They delivered the captives to the officer in charge, and\nthen emptied their bags, rolling out the contents upon the ground with\nas much indifference as if they had been potatoes. These noble\nwarriors received in exchange an attestation of their great exploits,\nand this billet would give them a right after a few days to a\npecuniary recompense.\n\nThese barbarous customs are not peculiar to Khiva; they are found in\nall central Asia. Tradition, law, and religion agree in sanctioning\nthem. During the first years of his reign, the khan of Khiva, wishing\nto display his zeal for the Mussulman faith, proceeded with the utmost\nrigor not only against the heretic Tchandors, but also against his own\nsubjects who were found guilty of the least infraction of the\ncommandments of the Prophet. The oulemas endeavored to moderate the\ntoo ardent piety of the king; but, notwithstanding their intervention,\nnot a day passes without {215} some person admitted to audience of the\nkhan being dragged from the palace, after hearing the words,\nequivalent to his death-warrant: \"_Alib barin!_\" (take him away).\n\nNotwithstanding the cruelties by which Khiva is disgraced, it was in\nthis city that  Vamb\u00e9ry passed, under the costume of a dervish, the\nmost agreeable days of his journey. Whenever he appeared in public\nplaces he was surrounded by a crowd of the faithful, who heaped\npresents upon him. Thus, though he never accepted considerable sums,\nand though he shared the offerings of the pious believers with his\nbrethren the hadjis, his situation was much improved; he was provided\nwith a well-lined purse, and a vigorous ass; in short, he was\nperfectly equipped for his journey. His companions were very anxious\nto arrive at Bokhara, fearing that the heat might render it\nimpracticable to cross the desert, and they urged Vamb\u00e9ry to terminate\nhis preparations for departure. Before quitting Khiva our European\nwished to bid adieu to the excellent protector to whose hospitable\nreception he owed so much.\n\n\"I was deeply moved,\" he says, \"to hear the arguments which the good\nShukrullah Bay employed to dissuade me from my enterprise. He painted\nBokhara under the most gloomy colors, the distrustful and hypocritical\nemir, hostile to all strangers, and who had even treacherously put to\ndeath a Turk sent to him by Reschid Pacha. The anxiety of this worthy\nold man, so convinced at first of the reality of my sacred character,\nsurprised me extremely. I began to think that he had penetrated the\nsecret of my disguise, and perhaps divined who I was. Accustomed to\nEuropean ideas, Shukrullah Bay understood our ardor for scientific\nresearches, for in his youth he had passed many years in St.\nPetersburg, and often also, during his residence in Constantinople, he\nhad formed affectionate intimacies with Europeans. Was it on this\naccount that he had manifested so warm a friendship for me? In parting\nfrom him I saw a tear glisten in his eye; who can tell what sentiment\ncaused it to flow?\"\n\nVamb\u00e9ry gave the khan a last benediction. The prince recommended to\nhim on his return from Samarcande to pass through his capital, for he\nwished to send with the pilgrim a representative, charged to receive\nat Constantinople the investiture which the masters of Khiva wish to\nobtain from every new sultan. This was by no means the plan of our\ntraveller. \"_Kismet_,\" he replied, with his habitual presence of mind;\na word altogether in the spirit of his character, and which signifies\nthat one commits a grave sin when one counts upon the future.\n\n------\n\n{216}\n\nFrom Aubrey De Vere's May Carols.\n\nMATER DIVINAE GRATIAE.\n\n\n  The gifts a mother showers each day\n    Upon her softly-clamorous brood:\n  The gifts they value but for play,--\n    The graver gifts of clothes and food,--\n\n  Whence come they but from him who sows\n    With harder hand, and reaps, the soil;\n  The merit of his laboring brows,\n    The guerdon of his manly toil?\n\n  From him the grace: through her it stands\n    Adjusted, meted, and applied;\n  And ever, passing through her hands,\n    Enriched it seems, and beautified.\n\n  Love's mirror doubles love's caress:\n    Love's echo to love's voice is true:--\n  Their sire the children love not less\n    Because they clasp a mother too.\n\n------\n\n  As children when, with heavy tread,\n    Men sad of face, unseen before,\n  Have borne away their mother dead--\n    So stand the nations thine no more.\n\n  From room to room those children roam,\n    Heart-stricken by the unwonted black:\n  Their house no longer seems their home:\n    They search; yet know not what they lack.\n\n  Years pass: self-will and passion strike\n    Their roots more deeply day by day;\n  Old servants weep; and \"how unlike\"\n    Is all the tender neighbors say.\n\n  And yet at moments, like a dream,\n    A mother's image o'er them flits:\n  Like hers their eyes a moment beam;\n    The voice grows soft; the brow unknits.\n\n  Such, Mary, are the realms once thine,\n    That know no more thy golden reign.\n  Bold forth from heaven thy Babe divine!\n    O make thine orphans thine again!\n\n------\n\n{217}\n\n\nFrom The Month\n\n\nPAMPHLETS ON THE EIRENICON.\n\n\nThe appearance of a work such as the \"Eirenicon,\" from the pen of one\nin so conspicuous a position as Dr. Pusey, was sure to attract general\nattention, and to call forth a great number of comments and answers\nmore or less favorable to it or severe upon it. It gives an occasion\nfor, and indeed invites, the frankest discussion of a very wide range\nof most important questions; and in doing so it has rendered a great\nservice to the cause of truth. Many of these questions are of that\nkind which those whom the \"Eirenicon\" itself may be supposed more\nparticularly to represent have been in the habit of avoiding, at all\nevents in public, although their own ecclesiastical position depended\nentirely upon them. It is a very great gain that these should now be\nopened for discussion, at the invitation of one who has long passed as\na leader among Anglicans. Moreover, a book which handles so many\nsubjects and contains so many assertions has naturally raised\nquestions as to itself which require consideration. It is a\ncomparatively easy matter to look on it as a simple overture for\npeace, or to speculate on the possibility of that \"union by means of\nexplanations\" which Dr. Pusey tells us is his dearest wish. Even here\nwe are directly met by the necessity of further investigations. Dr.\nPusey puts a certain face on the Thirty-nine Articles, and on Catholic\ndoctrines and statements with regard to the questions to which those\nArticles refer. Is he right in his representation either of the\ndefinitions of his own communion or of the support which those\ndefinitions may receive from authorities external to it? Is it true\nthat the \"Catholic\" interpretation is the legitimate sense of the\nArticles? Is it true that that interpretation is supported by Roman\nand Greek authorities? Is there no statement, for instance, in the\nCouncil of Trent about justification to which any in the Anglican\ncommunion can object? It must be quite obvious that a great number of\nsanguine assertions such as these require examination in detail; and\nsurely no one can complain if they are not admitted on Dr. Pusey's\nword. Then again, unfortunately, he was not content with painting his\nown communion in his own colors; he must needs give a description of\nthe Catholic system also. He has told us--and we are both willing and\nbound to believe him--that he has not drawn this sketch in a hostile\nspirit; perhaps he will some day acknowledge--which is much more to\nthe point--that he has drawn it in great and lamentable ignorance, the\nconsciousness of which ought to have deterred him from attempting it.\nSurely there are some enterprises which are usually undertaken by none\nbut the dullest or the most presumptuous of men. Such an enterprise is\nthat of giving an account of a practical system which influences and\nforms the hearts and minds of thousands of our fellow-creatures, when\nwe have ourselves lived all our days as entire strangers to it. If it\nbe something simply in the natural order, such as the polity or the\ncustoms of a foreign nation, we do not feel so much surprise at the\nblunders made by the {218} writer who undertakes to describe them, as\nat his temerity in making the attempt. This is, of coarse, enhanced\ngreatly in proportion as we ascend into the higher spheres of the\nspiritual and supernatural life. It is strange enough to see any\nsensible man writing as if he could fairly characterize the devotional\nsentiments and religious thoughts of men of a different belief; but it\nbecomes something more than strange when this venturesome critic\nproceeds not only to characterize, but to condemn and to denounce in\nthe strongest language that which he might in all reason and modesty\nhave supposed himself, at least, not quite able fully to comprehend;\nand this at the very time that he is proposing peace.\n\nWe are not, however, here concerned with this more painful view of the\nsubject. We are only pointing out that the elaborate chapter of\naccusation against the Catholic Church which Dr. Pusey has drawn up\ncould not fail to be received with great indignation on the part of\nCatholics, and that the overtures which accompany it cannot be fairly\ndealt with until it has been thoroughly sifted by criticism as well as\nby controversy. How can we explain a \"system\" which we deny to exist?\nOf course, no Catholic will acknowledge Dr. Pusey's representation as\nanything but a monstrous caricature. Of course, also, the chief heads\nof accusation can be easily dealt with one by one, and positive\nstatements given as to what is really taught, thought, and felt by\nCatholics with regard to them. But this leaves the book untouched. How\ncame these charges to be made? What grounds has Dr. Pusey for\nasserting that to be true which we all know to be so false? Does he\nquote rightly? Has he understood the books he cites, where he has read\nthem? And has he read them through? Are the authors whom he gives as\nfair specimens of Catholic teaching acknowledged as writers of credit,\nor are some of them even on the Index? Has he ever understood the\nCatholic doctrines on which he is severe, such as the immaculate\nconception and the papal infallibility, or the meaning of the Catholic\nauthorities whom he seems to set in some sort of opposition to others,\nsuch as Bossuet and the bishops, whose answers he quotes from the\n\"Pareri?\" It is true that questions like this are to some extent\npersonal; but Dr. Pusey makes it necessary to ask them, and he is the\none person in the world who ought to wish that they should be\nthoroughly handled. We cannot believe that he approves of the tactics\nof some Anglican critics, who speak as if the ark of their sanctuary\nwere rudely touched when it is said that he can be mistaken or\nignorant about anything. He has never shown any lack of controversial\ncourage. Up to the present time we are not aware of a single\npublication of any note from the Catholic side of the question which\nhas not exposed some one or two distinct and important errors of fact,\nquotation, historical statement, or some grave misconception of\ndoctrine on his part; and this, it is to be observed, has hitherto\nonly been done incidentally by writers who have not addressed\nthemselves to the systematic examination of the \"Eirenicon\" as a work\nof learning.\n\nLastly, this miscellaneous work has occasioned a call which, also, we\nare glad to feel sure, will be adequately answered; a call for calm\nand learned statements from Catholic theologians on some of the chief\ncontroversial questions touched on by Dr. Pusey. What is the real\nunity of the church? What is the true doctrine of her infallibility\nand of that of the Roman Pontiff? and how are the commonly alleged\n(though so often refuted) objections--as, for instance, that about\nwhat Dr. Pusey calls _formal heresy_ of Liberius--to the met? What is\nreally meant by the immaculate conception, and what was in truth the\nhistory of the late definition?  {219}  These, and a few more\nimportant matters--such as the doctrine of transubstantiation, and the\nhistorical truth as to the cases of Meletius and the African\nchurches--will be treated at length in the forthcoming volume of\nessays announced under the title of \"Peace through the Truth.\" The\ncase of the Anglican ordinations has been incidentally raised by Dr.\nPusey; but it will be natural for Catholic critics to wait for a\nvolume on the subject which has been announced by Mr. F. G. Lee. As\nfar as the alleged sanction of those ordinations by Cardinal Pole is\nconcerned, Dr. Pusey does not seem inclined to raise the question\nagain.\n\nWe have thus a tolerably large promise of work for theological writers\nand readers; and it cannot but be looked on as a good sign that so\nstrong an impulse to controversial activity should have been given by\none who has not hitherto been fond of inviting attention to the\ndifficulties of his own position. It is but natural that the more\nsolid and erudite works called forth by the \"Eirenicon\" should be the\nlast to appear; and any one who has read but a few pages of that work\nwill understand the difficulty which its writer has imposed on any\nconscientious critic by a frequently loose way of quoting, and an\noccasional habit of giving no authority at all for statements that\ncertainly require more proof than a bare assertion. But we have\nalready the beginning of a most valuable collection of publications by\nmen of the highest position, dealing either with detached portions of\nDr. Pusey's work or in a summary way with its general plan; and some\nservice has been done by letters in the papers, such as those of Canon\nEstcourt and Mr. Rhodes. Father Gallwey's \"Sermon\" has been widely\ncirculated; Canon Oakeley has given us an interesting pamphlet on the\n\"Leading Topics of the Eirenicon;\" Dr. Newman has written a letter to\nits author, and is understood to be preparing a second; and his grace\nthe Archbishop of Westminster has dealt with several of Dr. Pusey's\nassertions in his \"Pastoral Letter on the Reunion of Christendom.\" We\npropose now to deal shortly with some of these publications, which,\nthough they belong to the earlier and more incidental stage of the\ncontroversy, are of the highest value in themselves and on account of\nthe position of their authors.  [Footnote 39]\n\n  [Footnote 39:  We have found it impossible to deal with so important\n  and authoritative a \u00e8 as his Grace's \"Letter\" in our present paper.]\n\nWe must first, however, speak of a work put forth by Dr. Pusey as a\nsequel or a companion to the \"Eirenicon.\" This is a republication\n(with leave of the author) of the celebrated Tract 90, preceded by an\nhistorical preface from Dr Pusey's own pen, and followed by a letter\nof Mr. Keble on \"Catholic Subscription to the Articles,\" which was\nwidely circulated, though not published, in 1861. Of the tract itself\nwe need not, of course, speak. Dr. Pusey's preface, however, is open\nto one or two obvious remarks. It is remarkable for the manner in\nwhich he identifies himself with the Mr. Newman of the day, though it\nappears that the proof of the tract in question was submitted to Mr.\nKeble, and its publication urged by him, while Dr. Pusey himself was\nonly made aware of its existence by the clamor with which it was\nreceived. Then, again, the remarkable difference of view between Dr.\nPusey and Mr. Newman as to the \"Catholic\" interpretation of the\nArticles forces itself again upon our notice. From the tract itself\nall through, and its explanations by its author at the time and since,\nit is perfectly clear that nothing more was meant by it than to claim\nsuch latitude of interpretation of the Thirty-nine Articles as would\nadmit the \"Catholic\" sense on equal terms, as it were, with the\nanti-Catholic; and the same view is urged by Mr. Keble in his letter.\nThe writer of the tract supposes that the Anglican formularies were\ndrawn {220} up with designed ambiguity, in order to catch Catholic\nsubscriptions. He compares the tactics adopted by the framers of the\nArticles to those which were followed by M. Thiers: \"A French\nminister, desirous of war, nevertheless, as a matter of policy, draws\nup his state papers in such moderate language that his successor, who\nis for peace, can act up to them without compromising his own\nprinciples. . . . The Protestant confession was drawn up with the\npurpose of including Catholics; and Catholics now will not be\nexcluded. What was an economy in the reformers is a protection to us\"\n(Tract 90, conclusion). This is a plain common-sense view of the\nmatter, and is abundantly supported by history. But it obviously\nleaves a stain on the Anglican establishment, which will appear of\nvital or of trifling importance according to the different views under\nwhich that community is regarded. If it is looked upon as a political\nand national organization, it was no doubt a stroke of prudence so to\nframe the formularies as to include both sides. If it is considered as\na church of Christ, it can hardly be anything but discreditable that\nit should thus compromise divine truth. But Dr. Pusey's view of the\n\"Catholic interpretation,\" as expressed both in his present preface\nand in the \"Eirenicon,\" claims for it the exclusive title of the\nnatural and legitimate sense. It may seem almost incredible that any\none should maintain this; but so it is. Dr. Pusey thus speaks of the\n\"Protestant\" interpretations: \"We had all been educated in a\ntraditional system, which had practically imported into the Articles a\ngood many principles _which were not contained in them nor suggested\nby them;_ yet which were habitually identified with them. . . . . We\nproposed no system to ourselves, but laid aside piece by piece the\nsystem of ultra-Protestant interpretation, which had incrusted round\nthe Articles. This doubtless appeared in our writings from time to\ntime; but the expositions to which we were accustomed, and which were\nto our minds the genuine expositions of the Articles, had never before\nbeen brought into one focus, as they were in Tract 90. . . . Newman\nexplained that it was written solely against this system of\ninterpretation, which brought meanings into the Articles, not out of\nthem, and also why he wrote it at all\" (Pref., v.-vii.) Yet the words\nof Mr. Newman's explanation, which are quoted immediately after this\nlast passage, distinctly contradict the interpretation of the tract\nput forward by Dr. Pusey. Mr. Newman says that the Anglican Church, as\nwell as the Roman, in his opinion, has a \"traditionary system beyond\nand beside the letter of its formularies. . . . . And this\ntraditionary system not only inculcates what I cannot conceive\n(receive?), but would exclude any difference of belief from itself.\n_To this exclusive modern system_ I desire to oppose myself; and it is\nas doing this, doubtless, that I am incurring the censure of the four\ngentlemen who have come before the public. _I want certain points to\nbe left open which they would close._. . .  In thus maintaining that\nwe have open questions, or, as I have expressed it in the tract,\n'ambiguous formularies,' I observe, first, that I am introducing no\nnovelty.\" He then gives an instance which shows that the principle is\nadmitted. Again, he says: \"The tract is grounded on the belief that\nthe Articles _need_ not be so closed as the received methods of\nteaching closes them, and _ought_ not to be for the sake of many\npersons\" (Letter to Dr. Jelf, quoted by Dr. Pusey, p. vii.)\n\nIt is obvious that the interpretations contained in the tract, however\nadmissible on the hypothesis of their author, become little less than\nextravagant when they are considered in the light in which Dr. Pusey\nnow puts them forward; and it is but fair to Dr. Newman and others to\npoint out the change. Moreover, it is not {221} impossible that this\nrepublication of the tract, together with the avowals made in the\n\"Eirenicon\" as to the interpretation of the Articles, may be\nconsidered as a kind of challenge thrown out on the part of Dr. Pusey\nand his followers to the authorities of the establishment and the\nparties within it that are most opposed to \"Catholic\" opinions. It may\nbe considered fairly enough that if this \"claim to hold all Roman\ndoctrine\"--as far as those well-used words apply to it--is allowed to\npass unnoticed, the position of the \"Anglo-Catholic\" clergy in the\nestablishment will be made as secure as silent toleration on the part\nof authorities can make it.  [Footnote 40] Be it so by all means; but\nlet it be understood that the claim now made is quite different from\nthat made by Mr. Newman in 1841; and that if it enjoys immunity from\ncensure, on account of the far greater latitude now allowed in the\nestablishment to extreme opinions of every color except one, it has\nstill to free itself from the charge of being one of the most\ngrotesque contortions of language that has ever been seriously\nadvocated as permissible by reasonable men. One of the Articles, for\ninstance--to take the case adduced by Canon Oakeley--says that\n\"transubstantiation (or the change of the substance of the bread and\nwine) in the Supper of the Lord cannot be proved by Holy Writ; but is\nrepugnant to the plain words of Scripture, overthroweth the nature of\na sacrament, and hath given occasion to many superstitions.\" On the\nother hand, let us place the Tridentine Canon: \"If any one saith that\nin the sacred and holy sacrament of the eucharist the substance of the\nbread and wine remains conjointly with the body and blood of our Lord\nJesus Christ, and denieth that wonderful and singular conversion of\nthe whole substance of the bread into the body, and of the whole\nsubstance of the wine into the blood--the species only of the bread\nand wine remaining--which conversion the Catholic Church most aptly\ncalls transubstantiation, let him be anathema.\" (Sess. xiii.) Not only\ndoes Dr. Pusey assert that there is a sense in which the two\nstatements are compatible, but he maintains that such an\ninterpretation is the one single obvious grammatical and legitimate\ninterpretation of the words of the Anglican Article. We can only\nimagine one process of reasoning by which this conclusion can be\nmaintained; and we have little doubt that if Dr. Pusey's argument were\ndrawn out it would come to this. The Articles must mean \"Catholic\"\ndoctrine, whether they seem to do so or not, because the Anglican\nChurch is a true and orthodox portion of the Catholic Church. And a\npart of the proof that she is such a portion consists in the fact that\nher formularies signify Catholic doctrine!\n\n  [Footnote 40: Canon Oakeley, in the pamphlet of which we shall\n  presently speak, says of Dr. Pusey's interpretation: \"Dr. Pusey's\n  avowal, moreover, not merely involves the acceptance of that\n  interpretation of the Thirty-nine Articles for which Mr. Newman was\n  censured by nearly every bishop of the establishment, but goes\n  beyond that interpretation in a Catholic direction, inasmuch as it\n  comprehends the doctrine of transubstantiation, which Mr. Newman, I\n  believe, never thought to be included within the terms of the\n  Articles. It also goes beyond Mr. Newman's argument in his tract,\n  _in that it supports the Catholic sense of the Articles to be their\n  obvious and only true sense._ Instead of being merely one of the\n  senses which are compatible with honest subscription. And here I\n  must say, in passing, that I think Dr. Pusey somewhat unfair on Mr.\n  Ward in attributing to him the unpopularity of Tract 90, since, in\n  extending the interpretation of the tract to our doctrine of the\n  blessed eucharist. Dr. Pusey is in fact adopting Mr. Ward's\n  Construction of the Articles, and not Mr. Newman's\" (p, 6).]\n\nThe other noticeable feature in Dr. Pusey's preface is an attempt to\nthrow the blame of the undoubted unpopularity of Tract 90 upon Mr.\nWard rather than on the tract itself. Mr. Ward was probably at one\ntime the best-abused person of all the followers of the tractarian\nmovement; and if powerful reasoning, keen logic, unflinching openness,\nand courageous honesty are enough to make a person merit wholesale\nabuse, Mr. Ward certainly deserved it. But to attribute the\nunpopularity of No. 90 to him is simply to forget dates and distort\nfacts. {222} In 1841, when the clamor against No. 90 was at its\nheight, Mr. Ward, though well known in Oxford for his decided opinions\nand thorough honesty in avowing them, and though highly influential\n(as he could not fail to be) over those who came within his reach, was\nhardly known in the country at large. Dr. Pusey's mistake has been\npointed out by Canon Oakeley in the appendix to his pamphlet, of which\nwe shall speak presently. He observes that the word \"non-natural\"--of\nwhich he gives a very plain and simple explanation, which quite\nvindicates it from the interpretation commonly put upon it--was not\nused till the appearance of \"The Ideal of a Christian Church\" in 1844.\n\nCanon Oakeley's pamphlet, like everything that he writes, is graceful\nand courteous, lucid and cogent; and it ought to have all the greater\nweight with Dr. Pusey from the evident disinclination of the author to\nthink or speak with severity. In fact, Dr. Pusey has already\n[Footnote 41] had occasion to correct an over-sanguine conclusion as\nto his own position which had been formed by Canon Oakeley in\nconsequence of certain explanations which he addressed to a Catholic\npaper.\n\n  [Footnote 41: In his second letter to the \"Weekly Register.\"]\n\nWe think that the fullest credit should be given to Dr. Pusey for\nthese explanations; but they must not be allowed to counterbalance\nassertions which he has never withdrawn, and seems never to have meant\nto withdraw. He has only negatively declared something about the\nintention he had in making them. He says they were not meant to hurt\nCatholics; he does not say that they were not meant to frighten\nAnglicans. We refer, of course, to the large number of pages which he\nhas devoted to attacks on what he chooses to consider as the practical\nsystem of Catholicism, chiefly with regard to the _cultus_ of our\nBlessed Lady, and which no Catholic can read without intense\nindignation. He has heaped up a number of extracts from books of very\nlittle authority, and put forward as characteristics of the Catholic\nsystem the pious contemplations of individuals, as well as tenets\nwhich have been actually condemned. The charge is urged with all the\nrecklessness of an advocate, with eager rhetoric rather than calm\nargument, with all the looseness of insinuation and inaccuracy of\nquotation which mark the productions of a heated partizan.   [Footnote\n42]\n\n  [Footnote 42: A writer in the current number of \"Macmillan's\n  Magazine\" (Feb., 1866) observes: \"We could scarcely transcribe all\n  that is here set forth without offending the religious taste of our\n  readers, and appearing to gloat over the degradation of a church\n  which, amidst all its aberrations and after all ita crimes, is a\n  part of Christendom. We may reasonably hope, also, that there is\n  something to be said upon the other side: for, without casting any\n  suspicion upon Dr. Pusey's honesty, we must remember that he is\n  personally under a strong temptation to scare the wavering members\n  of his party from defection to the Church of Rome\" (p. 277). This is\n  the opinion of an intensely anti-Catholic writer; and it would be\n  easy to quote scores of similar criticisms. A letter from Oxford, in\n  the \"London Review\" of February 3, says: \"It seems a gentle irony,\n  certainly, to call a book an 'Eirenicon' which most mercilessly\n  exposes the errors, perversions, and tendencies of those whom it\n  proposes to conciliate. A great portion of the book might have been\n  written by the most distinguished Papophobe--we will not say Dr.\n  Cumming, for the style does not remind us of his publications.\" The\n  writer in \"Macmillan\" adds an observation on another point which is\n  well worthy of Dr. Pusey's consideration: \"Dr. Pusey's argument,\n  both against Mariolatry and Papal infallibility, _appeals to\n  principles essentially rationalistic_, which are capable, as we\n  conceive, of being turned with fatal effect against himself\" (p.\n  230).]\n\nNo part of his book shows more earnestness than this. Such being the\ncase, it seems to us very strange that any one should expect Catholics\nto be satisfied with a simple assurance from Dr. Pusey that \"nothing\nwas further from my wish than to write anything which should be\npainful to those in your communion.\"  [Footnote 43]\n\n  [Footnote 43: Dr. Pusey to the \"Weekly Register,\" Nov. 25, 1865.]\n\nWe suppose that if some one were to write a pamphlet of a hundred\npages full of the hardest and most vulgar insinuations against\nsomething that Dr. Pusey holds dear and sacred, his opinion of it\nwould hardly be changed by the assurance, unaccompanied by a single\nretraction, \"I never meant to hurt your feelings.\" He would naturally\nask in what sort of atmosphere such a person had lived, to be able to\nthink that such things _could_ be said without being \"painful.\" He\ndisclaims {223} all desire to \"prescribe to Italians and Spaniards\nwhat they shall hold, or how they shall express their pious opinions.\"\nBut he is not speaking of Spaniards or Italians only in many of the\nmost offensive passages of his work. He says, for instance, that it\n\"is a practical question, affecting our whole eternity: What shall I\ndo to be saved? The practical answer to the Roman Catholic seems to me\nto be, Go to Mary, and you will be saved; in our dear Lord's own words\nit is, Come unto me; in our own belief it is, Go to Jesus, and you\nwill be saved\" (p. 182). Can anything be more shocking than the\ncontrast insinuated here? Or, again, when he says in another place,\n\"One sees not where there shall be any pause or bound, short of that\nbold conception, 'that every prayer, both of individuals and of the\nchurch, should be addressed to St. Mary?'\" Dr. Pusey must be perfectly\naware of the effect of words like these from him upon the mass of his\nreaders. It is certainly no sufficient _withdrawal_ of them to write a\nletter to a Catholic newspaper, of limited circulation, saying that he\n\"never thought of imputing to any of the writers whom he quoted that\nthey took from our Lord any of the love which they gave to his\nmother.\" Whatever he may think about the writers themselves, he\ncertainly asserts in the face of the world that they teach others to\ndo this. He asserts that there is a \"system\" in the Catholic Church,\nof which this is the effect. If he \"had no thought of criticising holy\nmen who held it,\" he still will not take Catholic explanations of\ntheir words, which show that they did _not_ hold it; and his own words\nimply, or at all events admit of, a reservation, that such is the\ntendency of the system, from which certain individuals escape in\nconsequence of their holiness. Now, it is this assertion about the\nsystem of the church which offends Catholics. They care little about\ntheir own \"feelings;\" they resent false charges against the church all\nthe more when they proceed from one who professes to be nearer to them\nthan others, and to be a lover of peace, and who might easily have\nsatisfied himself that his accusations were groundless. People have\nnot complained of Dr. Pusey's intention in saying these things, but of\nhis having said them. They willingly accept his statement as to his\nintention; but misrepresentations retain their mischievous character\ntill they have been formally withdrawn, whatever may have been the\ntemper in which they have been put forward.\n\nIt is, moreover, obvious that this, which to ordinary eyes is the\nprominent feature in Dr. Pusey's volume, must be taken into account in\nall conclusions concerning the present state of mind among Anglicans\nthat are founded upon the reception which the \"Eirenicon\" has met with\namong them. We think that there are but few among them, as there are\ncertainly very few among Catholics, who attach much practical\nimportance to the vague and dreamy ideas about corporate union by\nmeans of mutual explanations which are put forward in other parts of\nthe work. It is perfectly clear that Dr. Pusey's account of the\nArticles would be repudiated at once by all the Anglican authorities;\nand equally clear that the points to which he still objects, such as\nthe papal infallibility and the dogma of the immaculate conception,\nare among those which can never be conceded on the side of the church.\nThe proposals for union are not, therefore, generally looked upon as\nmatters for practical consideration; though, as Dr. Newman has\nremarked, they may hereafter lead to results of the highest\nimportance. What has struck the Anglican public in the book is its\nattack on Catholicism, which has, no doubt, surprised Protestants as\nmuch as Catholics by its violence. We say, therefore, that to consider\nDr. Pusey's unrebuked declaration about the possibility of union as a\ngreat sign of progress among Anglicans, without {224} taking into\nconsideration the other features of the work which he has put forth,\nis to ignore the most essential circumstances of the case. Canon\nOakeley compares the outcry with which similar declarations were once\nreceived on Mr. Ward's part and his own with the indifference and\nabsence of opposition now evinced toward Dr. Pusey. It is true that\nthe cases are in some respects parallel; but there is this vital\ndifference, that neither Mr. Ward nor Canon Oakeley accompanied their\ndeclarations as to Roman doctrine with virulent abuse of Roman\npractice; and we may feel pretty certain that the \"Ideal of a\nChristian Church\" would never have been made the ground of an\nacademical condemnation of its author if it had contained the hundred\npages on the _cultus_ of the Blessed Virgin on which Dr. Pusey has\nexpended so much care, and which he has adorned with so much apparent\nerudition. Englishmen judge roughly, and in the main fairly; and they\nwill look on the proposals for union as an amiable eccentricity in a\nwriter who has pandered so lovingly to their favorite prejudices.\n\nCanon Oakeley has drawn out very clearly another very important\nqualification, which must modify our feelings of joy at the apparent\nprogress of Anglicans in general toward greater tolerance of Catholic\nopinions among themselves. He has shown that this seemingly good sign\nis in reality only an indication of increasing indifference to\ndoctrine of every kind. It is the reflection on the broad mirror of\npublic opinion of the uniformly latitudinarian tendency of the\nauthorities of the establishment, as evinced in the succession of\njudicial decisions of which we have all heard so much. It is not\nwonderful that Puseyism should share in this universal indulgence. We\nhave also to thank Canon Oakeley for a calm and forcible vindication\nof the Catholic devotion to our Blessed Lady, which has been made the\nsubject of so violent an attack by Dr. Pusey--perhaps more in the form\nof an apology than was necessary--and for some very sensible remarks\non the dream of \"corporate union.\"\n\nThere is one writer in England whose words on this subject will be\nlistened to with almost equal interest by Catholics and Protestants.\nThe conflict passes into a new phase with the appearance of Dr. Newman\nupon the scene. It is \"the great Achilles moving to the war.\" The\ngleam of well-worn armor flashes on the eye, and the attention of both\narmies is riveted on him as he lifts his spear. He cannot mutter his\nfavorite motto:\n\n[Greek text]\n\nfor it is but lately that he struck down and kicked off the field a\nswaggering bully from the opposite ranks hardly worthy of his steel.\nIt is different now. He will begin in Homeric fashion with a\ncomplimentary harangue to the champion on the other side; but then\nwill come the time for blows--blows of immense force, dealt out with a\ngentle affectionateness which enhances their effect tenfold. Dr.\nNewman begins by a generous tribute to Dr. Pusey himself, and to those\nwhom he may be supposed to influence. No one can speak more strongly\non the paramount rights of conscience, which is not to be stifled for\nthe sake of making a path easy or removing a wearisome difficulty. Dr.\nPusey is allowed to have every right to mention the conditions on\nwhich he proposes union, though Dr. Newman does not agree with them,\nand thinks that he would himself not hold to them; he has also the\nright to state what it is that he objects to, as requiring\nexplanation, in the Catholic system. But then the tone changes, and\nbusiness begins. Dr. Newman tells his old friend in the plainest way\nthat \"there is much both in the matter and manner of his volume\ncalculated to wound those who love him well, but truth more;\" and he\npoints out the {225} glaring inconsistency of \"professing to be\ncomposing an Irenicon while treating Catholics as foes;\" and\ncharacterizes, in his happy way, the proceeding of Dr. Pusey as\n\"discharging an olive branch as from a catapult.\" The hundred pages on\nthe subject of the Blessed Virgin which are contained in the\n\"Eirenicon\" are so palpably \"one-sided\" that no one can venture to\ndeny it. Few have characterized them in stronger terms than Dr.\nNewman. \"What could an Exeter Hall orator, what could a Scotch\ncommentator on the Apocalypse, do more for his own side of the\ncontroversy by the picture he drew of us?\" Further on he pointedly\nreminds Dr. Pusey that he all the time knew better. After a proof from\nthe fathers as to the doctrine in question, he says, \"You know what\nthe fathers assert; but if so, have you not, my dear friend, been\nunjust to yourself in your recent volume, and made far too much of the\ndifferences which exist between Anglicans and us on this particular\npoint? It is the office of an Irenicon to smooth difficulties\" (p.\n83); and again, \"As you revere the fathers, so you revere the Greek\nChurch; and here again we have a witness in our behalf, _of which you\nmust be aware as fully as we are_, and of which you must really mean\nto give us the benefit\" (p. 95); and again, \"Then I think you have not\nalways made your quotations with that consideration and kindness which\nis your rule\" (p. 111). The calm gentleness of the language will\ncertainly not conceal from Dr. Pusey the gravity and severity of the\nrebuke thus administered. Moreover, Dr. Newman has complaints of his\nown to urge. With the most questionable taste Dr. Pusey has actually\nbrought \"to life one of\" Dr. Newman's \"own strong sayings, in 1841,\nabout idolatry;\" he has at least been understood to father upon him\nthe well-known saying, that \"the establishment is the great bulwark\nagainst infidelity in this land;\" he has used some words from Dr.\nNewman's notes to St. Athanasius in a collection of passages from the\nfathers, the apparent purpose of which is to defend some Anglican\ndoctrine about the sufficiency of Holy Scripture against a supposed\nCatholic contradiction. Dr. Newman also most clearly distinguishes his\nown intention in publishing Tract 90 from that of Dr. Pusey in its\nrecent republication.\n\nThe introduction to the letter before us concludes with a passage of\nsingular interest, in which Dr. Newman vindicates the right of a\nconvert to speak freely about the system of the church to which he has\nsubmitted. We must confess that we hardly understood the passages in\nDr. Pusey's work, to which reference is here made, as denying the\nright of free comment to a convert, in the sense in which Dr. Newman\naffirms it. Dr. Pusey has a standard and measure of his own (external\nto the Anglican establishment), by which he criticises, approves, or\ncondemns this or that feature in it; and he distinctly contemplates at\nleast the possibility of his being driven to quit it by its formal\nadoption of heresy. Certainly, to submit to the Catholic Church, and\nyet retain the right of measuring her in such a way by an external\nstandard, would be a contradiction in terms. But this does not touch\nthe right of a convert either to choose freely, according to his own\ntastes and leanings, among those varieties of devotion and practice\nwhich the church expressly leaves to his choice, or to express his\nopinion on such subjects (so that it be done with charity), or on any\nother matters which fall within the wide and recognized range of open\nquestions. If Dr. Pusey meant to deny this right, he will be convinced\nby the frank use made of it by Dr. Newman in the passage before us. No\none, certainly, will assail _him_ as unorthodox; yet he takes his\nstand openly on one particular side with regard to some of the moot\nquestions of the day, as to which certainly a large {226} number of\nEnglish Catholics will be as ready to say that they do not altogether\nagree with him as to acknowledge that he has a perfect right to the\nopinions which he expresses. Perhaps we should rather say that they\nwill profess their admiration for the authors whom he so far at least\ndisavows as to question their right to be treated in controversy as\nthe legitimate and exclusive representatives of English Catholicism;\nfor we need not understand Dr. Newman's words about the late Father\nFaber and the editor of the \"Dublin Review\" as meaning more than this;\nand his point, as against Dr. Pusey, is fully secured by the\nindisputable fact that those distinguished men have never considered\nthemselves, or let others consider them, as such representatives.\n\nThe greater part, however, of Dr. Newman's present letter is given to\nan exquisite defence of Catholic doctrine and devotion as regards our\nBlessed Lady. Its power and beauty are so great as to fill us with\ninexpressible sadness at the thought that Dr. Newman has written\ncomparatively so little on similar subjects since he has been a\nCatholic. This short and very condensed sketch on one particular point\nhas given him an opportunity of exercising, on however limited a\nscale, those powers as to which he is simply unrivalled. There is the\nkeen penetration of the sense of Scripture, and of the relation\nbetween different and distinct parts of the Holy Volume. After putting\nforward the patristic view of our Blessed Lady as the second Eve, Dr.\nNewman has occasion to defend that interpretation of the vision of the\nwoman in the Apocalypse which understands it of her. This has given\nhim occasion to explain how it is that this interpretation may be the\ntrue one, although there is no great amount of positive testimony for\nit in the fathers, and to refute from the general principles of\nscriptural language that which looks upon the image as simply a\npersonification of the church. This passage is a real and great gain\nin scriptural interpretation. Then, again, here is the masterly and\ndiscriminating erudition, not dealing with the fathers as an\nill-arranged and incoherent mass of authorities, but giving to each\nwitness his due place and weight, pointing out what parts of the\nchurch and what apostolical tradition he represents, and blending the\ndifferent sufferages into one harmonious statement. History is brought\nin to trace the gradual development of devotion on points as to which\ndoctrine, on the other hand, was always uniform; and to give a natural\nand simple explanation of the chronological order in which the heart,\nas it were, of the church seems to have mastered the different\nportions of the wonderful deposit which the apostles sowed in her\nmind. The effect of Dr. Newman's explanation of the comparatively\nlater growth of certain devotions, which in themselves might have been\nexpected to precede others, is not only to remove the apparent\ndifficulty, but to make every other view appear more difficult than\nthat which he gives. Equally beautiful and convincing is his\nexplanation in the appendix of the historical account which may be\ngiven of the strange sayings of certain fathers as to our Blessed Lady\nhaving possibly fallen into faults of infirmity. Some most accurate\nand delicate tests for the discernment of a real tradition are here\ngiven, as well as reasons for the apparent absence of such a tradition\nin a special case. Dr. Newman is one of the few writers who show us,\nfirst, that they thoroughly understand a difficulty or an objection;\nthen, that they can make it even stronger; and then, that they can not\nonly say something against it, or crush it, but even unravel it, and\nshow that it was to be expected. In every one of these respects Dr.\nPusey is his exact contrary. Then again, Dr. Newman brings together a\nseries of passages from the fathers of the \"undivided church\"--to use\nthe now term invented, we believe, by Mr. Keble--of which, of course,\n{227} Dr. Pusey was aware, but of which he has said nothing in his\n\"Eirenicon.\" These testify amply not only to the doctrine but to the\ndevotion of the fourth and fifth centuries as to our Blessed Lady. He\nis, of course, sparing of quotations in a work like the present; but\nhe crowns his argument from authority by a number of passages not from\npopular books of devotion among the Greeks, but from their liturgies\nand authoritative formularies--on which Dr. Pusey would have founded\na strong argument to the effect that our Lady is elevated to the place\nof our Lord, if he had been able to find them in circulation among\nCatholics. In fact, a number of formal Greek devotions end with the\nwords, \"through the Theotocos,\" instead of \"per Dominum nostrum Jesum\nChristum.\" The contrast between the cogency and appositeness of every\nword of Dr. Newman's few quotations (almost universally given at\nlength), and the utter illusiveness and bewildering misapplication of\nthe clouds upon clouds of citations paraded in Dr. Pusey's volume, is\nwonderfully striking. Nor, again, is the difference less great between\nthe two when a personal remark has to be made. Dr. Newman has no hard\nwords for any one. He does not shrink from pointing out faults, as we\nhave already said. He tells Dr. Pusey plainly enough that he does not\nthink that he even understands what the immaculate conception means;\nand when he speaks of Anglicans being ignorant of the Catholic\ndoctrine of original sin, he seems carefully to omit exempting Dr.\nPusey from the general statement. He says again pointedly, \"He who\ncharges us with making Mary a divinity is thereby denying the divinity\nof Jesus. _Such a man does not know what divinity is._\" He complains\nof the unfairness--of which, we are sorry to say, Dr. Pusey seems\nhabitually guilty--of taking a strong and apparently objectionable\npassage from an author who, either in the immediate context or\nelsewhere, has qualified it by other statements, which any one but a\npartizan writer would feel bound to take into consideration and to\nplace by its side, without giving the reader any intimation that such\nqualifications exist. \"When, then, my dear Pusey, you read anything\nextravagant in praise of our Lady, is it not charitable to ask, even\nwhile you condemn it in itself, Did the author write nothing else?\"\n(p. 101). He refuses to receive Dr. Pusey's collection of strong\npassages as a fair representation of the minds of the authors from\nwhom they are quoted. He speaks of their \"literal and absolute sense,\nas any Protestant would naturally take them, and as the writers\ndoubtless did not use them\" (p. 118). And again: \"I know nothing of\nthe originals, and cannot believe that they have meant what you say\"\n(p. 120). But with all this strong and decisive language, which we may\nbe sure is the very gentlest that he can use, and implies an estimate\nof the \"Eirenicon\" by no means in accordance with that of its\nadmirers, he is so uniformly calm and affectionate in manner that we\ncannot but hope that Dr. Pusey and others who think with him will be\nwon over to think more seriously of the extreme gravity of their step\nin casting forth upon the world of English readers so extremely\nintemperate an accusation against the Catholic Church as that which\nthey have put in circulation. Nor can we abandon the hope that they\nwill listen to Dr. Newman's clear and unanswerable statement of the\ndoctrine of the fathers as to our Blessed Lady, and see how truly he\nhas pointed to the flaws and defects in their own thoughts with regard\nto her. They will certainly be hardly able to deny that they have\nmisunderstood not only the immaculate conception, against which they\nhave talked so loudly, but even, it may be, original sin itself; nor\ndo we think that it can be questioned that he has put his finger upon\nthe fundamental error--not to say heresy---to which all their low\nconceptions as to the Blessed Mother of God {228} are to be assigned\nas their ultimate cause. Dr. Pusey, as Dr. Newman remarks, seems to\nhave no idea that our Blessed Lady had any other part or position in\nthe incarnation than as its _physical instrument_--much the same part,\nas it were, that Juda or David may have had. The fathers, on the\ncontrary, from the very first, speak of her \"as an intelligent,\nresponsible cause of our Lord's taking flesh;\" \"her faith and\nobedience being accessories to the incarnation, and gaining it as her\nreward\" (p. 38). Dr. Newman insists on this vital and all-important\ndifference more than once, and seems to consider it the explanation of\nthe strange blindness of these students of antiquity. If they can once\ngain a new and more Catholic idea as to that which is the foundation\nalike of our Blessed Lady's greatness and the devotion of the church\nto her--and certainly they must be very blind or very obstinate not to\nsee the reasons for such an idea in Dr. Newman's pages--then the\n\"Eirenicon\" will have produced incidentally a far greater blessing to\nthemselves and others than if its strange interpretation of the\nAnglican Articles had been allowed as legitimate in England, and there\nhad been half a score of Du Pins in France ready to enter into\nnegotiations with the Archbishop of Canterbury on the basis of its\npropositions. These good men have in fact been living and teaching and\nstudying the fathers with one of the great seminal facts, so to speak,\nof Christianity absent from their minds or entirely undeveloped in\nthem. \"It was the creation of a new idea and a new sympathy, a new\nfaith and worship, when the holy apostles announced that God had\nbecome incarnate; we a supreme love and devotion to him became\npossible, which seemed hopeless before that revelation. _But beside\nthis, a second range of thoughts was opened on mankind, unknown\nbefore, and unlike any other, as soon as it was understood that that\nincarnate God had a mother. The second idea is perfectly distinct from\nthe former--the one does not interfere with the other.\"_ We conceive\nthat these words will fall strangely on the ears of Dr. Pusey, though\nthey might not perhaps do so on those of the author of the \"Christian\nYear\" and the \"Lyra Innocentium;\" and if they do so, after the\nincontestable proof which Dr. Newman has adduced from the early\nfathers of their view of the position of our Blessed Lady in the\neconomy of the incarnation, it will only remain for Dr. Pusey either\nto confute that proof or to acknowledge that he has been reasoning on\nthat great mystery without the guidance of the church, deaf to the\nteaching of the fathers, and that he has incurred the usual fate of\nmen who so reason. May the prayers of the Blessed Mother, against\nwhose honor he has raised his voice so harshly, save him from closing\nhis eyes still more firmly!\n\nIt appears to be one of the characteristics of Dr. Newman to look at\nparticular questions and phases of opinion with regard to a wider and\nmore comprehensive range of thought than other men. Possibly his\nretired position favors this habit of mind; but it is, of course, far\nmore naturally to be attributed to a loftier intellectual stature and\na wider knowledge of history than others possess. Such a man is\neminently fitted for a controversy like the present, in which the word\npeace has been blurted forth in so uncouth a manner, while yet it is\nnot the less the expression of the real and powerful longings of a\nthousand hearts. It is a most unpromising overture, but it is an\noverture nevertheless. Dr. Newman is not only fitted to deal with it\non account of his tender and large sympathies, and of the affectionate\nsolicitude with which he has always treated his former friends; he is\nable also not indeed to go to the very verge of Catholic doctrine for\ntheir sakes, or to encourage delusive hopes of a compromise which\nwould patch up rather than unite, but to speak with calm {229}\naccuracy, looking on his own times as a philosophical historian of the\nchurch may look at them by-and-bye, and point out what may be\naccidental, transient, local, in the features of the religion of the\npresent day. No one can be less inclined to exaggerate, for instance,\nthe differences between English and Italian devotion; and we have\nseldom felt ourselves in a more Italian atmosphere, out of Italy, than\nin the oratory at Edgbaston. But he is not afraid of giving full\nweight to national differences of character, nor of avowing himself a\nhearty Englishman. In the same way, without going into the question of\nfact as to alleged extravagances--which, after all, is of no real\ncogency in the argument--he is ready to admit that there may be such,\nand puts forward a simple common-sense argument to show that such may\nbe expected in the living working of energetic ideas generally, and\nespecially of such ideas in matters of religion, which acts on the\naffections. This is the true philosophical answer; and it by no means\nexcludes other answers that might be given to particular charges,\nwhich might be proved to be false in fact, or to apply to matters so\ngrave as that the church would never be allowed to permit the alleged\ncorruption.\n\nDr. Newman never shrinks from allowing the full force of any principle\nthat he has laid down. Thus, he has distinguished between faith as to\nour Blessed Lady's position in the kingdom of her Son and the devotion\nto her founded upon that faith. The faith may have been from the\nbeginning, and actually was so, as he proves from the early fathers;\nbut the full devotion may not all at once have been developed; or\nagain, it may have been checked in particular countries at a\nparticular time, and so make no show in the writings of some fathers\nof that age, in consequence of the baneful influence of a prevalent\nheresy which cut at the faith itself. This, which is really almost\nself-evident, enables him not only to explain the passages in St.\nChrysostom and St. Basil which are sometimes objected to, but to grant\nthat there are no certain traces of _devotion_, strictly so called, to\nour Blessed Lady in the writings of others beside these. There need\nnot be, according to his principles. It must be remembered that all\nthese statements admit of great development and explanation; they are\ngerms of thought, and are only put forward most concisely in Dr.\nNewman's present letter. It is more to our present purpose to observe\nhow ready he is to look through the cloud of charges, great and small,\nwhich Dr. Pusey has blown in the face of Catholics, and to discern in\nthe book of his old friend a new and important turning-point in the\nAnglican controversy. He thinks that the indignation of Catholics has\nled them in consequence to misconceive Dr. Pusey, so as not, it would\nseem, to give him credit for really pacific intentions. We think that\nno one has denied--what, indeed, it does not become a critic to\nquestion--the reality of a purpose distinctly avowed; but at the same\ntime we must repeat that it has never been denied by Dr. Pusey, nor do\nwe think it ever can be denied, that the book was written with a clear\nand distinct intention so to represent Catholicism as to deter people\nfrom submitting to it except on certain terms pointed out by the\nauthor. Possibly Dr. Newman only means that Catholics have been more\nalienated by Dr. Pusey's most unhandsome attack than attracted by his\nprofessions of friendship; and certainly never was a friendly\nexpostulation, never was an earnest request for explanation on certain\npoints which appear to be difficulties in the way of a much-desired\nunion, proposed in a way less calculated to conciliate. Dr. Newman,\ntherefore, neither wonders nor complains at the strong feeling with\nwhich the \"Eirenicon\" has been received; but he looks beyond the\npresent moment, and, recalling the former phases of opinion as to\n{230} Catholicism which have prevailed among Anglicans, he sees in Dr.\nPusey's proceeding nothing less than the putting \"the whole argument\nbetween you and us on a new footing\"--a footing which may really and\nprofitably be used by those who desire peace. No English Catholic but\nwill most heartily rejoice in this statement of Dr. Newman; and surely\none of our first feelings must be that of thankfulness that he is\namong us at a time like this, and that circumstances will give him a\nmore patient hearing and a more ready acceptance, on the part of those\nwhose souls may be staked on the issue of this controversy, than he\nmight otherwise meet with. From him, at least, Anglicans will hear no\nextreme or novel doctrine; him, at least, they will never accuse of\nnot loving everything that is English. He, if any one, may convince\nthem that no true child of the \"undivided church\" would be found at\nthe present day outside the communion of the Holy See; that the church\nis the same now as she ever was, and as she ever will be; that she can\nnever compromise with her enemies, though she yearns with unutterable\nlove to take back every wanderer to her heart.\n\nExperience has happily shown that the great Shepherd of souls leads\nmen on in a way they neither discern nor desire, when they have once\nset themselves to wish and pray for greater light; and that prophecies\nof ill and suspicions of sinister purposes, which have not lacked\nample foundation, have yet been often defeated in the indulgent\ndispensations of grace. Nor, indeed, at the present time, are all the\nsigns of the sky evil. In its most disagreeable and inexcusable\nfeatures the \"Eirenicon\" is not, we are convinced, a fair\nrepresentation of the mind of a great number who might commonly be\nsupposed to sympathize with its author. He has put himself for the\nmoment at their head; and they are, of course, slow to repudiate his\nassistance; but we do not believe that the earnest men who publish so\nmany Catholic devotions, and who, however mistakenly, attempt to\nreproduce in their own churches the external honors paid by Catholics\nto him whom they also think that they have with them, would willingly\nmake themselves responsible for the hundred pages with which Dr.\nNewman's present pamphlet is engaged. The advance toward Catholicism\namong the Anglicans has, in fact, left Dr. Pusey some way behind other\nand younger men. Even as to himself, he is hardly further away than\nothers have been who are now within the church.\n\nOnly it must not be forgotten that the largest and most charitable\nthoughts as to the meaning and intentions of individuals, and the most\nhopeful anticipations as to the ultimate result of their movements, do\nnot exhaust the duties imposed upon Catholic writers at the present\nmoment. Let us see ever so much of good in demonstrations such as\nthis, and believe that there is a still greater amount of good which\nwe do not see. We may forbear to press men harshly, to point out\nbaldly the inconsistencies of their position; we may put up with the\nrudeness of the language in which they propose peace. They may be\nhaughty and ungenerous now; but this is not much to bear for the sake\nof that unity which those who know it love better than those who are\nstrangers to it. Let us be ready, as far as persons are concerned, to\nbe tender in exposing faults even wanton, and misconceptions which, as\nwe think, common industry and fairness might have obviated. For Dr.\nPusey himself we can wish no severer punishment than that he should be\nable some day to look upon his own work with the eyes of a Catholic.\nHe has himself shown us, by the use which he has made of old\nexpressions of Dr. Newman and others, who have long since repudiated\nthem, that the retraction of charges against the Catholic Church by\ntheir authors does not prevent {231} others from repeating them. We\nare sorry to say--what we still believe will be acknowledged as true\nby all who have been at the pains--pains not taken by some who have\nwritten on this subject--of not merely considering the animus and\nmotives of Dr. Pusey, but of examining his book in detail, and taking\nits measure as a work of erudition and controversy--that, unattractive\nin style, rambling, incoherent, vague, and intentionally \"loose\" as it\nis, it has one great quality, however unintentional--that of being a\nperfect storehouse of misrepresentation. We speak simply as critics,\nand we disclaim all attempts to account for the phenomenon. It\ncontains an almost unparalleled number of misstatements of every kind\nand degree. Its author's reputation will give weight and currency to\nthese. Though never perhaps likely to be a popular book, it will still\ntake its place in Protestant libraries, and will be much used in\nfuture controversies. No one can tell how often we shall have certain\nextraordinary statements about the sanctification of the Blessed\nVirgin, her active and passive conception, the protest of the Greek\nChurch against the doctrine, Bellarmine's assertion about general\ncouncils, transubstantiation, extreme unction, and the like, brought\nup against us; and the erroneous conclusions founded upon them cannot\nbe neglected by the defenders of Catholic truth. It is, therefore,\nessential not that Dr. Pusey should be attacked in an unkindly spirit,\nbut that his book should be handled critically, and, as far as may be,\nwhatever it contains of misstatement, misquotation, unfair insinuation\nand conclusion catalogued and exposed. It must be remembered that\nthere is a great demand for the materials of anti-Catholic\ncontroversy. Dr. Pusey does not subscribe to the societies which\nmostly hold their meetings in Exeter Hall in the month of May; but he\nmight well be made a life-governor of all of them in consideration of\nthis book. It will be used by the zealots who try to win the poor\npeasants of Connaught to apostasy by means of food and clothing, and\nby the more decorous \"Anglo-Continentals,\" who are just now rubbing\ntheir hands at the prospects of infidelity in Italy. Alas! it not only\nteems with snares for the learned and conscientious, but it is full of\nsmall insinuations for the ignobler herd of paid agents and\nlecturers--\"what the poorer people believe in Rome,\" what Catholic\nchurches are called in south India, what Cardinal Wiseman is reported\nto have said of Archbishop Affr\u00e9, \"who died in recovering his people\nat the barricades.\" These things may be passed by as simply faults of\ntaste; but the pretensions of the book to learning, and its historical\nand doctrinal statements, cannot be admitted without sifting. Dr.\nPusey has imposed an unwelcome task on Catholic critics. At the very\ntime that they would be conciliating his followers, they are forced to\nattack him. It has seemed to us indeed that ordinary care in examining\nauthorities, an attention to the common-sense rule that strangers\ncannot understand a system from without, the use of the many means at\nhis disposal of ascertaining the Catholic meaning of Catholic\nlanguage, more self-restraint in assertion, in urging arguments that\nappeared telling and conclusions that were welcome to himself, and\nsomewhat less of confidence in his own attainments as a theologian,\nwould have spared those who wish him well this painful undertaking at\na time when they would gladly say no word that may sound harsh to his\nears. But, after all, truth is more precious than peace, and peace can\nonly be had through the truth; and we can cordially return to Dr.\nPusey the assurance which he himself has proffered to Catholics, that\nthose engaged in the ungrateful task of subjecting his volume to the\nanalysis of criticism have no intention whatever of wounding his\nfeelings.\n\n------\n{232}\n\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nCURIOSITIES OF ANIMAL LIFE.\n\n\nThere is an old aphorism which says that \"all life comes from an\negg\"--_omne vivum ex ovo_; but this, like a good many other old\naphorisms, is only a convenient and attractive way of stating a\nfalsehood. It is very true that almost all animals, from man down to\nthe mollusk, pass through the egg stage at an early period of their\nexistence; but we purpose to show our readers in this article that\nthere are others which appear to be sometimes exempted from the common\nlot of their kind, and which indeed come into the world in such\ncurious fashions that we may almost say of them, in the words of\nTopsey, that they \"never were born; 'spect they _growed_.\"\n\nTo begin with, what is an egg? According to the popular idea, it is an\noval-shaped body, consisting of a hard, thin shell inclosing a whitish\nsubstance called the albumen, within which is a yellowish matter\ncalled the yolk; it is the embryo form of the young of birds and some\nother animals, which finally emerge from the shell after the egg has\nbeen acted upon for some time by the heat of the parent's body. Now\nthis definition may do well enough as a loose description of the more\nfamiliar varieties of eggs, but it will not do for all. It will\nperhaps surprise the unscientific reader to be told that every animal\nwhatever produces eggs. A \"mare's nest\" is the popular expression of a\nmyth, an absurdity; but _mare's eggs_ are no myths; they are just as\nreal as hen's eggs; only we never see them, because they are hatched\nin the parent's body before the young colt is brought forth. The same\nis true of the eggs of all the other quadrupeds and of viviparous\nanimals in general.\n\nAn egg, therefore, like the seed of a plant, is the germ from which\nthe embryo is developed. It may have a shell, or it may not; it may be\ncomparatively large, like birds' eggs, or it may be so small as to be\nwith difficulty discerned by the naked eye. When it is first formed it\nis simply an aggregation of fluid matter, very minute in size, and\nexceedingly simple in structure. By degrees this fluid is transformed\ninto the small particles or granules which form the yolk; the yolk\nshapes itself into a multitude of _cells_--little microscopic bodies\nconsisting of an external membrane, or cell-wall, and of an inner\nnucleus, which may be either solid or fluid; and in due process of\ntime a number of cells combine and form a living being. The albumen,\nor \"white,\" is, like the shell, an accessory. It performs important\nfunctions in the development of the young from the germ, but we will\nnot stop to explain them here; the true egg is the yolk. In the lowest\nforms of animal life the egg is a mere cell, with a light spot in one\npart of it, and the creature which is developed from it is almost as\nsimple in structure as the egg itself.\n\nThe ordinary mode of reproduction, as we have already said, is by the\nformation of an egg in the body of the parent, from which the young\nmay be hatched either before or after they are brought into the world.\nBut there are certain of the lower orders of animals which sometimes\nmultiply and {233} perpetuate their kind in other ways also. Professor\nHenry James Clark, of Harvard University, has lately published an\ninteresting treatise   [Footnote 44] on animal development, in which\nhe gives some curious instances of the phenomena to which we refer. We\nhave drawn a good deal of what we have just said about the structure\nof eggs from his valuable work, and we purpose now to follow him in\nhis remarks upon the processes of reproduction by what is called\n_budding_ and _division_.\n\n  [Footnote 44: \"Mind in Nature; or, The Origin of Life and the Mode\n  of Development of Animals.\" 8vo. New York: D. Appleton & Co.]\n\nLet us look first at that exceedingly beautiful and wonderful animal\ncommonly called the sea anemone, on account of the delicate fringed\nflower so much loved by poets. You may often find it on our coasts\ncontracted into a lump of gelatinous substance looking like\nwhitish-brown jelly;   [Footnote 45] watch it for a while, and you\nwill see the body rise slightly, while a delicate crown of tentacles,\nor feelers, steals out at the top. The jelly-like mass continues to\nincrease in height, and the wreath of tentacles gradually expands.\nSoon you will perceive that this graceful fringe surrounds a wide\nopening; this is the animal's mouth. When expanded to its full size\nthe anemone is about three or four inches in height. The body consists\nof a cylindrical gelatinous bag, the bottom of which is flat and\nslightly spreading at the margin. The upper edge of this bag is turned\nin, so as to form a sack within a sack; this is the stomach. The whole\nsummit of the body is crowned by the soft plumy fringes which give it\nsuch a remarkable resemblance to a flower. At the base it has a set of\npowerful muscles, by which it attaches itself to rocks and shells so\nfirmly that it can hardly be removed without injury. Another set of\nmuscles enables it to contract itself almost instantaneously into a\nshapeless lump. It is extremely sensitive, not only shrinking from the\nslightest touch, but even drawing in its tentacles if so much as a\ndark cloud passes over it. Anemones may be found, say the authors of\n\"Sea-side Studies,\" \"in any small pools about the rocks which are\nflooded by the tide at high water. Their favorite haunts, however,\nwhere they occur in greatest quantity, are more difficult to reach;\nbut the curious in such matters will be well rewarded, even at the\nrisk of wet feet and a slippery scramble over rocks covered with damp\nsea-weed, by a glimpse into their more crowded abodes. Such a grotto\nis to be found on the rocks of East Point at Nahant. It can only be\nreached at low tide, and then one is obliged to creep on hands and\nknees to its entrance in order to see through its entire length; but\nits whole interior is studded with these animals, and as they are of\nvarious hues, pink, brown, orange, purple, or pure white, the effect\nis like that of brightly-colored mosaics set in the roof and walls.\nWhen the sun strikes through from the opposite extremity of this\ngrotto, which is open at both ends, lighting up its living\nmosaic-work, and showing the play of the soft fringes whenever the\nanimals are open, it would be difficult to find any artificial grotto\nto compare with it in beauty. There is another of the same kind on\nSaunders's ledge, formed by a large boulder resting on two rocky\nledges, leaving a little cave beneath, lined in the same way with\nvariously-colored sea anemones, so closely studded over its walls that\nthe surface of the rock is completely hidden. They are, however, to be\nfound in larger or smaller clusters, or scattered singly, in any rocky\nfissures overhung by sea-weed and accessible to the tide at high\nwater.\"\n\n  [Footnote 45: \"Sea-side Studies in Natural History.\" By Elizabeth\n  Alexander Agassiz. Boston: Ticknor & Fields. 1865.]\n\nMr. Gosse, in his \"History of British Sea Anemones and Corals,\"\nmentions the existence of a singular connection between a certain\nvariety of these animals and a species of hermit crab that lives in\nthe deserted {234} shell of a mollusk. An anemone is always found\nattached to the shell which the crab inhabits, and is so placed that\nits fringed month comes just below the mouth of the crab. Whatever\nfood comes within reach of either animal can, therefore, be shared in\ncommon. The crab is so far from objecting to this community of goods\nthat he seems unhappy without his companion. Though he is a hermit, he\nis not exempt from the common lot of housekeepers; he submits every\nnow and then to the trouble of _moving-day_.\n\nMr. Gosse observed one in the act of changing houses. No sooner had he\ntaken possession of the new shell than he began removing the anemone\nfrom the old one, running his claw under it to separate it from the\nshell, and then bringing it to the new house, where, having placed it\nin its customary position, he held it down until it had attached\nitself, and now and then pressed it closer, or gave it a pat to hasten\nthe process. In another instance, observed by Mr. Holdsworth, the\ncrab, after vainly trying for more than an hour to remove his\ncompanion anemone, deserted his new quarters and went back to the old,\nrather than submit to a separation.\n\nThe anemone, for all that it is so delicate and graceful in\nappearance, is a gluttonous little beast, eats raw meat in the\naquarium, and when upon its native coast sucks mussels and cockles out\nof their shells. Queer compound of plant and animal in appearance, its\nnatural kingdom seems still more doubtful than ever if we watch it\nwhile it is undergoing certain processes of reproduction. It does\nindeed generally produce its young by maternal gestation; eggs are\nformed in the cavity that surrounds its stomach, and at the proper\ntime the young swim out of the parent's mouth. But it has other modes\nof propagation, one of which is almost exactly like the process of\nraising plants from suckers. Very often you may see, growing out of\nthe lower part of the body of the anemone, and as a general thing near\nthe edge of the basal disc by which it attaches itself to the shell or\nrock, little rounded protuberances, like buds; well, they are\nbuds--the buds of young anemones. In a short time six small tentacles\nmake their appearance on the top of each bud. A minute oblong aperture\nopens in the midst of them. A digestive cavity is formed. The curious\ninternal structure of the animal (which we have not space here to\ndescribe) is gradually developed. The bud becomes elongated and\nenlarged every way. The tentacles multiply; the small aperture grows\ninto a mouth; and finally the young anemone drops off from its parent\nand floats away to shift for itself. Professor Clark has seen as many\nas twenty thus detach themselves in the course of a single month. This\nis the process of generation by _budding_ or _gemmation_, of which we\nspoke on a previous page.\n\nBut we have not yet exhausted the list of wonders displayed by this\nextraordinary plant-animal. We have seen that it has at least two ways\nof being born; what will our readers say when we assure them that it\nhas not only two but _four?_ The remaining two both come under the\nhead of what is called _voluntary self-division_. One of them is\nstrikingly like the propagation of plants by cuttings. Little pieces\nbreak off from the anemone at the base and float away. For a long time\nthey give no sign of life; but when they have recovered, so to speak,\nfrom the shock of separation, they begin to shoot out their tentacles\nand grow up into perfect individuals. The fourth method of generation\nis still more wonderful. Now and then you find an anemone whose upper\ndisc is contracted in a peculiar manner at opposite sides. The\ncontraction increases until the disc loses its circular form and\npresents the shape of the figure 8. The two halves of the 8 next\nseparate, and you {235} have an anemone with two mouths, each\nsurrounded by its own set of tentacles. Then the processes of\nconstriction and separation continue all down the body of the animal\nfrom summit to base, and the result is two perfect anemones, each\ncomplete in its organization. It is well that the lower orders of\ncreatures have none of the laws of inheritance and primo-geniture that\nbother mankind, or such irregular methods of coming into the world\nmight breed a great deal of trouble among them. Here, for instance,\nyou have two anemones, which we will call A and B, formed by the\nsplitting asunder of a single individual; what relation are they to\neach other? Are they brother and sister or parent and child? And if\nthe latter, how is any one to decide which is the parent? Then suppose\nA raises offspring in the usual way from eggs, what relation are these\nyoung to B? Are they sisters, or nieces, or grandchildren?\n\nLet us now look at another animal, the stentor, or trumpet-animalcule.\nThis is a minute infusorian, very common in ponds and ditches, where\nit forms colonies on the stems of water-weeds or submerged sticks and\nstones. Some of the varieties have a deep blue color, and a settlement\nof them looks very much like a patch of blue mould. The stentor is\nshaped like a little tube, about one-sixteenth of an inch in length,\nspread out at the upper end like a trumpet, and tapering at the lower\nalmost to a point. When it has fixed upon a place of abode, it\nconstructs a domicile, consisting of a gelatinous sheath, perhaps half\nas high as itself. It lives inside this sheath, with its smaller\nextremity attached to the bottom of it, and its wide, funnel-shaped\nend projecting above the top. When disturbed it retreats into the\nhouse and shrinks into a globular mass. The disc of the trumpet end is\nnot perfectly regular; on one side the edge turns inward so as to form\na notch, and curls upon itself in a spiral form. Within this spiral is\nthe mouth, and a long funnel-shaped throat reaches from it to the\ndigestive cavity. Opposite the mouth there is a globular cavity, from\nwhich a tube extends to the lower extremity of the body. The cavity\nseems to perform the functions of a heart, and the tube takes the\nplace of veins and arteries. Once in three-quarters of a minute this\nheart-like organ contracts and forces the fluid which it contains into\nthe tube; the latter in its turn, after expanding very sensibly to\nreceive the flow, contracts and returns it to the heart.\n\nThe stentor propagates by budding, like the anemone. The first change\nthat takes place is a division of this contractile vesicle into two\ndistinct organs at about mid-height of the body, the lower portion\ndeveloping a globular cavity like the upper one. Soon after this a\nshallow pit opens in the side of the stentor, in a line with the new\nvesicle. This pit is the future mouth. A throat or oesophagus is next\nfashioned; and all being ready for the accommodation of the new animal\nthe process of division begins, and goes on so rapidly that it is all\ndone in about two hours.\n\nA still more curious animal, in some respects, than either of those we\nhave just mentioned is the hydra, one of the simplest of the\nzoophytes. To all intents and purposes it is nothing but a narrow\nsack, about half an inch in length, open at one end, where the mouth\nis situated, and attaching itself by the other to pond-lilies,\nduck-weeds, or stones on the margins of lakes. Around the mouth it has\nfrom five to eight slender tentacles, which are used as feelers and\nfor the purpose of seizing the food. What it does with its food after\nit has swallowed it is, strange as the statement may sound, a question\nto which naturalists have not yet found a satisfactory answer; for the\nhydra has no digestive organs, and its stomach is merely a pouch\nformed by the folding in of the outer skin. It has no glands, no\nmucous membrane, no appliances of any sort for the performance of the\nchemical process {236} which we call digestion. You may turn a hydra\ninside out and it will get along just as well as it did before, and\nswallow its prey with just as good an appetite. The French naturalist\nTrembley was the first to notice this remarkable fact. With the blunt\nend of a small needle he pushed the bottom of the sack through the\nbody and out at the mouth, just as you would invert a stocking. He\nfound that the animal righted itself as soon as it was left alone; so\nhe repeated the operation, and this time made use of persuasion, in\nthe form of a bristle run crosswise through the body, to induce the\nvictim to remain inside out. In the course of a few days its interior\nand exterior departments were thoroughly reorganized, and it ate as if\nnothing had happened. Trembley next undertook to engraft one\nindividual upon another! For this purpose he crammed the tail of one\ndeep down into the cavity of another, and, in order to hold them in\ntheir position, stuck a bristle through both. What was his surprise to\nfind them, some hours afterward, still spitted upon the bristle, but\nhanging _side by side_ instead of one within the other! How they had\ngot into such a position he could not imagine. He arranged another\npair, and on watching them the mystery was solved. The inner one first\ndrew up its tail and pushed it out through the hole in the outer one's\nside where the bristle entered. Then it pulled its head out after the\ntail, and sliding along the spit completely freed itself from its\ncompanion. This it repeated as often as the experiment was tried in\nthat way. It then occurred to M. Trembley that if the inner hydra were\nturned inside out, so as to bring the stomachs of the two animals in\ncontact, union would take place more readily; and so it proved. The\nlittle creatures seemed much pleased with the arrangement, and made no\nattempt to escape. In a short time they were united as one body, and\nenjoyed their food in common.\n\nIt was perhaps only natural to expect that animals which care so\nlittle about their individuality that two specimens can be turned into\none, would be equally ready to multiply themselves by the simple\nprocess of being cut to pieces. In other words, you may make one hydra\nout of two, or two out of one, just as you please. M. Trembley divided\nthem in every conceivable manner. He cut them in two, and, instead of\ndying, one half shot out a new head and the other developed a new\ntail. He sliced them into thin rings, and each slice swam away, got\nitself a set of tentacles, and grew into a perfectly formed\nindividual. He split them into thin longitudinal strips, and each\nstrip reproduced what was wanting to give it a complete body. Some he\nsplit only part way down from the mouth, and the result was a hydra,\nlike the fabled monster, with many heads. The famous cat with nine\nlives is nothing to these little zoophytes. They seem sublimely\nindifferent not only to the most fearful wounds, but even to disease\nand, we are tempted to add, decomposition itself. A part of the body\ndecays, and the hydra simply drops it off, like a worn-out garment,\nand lives on as if it had lost nothing.\n\nIf it can do all this, we need not wonder that it can reproduce its\nkind by budding. Indeed, after we have seen a living creature split\nitself up into a dozen distinct individuals any other process of\ngeneration must seem tame by comparison. At certain seasons of the\nyear very few hydras can be found which have not one, two, or three\nyoung ones growing out of their bodies. The budding begins in the form\nof a simple bulging from the side of the parent, something like a\nwart. This is gradually elongated, and after a time tentacles sprout\nfrom the free end, and a mouth is formed. The young is now in a\ncondition to seek its own prey. Its independence is finally\naccomplished by a constriction of the base of the new body at the\npoint where it is attached to the old stock, until finally it cuts\nitself off. Before {237} this separation takes place, however, it has\noften begun to reproduce its own young, and so we sometimes see a\nlarge colony of hydras all connected together, like minute branching\nwaterweed.\n\nAfter all, you may say, it is not so very wonderful that a simple\nanimal like the hydra, which has no intestines, and scarcely any\nspecial organs whatever, should be able to reproduce its lost parts,\nor to multiply itself by the simple processes of growth and subsequent\ndivision. Well, then, let us take a more complex creature, and we have\na remarkable example at hand in a certain marine worm called\n_myrianida fasciata_. It is an inch or two in length, tapering off\ngradually from the head. The body is marked with numerous rings or\njoints, attached to which are oar-like appendages, serving not only as\ninstruments of propulsion but also as gills, or breathing organs. An\nintestine extends from the head in a direct course to the posterior.\nBlood-vessels are arranged about it like a net-work, and connect with\nsimilar vessels in the gills. It has an organ which serves the purpose\nof a heart, a nervous cord swollen at every joint into knots or\nganglions, and, in the head, one principal ganglion, which may be\nconsidered as the brain. Its reproductive organs are situated only in\nthe posterior rings, and are located there in reference to the\npeculiar mode of generation which we are about to describe. The young\nworm begins to grow immediately in front of the parent's tail, that is\nto say, between the last joint or ring and the next before the last,\nand is formed by the successive growth of new rings. Before it is old\nenough to be cast off another appears between its anterior end and the\nnext joint of the old stock; and so on until we have six worms at\nonce, all strung together behind the parent, and hanging, so to speak,\nfrom one another's tails. They drop off separately, in the order of\ntheir age. Now in this case, you will observe, there must be a\ndivision of several organs--the intestine, the blood-vessels, and the\nnervous cord; and each of the six young must develop a heart, a brain,\nand a pair of eyes. An odd result of their method of growth (the first\none being formed, you will remember, not behind the parent but\n_between_ her last two rings) is that the eldest offspring\nappropriates the tail of his mother, while his five brothers and\nsisters have to find tails of their own. We are here tempted to\nindulge in a curious speculation: this first born produces its young\nin the same way itself was produced, and passes on its inherited tail\nto the next generation. The eldest born of that generation bequeaths\nit to the next, and so on. What becomes of that ancestral tail in the\ncourse of years? Does it at last wear out and drop off? Does the worm\nthat bears it die after a time without leaving any children? Or is it\npossible that the process of entail has been going on without\ninterruption ever since the year one of the world, and that there may\nbe a _myrianida fasciata_ now living with a tail as old as creation?\nNot very probable, certainly; but if any solution has been offered of\nthe great tail problem, we do not happen to have heard of it.\n\nProfessor Clark also tried various experiments upon the common flat\nworm, or _planaria_, which may be found so readily in our ponds,\ncreeping over stones and aquatic plants, and is so easily recognized\nby its opaque white color, and the liver-colored ramifications of its\nintestine. He cut the creature in two, and immediately after the\noperation the halves crawled away as if nothing had happened; the\nanterior part preceding an ideal tail, and the posterior one following\nan equally imaginary head and brain. He watched the pieces from day to\nday, and found that each reproduced its missing half by a slow process\nof budding and growth. This _planaria_ may be cut into several pieces,\nand each will reproduce what is requisite to complete the mangled\norganism. If the tail of a lizard be broken off, a {238} new one will\ngrow; and crabs, lobsters, spiders, etc., are known to replace their\namputated limbs. The instances we now and then meet with of what are\ncalled _monsters_--two-headed dogs, calves with six legs, and, more\nrarely, even double-headed human beings, are examples of the\nphenomenon of budding--which is very common, by the way, among fishes;\nand there is an animalcule called the _amoeba_ which shows a more\nremarkable tenacity of life than any of the other creatures we have\nmentioned, since you may divide and subdivide it until it is\nphysically impossible to reduce it to particles any smaller, and yet\neach piece will live.\n\n\n\nThe discovery that animals may originate in so many ways independent\nof maternal gestation naturally suggests the inquiry whether further\nresearches may not develop still other methods of reproduction, in\nwhich the new-born creature shall have no connection whatever with any\npreviously existing individual. Thus we are brought back to the\nquestion which was thought to have been settled long ago, whether\ngeneration ever takes place spontaneously, as Aristotle and the old\nphysicists supposed it did. Later naturalists, following the Italian,\nRedi, utterly rejected the supposition; but within the present century\nit has found many reputable supporters, and Professor Clark is one of\nthem. When organic matter decays, numbers of _infusoria_, or\nmicroscopic plants and animals, arise in it. Where do they come from?\nDo the disorganized particles, set free by the process of\ndecomposition, combine into new forms, which are then endowed with\nlife by the direct action of Almighty power; or is the decaying\nsubstance merely the _nest_ in which minute eggs or seeds, borne\nthither upon the air, or dropped by insects, find conditions suitable\nfor their development in the ordinary natural way? The question is not\neasily answered. Many of these germs are so excessively minute as to\ndefy detection. Some of the infusoria are no larger than the\ntwenty-four-thousandth of an inch in diameter, and it is estimated\nthat a drop of water might contain five hundred millions of them. It\nis obvious that the germs of such little creatures must be invisible\neven with the best microscope. The problem can only be solved by\nplacing a portion of the decomposing matter under such conditions that\nany germs it may contain shall infallibly be killed and that none can\npossibly reach it; then, if infusoria appear, we shall know that they\nhave been generated spontaneously. The great difficulty is in securing\nthese conditions. For the development of the living forms we require\nboth water and air. How are we to be certain that there are no living\ngerms in the organic matter before we begin the experiment? that there\nare none in the water? that none are brought by the air? The action of\nheat has been relied upon for the destruction of germs in the organic\nmatter and the water, and it has been sought to purify the air from\nthem by passing it through sulphuric add; but experience has shown\nthat sulphuric add does not kill the germs; so of course experiments\nperformed in that way prove nothing. Professor Clark quotes a series\nof very delicate experiments tried by Professor Jeffries Wyman, of\nHarvard University, which seem to us to come nearer to proving\nspontaneous generation than any others with which we are acquainted.\nHe proceeded in three different methods, as follows:\n\n1. The organic matter, consisting of a solution of beef or mutton\njuice (or, in a few instances, vegetable matter), was placed in a\nflask fitted with a cork through which passed a glass tube. The cork\nwas pushed deeply into the mouth of the flask, and the space above it\nwas filled with an adhesive cement, composed of resin, wax, and\nvarnish. The tube was drawn to a narrow neck a little way above the\ncork, and bent at right angles, and {239} the end of it inserted in an\niron tube, where it was secured by a cement of plaster of Paris. The\nrest of the iron tube was filled with wires, leaving only very narrow\npassages between them. The solution in the flask was then boiled--in\nsome cases as long as two hours--in order to kill any germs which\nmight be enclosed, and to expel the air. The iron tube and wires at\nthe same time were heated to redness. When the boiling had continued\nlong enough the heat was withdrawn from beneath the flask, and the\nsteam was allowed slowly to condense. As it did so, air flowed in\nbetween the red-hot wires, which had been kept at a temperature high\nenough, it was supposed, to destroy any germs in the air that passed\nthrough them. The flask was then hermetically sealed by fusing the\nglass tube with the blow-pipe. When opened, several days afterward, it\nwas found to contain animal life.\n\n2. A similar solution was placed in a flask the neck of which, instead\nof being supplied with a cork and tube, was drawn out and bent at\nright angles, and then fitted to the iron tube containing wires. The\nexperiment was performed as by method No. 1, and with the same result.\n\n3. That there might be no suspicion of imperfectly sealed joints, a\nsolution was put into a flask with a narrow neck, and the neck itself\nwas then closed by fusing the glass. The whole flask was then immersed\nin boiling water. At the expiration of a few days living infusoria\nwere found in two instances out of four.\n\nNow these experiments undoubtedly prove that generation sometimes\noccurs spontaneously, provided it be true, as Professor Clark assumes,\nthat there was no imperfection in the closing of the flasks (which we\nsee no reason to doubt), and that the infusorial germs are destroyed\nby boiling. We confess that it is hard to believe they could have\nsurvived such a heat as was applied to them in these cases; but is it\ncertain that they could not? A writer in an English review a few years\nago, whom we believe to have been Mr. G. H. Lewes, announced that he\nhad boiled certain germs _an hour and three-quarters_, and yet they\nremained perfectly unaltered. At most, therefore, we can regard\nspontaneous generation as a probable phenomenon.\n\nWhether spontaneous generation, if it occurs at all, occurs by the\nformation of an egg from which the animalcule is hatched, or by the\nimmediate formation of the adult, Professor Clark does not attempt to\nsay; but the French naturalist M. Pouchet, who is one of the foremost\nadvocates of the theory, holds that an egg is produced first. If this\nis true we shall have a striking correlative to the proposition with\nwhich we began this paper: not only can living creatures be developed\nwhere no egg has been deposited, but eggs can be produced where there\nis no animal to lay them. _Omne ovum e vivo_ will be no more true than\n_Omne vivum ex ovo._\n\n------\n\n{240}\n\n\nFrom Chambers's Journal\n\nPOOR AND RICH.\n\n  In a shattered old garret scarce roofed from the sky,\n  Near a window that shakes as the wind hurries by,\n  Without curtain to hinder the golden sun's shine,\n  Which reminds me of riches that never were mine--\n  I recline on a chair that is broken and old.\n  And enwrap my chilled limbs--now so aged and cold--\n  'Neath a shabby old coat, with the buttons all torn.\n  While I think of my youth that Time's footprints have worn.\n  And remember the comrades who've one and all fled,\n  And the dreams and the hopes that are dead with the dead.\n\n  But the cracked plastered walls are emblazoned and bright\n  With the dear blessed beams of the day's welcome light.\n  My old coat's a king's robe, my old chair is a throne,\n  And my thoughts are my courtiers that no king could own;\n  For the truths that they tell, as they whisper to me,\n  Are the echoes of pleasures that once used to be,\n  The glad throbbings of hearts that have now ceased to feel,\n  And the treasures of passions which Time cannot steal;\n  So, although I know well that my life is near spent,\n  Though I'll die without sorrow, I live with content.\n\n  Though my children's soft voices no music now lend;\n  Without wife's sweet embraces, or glance of a friend;\n  Yet my soul sees them still, as it peoples the air\n  With the spirits who crowd round my broken old chair.\n  If no wealth I have hoarded to trouble mine ease,\n  I admit that I doted on gems rich as these;\n  And when death snatched the casket that held each fair prize,\n  It flew to my heart where it happily lies;\n  So, 'tis there that the utt'rings of love now are said\n  By those dear ones, whom all but myself fancy dead.\n\n  So, though fetid the air of my poor room may be.\n  It still has all the odors of Eden for me.\n  For my Eve wanders here, and my cherubs here sing,\n  As though tempting my spirit like theirs to take wing.\n  Though my pillow be hard, where so well could I rest\n  As on that on which Amy's fair head has been pressed?\n  So let riches and honor feed Mammon's vain heart,\n  From my shattered old lodging I'll not wish to part;\n  And no coat shall I need save the one I've long worn.\n  Till the last thread be snapped, and the last rent be torn.\n\n------\n\n{241}\n\n\nFrom The Lamp.\n\nALL-HALLOW EVE;\nOR, THE TEST OF FUTURITY.\n\n\nBY ROBERT CURTIS.\n\n\n[CONCLUSION.]\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\nWhile the above exploits were being performed by Jamesy Doyle and the\npolice, a sad scene indeed was being enacted at the bridge. Winny\nCavana, whose bonds had been loosed, had rushed to where Emon lay with\nhis head in his father's lap, while the two policemen, Cotter and\nDonovan, moved up with their prisoner. They not only handcuffed him,\nbut had tied his legs together, and threw him on the side of the road,\n\"to wait their convenience,\" while they rendered any assistance they\ncould to the wounded man.\n\nThe father had succeeded in stanching the blood, which at first had\npoured freely from the wound. With the assistance of one of the\npolice, while the other was tying the prisoner, he had drawn his son\nup into a sitting posture and leaned him against the bank at the side\nof the road, and got his arm round him to sustain him. He was not shot\ndead; but was evidently very badly wounded. He was now, however,\nrecovering strength and consciousness, as the blood ceased to flow.\n\n\"Open your eyes, Emon dear, if you are not dead, and look at your own\nWinny,\" she said; \"your mad Winny Cavana, who brought you here to be\nmurdered! Open your eyes, Emon, if you are not dead! I don't ask you\nto speak.\"\n\nEmon not only opened his eyes, but turned his face and looked upon\nher. Oh, the ghastly smile he tried to hide!\n\n\"Don't speak, Emon; but tell me with your eyes that you are not dying.\nNo, no, Emon--Emon-a-knock! demon as he is, he could not murder you.\nHeaven would not permit so much wickedness!\"\n\nEmon looked at her again. A faint but beautiful smile--beautiful now,\nfor the color had returned to his cheeks--beamed upon his lips as he\nshook his head.\n\n\"Yes, yes, he has murdered him,\" sobbed the distracted father; \"and I\npity you, Winny Cavana, as I hope you will pity his poor mother; to\nsay nothing of myself.\"\n\n\"No, no, do not say so! He will not die, he _shall_ not die!\" And she\npressed her burning that's to his marble forehead. It was smooth as\nalabaster, cold as ice.\n\n\"Win--ny Ca--va-na, good-by,\" he faintly breathed in her ear. \"My\ndays, my hours, my very moments are numbered. I feel death trembling\nin every vein, in every nerve. I could--could--have--lived for\nyou--Winny; but even--to--die for you--is--a blessing,\nbecause--successful. One last request--Winny, my best beloved, is\n--all--I have--to ask; spare me--a spot in Rathcash--chapel-yard, in\nthe space allotted to--the--Cavanas. I feel some wonderful strength\ngiven me just now. It is a special mercy that I may speak with you\nbefore I go. But, Winny, my own precious, dearest love, do not deceive\nyourself. If I reach home to receive my mother's blessing before I\ndie, it is the most--\" and he leaned his head against his father's\nbreast.\n\n\"No more delay!\" cried Winny energetically, \"Time is too precious to\nbe lost; bring the cart here, and let us take him home at once, and\nsend for {242} the doctor. Oh, policeman, one of you is enough to\nremain with the prisoner here; do, like a good man, leave your gun and\nbelts here, and run off across the fields as fast as you can, and\nbring Dr. Sweeney to Rathcash house.\"\n\n\"To Shanvilla,\" faintly murmured the wounded man; \"and bring Father\nFarrell.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, to Shanvilla, to be sure,\" repeated Winny; \"my selfish\nheart had forgotten his poor mother.\"\n\nEmon opened his eyes at the word mother, and smiled. It was a smile of\nthanks; and he closed them again.\n\nThe policeman had obeyed her request in a moment; and, stripped of ail\nincumbrances, he was clearing the hedges, ditches, and drains toward\nDr. Sweeney's.\n\nThey then placed Lennon, as gently as if he were made of wax, into the\ncart, his head lying in Winny's lap, and his hand clasped in hers,\nwhile the distracted father led the horse more like an automaton than\na human being. They proceeded at a very gentle pace, for the cart had\nno springs, and Winny knew that a jolt might be fatal if the blood\nburst forth afresh. The policeman followed with his prisoner at some\ndistance; and ere long, for the dawn had become clear, he saw his\ncomrades coming on behind him, a long way off. But there was evidently\na man beside themselves and Jamesy Doyle. He sat down by the side of\nthe road until they came up.\n\nHow matters stood was then explained to Sergeant Driscoll aside.\nCotter told him he had no hopes that ever Lennon would reach home\nalive; that Donovan had gone off across the country for the doctor and\nthe priest, and his _carabine_ and belts were on the cart.\n\n\"We will take that prisoner from you, Cotter,\" said Driscoll, \"and do\nyou get on to the cart as fast as you can; you may be of use. I don't\nlike to bring this villain Murdock in sight of them; you need not say\nwe have got him at all. We will go on straight to the barrack by the\nlower road, and let you go up to Lennon's with the cart. But see here,\nCotter--do not speak to the wounded man at all, and don't let anybody\nelse speak to him either. We don't want a word from him; sure we all\nsaw it as plain as possible.\"\n\nCotter then hastened on, and soon overtook the cart. He merely said,\nin explanation of being by himself, that his comrades had come up, and\nthat he had given his prisoner to them and hastened on to see if he\ncould be of any use.\n\nWinny soon suggested a use for the kind-hearted man--to help poor Pat\nLennon into the cart, and to lead the horse. This was done without\nstirring hand or foot of the poor sufferer; and the father lay at\nEmon's other side scarcely less like death than he was himself.\n\nWhen they came to the end of the road which turned to Rathcash and\nShanvilla, Winny, as was natural, could have wished to go to Rathcash.\nShe knew not how her poor father had been left, or what might be his\nfate. She could not put any confidence in the assurance of such\nruffians, that a hair of his head should not be hurt; and did not one\nof the villains remain in the house? Yes, Winny, one of them _did\nremain_ in the house, but he _did no harm to your father_.\n\nWith all her affection and anxiety on her father's account, Winny\ncould not choose but to go on to Shanvilla. The less moving poor Emon\ngot the better, and to get from under his head now and settle him\nafresh would be cruel, and might be fatal. Winny, therefore, sat\nsilent as Cotter turned the horse's head toward Shanvilla, where, ere\nanother half-hour had added to the increasing light, they had arrived.\n\nWinny Cavana, who knew what a scene must ensue when they came to the\ndoor, had sent on Cotter to the house; the father again taking his\nplace at the horse's head. He was to tell Mrs. Lennon that an accident\nhad happened--no, no, not _that_; but that {243} Emon had been hurt;\nand that they were bringing him home quietly for fear of exciting him.\n\nThese precautions were of no use. Mrs. Lennon had waited but for the\nword \"hurt,\" which she understood at once as importing something\nserious. She rushed from the house like a mad woman, and stood upon\nthe road gazing up and down. Fortunately Winny had the forethought to\nstop the cart out of sight of the house to give Cotter time to execute\nhis mission, and calm Mrs. Lennon as much as possible. It was a lucky\nthought, and Cotter, who was a very intelligent man, was equal to the\nemergency.\n\nAs Mrs. Lennon looked round her in doubt, Cotter cried out, \"Oh, don't\ngo that road, Mrs. Lennon, for God's sake!\" and he pointed in the\ndirection in which the cart was not. It was enough; the ruse had\nsucceeded; and Mrs. Lennon started off at full speed, clapping her\nhands and crying out: \"Oh! Emon, Emon, have they killed you at last?\nhave they killed you? Oh! Emon, Emon, my boy, my boy!\" And she clapped\nher hands, and ran the faster. She was soon out of sight and hearing.\n\n\"Now is your time,\" said Cotter, running back to the cart; \"she is\ngone off in another direction, and we'll have him on his bed before\nshe comes back.\"\n\nThey then brought the cart to the door, and in the most gentle and\nscientific manner lifted poor Emon into the house and laid him on his\nbed.\n\n\"God bless you, Winny!\" he said, stretching out his hand. \"Don't, like\na good girl, stop here now. Return to your poor father, who must be\ndistracted about you. I'm better and stronger, thank God, and will be\nable to see you again before I--\"\n\n\"Whist, whist, Emon mavourneen, don't talk that way; you are better,\nblessed be God! I must, indeed, go home, Emon, as you say, for my\nheart is torn about my poor father. God bless you, Emon, my own Emon!\"\nAnd she stooped down and kissed his pale lips.\n\nCotter and she then left the house and made all the speed they could\ntoward Rathcash. They had not gone very far when Cotter heard Mrs.\nLennon coming back along the road, and they saw her turn in toward her\nown house.\n\nBully-dhu having satisfied himself that nothing further was to be\napprehended from the senseless form of a man upon the kitchen floor,\nand finding it impossible to burst open the door where his master was\nconfined, thought the next best thing that he could do was to bemoan\nthe state of affairs outside the house, in hope of drawing some help\nto the spot. Accordingly he took his post immediately at the\nhouse-door, still determined to be on the safe side, for fear the man\nwas scheming. Here he set up a long dismal and melancholy howl.\n\n\"My father is dead,\" said Winny; \"there is the Banshee.\"\n\n\"Not at all, Miss Winny; that is a dog.\"\n\n\"It is all the same; Bully-dhu would not cry that way for nothing;\nthere is somebody dead, I'm sure.\"\n\n\"It is because he knew you were gone, Miss Winny, and he did not know\nwhere to look for you; that's all, you may depend.\"\n\n\"Thank you, Cotter; the dog might indeed do that same. God grant it is\nnothing worse!\"\n\nBy this time they were at the door, and Cotter followed Bully-dhu into\nthe house. Winny, without looking right or left, rushed to her\nfather's room. She found it locked, but, quickly turning the key, she\nburst in. It was now broad daylight, and she saw at a glance her\nfather stretched upon the bed, still bound hand and foot. She flew to\nthe table, and taking his razor cut the cords. The poor old man was\nquite exhausted from suspense, excitement, and the fruitless physical\nefforts he had been making to free himself.\n\n\"Thank God, father!\" she exclaimed; \"I hope you are not hurt.\"\n\n{244}\n\n\"No, dear. Give me a sup of milk, or I will choke.\"\n\nPoor Winny, in the ignorance of her past habits, called out to Biddy\nto bring her some.\n\nBiddy answered with a smothered cry from the inner room. Cotter flew\nto the door and unlocked it. In another moment he had set her free\nfrom her cords, and she darted across the kitchen to minister to the\nold man's wants at Winny's direction.\n\nPoor Bully-dhu then pointed out to Cotter the share he had taken in\nthe night's work, and it might almost be said quietly \"gave himself\nup.\" At least he showed no disposition to escape. He lay down at the\ndead man's head, sweeping the floor with an odd wag of his bushy tail,\nrather proud than frightened at what he had done. That it was his\nwork, Cotter could not for a moment doubt. The man's throat had by\nthis time turned almost black, and there were the marks of the dog's\nteeth sunk deep at each side of the windpipe, where the choking grip\nof death had prevailed.\n\nCotter then brought a quilt from the room where he had released Biddy\nMurtagh, and spread it over the corpse, and was bringing Bully-dhu out\nto the yard, when he met Jamesy Doyle at the door. Jamesy took charge\nof him at once, and brought him round to the yard, where for the\npresent he shut him up in his wooden house; but he did not intend to\nneglect him.\n\nJamesy told Cotter that Sergeant Driscoll and his men had taken their\nprisoners safe to the barracks, and desired him to tell Cotter to join\nthem as soon as soon as possible.\n\n\"I cannot join them yet awhile, Jamesy; we have a corpse in the\nhouse.\"\n\n\"God's mercy! an' shure it's not the poor ould masther?\" said Jamesy.\n\n\"No; I don't know who he is. He must have been one of the\ndepredators.\"\n\n\"An' th' ould masther done for him!--God be praised? More power to his\nelbow!\"\n\n\"No, Jamesy, it was not the old master. It was Bully-dhu that choked\nhim--see here;\" and he turned down the quilt.\n\n\"The divil a word of lie you're tellin', sir; dear me, but he gev' him\nthe tusks in style. Begorra, Bully, I'll give you my own dinner\nto-day, an' tomorrow, an' next day for that. See, Mr. Cotter, how the\nLord overtakes the guilty at wanst, sometimes. Didn't he strike down\nTom Murdock wid lightning, an' he batin' me out a horseback? an I'd\nnever have cum up wid him only for that.\"\n\nCotter could not help smiling at Jamesy's enthusiasm.\n\n\"What are you laughin' at, Mr. Cotter? Maybe it's what you don't give\nin to me; but I tell you I seen the flash of lightning take him down\nov the horse, as plain as the daylight. Where's Miss Winny?\"\n\n\"Whist, whist, boy, don't be talking that way. Never heed Miss Winny;\nshe's with her father. I would not like her to see this dead man here;\ndon't be talking so loud. Is there any place we could draw him into,\nuntil we find out who he is?\"\n\n\"An' _I'd_ like to show him to Miss Winny, for Bully-dhu's sake. Will\nI call her?\"\n\n\"If you do, I'll stick you with this, Jamesy,\" said Cotter, getting\nangry, and tapping his bayonet with his finger.\n\n\"Begorra, an' that's not the way to get me to do anything, I can tell\nyou; for I--\"\n\n\"Well, there's a good boy, James; you have proved your cell one\ntonight; and now for God's sake don't fret poor Miss Winny worse than\nwhat she is already, and it would nearly kill her to see this dead man\nhere now--it would make her think of some one else dead,\nJamesy--_thigum thu_?\n\n\"_Thau_, begorra--you're right enough.\"\n\n{245}\n\n\"Where can we bring him to? is there any outhouse or place?\"\n\n\"To be sure there is; there's the barn where I sleep; cum out wid him\nat wanst. I'll take him by the heels, an' let you dhraw him along the\nfloore by his shoulders.\"\n\nThere was a coolness and intrepidity about all Jamesy's acts and\nexpressions which surprised Cotter. With all his experience he had\nnever seen the same in so young a boy--except in a hardened villain;\nand he had known Jamesy for the last four years to be the very\ncontrary. Cotter, however, was not philosopher enough to know that an\nexcess of principle, and a total want of it, might produce the same\nintrepidity of character.\n\nCotter took the dead man under the shoulders and drew him along, while\nJamesy took him by the feet and pushed him.\n\nNeither Winny, nor Biddy, nor the old man knew a word about this part\nof the performance. Jamesy saw the propriety of keeping it to himself\nfor the present. Cotter locked the barn-door and took away the key\nwith him. He told Jamesy that he would find out from the other\nprisoner \"who the corpse was,\" and that he would call again with\ninstructions in the course of the day. He then hastened to the\nbarrack, and Jamesy went in to see Miss Winny and the ould masther.\nThe message which Cotter had sent her by Jamesy was this--\"To keep up\nher heart, and to hold herself in readiness for a visit from the\nresident magistrate before the day was over.\"\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\nIt was still very early. The generality of the inhabitants were not\nyet up, and Winny sighed at the long sad day which was before her. She\nhad first made her father tell her how the ruffians had served him,\nand after hearing the particulars she detailed everything which had\nbefallen herself. She described the battle at the bridge, as well as\nher sobs would permit her, from the moment that Lennon sprang up from\nbehind the battlement to their rescue until the fatal arrival of the\npolice, as she called it, upon the approach of whom \"that demon fired\nhis pistol at my poor Emon as close as I am to you, father.\"\n\n\"Well, well; Winny, don't lave the blame upon the police; he would\nhave fired at Lennon whether they cum up or not, for Emon never would\nhave let go his holt.\"\n\n\"True enough, father. I do not lay it upon them at all. Emon would\nhave clung to his horse for miles if he had not shot him down.\"\n\n\"Beside, Jamesy says the police has him fast enough. Isn't that a\nmercy at all events, Winny?\"\n\n\"It is only the mercy of revenge, father, God forgive me for the\nthought. The law will call it justice.\"\n\n\"And a just revenge is all fair an' right, Winny. He had no pity on an\ninnocent boy, an' why should you have pity on a guilty villain?\"\n\n\"Pity! No, father, I have no pity for him. But I wish I did not feel\nso vengeful.\"\n\n\"But how did the police hear of it, Winny, or find out which way they\nwent; an' what brought Jamesy Doyle up with them?\"\n\n\"We must ask Jamesy himself about that, father,\" she said; and she\ndesired Biddy to call him in, for he was with Bully-dhu.\n\nJamesy was soon in attendance again, and they made him sit down, for\nwith all his pluck he looked weary and fatigued. They then asked him\nto tell everything, from the moment he first heard the men smashing\nthe door.\n\nJamesy Doyle's description of the whole thing was short and decisive,\ntold in his own graphic style, with many \"begorras,\" in spite of\nWinny's remonstrances.\n\n\"Begorra, Miss Winny, I tould Bully-dhu what they were up to, an' I\nlet him in at the hall doore, an' {246} when I seen him tumble the\nfust man he met, and stick in his windpipe without so much as a growl,\nI knew there was one man wouldn't lave that easy, any way; an' I med\noff for the polis as fast as my legs and feet could carry me.\"\n\n\"And how did--how--did--poor Emon hear of it?\" sighed Winny.\n\n\"Arra blur-an-ages, Miss Winny, didn't I cut across by Shanvilla, an'\ntould him every haporth? Why, miss, he'd murdher me af I let him lie\nthere dhramin', an' they carrin' you off, Miss Winny.\"\n\n\"Oh, Jamesy, why did you not go straight for the police, and never\nmind Emon-a-knock?\" she said.\n\n\"Ah! Winny dear,\" said her father, \"remember that there was nearly\nhalf-an-hour's battle at the bridge before the police came up; and had\nyour persecutor that half-hour's law, where and what would you be\nnow?\"\n\n\"I did not care. I would have fought my battle alone against twenty\nTom Murdocks. They might have ill-used me, and then murdered me, but\nwhat of that? Emon-a-knock would live, perhaps to avenge me; but\nnow--now--oh, father, father! I wish he had murdered me along with\nEmon. But, God forgive me, indeed I am very sinful; I forgot you,\nfather dear. Here, Biddy, get the kettle boiling; we all want a cup of\ntea;\" and she put her handkerchief to her swimming eyes.\n\nJamesy had thrown himself in his clothes on some empty sacks in a\ncorner of the kitchen, saying, \"Miss Winny, I'm tired enough to sleep\nanywhere, an' I'll lie down here.\"\n\n\"Hadn't you better go to your own bed in the barn, Jamesy, where you\ncan take off your clothes? I am sure you would be more comfortable.\"\n\n\"No, Miss Winny, I'm sure I would not. Beside, the policeman tuck--\"\nJamesy stopped himself. \"What the mischief have I been saying?\"\nthought he.\n\n\"The policeman took what, Jamesy?\" said Winny.\n\n\"He tuck the key, miss. He said no one should g'win there till he cum\nback.\"\n\n\"Oh, very well, Jamesy; lie down, and let me throw this quilt over\nyou. But, God's mercy, if here is not a pool of blood! I wonder what\nbrought it here? Oh, am I doomed to sec nothing but blood--blood? What\nis this, Jamesy, do you know?\"\n\n\"I do, miss. It was Bully-dhu that cut one of the men when they cum\nin; and no cure for him, Miss Winny!\"\n\n\"Why, he must have cut him severely, James; the whole floor is covered\nwith blood.\"\n\n\"Cut him, is it? Begorra, Miss Winny, he kilt him out-an-out. I may as\nwell tell you the thruth at wanst.\"\n\n\"For heaven's sake, you do not mean to say that he actually killed\nhim, Jamesy?\"\n\n\"That's just what I do mane. Miss Winny, an' I may as well tell you,\nfor Mr. Cotter will be here by-an-bye with the coroner and a jury to\nhould an inquest. Isn't he lyin' there abroad in the barn as stiff as\na crowbar, an' as ugly as if he was bespoke, miss? Didn't I help Mr.\nCotter to carry him out, or rather to dhrag him? for begorra he was as\nheavy as if he was made of lead!\"\n\n\"Fie, fie, James, you should not talk that way of any poor\nfellow-being--for shame!\"\n\n\"An' a bad fellow-bein' he was, to cum here to carry you away. Miss\nWinny, an' maybe to murdher you in the mountain, or maybe worse. My\nblessin' on you, Bully-dhu!\"\n\nWinny was shocked at the cool manner in which Jamesy spoke of such a\nfrightful occurrence. She was afraid she would never make a Christian\nof him.\n\nCotter and a comrade soon returned and took charge of the body until\nthe coroner should arrive. They had served summonses upon twelve or\nfourteen of the most respectable neighbors--good men and true. They\nhad ascertained that the deceased was a man named John Fahy, from the\n{247} county of Cavan, a reputed Ribbonman. The cart had belonged to\nhim, but of course there was no name upon it. The news of the whole\naffair had already spread like fire the moment the people began to get\nabout; and two brothers of Fahy's arrived to claim the body before the\ninquest was over.\n\nJamesy Doyle was the principal witness \"before the fact.\" His evidence\nwas like himself all over. Having been sworn by the coroner, he did\nnot think that sufficient, but began his statement with another oath\nof his own--the reader knows by this time what it was. The coroner\nchecked him, and reminded him that he was already on his solemn oath,\nand that light swearing of that kind was very unseemly, and could not\nbe permitted. He advised him to be cautions.\n\nJamesy had sense enough to take his advice, although he seldom took\nWinny's upon the same subject.\n\n\"When first I heerd the _rookawn_ I got up, an' dhrew on my clothes,\nan' cum round the corner of the house. I seen three men stannin' at\nthe doore, an' I heerd wan of 'em ordher it to be bruck in. I knew\nthere was but two women an' wan ould man, the masther, in the house,\nan' I knew there was no use in goin' in to be murdhered, an' that I\ncould be of more use a great dale outside. Bully-dhu was roarin' like\na lion in the back yard, an' couldn't get out. I knew Bully was well\nable for wan of 'em, any way, if not for two, an' I let him out an'\nbrought him to the hall-doore. The minit ever I let him out iv the\nyard he was as silent as the grave, an' I knew what that meant. Well,\nI brought him to the doore, an' pointed to the deceased, for he was\nthe first man I seen in from me. Well, without with your lave or by\nyour lave, Bully had him tumbled on the floore, an' his four big teeth\nstuck in his windpipe. 'That'll do,' says I, 'as far as wan of ye\ngoes, any way;' an' I med off for the police. I wasn' much out about\nBully, your worship, for the man never left that antil Mr. Cotter an'\nI helped him out into the barn.\"\n\nCotter was then examined. His evidence was \"that he had found the\ndeceased lying dead on the kitchen floor; that the dog on entering lay\ndown at his head and put his paw upon his breast, as if pointing out\nwhat he had done.\" That was all he knew about it.\n\nThe doctor was then examined--surgeon, perhaps, we should call him on\nthis occasion--and swore \"that he had carefully examined the deceased;\nthat he had been choked; and that the wounds in the throat indicated\nthat they had been inflicted by the teeth of a large, powerful dog; no\ncat nor other animal known in this country could have done it.\"\n\nThis closed the evidence. The coroner made a short charge to the jury,\nand the verdict was \"that the deceased, John Fahy, as they believed\nhim to be, had come by his death by being suffocated _and choked_ by a\nlarge black dog called Bully-dhu, belonging to one Edward Cavana, of\nRathcash, in the parish, etc., etc.; but that inasmuch as he, the said\ndeceased, was in the act of committing a felony at the time, for\nwhich, if convicted in a court of law, he would have forfeited his\nlife, they would not recommend the dog to be destroyed.\"\n\nThe coroner said \"he thought this was a very elaborate verdict upon so\nsimple a case; and disagreed with the jury upon the latter part of the\nverdict. The dog could not have known that, and it was evident he was\na ferocious animal, and he thought he ought to be destroyed.\"\n\n\"He did know it, your honor,\" vociferated Jamesy Doyle. \"Didn't I tell\nhim, and wasn't it I pointed out the deceased to him, and tould him to\nhould him? If it was th' ould masther or myself kilt him, you couldn't\nsay a haporth to aidher of us, let alone the dog.\"\n\nIf this was not logic for the coroner, it was for the jury, who\nrefused to change their verdict. But the {248} tack to the verdict,\nexonerating poor Bully-dhu, was almost unnecessary, where he had such\na friend in court as Jamesy Doyle; for he, anticipating some such\nattempt, had provided for poor Bully's safety. His first act after\nCotter had left in the morning was to get a chum of his, who lived not\nfor off, to take the dog in his collar and strap to an uncle's son, a\nfirst cousin of his, about seven miles away, to tell him what had\nhappened, and to take care of the dog until the thing \"blew over,\" and\nthat \"Miss Winny would never forget it to him.\"\n\nBilly Brennan delivered the dog and the message safely; \"he'd do more\nnor that for Miss Winny;\" or for that matter for the dog himself, for\nthey were great play-fellows in the dry grass of a summer's day. Now\nit was a strange fact, and deserves to be recorded for the curious in\nsuch things, that although Bully-dhu had never seen Jamesy's cousin in\nhis life, and that although he was a surly, distant dog to strangers,\nhe took up with young Barny Foley the moment he saw him. He never\nstirred from his side, and did not appear inclined to leave the place.\n\nBefore the inquest had closed its proceedings the two brothers of the\ndeceased man adverted to had arrived to take away the dead body. It\nwas well for poor Bully-dhu, after all, that Jamesy had been so\nthoughtful, although it was quite another source of danger he had\napprehended. The two Fahys searched high and low for the dog, one of\nthem armed secretly with a loaded pistol, but both openly with huge\ncrab-tree sticks to beat his brains out, in spite of coroner,\nmagistrate, police, or jury. But they searched in vain. They offered\nJamesy, not knowing the stuff he was made of, a pound-note \"to show\nthem where the big black dog was.\" His answer, though mute, was just\nlike him. He put his left thumb to the tip of his nose, his right\nthumb to the little finger of the left hand, and began to play the\nbagpipes in the air with his fingers.\n\nThey pressed it upon him and he got vexed.\n\n\"Begorra,\" said be, \"af ye cum here to-night after midnight to take\nMiss Winny away, I'll show him to you, an' maybe it wouldn't be worth\nthe coroner's while to go home.\"\n\n\"He may stay where he is, for that matther,\" said one of the brothers.\n\"He'll have work enough tomorrow or next day at Shanvilla;\" and they\nturned away.\n\n\"Ay, and the hangman from the county of _Cavan_ will have something to\ndo soon afther,\" shouted Jamesy after them, who was never at a loss\nfor an answer. He had the last word here, and it was a sore one.\n\nAs the brothers Fahy failed in their search for Bully, they had\nnothing further that they dare vent their grief and indignation upon.\nIt was no use in bemoaning the matter there amongst unsympathizing\nstrangers; so they fetched the cart to the barn-door and laid the\ncorpse into it, covering it with a white sheet which they had brought\nfor the purpose.\n\n\"Will I lind you a hand, boys?\" said Jamesy, as they were struggling\nwith the weight of the dead man at the barn-door.\n\nThe scowl he got from one of the brothers would have discomfited a boy\nless plucky or self-possessed than Jamesy Doyle; but he had not said\nit in irony. No one there appeared inclined to give any help, and\nJamesy actually did get under the corpse, and \"_helped_ him into the\ncart,\" as he said himself.\n\nThe unfortunate men then left, walking one at each side of their dead\nbrother. And who is there, except perhaps Jamesy Doyle, who would not\npity them as they rumbled their melancholy way down the boreen to the\nroad?\n\n{249}\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\nAbout two hours later in the day \"the chief\" arrived to \"visit the\nscene,\" as he was bound to do before he made his report.\n\nHe was received courteously and with respect by Winny Cavana, who\nshowed him into the parlor. He considerately began by regretting the\nunfortunate and melancholy occurrence which had taken place; but of\ncourse added, the satisfaction it was to him, indeed that it must be\nto every one, that the perpetrators had been secured, particularly the\nprincipal mover in the sad event.\n\nWinny made no remark, and \"the chief\" then requested her to state in\ndetail what had occurred from the time the men broke into the house\nuntil the shot was fired which wounded the man. She seemed at first\ndisinclined to do so; but upon that gentleman explaining that she\nwould be required to do so on her oath, when the magistrate called to\ntake her information, she merely sighed, and said:\n\n\"I suppose so; indeed I do not see why I should not.\"\n\nShe then gave him a plain and succinct account as far as their conduct\nto herself was concerned, and referred him to her father and the\nservants for the share they had taken toward them.\n\nHe then obtained from old Cavana, Biddy Murtagh, and Jamesy Doyle what\nthey knew of the transaction; and thus fully primed and loaded for his\nreport, he left, telling Winny Cavana \"the stipendiary magistrate had\nleft home the day before, but that he would be back the next day; and\nshe might expect an official visit from him, as he would make\narrangements with him that she should not be brought from her home,\nwhen no doubt the prisoners would be remanded for the doctor's report\nof the wounded man.\"\n\nThe morning after \"the chief\" had been at Rathcash house, Winny\nCavana, almost immediately after breakfast, told Jamesy Doyle to get\nready and come with her to Shanvilla. She was anxious to ascertain\nfrom personal knowledge how poor Emon was going on. She was distracted\nwith the contradictory reports which Biddy Murtagh brought in from\ntime to time from the passers-by upon the road. Winny had little, if\nany, hope at all that Edward Lennon would survive. She had been\nassured by Father Farrell, in whose truth and experience she placed\nthe greatest confidence, that it was _impossible_, although he might\nlinger for a few days. The doctor, too, had pronounced the same solemn\ndoom. Her thoughts as she hastened toward Shanvilla were full of awe\nand _determination_. She had spent the night, the entire night, for\nshe had never closed an eye, in laying down a broad short map of her\nfuture life, and it was already engraven on her mind. She had been\nclever in drawing such things at the school where she had him been\neducated, and her thoughts now took that form.\n\nHer poor father while he lived; herself before and after his death;\nthe Lennons one and all; Kate Mulvey, Phil M'Dermott, Jamesy Doyle,\nBiddy Murtagh, and Bully-dhu were the only spots marked upon the map;\nbut they were conspicuous, like the capital towns of counties. There\nwas but one river on the map, and it could be traced by Winny's tears.\nIt was the great river of \"the Past,\" and rose in the distant\nmountains of her memory which hemmed in this map of her fancy. It\nflowed first round old Ned and the Lennons, who were bounded by Winny\non the north, south, east, and west. It passed by Kate Mulvey and Phil\nM'Dermott, and thence passing by Jamesy Doyle, Biddy Murtagh, and\nBully-dhu, it emptied itself into the Irish ocean of Winny's\naffectionate heart.\n\nWinny knew that she would meet Father Farrell at Emon's bedside; he\nscarcely ever left it; and she knew {250} that he would not deceive\nher as to his real state. She knew, too, that he would not refuse her\na sincere Christian advice and counsel upon the sudden resolve which\nhad taken possession of her heart.\n\nFather Farrell saw her coming from Emon's window, and went to meet her\nat the door. They stood in the kitchen alone. The poor father and\nmother had been kept out of Emon's room by the priest, and were\nbewailing their fate in their own room.\n\n\"I am glad you are come, Winny, dear,\" said he. \"The poor fellow has\nnot ceased to speak of you and pray for you from the first, when he\ndoes transgress his orders not to speak at all.\"\n\n\"How is he, oh, how is he, Father Farrell?\"\n\n\"Stronger just now, but dying, Winny Cavana. Let nothing tempt you to\ndeceive yourself. He has been so much stronger for the last hour or so\nthat I was just going to send my gig for yon. He said it would soothe\nhis death-bed, which he knows he is on, Winny, to see you and have\nyour blessing.\"\n\n\"He shall have my blessing, and I shall claim every right to give it\nto him. Father Farrell,\" she added, solemnly, but with a full,\nuntrembling tone, \"will you marry me to Edward Lennon?\"\n\nThe priest almost staggered back from her for a moment.\n\n\"Yes, Father Farrell, you have heard aright, and I solemnly and\nsincerely repeat the question. Listen: You must know that never on\nthis earth will I wed any other. I shall devote myself and the greater\nportion of any wealth I may possess to the church for charitable\npurposes after Edward Lennon, my future husband--future here and\nhereafter--is dead. I wish to call him husband by that precious right\nwhich death will so soon rob me of. Even so, Father Farrell; give me\nthat right, short though it be. It will enable me legally to provide\nfor his honest, stout-hearted father and his broken-hearted mother,\nwithout the lying lips of slander doubting the motive. Oh, Father\nFarrell, it is the only consolation left me now to hope for, or in\nyour power to bestow.\"\n\nThe priest was struck dumb. Her eyes, her breath, pleaded almost more\nthan her words.\n\nFather Farrell sat down upon a form.\n\n\"Winny Cavana,\" he said, \"do not press me--that is, I mean, do not\nhurry me. The matter admits of serious consideration, and may not be\naltogether so unreasonable or extraordinary as it might at first\nappear. But I say that it requires consideration. Walk abroad for a\nfew minutes and let me think.\"\n\n\"No, father. You may remain here for a few minutes and think. Let me\ngo in and see my poor Emon.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, you shall; but I must go in along with you, Winny. I can\ncome out again if I find that more consideration is necessary.\"\n\nWinny saw that she had gained her point. They then entered the room,\nand Emon cast such a look of gratitude and love upon Winny as calmed\nevery doubt upon the priest's mind, for he was afraid that Emon\nhimself would object, and that the scene would injure him.\n\nWinny was soon at Emon's side, with his hand clasped in hers.\n\n\"You are come, Winny dear, to bid me a final good-by--in this world,\"\nhe murmured. \"God bless you for your goodness and your love for me!\"\n\n\"I am come, Emon dear, to fulfil that love in the presence of heaven,\nand with Father Farrell's sanction--am I not, Father Farrell?\"\n\n\"I never doubted it, Winny dear.\"\n\n\"And you shall not doubt it now. You shall die declaring it. Emon--\nEmon, my own Emon-a-knock, I am come to claim the promise you gave me\nto make me your wife.\"\n\n\"Great God, Winny I are you mad?--she not mad. Father Farrell?\"\n\n{251}\n\n\"No, Emon dear, she really is not mad. She will devote herself and her\nwhole future life to charity and the love of a better world than this.\nShe can do that not only as well, but better, in some respects, as\nyour widow than otherwise. I have considered the matter, and I cannot\nsee that there are any just reasons to deny her request.\"\n\n\"Then I shall die happy, though it be this very night. But oh, Winny,\nWinny, think of what you are about; time will soften your grief, and\nyou may yet be happy with ano--\"\n\n\"Stop, Emon dear--not another word; for here, before heaven and Father\nFarrell, I swear never shall I marry any one in this world but you.\nHere, Father Farrell, begin; here is a ring you gave me yourself,\nEmon, and although not a wedding-ring it will do very well--we will\nmake one of it.\"\n\nFather Farrell then brought in Emon's father and mother, and married\nWinny Cavana to the dying man.\n\nShe stooped down and kissed his pallid lips. Big drops of sweat burst\nout upon his forehead, and Father Farrell saw that the last moment was\nat hand. Winny held his hand between both hers, and said, \"Emon, you\nare now mine--mine by divine right, and I resign you to the Lord.\" And\nshe looked up to heaven through the roof, while the big tears rolled\ndown her pale cheeks.\n\n\"Winny,\" said Emon, in a solemn but distinct voice, \"I now die happy.\nFor this I have lived, and for this I die. I cannot count on even\nhours now; my moments are numbered. I feel death trembling round my\nheart. But you have calmed its approach, Winny dear. Your love and\ndevotion at a moment like this is the happiest pang that softens my\npassage to the grave. I can now claim a right to what you promised me\nas a favor--my portion of your space in Rathcash chapel-yard. God\nbless you, Winny dear!--Good-by--my--wife!\"\n\nYes, Emon had lived and had died for the love of her who was _now his\nwidow_.\n\nAs Emon had ceased to speak, a bright smile broke over his whole\ncountenance, and he rendered his last sigh into the safe-keeping of\nhis guardian angel, until the last great day.\n\nWinny knew that he was dead, though his breath had passed so gently\nforth that he might have been only falling asleep. She continued to\nhold his hand, and to gaze upon his still features, while Father\nFarrell's lips moved in silent prayer, more for the living than the\ndead.\n\n\"Come, Winny,\" he at last said, \"you cannot remain here just at\npresent. Come along with me, and I will bring you in my gig to your\nfather's house, where I will tell him all myself.\"\n\n\"Oh, thank you, thank you, Father Farrell,\" she said, turning\nresignedly with him. \"Tell poor Pat Lennon what has happened; their\npity for me as a companion in their grief may help to soften their\nown. Tell him, of course, Father Farrell, that I shall take all the\narrangements of the funeral upon myself--God help them and me!\"\n\nAs they came from the dead man's room they met Pat Lennon in the\nkitchen, and Winny, throwing her arms round his neck, caught the big\nsalt tears which were rolling down his face upon her quivering lips.\n\n\"I have a right to call you father now,\" she exclaimed. \"You have lost\na son, but I will be your daughter,\" and she kissed him again and\nagain.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII.\n\nOn their way to Rathcash, Winny in the first instance told the priest\nthat \"of course her poor husband should be buried in Rathcash\nchapel-yard, and, as a matter in which she could not interfere, by\nFather Roche.\" Here she stopped, but the kind-hearted priest took her\nup at once.\n\n{252}\n\n\"Of course, my dear child,\" he said, \"that will be quite right.\nIndeed, Winny, I should not wish to be the person so soon to add that\nsad ceremony to the still sadder one I was engaged in to-day.\"\n\n\"Before God or man, Father Farrell, you will never have cause to\nregret that act. It was my own choosing after deliberate\nconsideration, and I was best judge of my own feelings. I _can_ be\nhappy now. I never _could_ be happy if it were otherwise.\"\n\n\"God grant it, my love,\" said the priest.\n\n\"But still, Father Farrell,\" she continued, \"I have something more for\nyou to do for me. Will you not, like a good man, take all the\narrangement of the funeral upon yourself? I will pay every penny of\nthe expenses, and let them not be niggardly. Thank God, Father\nFarrell, I can do so now without reproach.\"\n\nThe kind, sympathizing priest engaged to do everything which was\nrequisite in the most approved of manner. The more he reflected upon\nwhat he had done, the less fault he had to find with himself. There\nwas a calm, resigned tone about all that Winny now said very different\nfrom what he might have anticipated from his knowledge of her temper\nand disposition, had the fatal moment taken place when the shot was\nfired, or even subsequently before she became Edward Lennon's wife.\nBitter revenge, he thought, would have seized her soul toward the man\nwho had deprived her of all hope or source of happiness in this world.\nNow the only time she trusted her tongue to speak of him was an\nexclamation--\"May God forgive him!\"\n\nThey soon arrived at Rathcash house, where Father Farrell paid a long\nvisit to old Ned Cavana. His kindness quite gained upon the old man,\nand, before he left, he acquainted him with the facts of his\ndaughter's position and the death of her husband.\n\nThe old man sat silent for some time after the truth had been made\nknown to him. Winny stood hoping for a look of encouragement and\nforgiveness; but the old man gave it not. At length, with that\nimpatience habitual to her disposition, she rushed into his arms and\nwept upon his breast.\n\n\"Oh, father!\" she exclaimed, \"I could never be the wife of any man\nliving after poor Emon's death in defence of my life; ay, more than my\nlife, of my honor.\"\n\n\"But oh, Winny, Winny! to sacrifice yourself for a man so near the\ngrave! There was no hope for him, I heerd.\"\n\n\"None, father. I was aware of that. Had there been, I should have\nwaited patiently. I told Father Farrell here my plans, and the same\nthing as swore that I would not alter them. He will now tell them to\nyou, father dear; and I shall lie down for a couple of hours, for\nindeed I want rest of both body and mind.\"\n\nShe then kissed her father again and again, and blessed him, or rather\nshe prayed God to do so, and went to her room.\n\nFather Farrell then explained all Winny's views to her distracted\nfather, observing, as he had been enjoined to do, the tenderest love\nand respect for the old man; taking nothing \"for granted;\" but at the\nsame time showing the utmost confidence that all matters would still\nbe arranged for his daughter in the same manner he had often explained\nto her to be his intention. \"One step she was determined on,\" Father\nFarrell said; \"and that was to join a religious sisterhood of charity\nin the north. Nothing should ever tempt her to marry.\"\n\n\"I'll sell this place at wance,\" said old Ned. \"It's not a month since\nI had a rattlin' bid for it; but my landlord--and he's member for the\ncounty, you know--tould me with his own lips, that if ever I had a\nmind to part with it, he'd give me a hundred pounds more for it than\nany one else.\"\n\n\"That was Winny's wish, Ned; and that you should remove with her to\nthe north, where she would settle you comfortably, and where she could\n{253} see you almost every day in the week.\"\n\n\"Almost,\" repeated old Ned, sorrowfully.\n\n\"Well, perhaps every day, Ned, for that matter.\"\n\n\"Well, Father Farrell, I would not wish to stay here any longer afther\nwhat has happened. I'll sell the place out an' out at wance. I have\nnothing to do but to write to my landlord. I could not bear to be\nlookin' across at Mick Murdock's afther what tuck place. I think my\npoor Winny is right; an' that it was the Lord put it all into her\nhead. Athen, Father Farrell, maybe it was yourself laid it down for\nthe little girl?\"\n\n\"No, Ned; she laid it all down for me. I was going to reason with her\nat first, but she put her hand upon my mouth, and told me to stop;\nthat nothing should alter her plans. I considered her words, Ned, for\na while, and I gave in; not on account of her determination, but\nbecause I thought she was right. And I think so still; even to the\nmarrying of Emon on his death-bed.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Father Farrell, you have aised my mind. Glory be to God that\nguided her!\"\n\n\"Amen,\" said the priest.\n\nFather Farrell had now in the kindest manner dealt with old Ned\nCavana, according to Winny's wishes and instructions; so that it was\nan easy matter for Winny herself on that evening, when she had joined\nher father after a refreshing sleep, to explain more in detail her\nintentions as regarded herself, and her wishes as regarded her\nfriends--those capitals of counties which were marked on the map of\nher imagination.\n\nOld Ned was like a child in her hands; and no mother ever handled her\nfirst-born babe more fondly than Winny dealt with her poor old father.\n\n\"Ducks an' dhrakes iv it, Winny asthore; ducks an' dhrakes iv it,\nWinny dear! Isn't it all your own; what do I want with it, mavrone,\nbut to see you happy? an' haven't you laid out a plan for both\nyourself an' myself that can't be bet, Winny mavoureen?\"\n\nThe old man was perfectly satisfied with the map, and studied it so\nwell that he had it by heart before he went to bed, and could have\ntold you the boundaries of all Winny's wishes to the breadth of a\nhair, as he kissed her for the last time that night.\n\nI will spare the reader a detail of the melancholy _cort\u00e8ge_ of poor\nEmon-a-knock's funeral, which proceeded from Shanvilla to Rathcash\nchapel-yard the day but one after.\n\nWinny had expressed a wish to attend it, but had yielded to the joint\nadvice of Father Farrell and Father Roche to resist the impulse.\n\nEmon-a-knock had been well and truly loved in life, and was now\nsincerely regretted in death. Father Farrell, at the head of the\nprocession, was met by Father Roche bare-headed at the chapel-gate of\nRathcash, and the melancholy ceremony was performed amidst the silent\ngrief of the immense crowd around. Poor Emon's last wish was complied\nwith, and he now occupied his last resting-place with the Cavanas of\nRathcash.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV.\n\nIt was still about an hour after noon when Winny beheld from the\nparlor window at which she stood a very exciting cavalcade upon the\nroad, slowly approaching the house. At once she became acquainted with\nthe whole concern. \"The chief\" had fore-warned her that she might\nexpect a visit from the magistrate the moment he returned; and her\nintelligence at once recognized the addition of the police and\nprisoners some distance in rear of the car.\n\nWinny's heart beat quick and high as she saw them draw nigh and turn\nup the lane. It would be mock heroism to say that it did not. She knew\n{254} that Tom Murdock, the murderer of her husband, must be one of\nthe prisoners, but she did not know why they were bringing him\nthere--for the police had now made the turn. She thought the\nmagistrate might have spared her that fresh excitement--that renewal\nof her hate. But the magistrate was one of those who had anticipated\nthe law by his sense of justice and his practice. He was one who gave\nevery one of his majesty's subjects fair play, and it was therefore\nhis habit to have the accused face to face with the accuser when\ninformations were taken and read.\n\nPoor Winny was rather fluttered and disturbed when they entered,\nnotwithstanding \"the chief\" had considerately prepared her for the\nvisit. She did not lose her self-possession, however, so much as to\nforget the respect and courtesy due to gentlemen, beside being\nofficers of the law. She asked them down into the parlor, and\nrequested of them to be seated. They accepted her civility in silence,\nseeing enough in her manner to show them that she was greatly\ndistressed, and required a little time to compose herself'. She was,\nhowever, the first to speak.\n\n\"I suppose, gentlemen, you are come respecting this sad affair. I told\nthis gentleman here all I knew about it yesterday.\"\n\n\"Yes, but matters are still worse today, although there was no hope\neven then that they would be better. Of course it will relieve you so\nfar at once to tell you that we are aware of the position in which you\nnow stand toward the deceased.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir. It was with a wish that the world might know it I took the\nstep I did. I had Father Farrell's approval of it, and my own\nparish-priest's as well; but subsequently--\"\n\n\"My good girl, we did not come here to question the propriety or\notherwise of either your actions or your motives. Nor do I for one\nhesitate to say that I believe both to have been unexceptionable. But\nit will be necessary that you should make an information upon oath as\nto what took place from the first moment the men came to the door,\nuntil the shot was fired by which Edward Lennon came by his death.\"\n\n\"I suppose, sir, you must have much better evidence than mine as to\nthe firing of the shot. I can only swear to the fact of two men having\ntied me up and carried me away on a cart, and that there was a third\nman on horseback with a mask upon his face; that when we came to Boher\nbridge, the deceased Edward Lennon and his father came to our rescue;\nthat there was a long and distracting struggle at the bridge, which\nlasted with very doubtful hopes of success for my deliverance until\nJamesy Doyle, our servant-boy, came up with the police; that the man\non horseback with the mask, whom I verily believe to have been Thomas\nMurdock, turned to fly; that the deceased Edward Lennon fastened in\nhis horse's bridle to prevent him; that a deadly struggle ensued\nbetween them, and that the man on horseback fired at the deceased, who\nfell, I may say, dead on the road. The sight left my eyes, sir, and\nexcept that we brought the dying man home on the cart, I know no more\nabout it of my own knowledge, sir.\"\n\n\"A very plain, straightforward, honest story as I ever heard,\" said\nthe magistrate. \"But it will be necessary for you, when upon your\noath, to state whether you know, that is, whether you recognized, the\nman on horseback at time.\"\n\n\"I could not recognize his features, sir, on account of the mask he\nwore; but I did recognize his voice as that of Tom Murdock, and I know\nhis figure and general appearance.\"\n\n\"That will do now, Mrs. Lennon. I shall only trouble you to repeat\nslowly and distinctly what you have already said, so that I can write\nit down.\"\n\nThe magistrate then unlocked his leather writing-case, took out the\nnecessary forms for informations, and was {255} not long embodying\nwhat Winny had to say in premier shape.\n\nHe then went through the same form with old Ned, with Biddy Murtagh,\nand with Jamesy Doyle.\n\nWhen the magistrate had all the informations taken and arranged, he\ndirected Sergeant Driscoll to bring in the prisoners, that he might\nread them over and swear the several informants in their presence.\nWinny became very nervous and fidgety, and would have left the room,\nbut the magistrate assured her that it was absolutely necessary that\nshe should remain, at least while her own informations were being\nread. He would read them first, and she might then retire. He\nregretted very much that it was necessary, but he would not detain her\nmore than a couple of minutes at most.\n\nTom Murdock and the other prisoner were then brought in; and Winny\nhaving identified the other man, her informations were read in a loud,\ndistinct voice by the magistrate, and she acknowledged herself bound,\netc, etc.\n\n\"You may now retire, Mrs. Lennon,\" said the magistrate; and she\nhastened to leave the room.\n\nTom Murdock stood near the door out of which she must pass, his hands\ncrossed below his breast in consequence of the handcuffs. He knew that\nthere was no chance of escape, no hope of an alteration or mitigation\nof his doom in this world. Everything was too plain against him. There\nwere several witnesses to his deed of death, and the damning words by\nwhich it was accompanied, and he knew that the rope must be his end.\nWell, he had purchased his revenge, and he was willing to pay for it.\nHe determined, therefore, to put on the bravado, and glut that revenge\nupon his still surviving victim.\n\n\"Emon-a-knock is dead. Miss Cavana,\" said he, as Winny would have\npassed him to the door, her eyes fastened on the ground; \"but not\nburied yet\", he added, with a sardonic smile. \"I wish I were free of\nthese manacles, that I might follow his _remains_ to Shanvilla\nchapel-yard.\"\n\n\"You would go wrong,\" she calmly reply. \"He is indeed dead, but not\nburied yet. But he is my dead husband, and will lie with the Cavanas\nin the chapel-yard of Rathcash, and rise again with them; and I would\nrather be possessed of the inheritance of the six feet of grass upon\nhis grave than be mistress of Rathcash, and Rathcashmore to boot.\nWhere will you be buried, Tom Murdock? Within the precincts of--the\njail? To rise with-but no! I shall not condemn beyond the grave; may\nGod forgive you! I cannot.\"\n\nEven Tom Murdock's stony heart was moved. \"Winny Cavana, do you think\nGod can?\" he said, turning toward her; but she had passed out of the\ndoor.\n\nThe magistrate then read the informations of the other witnesses,\nwhile Tom Murdock and the other prisoner, stood apparently listening,\nthough they heard not a word.\n\nJamesy Doyle's informations were word for word characteristic of\nhimself. He insisted upon having the flash of lightning inserted\ntherein, as an undoubted fact, \"if ever he saw one knock a man down in\nhis life.\"\n\nThe magistrate and \"the chief\" had then some conversation with old Ned\nand Winny, who had returned at their request to the parlor. It was of\na general character, but still respecting the melancholy occurrence,\nor indeed occurrences, the magistrate said, for he had heard of the\ndeath of the man who had been killed by the \"watch-dog.\" Ere they left\nthey took Jamesy aside upon this subject, as the only person who knew\nanything of this part of the business, and the magistrate requested\nhim to state distinctly what he knew of the transaction.\n\nJamesy was _distinct_ enough, as the reader will believe, from the\nspecimens he has already had of his style of communicating facts.\n\n\"Tell me, my good boy,\" said the magistrate, \"did you _set_ the dog at\n{256} the deceased?\" laying a strong emphasis on the word.\n\n\"Beghorra, your honor, Bully-dhu didn't want any settin' at all. The\nminnit he seen the man inside in the kitchen, he stuck in his thrapple\nat wanst. I knew he'd hould him till I come back, an' I med off for\nthe police.\"\n\n\"Are you aware, my young champion, that if you set the dog at the\ndeceased you would be guilty of manslaughter at least, if not murder?\"\n\n\"Of murdher, is id? Oh, tare anages, what's this for? Begorra, af that\nbe law it isn't justice. Didn't they tie th' ould masther neck an'\nheels? Didn't they tie Miss Winny and carry her off to murdher her, or\nmaybe worse? Didn't they tie Biddy Murtagh? and wouldn't they ha' tied\nme af they could get hoult of me? an' would you want Bully-dhu to sit\non his boss, lookin' on at all that, your honor?\"\n\n\"That may be all true, Jamesy, but I do not think the law would\nexonerate you, for all that, if you set the dog at the deceased man.\"\n\n\"Well, begorra, I pointed at the man, your honor; but I tell you\nBully-dhu wanted no settin' at him at all; af he did I'd have given it\nto him; and I think the law would onerate me for that same. See here\nnow, your honor. Af th' ould masther had a double-barrel gun, an' shot\nthe two men as dead as mutton that was goin' to tie him up, wouldn't\nthe law be well plaised wid him? and if I had a pistol, an' shot every\nman iv 'em, wouldn't your honor make a chief iv me at least, instead\nof sending me to jail? and why wouldn't Bully-dhu, who had on'y a pair\nof double-barrel tusks, do his part an' help us? I'm feedin' an'\ntaichin' that dog, your honor, since he was a whelp, an' he never\ndisappointed me yet--there now!\"\n\nThere was certainly natural logic in all this, which the magistrate,\nwith all his experience of the law, found it difficult to contradict.\nA notion had come into his head at one time that if Jamesy Doyle had\nset the dog at John Fahy, he might be guilty of his death,\nnotwithstanding the said John Fahy had been committing a felony at the\ntime. But there was no proof that he had set the dog at the man beyond\nhis own admission, and the question had not been raised. Jamesy was\nwilling to avow his responsibility, as far as it went, in the most\nopen and candid manner, and not only that, but to _justify_ it, which\nhe had indeed done in a most extraordinary, clever manner. Then what\nhad been his conduct all through? Had it not been that of a\ncourageous, faithful boy, who had risked his own life in obstructing\nthe escape of the murderer? and was he not the most material witness\nthey had--the only one who had never lost sight of the man who had\nshot Edward Lennon, until he himself had secured him for the police?\n\"No, no,\" reflected the magistrate; \"it would be absurd to hold Jamesy\nDoyle liable for anything, but the most qualified approbation of his\nconduct from first to last.\"\n\n\"Well, Jamesy,\" said he, out of these thoughts, \"we will take your own\nopinion in favor of yourself for the present. There is no doubt of\nyour being forthcoming at the next assizes?\"\n\n\"Begorra, your honor, I'll stick to the ould masther and Miss Winny,\nan' I don't think they're likely to lave this.\"\n\n\"That will do, Jamesy. Come, Mr.----, I think we have taken up almost\nenough of these poor people's time. We may be going.\"\n\nA word or two about old Mick Murdock ere we close this chapter, as the\nreader, not having seen or heard of him for some days, will no doubt\nbe curious to know what he had been doing, and how he comported\nhimself during so trying and exciting a scene.\n\nDuring the period which Tom had spent in the obscure little\npublic-house {257} upon the mountain road in the county Cavan, his own\nreport that, he had gone to the north had done him no service; for the\naddition which he had tacked to it, about \"going to get married to a\nrich young lady,\" was not believed by a single person for whose\ndeception it had been spread abroad. That sort of thing had been so\noften repeated without fulfilment that people reversed the cry of the\nwolf upon the subject.\n\nThere was nothing now for it with those to whom Tom was indebted but\nto go to his father, in hopes of some arrangement being made to even\nsecure them in their money. Several bills of exchange--some overdue,\nand some not yet at maturity--with his name across them, were brought\nto old Mick for sums varying from ten to fifteen and twenty pounds.\nOld Mick quietly pronounced them one and all to be _forgeries_. Tom\nand he had had some very sharp words before he went away. He had\ncalled the poor old man a \"----old niggard\" to his face, and he heard\nthe words \"cannot lost very long,\" as Tom slapped the door behind him.\n\nOld Mick would have only fretted at all this had his son returned in a\nreasonable time to his home, and, as usual, made promises of\namendment, or had even written to him. It was the first time that ever\na forged acceptance had been presented to him for payment, and Tom's\nprolonged absence without any preconcerted object to account for it\nweighed heavily upon the old man's heart as to his son's real\ncharacter. Tom was all this time, as the reader is aware, planning a\nbold stroke to secure Winny Cavana's fortune to pay off these\nforgeries. But we have seen with what a miserable result.\n\nIt was impossible to hide the glaring fact of Tom Murdock's\napprehension and committal to jail upon the dreadful charge of murder\nfrom his father. It rang from one end of the parish to the other. But\ninstead of rushing to meet his son, clapping his hands, and\nexclaiming, \"Oh! wiristhrue, wiristhrue! what's this for?\" poor old\nMick was completely prostrated by the news; and there he lay in his\nbed, unable to move hand or foot from the poignancy of his grief and\ndisgrace.\n\nIf Tom Murdock has broken his poor old father's heart, and he never\nrises from that bed, it is only another item in his great account.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV.\n\nThe reader will recollect that the incidents recorded in the two last\nchapters took place toward the latter end of June. We will, therefore,\nhave time, before the assizes come on, to let him know how far Winny's\nfancy map was perfected.\n\nFor herself, then, first. She had determined to become a member of a\nconvent in the north of Ireland, giving up the world with all its\nvanities--she knew nothing of its pomps--and devoting her time, her\ntalents, and whatever money she might finally possess, to religious\nand charitable purposes. She had not delayed long after the magistrate\nand \"the chief\" had left, and she had experienced a refreshing sleep,\nin taking her father into her confidence to the fullest extent of her\nintuitions, not only as regarded herself, but with respect to those\nfriends whom she had set down upon the map to be provided for.\n\n\"Father,\" she said, continuing a conversation, \"there is no use in\nyour moving such a thing to me. It is no matter at what time you\nproject it for me; my mind is made up beyond even the consideration of\nthe question. I will never marry. Do not, like a dear good father that\nyou have ever been, move it to me any more.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Winny, I could not add a word more than I have already sed;\nan' if that fails to bring you round, {258} share I'm dumb, Winny\nasthore. God's will be done! I'm dumb.\"\n\n\"It is his will I am seeking, father. What matter if we are the last\nof the Cavanas, as you say? Beside, my children would not be Cavanas;\nrecollect that, father.\"\n\n\"I know that, Winny jewel; but they'd be of th' ould stock all the\nsame. Their grandfather would be a Cavana, if he lived to see them.\"\n\n\"Be thankful for what you have, father dear. There never was a large\nclan of a name but some one of them brought grief to it.\"\n\n\"Ay, Winny asthore; but there is always wan that makes up for it by\ntheir superior goodness. Look at me that never had but the wan, an'\nwasn't she, an' isn't she, a threasure to me all the days of my life?\nLook at that, Winny.\"\n\n\"And there is your next-door neighbor, father, never had but the one,\nand instead of a treasure, has he not been a curse? Look you at that,\nfather.\"\n\nOld Ned was silent for some moments, and Winny did not wish to\ninterrupt his thoughts. She hoped he was coming quite round to her way\nof thinking with respect to her never \"getting married;\" and she was\nright.\n\n\"Well, Winny asthore,\" he said, after a pause, \"shure you're doin' a\ngood turn for your sowl hereafther at any rate; an' I'll be led an'\nsed by your own sinse of goodness in the matther. For myself, Winny,\nwheresomever you go I'll go, where I'll see you sometimes--as often as\nyou can, Winny. Be my time long or short, I know that you will never\nsee me worse, if not betther nor what I always was. But it isn't aisy\nto lave this place, Winny asthore, where I'm livin' since I was the\nhoith of your knee with your grandfather an' your grandmother--God\nrest their sowls! There isn't a pebble in the long walk in the garden,\nnor a pavin'-stone in the yard, that I couldn't place upon paper\nforenent you there this minnit, and tell you the color of them every\nwan. There's scarcely a blade of grass in the pasthure-fields that I\ncouldn't remember where it grows in my dhrames. There isn't a\nfurze-blossom in the big ditch but what I'd know it out iv the bud it\ncum from. There isn't a thrush nor a blackbird about the place but\nwhat I know themselves an' their whistles as well as I know your own\nsong from Biddy Murtagh's or Jamesy Doyle's. Not a robin-redbreast in\nthe garden, Winny, that doesn't know me as well as I know you; an' I\ncould tell you the difference between the very chaffinches--I could,\nWinny, I could.\"\n\n\"I know all that, father dear, and I know it will not be easy to break\nup all them happy thoughts in your mind. But then you know, father\ndear, I could not stop here looking across at the house where that man\nlived. God help me, father, I do not know what to do!\"\n\nPoor old Ned saw that she was distressed, and was sorry he had drawn\nsuch a picture of his former happiness at Rathcash. The recollection\nof these little matters had run upon his tongue, but it was not with\nany intention of using them as an argument to change Winny's plans.\n\n\"Winny,\" he said, \"I didn't mane to fret you; shure I know what you\nsay is all thrue. I could not stop here myself no more nor what you\ncould, Winny, afther what has happened. Dear me, Winny jewel, how soon\nyou seen through that fellow, an' how glad I am that you didn't give\nin to me! But now, Winny asthore, let us quit talking of him, and\nlisten to what I have to say to you. 'Tis just this. My landlord, who\nyou know is member for the county, tould me any time I had a mind to\nsell my intherest in Rathcash, that he'd give me a hundred pounds more\nfor it than any one else. I'll write to him tomorrow, plaise God,\nabout it. You know Jerry Carty? Well, he is afther offerin' me seven\nhundred {259} pounds into my fist for my good-will of the place. As\ngood luck would have it, I did not put any price upon it when my\nlandlord spoke to me about sellin' it. I can tell him now that I have\na mind to sell it, an' I won't hide the raison aidher. I can let him\nknow what Carty is willin' to give me for it, an' he's sure to give me\neight hundred pounds. You know, Winny, that your six hundred pounds is\nin the bank b'arin' intherest for you, an' what you don't dhraw is\nadded to it every half year. But that's naidher here nor there, Winny,\nfor it will be all your own the very moment this place is sould, an',\nas I sed before, you may make ducks and dhrakes iv it. Shure I know,\nWinny, that'll you never see me want for a haporth while I last, be it\nlong or short. But, Winny dear, let us live in the wan house; that's\nall I ax, mavourneen macree.\"\n\n\"That will be about fourteen hundred pounds in all, father.\"\n\n\"A thrifle more nor that, I think, Winny. Maybe you did not know how\nmuch or how little it was, when you laid it out the way you tould me.\"\n\n\"No, not exactly, father; but I knew I must have been very much within\nthe mark; I took care of that.\"\n\n\"Go over it again for me, Winny dear, af it wouldn't be too much\nthrouble.\"\n\n\"Not in the least, father. You know I took Kate Mulvey first, and\ndetermined to settle three hundred pounds upon her for a fortune\nagainst 'she meets with some young man,' as the song says. And I\nbelieve, father, Phil M'Dermott, the whitesmith, will be about the\nman. He is very fond of Kate, but he would not marry any woman until\nhe had saved enough of money to set up a house comfortly and decently\nupon. Three hundred pounds fortune with Kate will set them up in good\nstyle, and I shall see the best friend I ever had happy. Then, father,\nthere are the Lennons, my poor dear husband's parents, whom I shall\nnext consider. Pat Lennon, poor Emon's father, risked his life most\nmanfully in my defence. Were it not for his resolute attack upon the\ntwo men with the cart, and the obstruction he gave them, they would\nhave carried me through the pass long before the police and Jamesy\nDoyle came up; and the probability is that you would never have seen\nyour poor Winny again. I purpose purchasing the good-will of that\nlittle farm and house from which the Murphys are about to emigrate,\nand settle a small gratuity upon them during their lives.\"\n\n\"Annuity, I suppose you mane, Winny; but it's no matther. How much\nwill that take, Winny?\"\n\n\"About two hundred pounds, father, including the--what is it you call\nit, father?'\n\n\"Annuity, Winny, annuity; I didn't think you were so--\"\n\n\"Annuity,\" she repeated before he had got the other word out, and he\nwas glad afterward.\n\n\"Well, Winny, that's only five hundred out of somethin' over six.\"\n\n\"Then I'll give Biddy Murtagh a hundred pounds, and she must live as\ncook and house-maid with Kate; and I'll lodge twenty pounds in the\nsavings-bank for Jamesy Doyle. Perhaps I owe him more than the whole\nof them put together.\"\n\n\"That will be the first duck, Winny.\"\n\n\"How is that, father?'\n\n\"Why, it's well beyant the six hundred, Winny, which was all you were\ngoin' upon at first; but you may now begin with whatever we get by the\nsale of Rathcash.\"\n\n\"Well, father, I would only wish to suggest the distribution of that,\nfor you know I have no call to it, and God grant that it may be a long\nday until I have.\"\n\n\"Faix, an' Winny, af that be so, you've left yourself bare enough. But\ndon't be talkin' nonsense, child. What would I want with it? Won't\n{260} you take care iv me, Winny asthore? an' won't you want the most\niv it where you are agoin? an' didn't you tell me already that you'd\nlike me to let you give it to the charities of that religious\nestablishment? Shure, there's no use in my askin' you any more not to\ngo into it.\"\n\n\"None indeed, father, for I am resolved upon it. But you shall live in\nthe town with me, and I can take care of you the same as if I was in\nthe house with you. There shall be nothing that you can want or wish\nfor that you shall not have, and no day that it is possible that I\nwill not see you.\"\n\n\"What more had I here, Winny, except the crops coming round from the\nseed to the harvest, an' the cattle, an' the grass, an' the birds in\nthe bushes? Dear, oh dear, yes! Hadn't I yourself, Winny asthore,\nforenent me at breakust, dinner, an' supper; an' warn't you for ever\ntalkin' to me of an evenin', with your stitchin' or your knittin'\nacross your lap; an', Winny jewel, wasn't your light song curling\nthrough the yard, an' the house, afore I was up in the mornin'? But\nnow--now--Winny--oh, Winny asthore, mavourneen macree! but your poor\nold father will miss yourself, no matther how kind your plans may be\nfor his comfort. Shure, the very knowledge that you were asleep in the\nhouse with me was a blessin'.\"\n\n\"Father,\" she said, \"God bless you! I will be back with you in a few\nminutes--do not fret;\" and she left him, and shut herself up in her\nroom.\n\nBut he did fret; and he was no sooner alone than the big tears burst\nuncontrollably forth into a pocket-handkerchief, which he continued to\nsop against his face.\n\nWinny had thrown herself upon her knees at the bedside, and prayed to\nGod to guide her. Her thoughts and prayers were too dignified and holy\nfor tears. But they had made a free course to the pinnacle of the\nmercy-seat, and she rose with her soul refreshed by the glory which\nhad responded to her cry for guidance.\n\nShe returned to her father, a radiant smile of anticipated pleasure\nplaying round her beautiful lips. There was no sign of grief, or even\nof emotion, on her cheeks.\n\n\"Father,\" she said, \"I have been seeking guidance from the Almighty in\nthis matter; and the old saying that 'charity begins at home'--that is\nmoral charity in this instance--has been suggested to my heart. We\nshall not part, father, even temporarily. Where you live, I shall\nlive. I have been told, father, just now, while upon my knees, that to\ndo all the good I have projected need not oblige me to join as an\nactual member of any charitable or religious society. No, father, I\ncan carry out all my plans without the necessity of living apart from\nyou; we will therefore, father dear, still live together. But let us\nremove when this place is sold to B----, where the establishment I\nhave spoken of is situated, and there, with my knitting or my\nstitching on my lap before you in the evenings, I can carry on all my\nplans in connection with the institution without being an actual\nmember, which might involve the necessity of my living in the house.\nBut, father dear, I hope you do not disapprove of any of them, or of\nthe distribution of the money, so far as I have laid it out.\"\n\nIt was then quietly and finally arranged between them that as soon as\nRathcash was sold, and the stock and furniture disposed of, they would\nremove to B----, in a northern county. They there intended to take a\nsmall house, either in the town or precincts--the latter old Ned\npreferred--where Winny could join the Sisters of Charity, at least in\nher acts, if not as a resident member. The money was to be disposed of\nas Winny had laid out, and legal deeds were to be prepared and\nperfected; and poor Winny, notwithstanding the sudden cloud which had\ndarkened the blue heaven of her {261} life, was to be as happy as the\nday was long.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVI.\n\n\n\nWithin a month from the scene between Winny and her father described\nabove, Rathcash bad been purchased and paid for. There had been \"a\ngreat auction\" of the stock, crops, and furniture. The house was shut\nup, the door locked, and the windows bolted. No smoke curled from the\nbrick chimneys through the poplars. No sleek dark-red cows stood\nswinging their tails and licking their noses, while a fragrant smell\nof luscious milk rose through the air. No cock crew, no duck quacked,\nno Turkey gobbled, and no goose gabbled. No dog bayed the moon by\nnight. Bully-dhu was at the flitting. The corn-stands and haggard were\nnaked and cold, and the grass was beginning to grow before the door.\nThe whole place seemed solitary and forlorn, awaiting a new tenant, or\nwhatever plans the proprietor might lay out for its future occupation.\nWinny and her father had torn themselves from the spot hallowed to the\nold man by years of uninterrupted happiness, and to the young girl by\nthe memory of a blissful childhood and the first sunshine of the\nbright hope which is nearest to a woman's heart, until that fatal\nnight when vengeful crime broke in and snapt both spells asunder.\nRathcash and Rathcashmore had been a byword in the mouths of young and\nold for the nine days limited for the wonder of such things.\n\nIf the goodness of his only child had broken the heart of one old man\nfrom the reflection that her earthly happiness had been hopelessly\nblighted, and his fond plans and prospects for her crushed for ever,\nthe villany and wickedness of another had not been less certain in a\nsimilar result. Old Mick Murdock--ere his son stood before an earthly\ntribunal to answer for his crimes--had been summoned before the court\nof heaven.\n\nThe assizes came round, \"the charge was prepared, the judge was\narrayed--a most _ter_rible show.\" Old Cavana and his daughter were, as\na matter of course, summoned by the crown for the prosecution, as were\nalso Pat Lennon, Jamesy Doyle, Biddy Murtagh, and the policemen who\nhad come to the rescue.\n\nOld Ned was the first witness, Winny the second, Jamesy Doyle the\nthird. Then Biddy Murtagh and Pat Lennon, and finally, before the\ndoctor's medical evidence was given, the policemen who came to the\nrescue, particularly he who had seen the shot fired and the man fall.\n\nThis closed the evidence for the Crown. There was no case, there could\nbe no case, for the prisoner, beyond the futile cross-examination of\nthe witnesses, by an able and tormenting counsellor, old Bob B----y,\nwhose experience in this instance was worse than useless.\n\nThe reader need hardly follow on to the result. Tom Murdock was\nconvicted and sentenced to death; and ere three weeks had elapsed he\nhad paid the penalty of an ungovernable temper and a revengeful\ndisposition upon the scaffold.\n\nPoor Winny had pleaded hard with the counsel for the crown, and even\nwith the attorney-general himself--who prosecuted in person--that Tom\nMurdock might be permitted to plead guilty to the abduction, and be\nsentenced to transportation for life. But the attorney-general, who\nhad all the informations by heart, said that the animus had been\nmanifest all through, from even prior to the hurling-match, which was\nalluded to by the prisoner himself as he fired the shot, and that he\nwould most certainly arraign the prisoner for the murder. And so he\nwas found guilty; and Winny, with her heart full of plans of peace and\ncharity, was obliged to forge the first link in a chain the {262}\nsucceeding ones of which dragged Tom Murdock to an ignominious grave.\n\nOld Ned and Winny, accompanied by faithful Bully-dhu, had returned to\nB----, where the old man read and loitered about, watching every\nfigure which approached, hoping to see his angel girl pass on some\nmission of holy charity, dressed in her black hood and cape.\n\nAccompanied by Bully-dhu, he picked up every occurrence in the street,\nand compiled them in his memory, to amuse Winny in the evenings, in\nreturn for her descriptions of this or that case of distress which she\nhad relieved. Thus they told story about, not very unlike tragedy and\nfarce!\n\nA sufficient time had now elapsed, not only for the deeds to have been\nperfected, but for the provisions which they set forth to have been\ncarried out. Pat Lennon had already removed to the comfortable cottage\nupon the snug little farm which had been purchased for him by Winny,\nand the \"annuity\" she had settled upon him was bearing interest in the\nsavings-bank at C. O. S.\n\nPhil M'Dermott was one of the best to do men in that side of the\ncountry, and his wife (if you can guess who she was) was the nicest\nand the handsomest he (now that Winny was gone) that you'd meet with\nin the congregation of the three chapels within four miles of where\nshe lived. Jamesy Doyle had been transferred--head, body, and\nbones--to the establishment, where he excelled himself in everything\nwhich was good and useful and--_handy_. Many a figary was got from\ntime to time after him in the forge, filed up bright and nice, and if\nhe does not \"sorely belie\" his abilities and aptitude, he will one day\nbecome a \"whitesmith\" of no mean reputation.\n\nBiddy Murtagh was to have gone as cook and thorough servant to _Mrs.\nM'Dermott;_ but the hundred pounds which had been lodged to her credit\nin the bank soon smoothed the way between her and Denis Murrican--a\nShanvilla boy, you will guess--who induced her to become cook, but not\nthorough servant, I hope, to himself; so Kate M'Dermott--how strange\nit seems not to write 'Kate Mulvey'!--was obliged to get somebody\nelse.\n\nPoor Winny, blighted in her own hopes of this world's happiness, had\nturned her thoughts to a surer and more abiding source. She had seen\nher plans for the happiness of those she loved carried out to a\nsuccess almost beyond her hopes. Her poor old father, getting whiter\nand whiter as the years rolled on, attained a ripe and good old age,\nblessed in the fond society of the only being whom he loved on earth.\nWinny herself found too large a field for individual charity and good\nto think of joining any society, however estimable, during her\nfather's lifetime, and was emphatically _the_ Sister of Charity in the\nsingular number.\n\nBut poor old Ned has long since passed away from this scene of earthly\ncares, and sleeps in peace in his own chapel-yard, between _two\ntombs_. Long as the journey was, Winny had the courage and\nself-control to come with her father's bier, and see his coffin laid\nbeside that of him who had been so rudely snatched away, and whom she\nhad so devotedly loved. Poor Bully-dhu was at the funeral, and gazed\ninto the fresh-made grave in silent, dying grief. When all was over,\nand the last green sod slapped down upon the mound, he could nowhere\nbe found. He had suddenly eluded all observation. But ere a week had\npassed by, he was found dead upon his master's grave, after the whole\nneighborhood had been terrified by a night of the most dismal howling\nwhich was ever heard.\n\nWinny returned to the sphere of her usefulness and hope, where for\nmany years she continued to exercise a course of unselfish charity,\nwhich made many a heart sing for joy.\n\n{263}\n\nBut she, too, passed away, and was brought home to her last\nresting-place in Rathcash chapel-yard, where the three tombs are still\nto be seen. Were she now alive she would yet be a comparatively young\nwoman, not much past sixty-four or sixty-five years of age. But it\npleased God, in his inscrutable ways, to remove her from the circle of\nall her bounty and her love. Had it not been so, this tale would not\nhave yet been written.\n\n------\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\n\"REQUIEM AETERNAM.\"\n\n\n  Lo! another pilgrim, weary\n    With his toils, hath reached the goal.\n  And we lift our \"_Miserere_\"\n    For the dear departed soul;\n  God of pity and of love!\n  May he reign with thee above!\n\n  By the pleasures he surrendered,\n    By the cross so meekly borne.\n  By the heart so early tendered.\n    By each sharp and secret thorn,\n  And by every holy deed--\n  For our brother's rest we plead!\n\n  'Mid the throng who rest contented,\n    Earth to him was but a waste.\n  And the sweets this life presented,\n    Were but wormwood to his taste.\n  Faith had taught him from the first\n  For the fount of life to thirst\n\n  Faith, the sun that rose to brighten\n    All his pathway from the font:\n  Then no phantom e'er could frighten,\n    Nor the sword of pain or want:\n  \"For,\" he said, \"though pain be strong,\n  Time shall vanquish it ere long.\"\n\n  When he spoke of things eternal,\n    How the transient seemed to fade!\n  And we saw the goods supernal\n    Stand revealed without a shade:\n  \"Surely 'twas a spirit spoke,\"\n  Was the thought his language woke.\n\n{264}\n\n  Thought prophetic! _now_ a spirit\n    Speaketh from the world unseen:\n  And the faith we, too, inherit\n    Telleth what the tidings mean:\n  \"Friend and stranger! oh, prepare--\n  Make the wedding garment fair.\"\n\n  Yet our brother's strength was mortal;\n    Bore he naught of earthly taint?\n  Did he pass the guarded portal\n    In the armor of a saint?\n  Lord of holiness! with dread\n  On this awful ground we tread.\n\n  He was merciful and tender\n    To the erring and the weak;\n  Therefore will thy pity render\n    Unto him the grace we seek.\n  Whilst we bring to mercy's fount\n  Pledges uttered on the Mount.\n\n  He remembered the departed\n    As we now remember him:\n  Bright, and true, and simple-hearted.\n    Till the lamp of life grew dim:\n  Friend was he of youth and age--\n  Now a child--and now a sage.\n\n  If those footsteps unreturning\n    Leave on earth no lasting trace:\n  If no kindred heart be yearning\n    Tearful in his vacant place:\n  If oblivion be his lot\n  Here below, we murmur not;\n  Only let his portion be\n  Evermore, dear Lord, _with thee!_\n\nMARIE.\n\nBeaver, PA.\n\n------\n\n{265}\n\n\nFrom The Dublin University Magazine.\n\n\nTINTED SKETCHES IN MADEIRA.\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nNotwithstanding that Madeira enjoys an imperishable distinction for\nits matchless scenery, its sunny skies, and its healthful climate, yet\nthe character of its inhabitants seems to have been but little\nstudied, and still less the singular usages and customs which indicate\ntheir nationality. Impressed with the idea that to supply some\ninformation on these particulars might heighten the interest\nexperienced for the Madeirans as an isolated little community, I have\ncompiled a few pages descriptive of their social and domestic life,\nintending them, however, merely as supplementary to the valuable\ninformation afforded by others.\n\nPassing over the novel and amusing circumstance of landing at Funchal,\nwhich has already been so often described, I find myself in a\nboi-caro, or ox-car, traversing narrow and intricate streets; the\nmurmur of waters and soft strains of instrumental music saluting my\near, while a faint perfumed breeze stirs the curtains of my caro. By\nsome travellers the boi-caro has been likened to the body of a cal\u00e8che\nplaced on a sledge, but to me it neither had then, nor has it assumed\nsince, any other appearance than that of a four-post bed, curtained\nwith oil-cloth, lined with some bright-colored calico, and having\ncomfortably cushioned seats. It is made of light, strong timber,\nsecured on a frame shod with iron. A pair of fat, sleek oxen are yoked\nto this odd-looking carriage, while from thongs passed through their\nhorns bits of carved ivory or bone hang on their foreheads to protect\nthem from the influence of Malochio or Evil-eye.\n\nHalf an hour brought me to my destination, No.--,  Rua San Francisco.\nThis house in its structure resembles the generality of the better\nclass of houses in the island, the sleeping-rooms being sacrificed to\nthe magnificence of the reception-rooms, the vastness of which appears\nto mock the ordinary wants of daily life. The walls are pure white,\nlined with prints, paintings, and mirrors; the floors are either\ncovered with oil-cloth or highly polished; and the windows are shaded\nby lace curtains and Venetian blinds; the furniture is modern, and of\nEnglish manufacture. I have been thus minute because the interiors of\nall the superior dwellings have the same general character. I cannot,\nhowever, say the same with regard to the tastes and habits of the\noccupants. The British prince-merchant, with his spirit, his\nintelligence, and his philanthropy, gives his days to the busy cares\nof life, and his evenings to the quiet enjoyments of home; while the\nMadeiran gentleman passes his days in luxurious indolence, and his\nevenings in crowded rooms. The ladies present an equally strong\ncontrast, and yet, during one short period in each day, their tastes\nand purposes seem to assimilate: when the brief and beautiful\ntwilight, with its freshness, its odors, and its music, induces even\nthe exclusive English-women to appear in the shaded balcony, and find\namusement in the passing scenes.\n\nAt this hour the peasantry may be seen returning to their homes in\nlittle parties of four or five, each group being accompanied by a\nmusician playing on the national instrument, the mach\u00eates, or\nguitarette, and singing some plaintive air in which, occasionally, all\njoin. No sooner has one group passed, than the sweet, soft intonations\nof other songsters are heard {266} approaching. Sometimes two or even\nmore parties will enter the street at the same time, when they at once\ntake up alternate parts, and that with such perfect taste and harmony\nthat when the notes begin to die away in the distance the listener's\ncar is aching with attention. These songs are usually of their own\ncomposition, and are improvised for the occasion. They have but few\nnational ballads, and of these the subjects are either the\nmischief-loving Malochio, or Macham and the unhappy Lady Anna, or the\nfable of Madeira's having been cast up by the sea covered with\nmagnificent forests of cedar, which afterward, catching fire from a\nsun-beam, burned for seven years, and then from the heated soil\nproduced the luxuriant vegetation with which it is now clothed.\n\nIt must not be supposed, however, that the peasantry are of a\nmelancholy disposition because it is their custom to make choice of\nplaintive music to time their footsteps when returning at the close of\na golden day to their homes by the sea or on the rugged mountain\nheights. On the contrary, the character of their minds combines all\nthe variety of the scenes amongst which they were nurtured, though the\nleading trait is a desire for the gay and fanciful, whether in dress\nor amusement; While they regard neither money nor time in comparison\nwith the gratification of witnessing the numerous ceremonies and\npageants which every other day fill the streets with richly-dad trains\nof ecclesiastics, flashing cavalcades, and troops of youths and\nmaidens in festive wreaths and gay attire. The season of Lent affords\nthem almost daily opportunities for the indulgence of this taste.\n\nAt an early hour of the Monday morning in the first week in Lent the\nordinary stillness of the town is interrupted by loud and clamorous\nsounds, such as sometimes assail the ear in a European town, at\nmidnight, when bands of revellers are reeling toward their homes.\nLaughter, song, instrumental music, and the unsteady tramp of a crowd\nmeet the startled ear, suggesting the idea of the proximity of a\ndisorderly multitude. Opening the window cautiously you look down into\nthe street, and behold bands of men in masks and habited in every\nvariety of strange and ridiculous costume. Some few, however, display\nboth taste and wealth in the choice of their disguises, but the\ngenerality of the crowd in their tawdry attire and hideous masks\nappear to have studied only effectual concealment. For some hours\nparty after party continue to pass through the street, and as they\nknock loudly at the doors, and even call on the inhabitants by name,\nyou discover that a feeling of impatience to have the shops opened and\nthe ordinary routine of business commenced is common to all, and, if\nnot gratified, may manifest itself in some open act of aggression.\nSlowly and with evident reluctance the houses are opened, while the\ncurious and amused faces of children and servants may be seen peeping\nfrom the trellised balconies down on the noisy crowd. After a time a\nfew men in ordinary costume begin to appear in the street, trying to\nlook unconscious and unsuspicious of any danger, and hurrying forward\nwith the important pre-occupied air of men of business. But neither\ntheir courage nor cunning avails them anything. A shower of stale eggs\nbreaking on the stalwart shoulders of one merchant reminds him that\nthe more grave and English-like is his demeanor, the more is he\nregarded as the proper subject for mirth; while a plate of flour\nthrown over another would send a dusty miller instead of a dandy\nflying into some open door for shelter, followed by the derisive\nlaughter of the insolent crowd.\n\nAmazed at such an exhibition of unchecked violence, the stranger\ninquires the meaning of the scene, and learns that it is merely the\ncustomary way of celebrating in Funchal the day known as Shrove\nTuesday, the people having from time immemorial {267} enjoyed an\nestablished license to indulge on that day in such rude practical\njokes as are warranted by the usages of all carnival seasons.\n\nI may here observe that the Madeirans reckon their days from noon to\nnoon, instead of from midnight to midnight, though their impatience\nfor frolic and mischief frequently leads them, as on the present\noccasion, into the error of beginning the day some hours too soon.\nWhen, however, celebrating religious festivals, or on days set apart\nfor fasting and invoking of their patron saints--Nossa Senhora do\nMonte and Sant Jago Minor--they carefully adhere to the established\nrule.\n\nAs the day advances the crowd becomes bolder, and no one, no matter\nwhat his age, rank, or nation, is suffered to pass unmolested. These\ncoarse carnival jests are continued not only through the day but\nthrough the night, and until noon the next day, when the firing of\ncannon from the fort announces the cessation of the privilege of\noutraging society with impunity. Although, however, practical joking\nis prohibited from that moment until the next anniversary of the same\nday, masquerading is allowed from Shrove Tuesday till the week after\nEaster, the English being the chief, if not the only, objects for\nraillery and ridicule.\n\nIn general the most amicable feelings exist between the Madeirans and\nall foreigners, yet the lower classes of the natives appear to derive\nthe utmost satisfaction in being openly permitted to caricature the\nEnglish, and under favor of their privileged disguise to display\nJohn's eccentricities and weaknesses in the most ludicrous light,\nwhile the jealousy of the authorities prohibits on his part the most\ndistant approach to retaliation.\n\nAs the last echo of the warning gun died away amongst the hills, the\nsun's position in the heavens indicated the hour of noon, and\ninstantly the musical peals of numerous bells came floating to the ear\nfrom every direction, while above their sweet harmonious sounds is\nheard the booming of cannon from the vessels anchored in the roads,\nand the loud blasts of trumpets from the fort and the barracks. A\nstranger might be excused for supposing that the people were about to\nrenew the carnival, whereas they were only announcing, in conformity\nwith ecclesiastical law, the commencement of the season of Lent. This\nwas the first day, or Ash Wednesday, though by our manner of computing\ntime it was still the noon of Tuesday. At one o'clock the roar of\nartillery from the Loo Rock and the shipping was silent, the martial\nstrains ceased, but the bells at short intervals continued to ring out\ntheir melodious summons, which was responded to by hundreds of persons\nin ordinary costume, all moving in the direction of the s\u00e9, or\ncathedral, in the Praca Constitutionel. Mingling with this decorous\nportion of the crowd were many of the most grotesquely attired masques\nof the previous day, whose antics and buffoonery, jests and laughter,\nformed the oddest contrast to the costume and bearing of the others.\n\nMeanwhile, by one of those sudden changes so common in tropical\nclimates, the sky, which a short time before was so blue and serene,\nbegan to show signs of a gathering storm. There was an ominous\nstillness in the atmosphere, the dull leaden color overhead was\nshedding its gloom everywhere, and I heard voices from the crowd\nexclaiming, \"Hasten forward there, the rain is coming--hasten!\" A few\nbig drops just then fell with a plashing sound, and in a second or two\nafterward down, with a terrific noise, poured the fierce wild rain,\ncoming on the streets with the noise of a waterfall, while on the\nhouse-tops it fell with a sharp rattle, as if every drop was a\npaving-stone.\n\nIn a few moments from the commencement of the rain the people had all\ndisappeared, the streets had assumed the appearance of rushing\nstreams, while the three fiumeras traversing the town kept up an {268}\nunceasing roar, as the swollen waters rushed plunging toward the sea.\n\nFormerly these fiumeras were uninclosed, and consequently after heavy\nrains the torrents would enlarge their borders, spreading out on every\nside and encompassing the town, until it assumed the appearance of\nhaving been built in the midst of waves and currents. Now, however,\nwalls of strong masonry attest the wisdom and industry of the modern\nMadeirans, and between these the rivers flow in shallow musical\nstreams in summer, or sweep on in deep, sullen floods during the rainy\nseasons in spring and autumn. It sometimes, however, happens that,\nthough the rivers can no longer overleap their boundaries to career\nround pillared edifices and lay bare their foundations, or, sweeping\nup into their fierce embrace cottages and their inmates, inclosures\nand their stalled cattle, hurry with them into the blue depths of the\nbay of Funchal, they still, when increased by these mountain torrents,\nwhich on leaving the heights are but whispering streamlets, gathering\ndepth and strength in their descent, will send boulders of many tons\nweight over the high broad walls, followed by giant trees, planks of\ntimber, and jagged branches, as if from the heaving bosom of the angry\nwaters rocks and withered boughs are flung off with equal ease.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nFrom the period alluded to in the last chapter, namely, the beginning\nof Lent, processions and public ceremonies become of such frequent\nrecurrence that I must either pass over a period of some weeks or fill\na volume in describing them. Believing the former course to be the\nwisest, I shall pass on to the fourth Sunday in Lent. From an early\nhour in the morning every bell-tower had been awakening the echoes\nwith its musical clamor, and every hamlet and village had responded to\nthe summons by sending forth crowds of hardy inhabitants in their best\nattire, to join the gaily dressed multitudes thronging through the\nnarrow, angular streets of Funchal toward the Praca, in which, as I\nhave said, stands the s\u00e9, or cathedral. This building is\nquaint-looking and massive, proclaiming the liberality, if not the\ntaste, of its founders. It is somewhat more than three centuries old,\nhaving been completed in the year 1514, and is only now beginning to\nassume that mellow and sombre hue which comports so well with the\ncharacter of such piles. By the hour of noon the Praca presented a sea\nof human faces. The long seats beneath the shade of trees had been\nresigned to the children, while the platform in the centre of the\nsquare, occupied on ordinary occasions by the military bands, now\npresented a waving parterre of the smiling and observant faces of\npeasant girls, who, notwithstanding their proverbial timidity and\ngentleness, had managed to secure that elevated position. Meantime the\nbalconies were filling fast with the families of the English and\nGerman residents, all intent on seeing the remarkable pageant of the\nday known as the \"Passo.\"\n\nHaving obtained a front seat in the balcony of the English\nreading-room, I had a full view of the animated and picturesque scene\nbeneath, the latter feature being heightened by the striking contrasts\nexhibited between the costumes of the peasant women and those of the\nsame grade residing in the town. As one looked at the latter it was\nnot difficult to imagine they had just come from Europe with the tail\nof the fashions. Bonnets, feathers, flowers, ballooned dresses, all\nwere foreign importations; while the women who had come down from\nthose cottages on the heights, which, on looking up at, appear like\npensile nests hanging from the crags, wore dresses of masapuja--a\nmixture of thread and bright wools manufactured by themselves--small\nshawls woven {269} in bright stripes, and on their heads the graceful\nlooking lenco, or handkerchief, in some showy, becoming color. Others\nfrom the fishing villages wore complete suits of blue cloth, of a\nlight texture, even to the head-dress, which was the carapuca, or\nconical shaped cap, ending in a drooping horn and a golden tassel;\nwhile a few wore cotton dresses, and covered their heads with the\nbarrettea, a knitted cap in shape like an elongated bowl, and having a\nwoollen tuft at the top glittering with gold beads. The elder women\ncovered their shoulders with large bright shawls, while the younger\nwore tightly-fitting bodices, fastened with gold buttons, and over\nthese small capes with pointed collars. All, whether old or young,\nwore their dresses full, and sufficiently short to display to\nadvantage their small and beautifully formed feet.\n\nIn singular contrast with this simplicity of taste in their apparel,\nis their desire for a profusion of ornaments. Accordingly, you will\nfind adorning the persons of the peasant women of Madeira rings and\nchains and brooches of intrinsic value and much beauty, such as in\nother countries people of wealth assume the exclusive right to wear.\nAn instance of this ruling passion came under my notice a short time\nsince, which I may mention here.\n\nThrough a long life of toil and poverty a peasant woman had regularly\nlaid by, from her scanty earnings, a small sum weekly. Her neighbors\ncommended her forethought and prudence, not doubting but that the\nlittle hoard so persistently gathered was meant to meet the\nnecessities of the days when the feeble hands would forget their\ncunning. At length the sum amounted to some hundreds of testatoes, or\nsilver five-pences, and then the poor woman's life-secret was\ndiscovered. With a step buoyant for her years, and a smile which for a\nmoment brought back the beauty of her youth, she entered a jeweller's\nshop, and exchanged the contents of her purse for a pair of costly\nearrings. Had she been remonstrated with, she would have betrayed not\nonly her own but the national feeling on the subject, by saying--\"I\nlose nothing by the indulgence. At any moment I can find a purchaser\nfor real jewelry.\"\n\nAn hour passed, and signs of impatience were becoming visible in the\ncrowd, when the sounds of distant music caused a sudden and deep\nsilence. A feeling of awe seemed to have fallen at once on the\nmultitude, and every bronze-colored face was turned with a reverential\nexpression toward the street by which it was known the procession\nwould enter the Praca. Slowly the music drew near, now reaching us in\nfull strains, then seeming to die away in soft cadences. Meantime the\nguns from the forts and shipping renewed their firing, and the bells\nswung out their grandest peal. Curiosity was at its height, when the\nforemost row of the procession met our view--four men walking abreast,\nwearing violet-colored silk cassocks, with round capes reaching to the\ngirdles, and holding in their hands wax candles of an enormous size. A\nlong train, habited in the same way, followed these, and then came\nfour ecclesiastics in black silk gowns and Jesuits' caps, bearing\naloft a large and gorgeous purple banner, in the centre of which were\nfour letters in gold, \"S.Q.P.R,\" being the initials of a sentence, the\ntranslation of which is, \"To the Senate and People of Rome.\"\n\nAfter this followed another long line of men in violet, and then again\nfour clothed in black, carrying a wax image, large as life, on a\nplatform, meant to represent the garden of Gethsemane. Round the edge\nwere artificial trees about a foot and a half in height, having their\nfoliage and fruit richly gilt. The figure was clothed in a purple\nrobe, and on the brow was a crown of thorns. It was in a kneeling\nposition, and the face was bowed so low you could not distinguish the\nfeatures, but the attitude {270} gave you the impression that it was\nmaking painful attempts to rise, which the weight of the huge cross on\nthe shoulders rendered ineffectual. Another train of candle-bearers\nfollowed this, and then, in robes of rich black silk, and having on\ntheir shoulders capes of finest lawn trimmed with costly lace, came\nfour priests holding up a gorgeous canopy, having curtains of white\nsilk and silver, which glittered and flashed as the faint breeze,\nsweet with the perfume of flowers and fruit-trees, dallied amidst the\nrich folds. From the centre of the canopy was suspended a silver dove,\nits extended wings overshadowing the head of the bishop, who walked\nbeneath, robed in his most gorgeous sacerdotal habiliments. Between\nhis hands he carried the host, and as he passed along thousands of\nprostrate forms craved his blessing. Following the canopy were more\nmen with tapers, and dressed in violet silk; then another purple\nbanner of even greater expansion than the first; then a lovely train\nof little girls dressed to represent angels; then the band playing the\nMiserere; and lastly a regiment of Portuguese soldiers. As soon as the\nlast of the men in violet had entered the cathedral, the door was\nclosed; the soldiers formed in lines on each side; the band was\nsilent; and, at the command of an officer, all uncovered their heads,\nand stood in an attitude expressive of deep humiliation. This scene\nwas meant to represent that sorrowful yet glorious one enacted\neighteen centuries ago in the judgment hall of Pontius Pilate. The\nlittle girls remained outside as well as the soldiery.\n\nThe dress of these children was tasteful and picturesque. They wore\nviolet-color velvet dresses, very short and full, and profusely\ncovered with silver spangles; white silk stockings and white satin or\nkid shoes; rich white and silver wreaths, and bright, filmy, white\nwings.\n\nFor an hour the cathedral door was kept closed, the soldiers remaining\nall that time with bowed heads, motionless as statues. At length the\ndoor was slowly opened, and one of the men wearing violet, having in\nhis hand a long wand, at the end of which appeared a small bright\nflame, passed out, and proceeded to light up numerous tapers which had\nbeen placed on the front of different houses in the Praca. As soon as\nthis was done, a command from an officer caused the men to resume\ntheir caps and their upright attitude. Presently the rich, expressive\nmusic of a full band was again heard playing the Miserere, and the\nprocession passed out between the glittering and bristling lines, its\nnumbers and its images increased.\n\nFollowing close after the garden of Gethsemane, there was now an image\nof the Virgin, attired in an ample purple robe and a long blue veil,\nworked in silver. The exquisite taste and skill of the Madeiran\nladies, exerted upon the richest materials, had given to this figure a\nlifelike appearance far surpassing that which usually distinguishes\nother draped statues. Over the clasped hands the velvet seemed rather\nto droop than lie in folds, while the expression of the attitude,\nwhich was that of earnest supplication, as if craving sympathy for\nsome crushing woe, was heightened by the artistic arrangement of the\nheavy plaits of the robe.\n\nThe men who carried this image, and those immediately preceding and\nfollowing it, wore blue instead of violet cassocks, while the little\nangels who had brought up the van of the first procession were now\nclustered about the bearers of the image of the Virgin.\n\nFrom the cathedral the pageant passed on through the principal streets\ninto the country, the faint peal of the trumpets occasionally coming\nback to the ear, mingled with the silvery sound of the bells, and the\ndeep boom of the minute-guns. At the foot of the Mount church,\nhowever, various changes were effected. The little girls quietly\nseparated themselves from the crowd, and, being watched for by anxious\nmothers and elder sisters, {271} were carried home. A deputy bishop\ntook the place of his superior beneath the canopy, other men relieved\nthe bearers of the banners and images, and other musicians released\nthose whose attendance had commenced with the dawn. All through the\nday you could trace their course, only occasionally losing sight of\nthem, and all through the night too, by the light of the cedar-wood\ntorches borne by little boys, in snowy tunics, who had joined the\nprocession at the foot of the mount.\n\nTo understand how beautiful was the effect of this, you must look with\nme on the unique and picturesque town of Funchal, running round the\nblue waters of the bay, and rising up into the vineyards and groves\nand gardens clothing the encircling hills. A golden light slumbers\nover the whole scene, so pure and luminous that we can trace\ndistinctly every feature in the luxuriant landscape. The white houses\nof the town crowned with terrinhas, or turrets, and having hanging\nbalconies glowing with flowers of rare beauty; the majestic palms\nexpanding their broad and beautiful heads over high garden walls; the\nfeathery banana waving gracefully on sunny slopes, where clumps of the\nbright pomegranates display their crimson pomp; the shady plane-trees\nrunning in rows along the streets; the snowy quintas or villas on the\nhills, becoming fewer and more scattered toward the summit; the\nchurches and nunneries on higher elevations; and still further up the\nwhite cottages of the peasantry, with their vine-trellised porches and\ntheir gardens of pears, peaches, and apricots; while above and around\nall these, forming a sublime amphitheatre as they tower to nearly six\nthousand feet above the level of the sea, are the Pico Ruivo and Pico\nGrande. A wreath of purple mist lay that day, as it almost always\ndoes, on their topmost peaks, giving now and again glimpses of their\npicturesque outline, as, like a soft transparent veil, it was folded\nand unfolded by the breeze roaming over the solitudes of scented broom\nand heather. Through such scenes, in view of all, moved the long,\nglittering pageant just described.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nEverywhere the grave declares its victory--in beautiful Madeira as\nelsewhere. An old servant, whose business it was to cut up fire-wood\nand carry it into the house, has performed his last earthly duty and\nfinished life's journey. He dwelt with his mother and sister in a\ncottage at the extremity of the garden; and I was only apprised of the\ncircumstances of his death by hearing loud cries coming up from the\nshady walks, and the exclamations: \"Alas, my son, my son!\" and \"Oh, my\nbrother!\" repeated over and over in accents of uncontrollable grief.\n\nIt is customary, as soon as a death occurs in the family of one of the\npeasant class, for all the survivors to rush forth into the open air,\nand, with cries and lamentations, to call on the dead by every\nendearing epithet and implore of them to return once more. The\nneighbors being thus made acquainted with what has occurred, gather\nround the mourners, and try to steal away the bitterness of their\ngrief by reminding them that all living shall share the same fate, and\nthat one by one each shall depart in his turn to make his bed in the\nsilent chamber of the grave. By such simple consolations--untaught\nnature's promptings--they induce the bereaved ones to re-enter the\nhouse and prepare the body for interment.\n\nThe heat of the climate renders hasty burial necessary in Madeira, and\nthe authorities are strict in enforcing it. From ten to twelve hours\nis the longest period allowed by law between death and the grave, and\nthe very poor seldom permit even so much time to elapse; they merely\nwait to ascertain to a certainty that the hand of death has released\nthe imprisoned {272} soul before they wrap up the body and carry it\nwith hurrying feet to \"breathless darkness and the narrow house.\"\n\nIn such instances coffins are rarely used, and when they are, they are\nhired by the hour. The usual way is to roll the body up tightly in a\nsere cloth, then place it in a \"death hammock\" (which resembles an\nunbleached linen sheet, tied at the ends to an iron pole); and hurry\nwith it to an unhonored grave.\n\nA few days subsequent to the death of the old servant, the remains of\na little girl were borne past; the sight was so singular I think it\nworth describing.\n\nMoving slowly and solemnly along the street were a number of men,\nhabited in deep blue home-made cloth, the two foremost of whom carried\na light iron bier, on which lay the body of a little girl, whose brief\nperiod of life numbered not more than five summers. A robe of soft,\nclear, snowy muslin enveloped the motionless form like a cloud; on the\ntiny feet, crossed in rest at last, were white silk stockings and\nwhite shoes; and her little hands, which must so lately have found\ngleeful employment in scattering the fragments of broken toys, were\nnow meekly folded on her bosom over a bouquet of orange blossoms. A\nheavy wreath of the same flowers, mingled with a few leaves of the\nallegro campo, encircled her young brow, which, as may be supposed,\nwore that lovely, calm expression described by poets as the impress of\n\"heaven's signet-ring.\"\n\nIn almost every one of the varied scenes of life orange blossoms are\nmade use of in Madeira, either as types or emblems. Wreaths of them\ngrace the bride's young head, as being emblematical of the beauty and\npurity of her character; as typical of a grief which shall be ever\nfresh, chaplets of them crown the pale brows of the dead. On the\nanniversary of a birth-day they are presented to the aged as an\nembodiment of the truth that they shall again renew their youth; while\nthe proud triumphal arch is adorned with their snowy bells, as an\nassurance that the occasion for which it was erected shall be held in\never-enduring remembrance.\n\nThe little child on the rude bier, who looked as fair in her\ndeath-sleep as these fairest of flowers, was being carried to the\ncemetery belonging to the resident Roman Catholics, and known as\nLaranjeira. There a priest was awaiting its arrival. He was standing\nby the open grave, and when the body was laid at his feet he read over\nit in Latin a short burial service, placed some grains of dust on the\npulseless bosom, and departed. Being carefully wrapped in a sere doth,\nit was then placed in a shallow grave (according to custom) and\nlightly covered with three or four inches of earth.\n\nLaranjeira is situated on the west of the town. Passing up the\nAugustias Hill the stranger sees a large, handsome gate near the\nempress's hospital; this is the entrance to the graveyard. Inside is a\nsmall flower-garden, tastefully laid out and neatly kept, through\nwhich you pass to the broad stone steps leading to the fine gravel\nwalk running quite through the cemetery. Another walk, also of\nconsiderable width, leads round it, while several narrower ones,\nshaded by hedges of geraniums, roses, and lavender, are cut through it\nin different directions. Inclosing the whole is a high wall, studded\nwith monumental tablets, on some of which praise and grief are\ncharactered in deep, newly-cut letters, while from many others time\nhas either obliterated every trace of writing, or the pains and the\nheat have washed and bleached them into meaningless, cloudy white\nslabs. There are but few monuments or even tombstones of any\npretension, though many of the latter bear English inscriptions. Rows\nof cypress trees border the centre walk, and almost every grave in the\ninclosure is overshadowed by a weeping willow.\n\n{273}\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nIt was the last week in Lent, and, according to our manner of\ncomputing time, it was eleven o'clock A.M. of the day known as \"Holy\nThursday.\" Reckoning, however, as the Madeirans do, it was the last\nhour of that day, and the next would be the first of Good Friday.\n\nAn unusual silence had reigned in the town since the first streaks of\npurple light appeared in the east, as if to render more remarkable the\ndin which at the hour above-named assailed the ears of the inhabitants\nof Funchal. Strains of military music filled the air, mingled with the\ntolling of bells and the firing of guns, which found a hundred echoes\nin the adjoining hills. These sounds were the signals to the people of\nMadeira that the time was drawing near when the most imposing\nceremonial of their religion would be celebrated. With the first\ntrumpet-notes the streets began to fill, every house sending forth its\ninmates, whether rich or poor, old or young, either to witness or take\npart in the spectacles of the day. As on all like occasions, the\npeasantry, in their best attire, poured in with astonishing rapidity;\nwhile crowding in with them were ladies in hammocks, clad in robes of\nrainbow hues, and partially concealed from curious eyes by silken\ncurtains of pink or blue, which were matched in color by the vests of\nthe bearers, and the ribbons with long floating ends adorning their\nbroad-brimmed straw hats; and gentlemen on horseback, whom you at once\nwould recognize as natives by their short stature, their bright vests,\nneckties, and hat-ribbons, and their profusion of rich, showy\nornaments. Quietly making their way on foot through this throng were\nthe English merchants, with their wives and daughters, distinguished\nfrom those by whom they were surrounded by an air of severe reserve\nand a studied simplicity of dress. A few handsome wheeled carriages\nalso appeared on the scene, and one or two of the awkward looking\nboi-cars. All were taking the same direction, the Praca da\nConstitutionel, and the common object was to gain admission to the\ncathedral. At every turn the crowd augmented, and even masquers joined\nin considerable numbers--but these latter brought neither jest nor\nlaughter with their presence; the ceremonies of the day had subdued\neven them, causing them to abandon the vacant gaiety appertaining to\ntheir attire for a demeanor more fitting the time and occasion.\n\nArrived at the cathedral, each party, no matter how exalted their\nrank, encountered a delay in obtaining an entrance. The throng around\nthe door was great, and it was in vain that the soldiers endeavored to\nkeep the general crowd at a distance. Trained as the Madeirans are to\nhabits of deference to both military and ecclesiastical authority,\nthey become, like other people, audacious and headstrong when\nassembled in large multitudes, and, in spite of both church and state,\nthey now sought an entrance by the exertion of physical force, and\nsome hundreds succeeded.\n\nWhile, however, the struggle and contention at the door remained\nunabated, the ceremonial which all were so anxious to witness had been\nenacted within. To describe it is needless. The hour when the God-man\npoured forth his soul even unto death is a sad and awful memory\nfamiliar to us all. Let us, therefore, look at the scene which the\ncathedral presents at two o'clock on that day.\n\nThe windows are boarded up on the outside, and within are covered with\ncurtains of heavy black cloth. The walls all round are hung with fine\nstuff of the same color, concealing the paintings and other ornaments,\nand the altar is hidden behind drapery of black velvet with\nghastly-looking borders of silver. Between this gloomy vail and the\ncancelli, or railings, you see a magnificent catafalque, and on it\n{274} a coffin covered and lined with rich black velvet. A pale,\ncorpse-like figure, wearing a crown of thorns, lies within, blood\nflowing from the wounded brow (or appearing to flow) and from the\nhands which lie outside the winding-sheet of snowy linen. Numerous\ntapers surround the catafalque, but from some cause they carry such\nweak, glimmering flames, that a dim, uncertain light pervades the\nimmediate precincts of the altar, leaving the rest of the building in\ndeep shadow. Habited in close-fitting black silk robes, and with heads\nbowed down as in unspeakable sorrow, several priests stand round the\ncoffin, while fitful wails and sobs from the multitude show that the\nscene is not without its effect.\n\nAn hour passed thus, and was succeeded by a sudden and dismal silence,\nas if the great heart of the multitude had become exhausted with\nsorrow, when the melancholy cadences of the Miserere coming down from\nthe huge organ as if rolling from the clouds, awoke up anew the grief\nof the people, and low cries and half-stifled groans mingled freely\nwith the long-drawn, plaintive notes. Meantime the bishop, habited in\nhis most simple sacerdotal robes, came from the sacristy and stood at\nthe foot of the coffin, while four priests raised it from the\ncatafalque by means of loops of black silk and silver cord. The bishop\nthen moved forward, the dense crowd opening a lane for him as he\npassed slowly round the church, followed by the four priests carrying\nthe coffin, and by others bearing the dim tapers. As He returned\ntoward the altar the people's sorrow seemed to increase, and every\nhead was stretched forward to catch a last glimpse of the coffin, when\njust as the procession got within the cancelli a heavy curtain was let\nfall, shutting in altar, catafalque, and tapers, and leaving the\ncathedral in utter darkness.\n\nThis scene was meant to represent the burial in the tomb of Joseph of\nArimathea, and while the greater portion of the congregation were\nweeping aloud, a voice was heard proceeding from the pulpit, and\npronouncing that preliminary sentence to a sermon known as the\n\"blessing.\"\n\nIn an instant the sounds of grief were hushed, and the mute audience\nseemed to suppress their very breathing while they anxiously listened\nto the words of the preacher.\n\nSpoken in a tongue with which few visitors to the island are\nacquainted, the discourse took to the ears of strangers the shape of a\nvaried murmur, whose tones and cadences played on the very\nheart-strings of the auditors, awakening at will feelings of fear,\nagony, remorse, and repentance. As he proceeded, the passion and\npathos of his accents increased, and when he ceased to speak a\ndesolate stillness pervaded the whole multitude. Presently two men\nentered from a side door bearing dim tapers, and at the same moment\nthe great door leading into the Praca was opened, and the congregation\npoured like a tide into the open air, while low, soft sighs and\nmurmurs falling on the ear told of feelings of relief which words were\npowerless to express.\n\nFor a moment the throng leaving the church mingled with the multitude\nwithout. The solid mass swayed like a troubled sea, and then quietly\nbroke up and scattered widely. Men in trade turned their faces\nhomeward, the business of life being, in their judgment, of more\nimportance than any further participation in the day's proceedings.\nElderly men and women of the lower classes sought out those houses and\ntemporary sheds, over the doors of which the four golden letters,\n\"P.V.A.B.,\" served the same purpose as the less mysterious British\nannouncement of \"entertainment for man and horse;\" while the young\npeasants and artisans, forming an immense concourse, went shouting\ntoward the Mount road, leaving the streets leading to the beach free\nfrom all obstacles, a circumstance of which the more respectable and\neven aristocratic {275} portion of the multitude eagerly availed\nthemselves. Mingling with all parties were ragged-looking vendors of\ncuriosities, clamorous old beggars, and younger ones whose brilliant,\nlaughing black eyes contradicted the earnest appeal of the lips.\n\nShould our taste or curiosity lead us to follow the mob to the Mount\nroad we behold one of those singular exhibitions which excite almost\nto frenzy--a hideous, straw-stuffed figure, or effigy, of Pontius\nPilate, tied on the back of a poor, miserable, lean donkey. Amidst the\nwildest shouts and fiercest turmoil this creature is dragged forward,\nevery one taxing his inventive faculties to discover new indignities,\nby which to express his feelings of horror and disgust for the\noriginal. While the tumultuous throng thus parade through the\nprincipal streets of the town, the bay is seen covered by hundreds of\nboats, people of almost every nation in Europe reclining beneath their\nawnings as they sweep slowly over the blue waves toward the Loo Rock,\nor idly glide in front of that well-known point, beneath which on the\nsands a gallows had been erected in the morning.\n\nSome hours passed, however, and there was no occurrence either to\ngratify the taste or arouse the attention of the pleasure seekers. The\nsun was drawing near the verge of the horizon, and the sea, assuming\nthe most intense shades of crimson, gold, and purple, differed only\nfrom the magnificent canopy which it mirrored in that it gleamed with\na more wondrous splendor, as if a veil of diamonds floated and\ntrembled over its broad expanse. Not alone the sea, however, but the\nwhole landscape was bathed in the rich amber and purple floods of\nlight which on that evening streamed down from the ever changing\nfirmament. The sublime mountains of Pico Ruivo and Pico Grande were\ncrowned with radiance, the graceful hills, with their unnumbered giant\nflowers, their gardens and vineyards, their rivulets and waterfalls,\nglowed in the lustrous beams, while the brown sands on the\nsemi-circular beach, reaching from the picturesque basalts of Garaja\u00f4\nto Ponta da Cruz, glittered as if a shower of diamond sparklets had\nfallen on them.\n\nAt length loud and prolonged shouts, mingling with the music of\nmilitary bands, were heard approaching from the town, and immediately\nafter a riotous and excited crowd, amongst which appeared hundreds of\nmasquers, came pressing forward with extravagant gestures, and driving\nbefore them toward the gallows the ill-used donkey and its foul and\nhideous burthen.\n\nA general movement at once took place among the boats, as the crew of\neach sought to obtain the most favorable position for witnessing the\nrevolting spectacle of hanging the effigy, which was accomplished with\nall the appalling ceremonies which might have been deemed necessary,\nor which the law might have demanded, had the Governor of the Jews\nbeen there in person.\n\nThe hatred of the exulting mob being at length satiated, the figure\nwas cut down and cast into the sea, calling forth a last volley of\nexecration as it rolled and floundered on the long blue swells, or\nmomentarily sunk out of sight in the troughs, while the ebbing tide\ncarried it out to the deep.\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nIt may appear strange, perhaps even incredible, that the lower classes\nof Madeirans should have leisure, from their humble duties and the\nlabors required by their daily necessities, to attend at so many\nfestas and public ceremonies as we shall have occasion to describe,\nand to indulge beside in their extravagant fancy for golden ornaments.\nBut the seeming enigma is easily solved. In the first place, the men\nof the peasant class leave home for Demara every year, remaining away,\nat high wages, from six to eight months, and then returning with money\nsufficient to enable them to indulge {276} their families daring the\nremainder of the year in their oriental taste for festas and finery.\nSecondly, almost all the manual occupations connected with agriculture\ndevolve on the women, so that the absence of either husbands, sons, or\nbrothers neither retards nor diminishes the autumn fruits. Added to\nthis, they employ themselves during the evening hours, and at other\nseasons when out-door labor is either impossible or unnecessary, in\nthose arts to which female faculties are particularly appropriate.\nNothing can exceed the exquisite beauty of the embroidery on cambric\nand lace executed by some of the peasant women, and which comes from\ntheir skilful fingers so perfectly white and pure that it is fit for\nthe wear of a princess the moment it is freed from the paper on which\nthe design had been traced, and over which it had been worked. Others,\nnot possessing such delicate taste as the embroiderers, exert their\ningenuity in knitting shawls, and veils, and pin-cushion covers, in\nblack or white thread, drawing on their own imaginations for new and\ncurious patterns; while some few devote their leisure time to netting\nblack silk shawls and scarfs, for which they also invent the designs.\n\nThe earnings of the women by the sale of these articles to strangers\nare considerable, and so completely at their own disposal that they\ncan independently indulge, whenever opportunities offer, in their\ntaste for ornament and emotional spectacles. The wear and tear,\nhowever, of such a mode of life deprive them at an early period of\ntheir native beauty, leaving them at twenty-five little more than that\ngrace and freedom of attitude which they retain to the close of the\nlongest life.\n\nThe men also have their handicrafts, and the emoluments arising from\ntheir exercise; and those of them who are either too old or too young,\nor too indolent, or too sincerely attached to home to seek the toils\nof labor and their reward in Demara, employ themselves in making\narticles of inlaid wood, such as writing-desks, work-boxes,\npaper-cutters, and pen-trays. The designs on many of these give\nevidence of refined and skilful taste, while others only indicate a\nfantastic ingenuity. The most perfect of these manufactures are\neagerly secured for the Portuguese market by agents, who generally\nmake an honest estimate of their value, while those of less merit are\nset aside till some of the visitors to Madeira proportion their worth\nby their own abundant wealth.\n\nThis digression has been so long that, instead of returning now to the\nmidnight wanderers mentioned at the close of the lost chapter, I shall\nrequest my readers to imagine it ten o'clock A.M. on Saturday morning,\nand, consequently, two hours before the commencement of the Sabbath of\nthe Madeirans. Once more the Praca da Constitutionel is filled with an\neager and picturesque throng--peasants, artisans, aristocrats,\nmerchants, masqueraders, beggars, and curiosity-venders all mingled\ntogether, and all, either from motives of piety or inquisitiveness,\nonce more seeking admission to the cathedral, whose fine proportions\nand gorgeous ornaments are still veiled in thick darkness.\n\nBy some magic influence the wealthier portion of the multitude have\nall obtained entrance, and then, the cathedral being full, the door is\nforcibly closed. Directly this occurs the crowd disperse, and while\nstrangers are still trying to unravel the mystery of such unusual\nself-denial, troops of little children and young girls are entering\nthe Praca dressed in white, wearing silver-tissue wings, snowy festive\nwreaths, and carrying on their arms beautiful baskets of cane-work\nfilled with ranunculuses and lilies. Boys in embroidered tunics and\ncarrying silver censers follow these, and presently numbers of these\nmen who had left that the children might take up their proper\npositions, now return, having in the meantime provided themselves with\nfire-arms and rockets.\n\n{277}\n\nWhile all these changes take place without, preachers are succeeding\neach other every half hour in the pulpit within the cathedral. At\nlength one loud sonorous stroke on a gong, or some other metallic\nsubstance, is heard from the sacristy, announcing the hour of noon,\nand then in an instant, as if by magic, the wooden blinds without and\nthe black curtains within are gone from the windows, the veil which\nhad concealed the altar disappears, and a blaze of light fills the\nedifice, displaying a scene resplendent with gold and gems, tapers and\nflowers; while simultaneously with the pouring in of the light,\nthrilling and enthusiastic voices singing, \"Christ is risen! Christ is\nrisen!\" join the peal which, like a roar of triumph, had burst from\nthe organ.\n\nWhen the multitude have sufficiently recovered the stunning effects of\nthis scene to separate cause and effect, they perceive that every\npillar and column from pedestal to chapiter is enwreathed with\ngorgeous ranunculuses and snowy lilies, mingled with the rich green\nleaves of the allegro campo, that crowns and garlands of silver leaves\nand artificial dew-drops are scattered profusely, yet with artistic\ntaste, over the high altar and the various side altars; while pendent\nfrom that masterpiece of art--the sculptured ceiling of native\njuniper--are rich chaplets of gold leaves and gems, seeming as if\nready to fall on and crown the heads of the worshippers.\n\nAfter a short interval, the bishop, in dazzling robes, wearing his\njewelled mitre, and followed by a train of priests in gorgeous\nvestments, is seen standing in front of the high altar, which on this\noccasion is covered with a white satin cloth, worked in silver, while\nhuge candelabras, inlaid with precious stones, gleam in front of the\nrecesses known as the diaconicum and the prothesis. In the former are\nkept the vessels belonging to the altar, and in the other the bread\nand wine used at the celebration of the mass.\n\nA short mass having been performed by priests and choir, the great\ndoor is opened, and the people crowding into the Praca are met by the\nlittle children and young girls strewing flowers over the streets, by\nthe graceful youths swinging silver censers and filling the ambient\nair with light columns of costly incense; by bands playing the most\ninspiriting airs; by masquers and others in ordinary costume sending\noff rockets and Roman candles, and by hundreds of artisans bearing\nfire-arms, the sharp report of which, mingling with the booming of\ncannon, the braying of trumpets, and the soft chimes of bells, filled\nthe air with a most indescribable din.\n\nIn a few moments, however, a cloud overshadows the scene--a cloud\nwhich comes not silently but with a whirring, joyful noise, and with\nthe beat of fleet pinions. Every one looks up, and behold, there are\nthe doves--doves in hundreds, sent off by nuns, and monks, and other\ndevotees, to proclaim in their broad-winged flight the welcome news\nthat \"Christ is risen!\"\n\nHaving witnessed all this, and while the joyful excitement is still\nunabated, you enter your home, imagining that nothing of the peculiar\nusages or customs of a place in which you are a stranger can follow\nyou there, save the sounds which float in through your shaded windows;\nbut an agreeable surprise awaits you. The Madeirans are too gentle and\naffectionate in their dispositions to forget in a time of such\nuniversal joy even the stranger who may differ from them in religion,\nand, accordingly, you find awaiting you a little girl, neatly dressed,\nand bearing in her hands a dish covered with a white lace veil. She\nhas been sent by the nuns, and delivers her present with a suitable\nmessage.\n\nUncovering the dish you see a wreath of flowers round the edge, and in\nthe centre a little lamb made of sugar, lying amidst almond comfits of\n{278} every delicate shade of Magenta, blue, and violet. A wreath of\nsugar-flowers crowns the head of the lamb, and a similar one graces\nits neck.\n\nWith this picturesque gift you may sometimes receive a present of\nroyal and heavenly bacon. These singularly-named dishes are composed\nof eggs and sugar. The first is passed through a hair sieve, falling\nin a heap of rings and curls on the dish; the other is made into thick\nslices, and lies on the dish drowned in sweet syrup.\n\n------\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nTHE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY.  [Footnote 46]\n\n  [Footnote 46: Prospectus of The Catholic Publication Society. Tract\n  No. 1, \"Indifferentism in Religion and its Remedy.\" No. 2, \"The Plea\n  of Sincerity.\" No. 3, \"The Forlorn Hope.\" No. 4, \"Prisoner of\n  Cayonne.\"]\n\n\nNothing in the history of the human mind can be more obvious, even to\na superficial observer, than the fact that every age has possessed\nintellectual features peculiar to itself, growing out of its own\nparticular need. Thus we find the mental activity of one period\nsetting in a strong current toward moral and metaphysical speculation\nand of another toward scientific discovery. When one has obtained\npredominance, the other has been measurably neglected.\n\nAt the present time, however, the fact is otherwise. The diligence\nheretofore manifested in the conquest of special subjects is now\ndiffused over a greater area; and the energies of the mind, instead of\nbeing concentrated upon the profound and exhaustive knowledge of a few\nbranches of learning, are directed to the acquisition of a general\nknowledge of many. Hence, popular instruction today, to be successful,\nmust be simplified and condensed, rendered suitable to popular\napprehension and fixed at a point demanding the least amount of mental\nlabor and promising immediate and tangible results.\n\nIt would need but little argument to show how these conditions of\nknowledge have been brought about. The vast development and wonderful\ndiscoveries of science within the last century, the increase of\ncommercial and mechanical industry, the settlement and growth of\nAmerica with its vast resources of wealth, are sufficient to account\nfor a material change in the intellectual status of Christendom.\nScience by increasing the means of human enjoyment has increased the\nextent of human wants; these, by the force of habit in one class and\nthe stimulus of ambition in another, have become in time absolute\nnecessities. Thus men engage in eager strife to attain what all unite\nin esteeming essential to human happiness.\n\nNow since our nature has moral and intellectual longings--however\nsubdued by the engrossing occupations of active life--which are still\nabsolute and imperative, up to a certain point, it would seem that\ninstruction to suit the exigency of the times must be conveyed in such\na manner and by such means as the opportunities and inclinations of\nmankind require. You may easily gain attention to truth by a concise,\nsimple mode of addressing the intellect, demanding but little time and\nnot very severe thought, when you cannot secure it by presenting the\nsubject in a more profound way, by more elaborate proofs or by more\nsubtle and comprehensive views. If knowledge, therefore, cannot be\nimparted in such a way as to suit both the capacity and convenience of\nmen, it can rarely be communicated at all. {279} What is deemed the\nmost important pursuit of a man's life is that to which he will pay\nthe greatest attention. If he cannot attain mental improvement by\nmeans he considers easy and agreeable, the probabilities are that in a\ngreat majority of cases he will neglect it. Here, however, there is\nbut little difficulty. Whenever a public necessity is fully\nrecognized, the means of supplying it will not be long wanting. Hence,\nwe see at the present time every art and science reduced to its\nelementary principles and presented to the public mind in plain\nrudimentary lessons, so that, while comparatively few are deeply\nversed in any one subject, the great mass of thinkers are well\ninformed in the general outlines of many.\n\nWhat has been said with regard to matters more strictly intellectual\nmay be affirmed with almost equal truth of such as are purely moral.\nYou may instruct a hundred men in their duty by means of a tract of\nten pages, setting forth incentives to virtue in a cogent argument or\nforcible appeal, where you would scarcely be able to obtain a hearing\nfrom one by means of an elaborate essay on ethics, however able or\nconvincing. Now, it is evident that a duty, carrying all the weight of\ndeep obligation, rests upon those who have the higher interests of\nmankind at heart to provide for them the means of moral and\nintellectual improvement; and not only so, but to furnish it in such a\nshape as shall be most acceptable and productive of the most hopeful\nand lasting results. That such an obligation exists, is apparent from\nthe general establishment of public and common schools and from the\nnumerous efforts constantly made to disseminate knowledge among the\nmasses. The ends here proposed, however, are animated by a sentiment\nof general benevolence or political expediency. If, then, we owe to\nsociety the moral and intellectual advancement of the people from\nmotives of public interest, surely our obligations are not diminished\nby those higher considerations which readily suggest themselves to a\nreligious mind.\n\nWe are now prepared for the question, Are we doing our duty in this\nmatter? But to bring it nearer home and to address the more immediate\ncircle of our readers, Are we Catholic Christians doing what we know\nto be required of us in the education of our people with sufficient\nfaithfulness to satisfy an enlightened conscience? Engrossed in more\nselfish pursuits, have we not rather neglected this business and\nturned it over to others who are only more responsible than ourselves?\nWe speak to Catholic laymen when we say it is greatly to be feared\nthat we are not wholly blameless. And here one word as regards the\nrelative positions of clergy and laity in the church and their mutual\nwant of co-operation in such things as may fairly come under the\ncharge of both.\n\nEvery one knows that among all sects of Protestants the laity perform\nno inconsiderable amount of labor and share no little responsibility\nwith the pastor. As teachers and superintendents of Sunday-schools,\nleaders of Bible classes, heads of missionary societies and the like,\ntheir influence is much felt and their usefulness highly appreciated\nby their co-religionists. Among Catholics, where the priests have\ngenerally three times the ministerial duty of Protestants to perform,\nthe pastor of a church gets little or no aid from the laity. His\nmission may extend over twenty miles of territory, and he is expected\nnot only to administer the sacraments to both sick and well, but to do\nall that is necessary in the religious training of the children. In\nfact, the instruction of the young is generally looked upon as\nbelonging peculiarly to his office. And yet it cannot be denied that\nwell-disposed laymen of moderate intelligence can at times, acting\nunder his advice and counsel, very materially assist the overworked\npriest without trenching in the least upon his {280} vocation. The\nbenefit of such assistance could not but be sensibly felt in those\nparishes which receive the services of a priest in common with others.\nIn the more thinly populated districts of our country the want of\npriests is a crying necessity, known and felt by every prelate in the\nland. It is morally impossible after mass said on Sunday morning, at\ntwo points perhaps fifteen miles apart, that the priest can preach a\nsermon and attend to other duties arising from the urgent and\nimperative wants of his cure. He cannot administer holy baptism, hear\nconfessions, visit the sick, bury the dead, say mass, recite his\noffice, attend to church temporalities (no small affair in some\ninstances of itself) and yet find time to give the requisite\ninstruction to his people.\n\nWe can but be aware that regular pulpit instruction is a most\neffectual mode of promoting piety and one of which we ought not to be\ndeprived. We require at least all the agencies for this purpose\nenjoyed by others. The people, too, are eager for it. Mark the strict\nattention with which Catholic congregations follow every word of the\npreacher, and mark, too, the effect of an earnest and appropriate\nsermon! It is plainly visible upon the faces of old and young. In\naddition to this, the command given in Holy Scripture to preach is\nimperative. Are we not, then, bound to more than ordinary exertion to\ncomply with it?\n\nSuch, unfortunately, is the proneness of men to forget their religious\nduties that they require precept upon precept, often renewed and\ndiligently urged upon their minds. Surrounded by temptation,\nforgetfulness of the great practical truths of religion is not strange\nin the absence of direct spiritual teaching. The sacraments of the\nchurch, especially the holy sacrifice of the altar, undoubtedly do\nmuch to arrest spiritual decline in the people; but no one will deny\nthat frequent appeals to the conscience, and judicious instruction in\nthe principles of Catholic faith and morality, however conveyed to the\nunderstanding, are valuable aids even to the worthy reception of the\nsacraments.\n\nIt is to supply the deficiencies here aimed at that this enterprise,\nwith the hearty approbation of several prelates, has been undertaken,\nwhich, if it shall receive the cordial support of the Catholic public,\nwill produce results the extent of which is not to be easily foreseen.\nThose persons who have attempted the task are actuated with a settled\ndetermination that it shall succeed; and it is not to be believed, in\na matter of so great moment, that they are to be left without the\nsubstantial help of Catholics throughout the country. A society has\nbeen formed, and its work has already begun, styled \"The Catholic\nPublication Society,\" to which the attention of our readers was called\nin our last number. This society proposes to issue short tracts and\npamphlets conveying that species of instruction required by Catholics\nin the most entertaining form, so as to engage the attention, affect\nthe hearts, and suit the wants of all classes. To none would such a\nblessing be more welcome than to the poor, who are in an especial\nmanner, from their very defencelessness, under our protection. These,\nthough they may not read themselves, can listen to their children,\ntaught at school, who can read for them. Thus, in a simple narrative\nor dialogue some important practical truths may be impressed upon the\nmind which shall do good service in a moment of temptation. It is by\nthese means that other denominations are instructing their people and\nproducing an influence on many outside of their own communions.\n\nThe number of Catholics in this country, already large, is constantly\nincreasing, and unless we do something of the kind here suggested,\nothers will attempt it in our stead. Religious tracts from Protestant\nsocieties are flying over the country like leaves before the autumn\nwind, and it {281} would not be remarkable if our own people were\nbrought within the range of their influence.\n\nBeside this, there is another field in which we have not only the\nright to work, but which we cannot, or at least ought not to, neglect.\nThere are thousands of young men in the land of fair education who,\nimpelled by necessity or ambition, flock to the great commercial\ncentres. These, careless in matters of religion, having no settled\nprinciples of faith, often called upon to confront great dangers and\ntemptations, seldom attend any place of worship; or if so, only to\nrelieve the ennui of Sunday. These are souls to be cared for. They\nneed instruction upon cardinal points of the Christian faith. They may\nhave received something akin to it in early youth, but it has been\nforgotten. They are difficult to reach, and in no way can access to\nthem be gained more readily than by the publications of this society.\nA few words of earnest advice, a hint as to the end of a vicious\ncareer, or a warning of the uncertainty of life, may excite\nreflection, and reflection is the first step toward reformation.\n\nAt a time like the present of vast intellectual activity, when myriads\nof books are produced on all subjects embracing every description of\nteaching, there must be abroad not only a great mass of error, but a\ngreat number of unstable minds ready to receive it. Men imperfectly\neducated, striving to master subjects far beyond their comprehension,\ntrained to no logical modes of thought, restrained by no respect for\nauthority, confounding scepticism with freedom of inquiry, are often\nled by a dangerous curiosity to examine certain fundamental questions\nwhich lie at the root of all knowledge, and which can only be safely\nhandled by the most learned and profound. Such is the class of persons\npeculiarly to be benefited by Catholic teaching. A theology positive\nand satisfying to the soul, that sets wholesome limits to human\nknowledge, and is able to give adequate answers to great social and\nmoral problems, is best adapted to impress minds of this class. The\nreading of three pages has before now convinced a man of the error of\nhis whole philosophical system, and may do it again.\n\nThe spirit of Catholic charity takes in all sorts and conditions of\nmen. The mission of the church is well defined, and may be summed up\nin one word, namely, to convert the world to God; and as every day\nbrings its blessings upon labors that have been already undertaken to\nsecure this object, we have reason to hope that new efforts and fresh\nzeal, well directed, will produce abundant fruits.\n\nWe cannot close this notice of the Catholic Publication Society\nwithout adverting to one means of usefulness which we think it is\nespecially fitted to promote.\n\nSuch has been the virulence of hostility to the Catholic religion in\ndays gone by, such the monstrous credulity and unreasoning prejudice\nof its foes, that it is not surprising to find a true knowledge of the\nCatholic faith exceedingly rare. Within the last twenty years,\nhowever, a great change has taken place. The general blamelessness of\nlife in those who honor their religion, fidelity to social and\npolitical duties, and charity toward our enemies, have not been\nwithout precious results. At the present moment religious bigotry can\nno longer animate the hatred alike of wise and simple. One who comes\nprepared to censure, must come prepared also for the conflict of\ntruth. Statements, facts, and opinions are closely scrutinized.\nEverything is not now taken upon trust. The attitude of controversy\nbegets caution. Now, what advantages may we not hope to reap from this\none isolated fact? A fair hearing for the true exposition of Catholic\ndoctrine; not doctrine carefully prepared with exterior show of\nfairness and then imputed to us for the purpose of being more easily\n{282} destroyed; but of the truths of Christianity as taught by the\nchurch for ages. When we can gain the unprejudiced ear of the world,\ntruly we may begin to hope for the day of Christian unity.\n\nTo disarm prejudice is of itself a work worthy of special effort. We\ncan hope to make no great progress in persuading men to listen to the\nvoice of Christian truth until we can convince them that our teaching\nrests upon the basis of sound reason. Those who have been told that to\nembrace Catholic doctrine is to surrender at discretion all the powers\nof the mind, and even the evidence of the senses, must be undeceived\nbefore they can be expected to make any progress in the impartial\ninvestigation of it. But it is chiefly among Catholics themselves that\nwe predict the greatest success for this association. Of our own\npeople there are very many who need that instruction which hitherto we\nhave not had the adequate means of providing for them. We all feel how\nimportant it is that every Catholic should be thoroughly intelligent\nupon all that he is required to believe, and the reasons that exist\nfor requiring it. In every class of society Catholics are called upon\nto render an account of the faith that is in them, to explain the\ndoctrines and ceremonies of their religion, and when unable to do so,\nthey both suffer the evil consequences of this ignorance themselves\nand, by it, retard the spread of the knowledge of the truth among\nthose whom the church is equally commissioned to enlighten, guide, and\nsave.\n\nWe have advocated the aims of the Catholic Publication Society at\ngreater length than we at first intended, but feel that in\nconsideration of their importance we have not said too much. It is\nimpossible to over-estimate the good this society may, with God's\nblessing, be made to accomplish. To make it effective, its\norganization throughout the United States should be co-extensive with\nthe church itself. Our work in this country is getting ahead of us.\nThe religious needs of our people are rapidly increasing. If we are\nnot up and doing in proper season, we shall find that during our\nrepose the enemy has been sowing tares among the wheat. The harvest is\ngreat, but the laborers few. Let us all, then, as God gives us grace\nto know our duty, take this matter earnestly to heart, and let us not\nsuffer under the reproach of denying to our fellow-Christians all the\nspiritual food they are willing to receive.\n\nWhat is here proposed is truly a missionary work. Efforts of this kind\ncan only be successful by zealous labor and generous support; and we\nsincerely hope, as the plan by which funds are to be raised becomes\ngenerally known, the Catholic public will not deny liberal aid to so\nworthy a cause. Almost every one can lend a helping hand. It will be\nseen by reference to the Society's Prospectus that the sum of five\ndollars constitutes a member for one year. Parents could hardly\ngratify their children more than by subscribing for them. It gives\nyoung folks the idea that they amount to something in this world when\nthey find their own names enrolled on the books of a religious\nsociety. The sum of thirty dollars constitutes a member for five years\nand of fifty dollars a life member. Patrons of one hundred and five\nhundred dollars will not be wanting amongst so many generous and\nappreciative Catholics as there are in the country. A number of these\nlast have already come forward in the city of New York, and subscribed\nthat amount to constitute a fund to enable the society to accomplish\nits missionary work, and we are sure that this call will elicit a\nsimilar ready response from many in other cities and towns who wait\nonly to know what to do for the advancement of their holy faith in\norder to do it. Your parish priest is willing to spend and be spent in\nyour service. Show your gratitude by making him a member of one of the\nabove classes. He will accept it from you as a beautiful testimonial\nof {283} your esteem and respect. It has also been suggested by an\neminent prelate and patron of the society that it would greatly\npromote its success if a clergyman should be appointed in each diocese\nby the ecclesiastical authority, to take charge of the society's\ninterests, and to act as its agent.\n\nWe trust as the enterprise becomes more extensively known that\ngenerous hearts will be found to feel a voluntary interest in this\nwork and prompted to aid it without further solicitation. Let it not\nbe forgotten that one of the objects of this society is to supply\nreligious reading to the inmates of hospitals, almshouses, asylums,\nand prisons--a class of persons whose spiritual welfare requires to be\nspecially looked after. Benevolence has no more sacred field than\namong this unfortunate class; and we hope that those who have so often\nproved themselves worthy of their faith by relieving the physical\nwants of their fellow-creatures, will not be found indifferent to the\nspiritual. In short, what we desire of our fellow-Catholics is, that\nan interest in this matter should become general throughout the\ncountry; and that each one should assist as he is able, either alone\nor in conjunction with his neighbors. Several prelates have already\nbecome patrons of this society, and the venerable Archbishop of\nBaltimore has honored it by contributing the first tract.\n\nWhile treating of the practical part of this subject, we desire to say\nthat priests residing in the remote parts of the country can be\nfurnished with the society's publications on precisely the same terms\nas those living near at hand. They will be supplied at prices _never\nexceeding cost_, postage prepaid. All Catholics, in every section of\nour land, have an equal interest in its success.\n\nUpon the co-operation of the clergy we, of course, confidently rely.\nTo aid them in their arduous duties is one of the objects of the\nsociety. It will be a most powerful auxiliary to the priesthood in\nspreading instruction among our own people and the truths of the\nCatholic faith among all classes of our community. If they should ask\nus what we would have them do, we reply--\"Reflect upon the immense\nimportance of this enterprise to the souls of men; and, when you have\ncomprehended what a vast work of usefulness lies before this society,\nyour own intelligence and good dispositions will best suggest the\nmanner in which you can most successfully lend your aid.\"\n\n------\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\nTHE CHURCH OF ENGLAND A PORTION OF CHRIST'S ONE HOLY\nCATHOLIC CHURCH, AND A MEANS OF RESTORING VISIBLE UNITY.\nAn Eirenicon, in a Letter to the Author of \"The Christian Year.\" By E.\nB. Pusey, D.D., Regius Professor of Hebrew and Canon of Christ Church,\nOxford. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1866. (Reprint from the English\nedition.)\n\nDr. Pusey's \"Eirenicon\" has been extensively commented on by the\nCatholic press both in England and on the Continent. Some of his\ncritics have regarded it with favorable eyes, as a sign of approach\ntoward the Catholic Church, and others with marked hostility, as an\nevidence of determined opposition. We concur with the former class\nmost decidedly. The most remarkable of all the answers it has called\nforth is that of Dr. Newman, republished in our April number, and\nsince then issued in a separate form, with all the notes, by Mr.\nKehoe. Dr. Newman confines himself to one point, however--the defence\nof the {284} Catholic doctrine concerning the Blessed Virgin. The\n\"Dublin Review\" has given a very able criticism on the portion which\nrelates to the attitude of the Church of England. An admirable article\nhas also appeared in the learned Jesuit periodical, \"Etudes\nReligieuses,\" published at Paris, which is especially valuable for its\nexposition of the doctrinal authority of the Holy See. As a general\nanswer to Dr. Pusey's specific proposals concerning the way of\nreconciliation with Rome, we consider P. Lockhart's article, in the\n\"Weekly Register,\" as the most judicious and satisfactory. The\nfollowing letter, from Dr. Pusey to the editor, shows how he himself\nappreciated this answer:\n\nLETTER FROM DR. PUSEY\nON HIS HOPES OF REUNION.\n\n  TO THE EDITOR OF THE WEEKLY REGISTER:\n  CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD, NOV. 22, 1865.\n\n  Sir: I thank you, with all my heart, for your kind-hearted and\n  appreciative review of my \"Eirenicon.\" I am thankful that you have\n  brought out the main drift and objects of it, what, in my mind,\n  underlies the whole, to show that, in my conviction, there is no\n  insurmountable obstacle to the union of (you will forgive the terms,\n  though you must reject them) the Roman, Greek, and Anglican\n  communions. I have long been convinced that there is nothing in the\n  Council of Trent which could not be explained satisfactorily to us,\n  if it were explained _authoritatively--i.e._  by the Roman Church\n  itself, not by individual theologians only. This involves the\n  conviction, on my side, that there is nothing in our Articles which\n  cannot be explained rightly, as not contradicting any things held to\n  be _de fide_ in the Roman Church. The great body of the faith is\n  held alike by both; in those subjects referred to in our Art. XXII.\n  I believe (to use the language of a very eminent Italian nobleman)\n  \"your [our] _maximum_ and our [your] _minimum_ might be found to\n  harmonize.\" In regard to details of explanation, it was not my\n  office, as being a priest only, invested with no authority, to draw\n  them out. But I wished to indicate their possibility. You are\n  relatively under the same circumstances. But I believe that the hope\n  which you have held out, that the authorities in the Roman communion\n  _might_ hold that \"a reunion on the principles of Bossuet would be\n  better than a perpetual schism,\" will unlock many a pent-up\n  longing--pent-up on the ground of the apparent hopelessness that\n  Rome would accord to the English Church any terms which it could\n  accept.\n\n  May I add, that nothing was further from my wish than to write\n  anything which should be painful to those in your communion? A\n  defence, indeed, of necessity, involves some blame; since, in a\n  quarrel, the blame must be wholly on the one side or on the other,\n  or divided; and a defence implies that it is not wholly on the side\n  defended. But having smoothed down, as I believe honestly, every\n  difficulty I could, to my own people, I thought that it would not be\n  right toward them not to state where I conceive the real difficulty to\n  lie. Nor could your authorities meet our difficulties unless they knew\n  them. You will think it superfluous that I desired that none of this\n  system, which is now matter of \"pious opinion,\" should, like the\n  doctrine of the immaculate conception be made _de fide_. But, in the\n  view of a hoped-for reunion, everything which you do affects us. Let\n  me say, too, that I did not write as a reformer, but on the\n  defensive. It is not for us to prescribe to Italians or Spaniards\n  what they shall hold, or how they shall express their pious\n  opinions. All which we wish is to have it made certain by authority\n  that we should not, in case of reunion, be obliged to hold them\n  ourselves. Least of all did I think of imputing to any of the\n  writers whom I quoted that they \"took from our Lord any of the love\n  which they gave to his mother.\" I was intent only on describing the\n  system which I believe is the great obstacle to reunion. I had not\n  the least thought of criticising holy men who held it.\n\n  As it is of moment that I should not be misunderstood by my own\n  people, let me add that I have not intended to express any opinion\n  about a visible head of the church. _We readily acknowledge the\n  primary of the Bishop of Rome; the bearings of that primacy upon\n  other local churches we believe to be a matter of ecclesiastical,\n  not of divine law; but neither is there anything in the supremacy in\n  itself to which we should object._ Our only fear is that it should,\n  through the appointment of one bishop, involve the reception of that\n  practical _quasi_--authoritative system which is, I believe, alike\n  the cause and (forgive me) the justification in our eyes of our\n  remaining apart.\n\n  But, although I intended to be on the defensive, I thank you most\n  warmly for that tenderness which enabled you to see my aim and\n  objects throughout a long and necessarily miscellaneous work. And I\n  believe that the way in which you have treated this our _bon\u00e2tell\n  you fide_ \"endeavor to find a basis for reunion, on the principle\n  debated between Archbishop Wake and the Gallican divines two\n  centuries ago,\" will, by rekindling hope, give a strong {285}\n  impulse toward that reunion. Despair is still. If hope is revived in\n  the English mind that Christendom may again be united, rekindled\n  hope will ascend in the more fervent prayer to him who \"maketh men\n  to be of one mind in an house,\" and our prayers will not return\n  unheard for want of love. Your obedient servant,\n\n   E. B. PUSEY.\n\n\nThis letter, with others which have appeared from time to time, and\nthe whole course of Dr. Pusey's conduct, prove, in our estimation,\nthat he is acting with sincere good faith and goodwill toward the\nCatholic Church. The long list of objections and charges which his\nbook contains, and which has irritated some Catholics so much, proves\nonly that Dr. Pusey's mind is troubled and bewildered, but not that\nhis heart is malevolent. The doctor is a very learned man, and a very\ndeep thinker, but in the mystic or contemplative order. He is not\neither rapid or clear in his intellectual conceptions, nor is he\nprecise and methodical in the arrangement of the subject of which he\ntreats. He represents the best school of English evangelical and\nscriptural divines, with the addition of extremely high-church\ndoctrines. No one can question his devout and deeply religious spirit,\nthe extraordinary purity and goodness of his life, or the zeal and\nability with which he has labored for fifty years to propagate several\nof the most fundamental Catholic dogmas. His essay on baptismal\nregeneration is the most thorough and exhaustive one in our language,\nand we have never met with anything equal to it in any other. It has\nhad an incalculable influence over the theological mind of the\nEpiscopalian communion in England and America, in laying the\nfoundation of a right belief in sacramental grace, and thus preparing\nthe way for the reception of the entire Catholic system. The same may\nbe said, in part, respecting the doctrine of the real presence, the\nauthority of tradition, and other points. We look on him as a kind of\n_avant courier_ not only of high-churchmen, but of orthodox\nProtestants generally, laboring his way with difficulty through\nthickets and morasses back to the Catholic Church, by dint of study,\nmeditation, and prayer. That he has come so near, bringing with him\nthe sympathy of so large a number, is a sign that an extraordinary\ngrace of the Holy Spirit is drawing the most widely separated members\nof the Christian family back to unity and integrity of faith and\ncommunion. We request our readers to take note of the fact that Dr.\nPusey, boldly and without censure, maintains that the articles of his\nchurch can and ought to be explained in conformity with the decrees of\nthe Council of Trent. He proposes these decrees as the basis of\nreconciliation. That there should still remain certain difficulties,\nprepossessions, and misconceptions in his mind, is not strange; and\nwhile these exist as a bar to a complete and cordial reception of the\nentire Catholic system, there is no other way for him to do but to\nstate them as strongly as possible, so as to bring them under\ndiscussion. There are only two of these difficulties which are\nformidable. One relates to the office of the Blessed Virgin as Mother\nof the Incarnate Word and Queen of Saints; the other, to that of the\nPope as Vicar of Christ and supreme Bishop of the Catholic Church. A\ncritical notice gives no opportunity for discussing such great and\ngrave questions, which demand an elaborate volume. The prelates and\ntheologians of the church will no doubt give them the full and ample\ntreatment which they deserve. We simply note the fact that the whole\nground of discussion is reduced in fact, by Dr. Pusey, to the nature\nand extent of the Papal supremacy, on which depends the definition of\nthe body actually constituting the _Ecclesia Docens_ or teaching\nchurch, and the dogmatic value of the decisions made by the Roman\nChurch with the concurrence of the bishops in her communion. It is\nevident that the concession of the supremacy claimed by the Roman\nChurch involves the admission of all the dogmatic decisions of the\ncouncils ratified by the popes as ecumenical, from the Eighth Council\nto the Council of Trent; together with the dogmatic definition of the\nimmaculate conception, and the condemnations of heretical propositions\nwhich have issued from the Holy See and are universally acknowledged\nand enforced by all bishops in her communion. There is but one point,\ntherefore, really in controversy with the party of Dr. Pusey, as there\nis but one with the so-called Greek Church, viz.: the Papal supremacy.\n\nIt will be noticed by every attentive reader that Dr. Pusey partially\nadmits {286} this doctrine already, and shows himself open to argument\non the subject. On the other great question, respecting the\nprerogatives of the Blessed Virgin Mary, he appears to show himself\nalso disposed to listen to explanations tending to remove his\nmisconceptions. In a letter to Dr. Wordsworth, published in the\n\"Weekly Register,\" of Jan. 27, Dr. Pusey says:\n\n  \"In regard to 'the immaculate conception,' . . . I may, however,\n  take this opportunity of saying that I understand that Roman divines\n  hold that all which is defined is, that the soul of the Blessed\n  Virgin was infused pure into her body, and was preserved from both\n  guilt and taint of original sin for those merits of our Lord, by\n  whom she was redeemed, and that nothing is defined as to 'active\n  conception,' i.e., that of her body. In this case, the words, 'in\n  primo instanti conceptionis suae,' must be used in a different sense\n  from that in which St. Thomas uses it of our Lord. The\n  immaculateness of the conception would then differ in degree, not in\n  kind, from that of Jeremiah, who was sanctified in his mother's\n  womb.\"\n\nIt must be borne in mind that Dr. Pusey finds no fault with the\nlanguage of the Latin or Greek missals and breviaries respecting the\nBlessed Virgin. Let the quotations from the Greek books in the notes\nto Dr. Newman's letter be carefully examined, and it will be seen that\nthey fully sustain the common Catholic belief and practice. We have\nbeen ourselves fully acquainted with the doctrine and practice of the\nchildren of St. Alphonsus Liguori, who are considered as having\ncarried devotion to the Blessed Virgin to the greatest extreme. We\ncan, therefore, give our testimony that there is nothing in it which\nis not identical in principle with the prescribed devotions of the\nmissal and breviary. The notion of there being a substitution of the\nBlessed Virgin for Christ, or an overshadowing of the supreme worship\nand love of God, anywhere in the Catholic Church, is a mere chimaera,\na spectral illusion of an alarmed imagination. We know what St.\nBernard, St. Alphonsus, and other approved writers have said. There is\nnothing there beyond the language of St. Ephrem, the fathers of\nEphesus, the Greek liturgies, the _Salve Regina, Regina Coeli, Ave\nDomina_, and litany of Loretto.\n\nThe array of quotations which Dr. Pusey has made from Catholic writers\nwill be found, on critical examination, to contain nothing formidable.\nOne of the works from which he quotes, that of Oswald, was placed on\nthe Index in 1855, and retracted by the author. Some of the other\npassages are from works of a highly imaginative character, and contain\nfigurative or poetic expressions easily susceptible of an erroneous\nsense when read by persons not intimately acquainted with the Catholic\nreligion. We think with Dr. Newman, with the late Archbishop Kenrick,\nand with many other wise and holy men, that it is very ill-judged to\nadopt such phraseology when it is sure to beget bewilderment and\nmisunderstanding. We have more need to teach the solid dogmas of faith\nthan to propagate pious opinions, and cultivate exotic, hot-house\nflowers of piety. Dr. Newman has done more to establish a solid\ndevotion to the Blessed Virgin, by his brief theological essay, than\nall the fanciful and rhetorical rhapsodies ever penned. We can forgave\nDr. Pusey for getting bewildered in perusing such a quantity of\npoetry, accustomed as he is to Hebrew and other dry studies; but we\nregret that he has displayed such an assortment of obscure and dark\nsayings to bewilder others. We acquit him cheerfully of all blame for\nit, but we nevertheless cannot help giving our deliberate judgment\nthat he has put forth one of the most mischievous books, to ordinary\nand imperfectly informed minds, that has ever proceeded from the\nEnglish press. We cannot by any means recommend it to general perusal,\nbut those who do read it will do well to take its statements, on many\npoints, with great caution. We will conclude our remarks upon it with\nnoting some of its serious, albeit unintentional, misstatements:\n\n1. The correspondence between Archbishop Wake and Du Pin was not a\n_bon\u00e2 fide_ negotiation between that prelate and orthodox Gallicans,\nbut with Jansenists, in view of a coalition against the Roman Church.\n\n2. There is no proof of any ratification ever having been made by Rome\nof any ordinations according to the Anglican ordinal.\n\n3. It is a mistake to say that extreme unction is given only to those\nwhose life is despaired of. It may be given {287} in all cases where a\nprobable danger of death is feared.\n\n4. It is not admitted by Catholic writers that Russia was converted by\nmissionaries separated from the communion of the Roman Church.\n\n5. It is a mistake to suppose that the prelates of the United States\ngave no response to the Holy See respecting the definition of the\nimmaculate conception. The question was discussed in a full council,\nand the judgment of' the prelates was transmitted to Rome in favor of\nthe definition. The Blessed Virgin, under the title of the Immaculate\nConception, was proclaimed, by a decree of the prelates, the patroness\nof the Church of the United States, and the Sunday within the octave\nof the feast has been made one of the principal solemnities of the\nyear.\n\nFinally, a complete misconception of the whole question respecting\nPapal infallibility and its limits underlies and vitiates all the\nstatements of the book on that subject. There is no dissension or\ndoubt existing in the Catholic episcopate in regard to any definition\nof faith, or any doctrinal decisions whose acceptance is exacted by\nthe Holy See under pain of censure. The Pope and the bishops, as the\ninfallible _Ecclesia Docens_, are a unit. What one teaches and\nrequires to be believed, all teach alike. The unity of faith in the\nepiscopate was never so palpable a fact as it is at the present\nmoment. So far as relates to disciplinary authority over doctrinal\nmatters, the Roman Church is recognized in universal Catholic law as\nthe court of ultimate appeal, and all questions respecting the\ninterpretation of the definitions of the Council of Trent, which are\nthe great standard of orthodoxy, were expressly reserved to it by the\nbull of confirmation, with the assent of the council itself, and by\nthe decree _De Recipiendis_, etc. There is no possibility, therefore,\nof negotiating with the Catholic Church, or any portion of it, for\nreconciliation, except through the head of the church. The conditions\nof reconciliation are plain and distinct, and they will never be\nmodified so far as relates to doctrine or essential discipline.\nExplanation, courtesy, benignant interpretation, full liberty in\nregard to mere theological opinions, will be cheerfully accorded; but\nno more.\n\nIt is vain to expect any propositions for reconciliation to come from\nthe hierarchy of the Protestant Episcopal Church of England or\nAmerica. We advise those who desire the reunion of Christendom to\nconsider, carefully, the claims of the Roman Church, and if they are\nconvinced of their validity to effect their own personal union with\nthe mother and mistress of churches. If they are not, we do not wish\nthem to come to us, either singly or in a body. Those who really\nbecome Catholics will desire to become members of the Catholic Church\nas she is, and not of a reformed body, conglomerated from the\nCatholic, Russian, and Anglican churches, and will not thank us to\nconcede an iota of principle. Strict, dogmatic unity, and\nunconditional submission to the supreme authority of the See of Peter,\nis the only condition of union in ecclesiastical fellowship. The\nGreeks themselves have exacted that the question of dogma should be\nsettled first, before any propositions of intercommunion with\nAnglicans can be entertained; so that the hope of obtaining\nrecognition from them, with the question of dogma left open, has been\noverthrown. Our other Protestant brethren have embroiled themselves\nworse than ever over their projects for an anti-Catholic union of\nsects. There is not the faintest chance of any reunion of Christians\nexcept by a return to the centre of unity.\n\nWe are glad to see that Dr. Pusey has been passing some time with\nCatholic bishops in France, and that there is a probability of his\ngoing to Rome to confer with the Holy Father. We trust the learned and\nvenerable doctor will do so, and that he will find his doubts and\nperplexities settled at the Seat of Truth, the chair of the Prince of\nthe Apostles, whence all unity takes its rise.\n\n\nNOTES ON DOCTRINAL AND SPIRITUAL SUBJECTS.\nBy the late Frederick William Faber, D.D., etc. Vol. I. Mysteries and\nFestivals. London; Richardson & Son, 1866. New York: Lawrence Kehoe.\n\nFather Faber was a man of cultivated mind, rich imagination, high\npoetic gifts, exuberant sensibility, and ardent devotion. His life was\nrich in good works and his death deeply regretted. In a literary point\nof view we consider his poetry as the best portion {288} of the\nproducts of his fertile mind and pen. His spiritual works, however,\nhave attained a great popularity and a wide circulation, and no doubt\nhave done and will do great good to that large class who love and\nrequire instructions deeply imbued with sentiment and emotion. The\npresent volume consists of sketches of instructions never finished,\nand is intended as an aid in preparing sermons or conferences on\nspiritual subjects. We are glad to see that F. Faber's life is in\npreparation, and shall await its publication with interest. If well\ndone, it cannot fail to be one of the most attractive of biographies.\nThe life and writings of F. Faber are well suited to please and\nbenefit a large class of Protestants as well as Catholics. We have\nheard not only Episcopalians and Unitarians speak in warm terms of the\npleasure they take in his books, but even an aged and venerable\nPresbyterian clergyman recite his poetry with enthusiasm. We do not\nconsider his works to be beyond criticism, and, for those who are able\nto bear it, we regard the more solid and plain food of F. Augustine\nBaker and Father Lallemant as more wholesome. But every one has his\nown proper gift, and that of Father Faber was evidently to make\nspiritual doctrine sweet and palatable to a vast number of persons who\nwould not receive it except through the avenue of sensibility. His\nworks are a wilderness of flowers and foliage; nevertheless they\ncontain a doctrine which is substantially sound and useful, and their\ngeneral aim and tendency is to establish solid, practical piety and\nvirtue. The volume before us is replete with thoughts and conceptions\nredolent with all the peculiar vividness and brilliancy of the\nauthor's style, and exhibiting also extensive and profound knowledge\nof theology. We con recommend it to clergymen who wish for a treasury\nof choice materials wherewith to enrich and enliven their discourses,\nas a more complete and suggestive manual than any we have in the\nEnglish language, and one which may be used to great advantage if used\njudiciously. It would be a very unsafe experiment, however, to attempt\na close imitation of F. Faber's style, especially for young and\ninexperienced preachers, who might meet the fate of Icarus attempting\nto fly with waxen wings. We cannot, therefore, unreservedly recommend\nthis volume as containing the best _models_ for imitation, but only in\na qualified sense as extremely suggestive and quickening to thought\nand sentiment, and thus furnishing the materials and ornaments for\ndiscourses planned and constructed in a plainer and more sober style.\nWe think it likely to become a great favorite with a large class of\nclergymen, especially those who are anxious to make their sermons as\nattractive as possible, and well fitted to be of great service to them\nin the way we have indicated.\n\n\nTHE GRAHAMES. By Mrs. Trafford\nWhitehead. American News Company. 1 volume 12mo, pp. 382.\n\nThis is a commonplace, _fashionable_ novel, written in an inflated\nstyle. Its sentiment is weak, its pathos twaddle, and its tone and\nmorality low and reprehensible. We hope none of our young people will\nread it; but if they do that they will not imitate the heroine who\nfinds it her _mission_ to stay in a gentleman's house, in the capacity\nof governess to a namby-pamby child, after she has discovered that the\nlady is cold as ice, and the gentleman, whose eyes she cannot\nunderstand, has _accidentally_ betrayed his penchant for herself.\n\nThe lady, as in duty bound, dies, and the governess, of course,\nmarries the gentleman.\n\n\nCHRISTUS JUDEX: A Traveller's Tale.\nBy Edward Roth. 12mo, pp. 78. Philadelphia: F. Leypoldt. 1864.\n\nThis is a piece of composition full of beauty and marked by the most\nrefined taste. There is a chaste elegance, too, about the typography\nand binding which is highly creditable to the publisher. It is just\nsuch a book as one wishes to find to present as a gift to a friend. We\nheartily recommend it to all our readers.\n\n  [Transcriber's note: This section was printed in small type; many\n  words are merely guesses.]\n\nBOOKS RECEIVED.\n\nFrom D. Appleton & Co., New York: The Temporal Mission of the Holy\nGhost; or Reason and Revelation, by Henry Edward, Archbishop of\nWestminster 12mo, pp. 274.\n\nF. W. Christ???, New York: Victor Hugo's Les Travalileurs de las Mer.\nEdition special pour les Etats-Unis.\n\nP. O'Shea, New York: Nos. 23, 24 and 25 of Darras' History of the\nChurch.\n\nBrophy & Burch, Washington, D.C: Argument in the Supreme Court of\nUnited States of America, by Alexander J. P. Careschi[?], in the case\nof the Rev. Mr. Cummings, plaintiff in error, vs. the state of\nMissouri, defendant in error.\n\n{289}\n\n\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD.\n\n\nVOL. III., NO. 15.--JUNE, 1866.\n\n\n[ORIGINAL]\n\n\nPROBLEMS OF THE AGE.\n\n\nIII.\n\nTHE BELIEF IN GOD IS THE FIRST ARTICLE OF A RELIGIOUS CREED.\n\nThe first article of the Christian Creed is \"Credo in Deum\"--\"I\nbelieve in God.\" The Christian child receives this originally by\ninstruction before it attains the complete use of reason, and believes\nit by a natural faith in the word of those who teach it. Afterward it\nattains to a clearer and more distinct conception of its meaning and\ntruth. This conception, however, is still furnished to it by Christian\ntheology, and by theology itself is referred back to a revelation\nwhose beginning is coeval with the human race. The fact just stated in\nregard to the belief of the Christian child is also true in regard to\nthe belief of mankind universally. Wherever the idea of God, as\nexhibited by pure, theistic philosophy, is contained in the common\nbelief of the people, it is held as a portion of some religious system\npurporting to be derived from revelation. It is learned from the\ninstruction of religious teachers, and transmitted by a sacred\ntradition. We do not attain to the conception of God by the\nspontaneous, unaided evolution of it in our individual reason. Those\nnations which remain in the state of infancy, through a lack of the\ncivilizing and instructing power, do not attain to that conception.\nThe only way in which pure, theistic conceptions have ever been\ncommunicated to any considerable number of persons previously\ndestitute of them, has been by the instruction of those who already\npossessed them.\n\nThis tradition goes back to the original creation of the race. Mankind\nwas originally constituted by the Almighty in a state of civilized and\nenlightened society, fully furnished with that sacred treasure which\ntradition diffuses universally, and which constitutes {290} the\ninherited capital on which all the precious gain and increase in\nscience, civilization, and every kind of intellectual and moral\nwealth, are based. It is in this way that the conception of God, which\nthe founders of the human race received by immediate revelation, has\nbeen preserved and transmitted by universal tradition. In the pure and\nlegitimate line of descent it has come down uncorrupted through the\nline of patriarchs and prophets to Jesus Christ, who has promulgated\nit anew in such a manner as to secure its inviolable preservation to\nthe end of time. Indirectly, and subject to various changes and\ncorruptions, it has descended through human language and law, through\ncivilization and science, through Gentile literature and mythology,\nand through philosophy. Directly or indirectly, all the conceptions of\nmankind respecting God, whether perfect or imperfect, crude or mature,\nhave been transmitted by tradition from the original and primitive\nrevelation made to the founders of the race.\n\nThe universal utterance of mankind is, and always has been, \"Credo in\nDeum.\" This is a common credence, possessed by the race from the\nbeginning, which the individual mind receives and acquiesces in with\nmore or less of intelligent belief and understanding, but never\ntotally eradicates from among its conceptions. It is a credence\nperfectly enunciated in that divine revelation which the Christian\nchurch possesses in its integrity, and communicates in the most\ncomplete and explicit manner to all those who receive her\ninstructions.\n\nHere may easily arise a misunderstanding. Some one will say: \"You\nappear to resolve all our knowledge of God into an act of faith in a\nrevelation handed down from the past. But the very conception of\nrevelation implies the previous conception of God, who makes the\nrevelation. Faith in a revealed doctrine is based on the veracity of\nGod, who reveals it. But in order that one may be able to make this\nact of faith, he must previously know that God is, and that he is\nveracious. Thus, we must believe that God is veracious because it is\nrevealed, and believe this revealed doctrine that he is veracious\nbecause of his veracity. This is a vicious circle, and gives no basis\nwhatever for rational belief.\"\n\nThis objection has really been anticipated and obviated in the\npreceding chapter. A full understanding of the answer to it will\nrequire a careful reading of the present chapter entire, and perhaps\nof the greater part of the succeeding ones. Just now, we simply reply\nto the objector that we do not, as he imagines, resolve the evidence\nof God's existence, and of other rational truths, into a tradition or\nrevelation. We hold firmly that these truths are provable by reason.\nIn speaking of revelation or tradition as our instructor in the\ndoctrine of God, what is meant is this: The correct and complete\nformula, the divine word, or infallible speech, expressing in the\nsensible signs of human language the explicit conception of that\ndivine idea which is constitutive of the soul's very rational\nexistence,--this _formula_ has been handed down by tradition from the\norigin of the race. We do not propose this tradition as a mere\nexterior authority to which the mind must submit blindly, from which\nit must derive its rational activity, or in which it must locate its\ncriterion of rational certitude. We admit the obligation of proving\nthat this tradition is universal and divine. So far as the doctrines\nit proposes are within the sphere of reason, we hold that reason\nreceives them because they are self-evident, or capable of being\ndeduced from that which is self-evident. Thus, for instance, in\nproposing the veracity of God as the ground of faith in his\nrevelation, it is proposed as a truth evident by the light of reason.\nReason, however, is indebted to the instruction which comes by\ntradition for that clear and distinct statement of the being and\nattributes {291} of God, including his infinite and eternal veracity,\nwhich brings the mind to a reflective consciousness of its own\nprimitive idea.\n\nThis may be illustrated by a comparison of the exterior word or\nrevelation with that interior word or revelation which creates the\nsoul and gives it the natural light of reason. The word of God spoken\nin the creative act creates the rational soul, and affirms to it his\nbeing and the existence of creatures, including that of the soul\nitself. This is a revelation. All natural knowledge is a revelation\nfrom God. Our belief in the reality of the outward world, and of our\nown existence, is resolved into a belief in the reality of the\ncreative act of God, or of that spoken word by which he creates the\nworld. We see no difficulty here, because we see that the word of God,\nin this case, enlightens the soul to see the truth of that which it\ndeclares to it. We need not find any more difficulty in the case of\nthe exterior word. When this exterior, word declares plainly to an\nignorant mind the nature and attributes of God, and the obligation of\nbelieving and obeying the truth revealed by him, this word also\nenlightens that mind to perceive the truth of what it declares. It\nilluminates the soul to see more distinctly the truths that are within\nthe sphere of reason by direct, rational perception; and to see\nindirectly and indistinctly those truths which are above reason, in\nthe self-evident truth of God's veracity, and in the analogies and\ncorrespondences which exist between these truths and those which are\ndirectly apprehended by reason.\n\nThis is anticipating what is to be treated of expressly hereafter. We\ntrust it is now plain that we do not profess to derive the idea of God\nin the human race, and in each individual mind, from a mere outward\ntradition, or to prove its reality from a mere authoritative dictum of\nrevelation. What we really intend to do is, to exhibit the conception\nof God contained in Christian theology, for the purpose of showing its\nobjective truth and reality by a rational method. In the first place,\nwe wish to bring out the conception itself as clearly as possible; to\ndescribe a circle in language vast and perfect enough to include all\nthat is intelligible to human reason respecting God and his\nperfections. In the second place, to review the different methods of\nproving to reason the objective reality of this conception. And\nfinally, to propose what we believe to be the best and most complete\nmethod of presenting to the reflective consciousness of the soul the\ncertitude of its positive judgment, affirming the being of God.\n[Footnote 47]\n\n  [Footnote 47: In the actual treatment of the subject, this order has\n  been changed for the sake of convenience.]\n\nA great task, certainly! Some may regard it as on evidence of\npresumption to undertake it. Truly, if one should propose the\nconception of the being of the infinite God as a mere hypothesis;\ncriticising and condemning the arguments of great men respecting it as\nillogical and unsuccessful attempts to prove it; professing to have\ndiscovered or invented some new process of demonstrating the problem,\nand thus pretend to make that certain which has hitherto been doubtful\nor probable, it would argue the height of arrogance and presumption.\nWe do not, however, propose any such thing. The idea of God\nconstitutes the very existence and life of the human soul. The\nconception of God, more or less perfectly explicated, is the\npossession of the human race universal, and in its completely\nexplicated form it is the possession of the church universal of all\nages. It is the treasure of universal theology and philosophy, handed\ndown by an universal and inviolable tradition not of mere dead words\nand logical forms, but of the living thought and belief of all the\nsages and saints of the earth. The truth that {292} God is, and is\ninfinitely perfect in his attributes, is the infallible and\nirreversible judgment of the reason of mankind, whether naturally or\nsupernaturally enlightened. All that an individual can do is to\nattempt to gain a distinct apprehension and a correct verbal\nexpression of the self-luminous idea which shines in all philosophy,\nbut especially in Christian Catholic philosophy. It is a mistake,\nthen, to consider an argument respecting the being of God as a mere\nlogical process, conducting from some known premises to an unknown\nconclusion; a process in which any incorrectness in analysis or\ndeduction vitiates the result and leaves the unsolved problem to the\nefforts of some new candidate for the honor of first discovering the\nsolution. The reflex conceptions of that infallible affirmation of God\nto the soul which constitutes its rational existence must be\nsubstantially correct. This is especially the case where revelation\nfurnishes a perfect and infallible outward expression of that inward\nconception which the reflective reason is laboring to acquire.\nTherefore we consider that there is a real agreement among all\ntheistic and Christian philosophers. All have true intellectual\nconceptions of the idea of God. Yet there may be some of these\nconceptions which, though true, are confused. Again, in the multiplied\nreflex action of the mind upon itself and its own judgments and\nconceptions, there may be some imperfections in the analysis or\ncritical examination of the component parts of the idea, in the\nsynthesis or construction of these component parts into an ideal\nformula, and in the language by which verbal expression is given to\nthe conceptions of the mind. What is to be aimed at is, to obtain\nintellectual conceptions which are clear and adequate to the idea, and\na verbal expression which is also clear and adequate to the mental\nconception. In this direction lies the true path of progress in\nChristian philosophy. It is a continual effort to apprehend more\nclearly and adequately in the intelligence the conceptions given to\nour reflective reason by revelation, and to express these conceptions\nmore clearly and intelligibly in language. Hence, so far as the\ndoctrine of God is concerned, philosophy can only strive after\nformulas which express adequately the conception existing in every\nmind which has brought the idea of God into reflective consciousness.\nIf this be true relatively to the common mind, it must be so much more\nrelatively to the instructed philosophic mind of the world, especially\nthe instructed theological mind of the church, where philosophy and\ntheology are developed in a scientific form. The individual may\nreflect on that part of theology which his own intelligence has\nappropriated and assimilated to itself, and may possibly advance\nscience by his reflections. But he cannot possibly cut himself off\nfrom the intellectual tradition and the continuity of intellectual\nlife by which his reason lives and acts, without perpetrating\nintellectual suicide. We despise and reject, therefore, all philosophy\nor theology which severs itself from the great vital current and\npulsation of traditional wisdom and science. We despise also that\nwhich merely repeats what it has learned, unless it has first made an\nintelligent judgment that this is, in regard to whatever matter is\nunder discussion, the ultimatum that human reason can attain. One may\ndo some good by repeating and explaining to others what are, for him,\nthe last and most perfect words of wisdom which he has found in\nstudying the works of the great and wise teachers of men. This gives\nhim no claim to be honored as an original thinker or writer. He\ndiffuses but he does not advance science. It is better to do this than\nto fall into error and folly, or at least to waste time and paper, by\nvainly striving after originality for its own sake, or from a silly\nmotive of {293} vain-glory. Or one may really advance science by\noriginal and valuable thoughts which are an elaboration of the truth\nthat has hitherto remained in a crude form; by a better analysis or\nsynthesis of common, universal conceptions; if nothing more, at least\nby a better verbal expression and a more distinct and intelligible\nmethod of exposition. For ourselves, we are satisfied to explain and\ndiffuse that wisdom which we have found in the writings of the\ngreatest and most profound thinkers, especially those who have created\nor embellished Catholic theology. We strike out no new and unknown\npath. We do not pretend even to push forward into any unexplored\nregion in the old one. All that is in this treatise may probably be\nfound elsewhere, and by many will be recognized as already familiar to\nthem. Although we do not choose to burden our pages with citations and\nreferences, the reader may rely on it that in the main we follow the\ncommon current of Catholic theology. If we sometimes deviate from it,\nwe are still, in most instances, following the steps of some one or\nmore of the giant pioneers who have gone on before, leaving a broad\ntrail to direct the weaker traveller in the path of science.\n\nWhat has just been said is applicable to every subject treated in\nthese essays. In relation to the special subject now under\nconsideration, we are very anxious not to seem captious or rash in\ncriticising the common methods of argument employed by theologians. We\nrecognize the substantial solidity of the doctrine of God contained in\nthe best philosophers of all ages, so far as it agrees with\nrevelation; and the perfect soundness and completeness of the doctrine\nas taught by Christian theologians. It is only the form and method\nthat we intend to criticise, so far as theological doctrine is\nconcerned; and, so far as relates to the purely human and rational\nelement of philosophy, only that which is peculiar to individuals,\nschools, or periods, and not that which is common and universal. Let\nus remember that we are not reasoning as sceptics, and, beginning from\na principle of philosophic doubt, ignoring all knowledge and belief,\nand striving to work our way upward to something positive and certain.\nWhether we are positively Christian in our belief or not, we are\ntaking the viewing-point of Christian faith, and making a survey of\nthe prospect visible to the eye from that point. It presents to us the\ncompletely developed idea of God as always known and always believed\nwith certitude. What we are to do, then, is to find the most adequate\nexpression of that which faith has believed and reason been able to\nunderstand during all time respecting God. We stand not alone, in the\nignorance of our isolated, individual minds, to create by a slow and\nlaborious task the truth and the belief of which our souls feel the\nneed. We stand in union with the human race, always in possession of\nat least the elements of truth. We stand in union with that favored\nportion of the human race which has always clearly and distinctly\nbelieved in the absolute truth of the being and infinite perfection of\nGod, and in a distinct revelation from him. We are about to examine\nthis universal belief, and these intelligent judgments of cultivated\nuniversal human reason, and to compare them with the principles and\njudgments of our own reason. To ascertain what Christian Catholic\nfaith is, and how it is radicated in an intelligent indubitable\ncertitude of reason--this is what we are about to attempt; and the\nfirst part of our task is to examine the Christian conception of God,\nas expressed in theistic philosophy and Catholic theology. We intend\nto prove that it is the original, permits have, constitutive idea of\nhuman reason, brought, into distinct, reflective consciousness; made\nintelligible to the understanding, so far as it is not immediately\nintelligible in itself, by analogy; and correctly expressed by the\nsensible signs of language.\n\n{294}\n\n\nIV.\n\nDIFFERENT METHODS OF PROVING THE BEING OF GOD.\n\nIt is evident that we have no direct intellectual vision or beholding\nof God. The goal is separated from him by an infinite and impassable\nabyss. We cannot now take into account the person of Jesus Christ, or\nof any who have been elevated to an intellectual condition different\nfrom that which is proper to our present state on earth. Apart from\nsuch exceptions, the soul even of the highest contemplative never\ndirectly beholds God himself. In the words of St. Augustine; _\"Videri\nautem divinitas humano visu nullo modo potest; sed eo visu videtur,\nquo jam qui vident, non homines sed ultra homines sunt.\"_ \"The\ndivinity can in no way be seen by human vision: but it is seen by a\nvision of such a kind that they who see by it are not men, but are\nmore than men.\"  [Footnote 48] Neither have we the power to comprehend\nthe intrinsic necessity of God's being and the intimate reason and\nnature of his self-existence. If we had a natural power of seeing God\nimmediately, we would be naturally beatified, and all error or sin\nwould be impossible. Moreover, we have not even a formed and developed\nconception of God innate to our reason, such as that which the\ninstructed and educated reason can acquire. For, if we had, it would\nbe in all minds alike without exception; everywhere and under all\ncircumstances the same, without any need of previous reflection or\ninstruction. What, then, is the genesis of our rational conception and\nbelief of the divine being and attributes? How is it evident that God\nreally is?\n\n  [Footnote 48: De Trin. lib. ii. c. ii.]\n\nThe arguments employed by philosophers are usually divided into two\nclasses, those called _\u00e0 priori_, and those called _\u00e0 posteriori_.\n\nAn argument _\u00e0 priori_ is one which deduces a truth from another truth\nof a prior and more universal order. Therefore, to prove the being of\nGod _\u00e0 priori_ we must go back to a truth either really and in itself\nantecedent to his being, or antecedent in the primitive idea of\nreason. That is to say, there must be an ideal world of truth\nlogically antecedent to God, and independent of him; an eternal nature\nof things which is in itself necessary, and intelligible to our\nreason, before it has any idea of God. Or else, the primitive,\nconstitutive idea of our reason must be an idea of some abstract being\nof this nature which is not God, and which in the real order is not\nantecedent to God, but only antecedent to him in the order of human\nthought and knowledge. If the first is true, God is not the first\ncause, the first principle, the infinite and eternal truth in himself,\nthe absolute essence, and the immediate object of his own\nintelligence. The very conception of God which is sought to be proved\nis destroyed and rendered unintelligible. This will appear more\nclearly when we come to develop more fully hereafter the idea of God\nand his attributes. In the order of real being there is and can be\nnothing before God. There is no cause, no principle, no truth, no\nintelligible idea more universal than God, and prior to him, from\nwhich his being can be deduced as a consequence. In this sense, then,\nan _\u00e0 priori_ argument for the being of God is impossible.\n\nIf the second alternative is true, that we have a primitive idea of\nsomething in our minds which is before the idea of God, the order of\nideas, of reason, of human thought, is not in harmony with the real\norder. We apprehend the unreal and not the real. We see things as they\nare not, and not as they are. The reason apprehends the abstract,\nideal universe, the eternal nature of things, the world of necessary\ntruth, as antecedent to God and independent of him, when it is not so.\nIf this were so, we could never attain to the true idea of God as\nbefore all things and the principle of all. For reason most develop\n{295} according to its primary and constitutive idea and its necessary\nlaw of thought. If in this constitutive idea there is something before\nGod from which, as a prior principle, a more universal truth, the\nbeing of God is deduced as a consequence and a secondary truth, we\nmust always look at things in this way, and can never directly behold\nthe real order of being as it is. Thus we can never attain the true\nidea of God while we apprehend any intelligible object of thought as\nprior to him who is really prior to all, and must be apprehended as\nprior or else falsely apprehended.\n\nAn _\u00e0 priori_ argument in this sense is, therefore, as impossible as\nin the other.\n\nLet us now examine more particularly some of the so-called _\u00e0 priori_\narguments.\n\nOne is an argument from the conceptions, or, as they are commonly\ncalled, the _ideas_, of space and time. It proceeds thus: We have an\nidea of infinite space, and of infinite time, as necessary in the\neternal nature of things. Do what we will, we cannot banish these\nideas, or avoid thinking of space and time as necessary and eternal.\nTherefore, there is an infinite, eternal being, of whose existence\nspace and time are the necessary effects.\n\nThis argument dazzles the mind by a certain splendor and overwhelms it\nby a certain profundity and vastness of conception, but yet leaves it\nconfused and overpowered rather than convinced. It will not bear\nanalysis, as Leibnitz has successfully proved in his letters to Adam\nClarke, who defended it with all the acuteness and ingenuity which his\nsubtle and penetrating intellect could bring to bear on the question.\n\nNothing is, or can be, which is not either God or the creation of God.\nSpace and time, therefore, are either attributes of God, or created\nentities, if they have any being or existence in themselves at all.\nThey are either identical with the essence of God, or they are\nincluded within the creation and only coeval and co-extensive with it;\nthat is, bounded by finite and precise limits of succession and\nextension. If the former, in perceiving them we perceive God directly.\nThis is not affirmed by the argument, which asserts that they are\neffects of God's being and external to it. If the second, they are not\ninfinite; the idea of their infinity and necessity is an illusion, and\nno argument can be derived from it. It is, beside, impossible to\nconceive of space and time as entities, or existing things, distinct\nand separate from other existences, and having certain defined limits.\nThe language used by those who distinguish them both from God and\ncreation, and call them necessary effects of the being of God, is\nsimply unintelligible. Their conception of infinite space and time is,\nas Leibnitz calls it, a mere idol of the fancy, a phantasm\nrepresenting nothing real. There is no intelligible conception of\nspace and time as distinct both from God and creation. There is no\nsuch thing in the order of reality or of thought as a _necessary_\neffect of God's being, or any effect except that produced by his free\ncreative act. Into the idea of God nothing enters except God himself.\nSupposing that God exists alone without having created, when we think\nof God we think of all that can be thought as actual. His being fills\nup his own intelligence, of which it is the only and complete object.\nInto a true conception of that being our notions of space and time\ncannot enter. Nevertheless, in apprehending space and time there must\nbe some real and intelligible idea which is apprehended. This idea is\nthe possibility of creation, which in God is necessary and infinite.\nBy his very essence, God has the power to create, and this power is\nunlimited. The idea of a created universe necessarily includes the\nidea of its existence in space and time. The possibility of space and\ntime are, therefore, included in the possibility of creation, and as\nno limits can be placed to {296} the one, so none can be placed to the\nother. Our apprehension of infinite space and time is an apprehension\nof the infinite possibility of creation in God. We apprehend God under\nthe intuition of the infinite, the necessary, and the eternal. This\nintuition of the infinite enters into all our thoughts. And therefore,\nhowever much we may extend our conception of actual duration or\nextension in regard to the created universe, we must always think the\npossibility of that duration and extension being increased even to\ninfinity. Ideal space and time is that which we apprehend of real\nspace and time, with the thought of their possible extension to\ninfinity included. Real space and time are not entities distinct in\nthemselves, but relations of succession and co-existence among created\nthings. As in God alone, as distinct from creation, there is nothing\nintelligible but the divine being, so in the creation there is nothing\nintelligible but that which God has created. God and the existences\nwhich God has made are all that the mind can think. Take away God and\nfinite, real things; nothing remains. Think of God as not creating,\nand God is the sole object of thought. Add to this the thought of God\ncreating, and you have finite created entities. But you have nothing\nmore; and if you fancy there is anything more, such as space and time\nin the abstract, you have a phantasm or idol of the imagination, which\nis nothing. Real space and time must be relations of existing things,\nand ideal space and time the possibility of relations among things\nwhich might be; or they are nothing. Destroy real entities, and you\ndestroy all real relations. Deny the possibility of real entities, and\nyou destroy all ideal relations. This answers the puzzling question\nsometimes asked, \"Can God annihilate space?\" He can annihilate real\nspace by annihilating the real universe from which it is inseparable.\nHe cannot annihilate ideal space, because it is in himself, as\nincluded in his eternal idea of the possible creation, or of his own\ninfinite power to create. Our apprehensions of space and time are in\nthe intelligible and not in the sensible world. The sensible form\nwhich they have results from the universal law that all intelligible\nconceptions come to us through the sensible, and represented to us\nthrough sensible signs. They must ultimately terminate in the idea of\nGod as pure spirit, without extension or successive duration. When we\nthink of extension in space we imagine a material figure, or an\natmosphere whose circumference we extend further and further in all\ndirections. When we think of duration in time, we think of a\nsuccession of material or intellectual actions, whose series we extend\nbackward into the past or forward into the future. But, no matter how\nfar we carry these processes, a definite and limited extension and\nduration is all that we reach. It is impossible that the idea of\ninfinite space and duration should be actually realized in the order\nof finite and created things. The impossibility of placing any limit\nto them which shall be final must, therefore, be referred to an idea\nbeyond all relations of space and time, and truly infinite, which we\nimperfectly apprehend by analogy through these relations. This is the\nidea of God as having an infinite power to create which is\ninexhaustible by any actual creation, however vast. Only in this way\nis the idea intelligible, and we must affirm God as real and infinite\nbeing before we can correctly apprehend it.\n\nIt may be said that this is what is really meant by the argument from\nspace and time. We are willing to admit that it is what these eminent\nwriters really had in their minds. But it appears to us that they have\nexpressed it without sufficient clearness and precision, by reason of\nthe confusion which prevails in modern philosophy, and that it is not\nreally an _\u00e0 priori_ argument, since it cannot be made {297}\nintelligible without affirming the idea of God as prior to all other\nideas in the order of thought as well as in the order of being.\n\nAnother argument is derived from the possibility of conceiving that\nthere is a being absolutely perfect. We can conceive that there is a\nbeing possessing all possible perfections. But actual existence is a\nperfection. Therefore if we conceive of a being possessing _all_\nperfection, we must conceive of him as having actual existence.\n\nThis amounts merely to saying that actual existence enters into our\nconception of God. Where is the proof that that conception is not\nmerely in our mind? Does the fact that we are able to form a\nconception of God prove that God really exists? Some will answer. Yes.\nBecause it is absurd to suppose that the mind can form an idea greater\nthan itself, and conceive of a possible order of being greater than\nthe real order. It is, indeed, absurd; but the absurdity cannot be\nshown without at the same time showing the impossibility of finding\nany principle of reason prior to the idea of God. Is that which the\nreason perceives real being? Then the idea of the infinite is the\naffirmation of an infinite being. It is impossible to conceive of a\npossible being greater than the real being, because the real being is\ndirectly affirmed as infinite in the idea of reason. The very idea we\nare seeking to prove real presents itself as real to the reason before\nwe can even begin the process of proving it. It is itself prior to\nevery principle we are looking for as the most ultimate and the most\nuniversal. There cannot be found anything from which we can reason _\u00e0\npriori_ to that which is itself prior to all. We have began by\naffirming our conclusion as the basis of our proof. At the end of our\nargument we come back to our starting-point.\n\nIs that which the reason perceives not real being? What, then, is it?\nIt will be said that it is an a idea. If so, this _\u00e0 priori_ argument\nproves only that the actual existence of God is conceivable, and that\nit cannot be proved that there is no God. It may even make his real\nexistence appear to be probable, taken in connection with the other\narguments usually employed. At best, however, it leaves the idea of\nGod always under the form of an hypothesis, and affords no protection\nagainst the corruption of the idea by pantheistic and materialistic\nnotions. Where is the passage from the abstract to the concrete, from\nthe mental conception to the objective reality? If our conceptions of\nGod lie in the order of an abstract world, and it is not the reality\nwhich is the ultimate object of reason, how can we ever obtain\ncertitude that there is a real world corresponding to that abstract\nworld which exists in our own mind? Such is the reasoning of modern\nmaterialism which is conducting vast numbers as near to absolute\natheism as the mind by its own nature is able to go. For the class of\nmen alluded to there are no realities except those of the sensible\nworld. The spiritual world of dogmatic truth, religious obligation,\nand supernatural hopes, is ignored and neglected as merely abstract,\nhypothetical, and having at best but a dubious claim on our attention;\none which may with safety and prudence be practically set aside for\nthe more obvious claims of the present life. The entire falsity of\nthis whole philosophy of the abstract, and the nullity of all\nabstractions considered as self-subsisting objects of thought, will be\nmore directly shown hereafter. For the present we say no more on this\nhead, but proceed to consider another form in which the argument from\nabstract, _\u00e0 priori_ principles is presented.\n\nWe have an idea of the good, the beautiful, the true, as being\nnecessary, universal, and eternal. Therefore there must be a being in\nwhose mind these ideas exist, or of whom these qualities can be\naffirmed. This argument has been answered in answering {298} the\nforegoing one, with which it nearly coincides. Are these ideas\nabstract, independent of reality, antecedent to the idea of real,\nconcrete being? Then they are forms of the mind, and leave it without\na direct perception of the existence of a real, concrete being,\ninfinitely good, beautiful, and true; or rather, the infinite\ngoodness, beauty, and truth in himself. Are these ideas immediate\naffirmations of this real being? Then we have lost again our _a\npriori_ principle, by finding that the conclusion is actually prior to\nit. Either we affirm the intuition of the concrete, real object, from\nwhich the abstract conception of the good, the beautiful, and the true\nis derived, or we can prove only the existence of these conceptions in\nthe mind, and cannot argue from the conceptions to the reality, or in\nany way perceive clearly the existence of the reality in an order\nexternal to our own mind.\n\nLet us pass now to the argument called _\u00e0 posteriori_. This is a\nmethod of reasoning exactly the reverse of the former; in which we\nproceed from effects to their causes, and from particulars to the\nuniversal. We endeavor to prove the existence of God from certain\nfacts which cannot be accounted for unless they are regarded as\neffects of an absolute first cause.\n\nWe may consider this argument from two distinct points of view. First,\nwe may take it as an effort to deduce the existence of God from a\ngreat number of facts, as the result of our knowledge of these\nparticular facts; an effort to prove by experiment and observation an\nhypothesis which is proposed as a probable solution of the problem of\nthe universe. We suppose that we begin without the idea of God. We\nacquire the knowledge of particular facts through sensation and\nreflection. By noting a great number of facts, and reflecting upon\nthem, we ascend to general and abstract truths, and as a last result\narrive at the conception of the being of God as the most universal\ntruth, and the one which is the sum of all probabilities.\n\nIn the second place, we may take this argument as a method of\nmanifesting the way in which the action of the first cause is shown\nforth in the universe. The idea of God is first affirmed, and the due\nexplication of the facts of the universe is then demonstrated to be\nonly an explication of the idea of God as first cause. The universe is\nshown to be intelligible in its cause, and apart from it to be\nunintelligible. Taken in this way the argument is identical with that\nwhich we are about to propose a little later.\n\nTaken in the former sense, it is not a demonstration of the existence\nof God. Suppose that we can begin to reason without the idea of cause,\nand we can never establish its necessity by induction. Eliminate the\nidea of self-subsisting, necessary, eternal being, and suppose it\nunknown, unimagined; we can never rise above the particular, isolated\nsensations and perceptions of which we are conscious. If the facts\nwhich are called effects are intelligible in themselves, they imply no\ncause, and none can be proved from them. If they are not intelligible\nin themselves, they are from the first intelligible only in their\ncause, and the idea of cause is ultimate in the mind, antecedent to\nall knowledge of particulars, the first premised of every conclusion.\nIt cannot then be proved as the conclusion of any syllogism; for all\narguments start from it as the primitive idea and first principle of\nreason.\n\nThis method of argument belongs to that sceptical system of philosophy\nwhich came in vogue with the theology of Protestantism, and has been\never since working out its fatal results. It is the principle of\ndisintegration, doubt, and denial, transferred from the domain of\nrevealed dogma into the order of rational truths. Kant, the great\nmaster of this philosophy, and one of the principal chiefs of modern\nthought, carried out this philosophy to the denial of all possibility\nof science, and therefore of all {299} Scientific knowledge of God,\nimmortality, and moral obligation. Having swept all natural and\nrevealed truths out of the domain of _pure_ reason, he made a feeble\nattempt to establish their authority in the sphere of _practical_\nreason. The individual man and the human race need the belief in God\nto keep them in the order required for their well-being. Therefore we\nmay believe that there is a God. It is needless to say that these\ndictates of practical reason are not respected by those who carry out\nconsistently and boldly the sceptical philosophy. The ravages made by\nthe principle of scepticism among those who have cast off all\ntraditional belief in Christianity are obvious to all eyes. But it is\nnot so generally acknowledged that the same philosophy has had a wide\nand baneful influence over Christian theology. Some Christian writers\nwould avowedly sweep away science to give place to faith, not\nreflecting that faith tumbles to the ground when its rational basis is\nremoved. Others follow the method of a philosophy constructed upon\nthat method, a method which is altogether unfit to be a medium of the\nrational explanation of Christian dogmas. Hence, there is a schism\nbetween theology and philosophy, leaving both these sciences in a\nmutilated condition. The manifest inadequacy of the common\nphilosophical system brings it into contempt, and induces the effort\nto transfer the seat of all certitude and all true science to\ntheology. Theology cannot make the first step without a basis of\nrational certitude for faith and for conclusions drawn from premises\nwhich are furnished by  faith. Consequently her efforts to walk on air\nresult to her discredit, and theology falls into contempt. This ends\nin adopting Kant's practical reason as the basis of religious belief.\nPhilosophy and theology, as sciences of the highest order, are\ndeserted. Religion is defended and explained on the ground of its\nprobability and its utility. We cannot have science or make our belief\nintelligible. It is safe and prudent to follow on in the way the great\nmajority of the wise and good have walked. Let us do so, and silence\nthe questionings of the intellect.  [Footnote 49] The language of\nscepticism! This is the mental disease of our day. Scepticism in\nregard to the doctrines of revelation; scepticism in regard to the\ndictates of reason! No doubt, if faith had full sway, and no false\nphilosophy prevailed, theology would be sufficient by itself. For it\ncontains in solution the true philosophy; and the simple,\nunsophisticated Christian intellect will take it up and absorb it\nnaturally without needing to have it administered in a separate state.\nBut where the mind has been sophisticated by false philosophy, it\ncannot take theology until the antidote of true philosophy has been\ngiven to it. Here is a lack in our English-speaking religious world.\nAnd this lack is, perhaps, the reason why some of the best writers\nspeak so uncertainly of the rational basis of faith in revealed\ntruths, and even in the truth of God's existence. While they affirm\nthe certitude of their own inward belief, yet they acknowledge that\nthey can only construct an argument which in philosophy is probable.\nThat is to say, they have not a philosophy in which the ground of\ntheir inward certitude is expressed in a distinct formula, and by\nwhich they can make their readers conscious of a similar ground of\ncertitude in themselves. They have no philosophy corresponding to\ntheir theology, and therefore, when they address the unbelieving or\ndoubting world, they are at a loss for a bridge to span the chasm\nlying between it and themselves.\n\n  [Footnote 49: These remarks are not levelled against any approved\n  system of Catholic philosophy, but only against those which are in\n  vogue in the non-Catholic world, or among certain Catholic writers\n  of a modern date.]\n\nThere is at present a laudable and {300} encouraging desire manifested\nby the leading thinkers and writers of different churches to bring out\nthe great fundamental truth that God is the author of nature and\nrevelation, in such a way as to stem the tide of scepticism. Guizot,\nwho is among the most eminent, if not the very first, of the modern\nadvocates of orthodox Protestantism, in the programme of a recent work\nin defence of revealed religion which he has published, expresses the\nopinion that the differences between his own co-religionists and\nCatholics are of minor importance compared to the great pending\ncontroversy with modern scepticism. This, with many other indications\nof a growing cordiality in earnest Protestants toward Catholics who\nare similarly earnest, makes us hope to receive from them as well as\nfrom the members of our own communion a respectful and candid hearing\nof what we have to say on this weighty subject.\n\nAnd now, having done with the disagreeable task of criticism, we\nentreat of our readers, if they have found the preliminary treatment\nof the subject we are on abstruse and wearisome, to resume their\ncourage and push on a little further up the ascent toward the summit\nof truth. The traveller, who struggles through thickets and over rocks\ntoward the top of a mountain is well rewarded by the landscape which\nlies below and around him, lighted up by the radiance of the full orb\nof day. So, gentle reader, whether you are believer or sceptic, there\nis an eminence before us which we can attain, from which the fair\nlandscape of natural and supernatural truth is visible as far as the\noutermost boundaries which fade away into the infinite. We wish to\nlead you to this eminence, and to show you this landscape lighted up\nwith the radiance of the primal source of light, _the idea of God_,\nthe self-luminous centre of the universe of thought. We wish to show\nyou this idea of God in its absolute truth and certitude; clearly and\ndistinctly visible in that horizon which is within the scope of the\nnaked eye of reason, but whose boundaries are enlarged and its objects\nmagnified by the aid of that gigantic telescope called faith.\n\n{301}\n\nFrom Once a Week\n\nA MONTH IN KILKENNY.\n\nBY W. P. LENNOX.\n\n\nThere is little to attract the attention of the traveller between\nDublin and Kilkenny, except the fine range of mountains and the\nCurragh of Kildare. The Newmarket of Ireland is a vast, unbroken,\nbleak plain, consisting of 4,858 statute acres. It belongs to the\ncrown, and is appropriate to racing and coursing, the adjacent\nproprietors having the privilege of grazing sheep thereon. The ranger\nof the Curragh is appointed by the government, and has the entire\ncharge of this celebrated property. Of the race-meetings that take\nplace on this spot it is needless to speak, as they are recorded in\nthe newspapers of the day. Suffice it to say that the arrangements are\nwell carried out, the prizes considerable, the number of horses that\ncontend for them great, and the sport first-rate.\n\nAfter changing trains at Kilkenny, I reached Parsonstown, where a\ncarriage awaited me, to convey me to Woodstock, the hospitable seat of\nmy brother-in-law, the Right Hon. William Tighe, and my sister, Lady\nLouisa Tighe.\n\nInistioge, anciently called Inis-teoc, is a charmingly situated small\ntown overlooking the Nore, which is crossed by a picturesque bridge of\nten arches, ornamented on one side with Ionic pilasters. The town is\nbuilt in the form of a square, which being planted with lime-trees\ngives it the appearance of a foreign town. In the centre of the square\nis a small plain pillar, based on a pedestal of stone. This was the\nshaft of an ancient stone cross, and bears an inscription to the\nmemory of David, Baron of Brownsfield, one of the Fitzgerald family,\nwho died in 1621. The emerald green turf, and the foliage of the\ntrees, in the square, give it a fresh appearance, and form an\nagreeable contrast to the surrounding stone buildings. Inistioge was\nonce a royal borough, and famed for its religious establishments. It\nalso possessed a large Augustinian monastery. All that now remains of\nit consists of two towers: one of them is incorporated with the parish\nchurch; the other is square at the base and octagonal in the upper\nstages. Of Woodstock itself, I will merely say that the house contains\na valuable library, some good paintings; the gardens can find no equal\nin the United Kingdom; and the grounds, laid out with every diversity\nthat wood and water can bestow, are perfectly beautiful. At the back\nrises a wooded hill, to the height of 900 feet, the summit crowned\nwith an ornamental tower; and as the demesne stretches for a\nconsiderable distance along the Nore, there are some magnificent views\nof\n\n  \"The stubborne Nenvre, whose waters grey,\n  By fall Kilkenny and Rosseponte bend;\"\n\nwhich may be described in the words of the poet of the Thames--\n\n  \"Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull:\n  Strong without rage; without o'erflowing fail.\"\n\nOne of our first excursions was to Kilkenny, on our way to which city\nwe stopped at Bennet's Bridge, to {302} witness the humors of a\nhorse-fair. This small town is famed as having been the place where\nthe Duke of Ormonde held a review in 1704, and which attracted such\nhosts of visitors that an inn-keeper is said to have made as much by\nhis beds as paid his rent for seven years. I have attended many fairs\nin England, Scotland, Wales, France, Holland, Germany, and Canada, but\nnever did I witness such an extraordinary sight as the one that\npresented itself at Bennet's Bridge. The hamlet itself, and its\noutskirts, were filled for more than a mile with horses, ponies, and\nvehicles, attended by a mass of people consisting of dealers, farmers,\npeasants, tramps, and beggars. There might be seen some \"artful\ndodger\" trying to palm off to one less experienced than himself a\nspicy-looking thorough-bred nag, whose legs showed evident marks of\nmany a hard gallop, declaring that for speed the animal was\nunequalled, and that there was not a stone wall in the whole county\nthat could stop him; there might be noticed a gallant colonel of\nhussars, attended by his \"vet,\" selecting some clever three-year-olds,\nwith which to recruit the ranks of her majesty's service. \"Bedad,\ngineral,\" exclaims the vendor, \"with such a regiment of horses you'd\nride over the whole French cavalry, with Napoleon at the head of it.\"\n\"A broth of a boy\" may now be pointed out, charging a stone wall, with\na raw-boned brute that never attempts to rise at it, and who, turning\nthe animal round, and backing him strongly, makes an aperture, at the\nsame moment singing a snatch of an Irish song, most appropriate for\nthe occasion--\"Brave Oliver Cromwell, he did them so pommel, that he\nmade a breach in her battlements.\" Next, a ragged urchin, without\nshoes and stockings, with what might be termed \"the original shocking\nbad hat\" and which--on the principle of exchange no robbery--I was\ncredibly informed he had taken from a field, set up to scare away the\ncrows. Then there was the usual number of idlers and lookers-on, and\nan unusual amount of hallooing, shouting, screaming, and bellowing.\n\nAfter devoting an hour to the humors of the fair, we proceeded to view\nthe remains of the abbey of Jerpoint, which was founded in 1180, by\nDonogh, King of Ossory, for Cistercian monks. The monks, on the\narrival of the English, had interest sufficient with King John to get\na confirmation of all the lands bestowed on them by the King of\nOssory; and Edward III., in the thirty-fourth year of his reign, at\nthe instance of Phillip, then abbot, granted him a confirmation of\nformer charters. Oliver Grace, the last abbot, surrendered this abbey\non the 18th of March, the 31 Henry VIII. It then possessed about 1,500\nacres of arable and pasture land, three rectories, the altarages and\ntithes of thirteen other parishes; all these were granted in the reign\nof Philip and Mary to James, Earl of Ormonde, and his heirs male, to\nhold _in capite_, at the yearly rent of \u00a349 3s. 9d. It is an\ninteresting ruin, and well worthy the attention of the antiquarian.\nFrom Jerpoint we proceeded to Kilkenny Castle, the home of the\nOrmondes.\n\nRichard Strongbow, by his marriage with Eva, daughter of Dermot, King\nof Leinster, came into possession of a great part of the province of\nLeinster. Henry II. confirmed his right, with the reservation of the\nmaritime ports. On being appointed Lord Justice of Ireland in 1173, he\nlaid the foundation of a castle in Kilkenny, but it was scarcely\nfinished when it was demolished by the insurgent Irish. However,\nWilliam, Earl Marshal, descended from Strongbow, and also Lord\nJustice, in 1195 began a noble pile on a more extensive scale, and on\nthe ancient site. A great part of this fine castle has survived the\nconvulsions of this distracted kingdom, and continues at this day a\nconspicuous ornament of {303} the city of Kilkenny. A rising ground\nwas chosen, which on one side has a steep and abrupt descent to the\nriver Nore, which effectually protects it on that quarter by its rapid\nstream; the other sides were secured by ramparts, walls, and towers,\nand the entrance is through a lofty gate of marble of the Corinthian\norder. Hugh Le DeSpenser, who obtained the castle by marriage, in\nSeptember, 1391, conveyed it and its dependencies to James, Earl of\nOrmonde. In later days, the castle has been much improved; the\ntapestry which adorns the walls of the entrance-hall and staircase\nexhibits the history of Decius; it is admirably executed, and the\ncolors are fresh and lively. The ballroom, which is of great length,\ncontains a fine collection of portraits, landscapes, and\nbattle-pieces.\n\nFrom the castle we visited the cathedral church of St. Canice, which\nis the largest church in Ireland, with the exception of St. Patrick's\nand Christ church, Dublin. There are a centre and two lateral aisles.\nThe roof of the nave is supported by five pillars, and a pilaster of\nblack marble on each side, upon which are formed five arches. Each\nlateral aisle is lighted by four windows below, and the central aisle\nby five above; they are in the shape of quatrefoils. The origin of\nthis beautiful structure is uncertain, but it is conjectured that it\nwas begun in 1180, when a small church was erected near the round\ntower.\n\n\"Hugh Rufus laid the foundation of a noble edifice,\" say the old\nwriters, \"and Bishop Mapilton, in 1233, and St. Leger, who succeeded\nhim, completed the fabric.\" In describing the church of St. Canice, I\ncannot refrain from alluding to the extreme politeness of Father\nKavanagh, a Roman Catholic priest, who devoted his time to my party\nand myself in pointing out the beauties of this venerable pile.\n\nThe Black Abbey was founded by William, Earl Marshal, about 1225, for\nDominican friars. The founder was interred here in 1231, and three\nyears after his brother Richard, who was slain in a battle with the\nO'Mores and O'Conors on the Curragh of Kildare. Henry VIII. granted\nthis monastery to the burgesses and commonalty of the city of\nKilkenny. In the time of the elder James it served for a shire-house,\nand in 1643 it was repaired, and a chapter of the order held in it.\nIts towers are light and elegant, and some of the windows are most\nartistically executed.\n\nSt. Mary's church contains some very interesting monuments, among them\none in memory of Sir Richard Shee, dated 1608, with its ten sculptured\nfigures at the base. There is one also to his brother, Elias Shee, of\nwhom Holinshed wrote that he was \"a pleasant-conceited companion, full\nof mirth without gall.\" On an unpretending tablet of black and white\nmarble appears the following inscription:\n\n  \"FREDERICK GEORGE HOWARD,\n  SECOND SON OF THE EARL OF CARLISLE\n  CAPTAIN OF THE 90TH REGIMENT\n  DIED A.D. 1833, AET. 28.\n\n \"Within this hallowed aisle, mid grief sincere,\n  Friends, comrades, brothers late young Howard's bier;\n  Gentle and brave, his country's arms he bore\n  To Ganges' stream and Ava's hostile shore:\n  His God through war and shipwreck was his shield,\n  But stretched him lifeless on the peaceful field.\n  Thine are the times and ways, all-ruling Lord!\n  Thy will be done, acknowledged, and adored!\"\n\nThe above lines are from the pen of the late Earl of Carlisle, who\nnever went near Kilkenny without paying a visit to the tomb of his\nbrother. Poor Howard was killed by leaping out of a curricle, which\nwas run away with between the barracks at Kilkenny and Newtownbarry,\nwhere his regiment was quartered. Another monument attracted my\nattention; it bore an inscription to the memory of Major-General Sir\nDenis Pack, recording the military career of this distinguished\nsoldier. I knew the deceased officer well during the Belgian {304}\ncampaign, and a thousand recollections sprang up in my mind when I saw\nthe bust, by Chantrey, of as brave a man as ever served in the British\narmy. But to return.\n\nAlthough the salmon fishing in Ireland has in many rivers sadly\ndegenerated within a few years, there is still excellent sport to be\nhad in many of the rivers and lakes. The Nore, which flows through the\ncounty of Kilkenny, would be a first-rate river for salmon and trout\nwere it not for the number of weirs and the illegal destruction of the\nfish by cross-lines and nets. At Mount Juliet, the romantic seat of\nLord Carrick, and Narlands, the river is partially preserved; and\nhere, as at Dunmore, the property of Lord Ormonde, the angling is\nexcellent. The general run of salmon flies suits the Nore; they should\nbe tied with dobbing of pig's wool, and a good deal of peacock in the\nwing. For trout, the ordinary run of flies will be found to answer\nwell.\n\nAmong other fishing localities in Ireland may be mentioned Lough Ree,\na fine sheet of water about twenty miles in extent, studded with\nnumerous islands, around the shores of which, and on the shoals, trout\nabound. The lake of Allua, about ten miles above Macroom, in the\ncounty of Cork, was once famous for trout and salmon, which have of\nlate years diminished considerably, in consequence of the introduction\nof pike, the tyrant of the waters. The lakes of Carvagh, in Kerry, of\nInchiquin, of Currana (near Derrynane), Lough Kittane (four miles from\nKillarney), Lough Brin (in Kerry), Lough Atedaun, Lough Gill (in\nSligo), and Lough Erne, are well supplied with trout and salmon; while\nthe far-famed lakes of Killarney will furnish sport to those who seek\npastime, in addition to the enjoyment of witnessing the most beautiful\nand romantic scenery that is to be found in the Emerald Isle. The\nrivers, too, abound in fish. Among the best are the Liffey, Laune,\nTolka, Bann, Blackwater (in Cork), Suir, Annar, Nire (a mountain\nstream rising in the Waterford mountains), Shannon, Lee, and Killaloe\n(remarkable for its eels, as also for the gastronomic skill of the\ninhabitants in dressing them).\n\nI must now turn from the \"gentle crafte\" to otter-hunting, a sport\nstill carried on with spirit in Ould Ireland. The mephitic nature of\nthe otter renders him an easy prey to his pursuers, and his scent is\nso strong that a good hound will at once challenge it. The lodging of\nthis subtle plunderer is called his _kennel_, or _couch_, and his\noccasional lodgments and passages to and fro are called his _halts_.\nSo clever is he as an architect that he constructs his _couches_ at\ndifferent heights, so that, let the water rise or fall, he has a dry\ntenement. Spring is the best season for otter-hunting, but it is\ncarried on during the summer in the Emerald Isle; and a day with the\namphibious tyrant of the finny tribe in the river Nore, which I\nenjoyed last September, may not be uninteresting.\n\nAt about eleven o'clock on a bright sunny day, with a refreshing\nbreeze blowing on us from the south-east, we met at Coolmore, the seat\nof Mr. P. Connellan. The harriers--belonging to my host, and\nconsisting of about six couple of handsome, well-sized hounds, about\nseventeen inches high--met in a field close to the house, attended by\na whipper-in, admirably mounted. The pack seemed to possess all the\nqualifications  of good harriers--fine heads, ear-flaps thin, nostrils\nopen, chests deep, embraced by shoulders broad but light, and wen\nthrown back; the fore-legs straight, clean, bony, terminated by round,\nball-like feet, the hind-legs being angular, and the thighs powerful.\nThe beauty of the day had attracted a large party of both sexes from\nthe neighborhood, some of whom, and one young lady in particular,\nmanaged a cot so ably, that she drew forth the following complement\n{305} from one of the bold peasantry: \"Bedad, miss, you'd do honor to\nCleopatra's galley.\" The principal part of the sportsmen and\nsports-women were on foot, although a few were mounted, and among the\nfair equestrians was a young lady whose seat and hand were perfect,\nand who evidently wished to emulate the prowess of the Thracian\nhuntress. This modern Harpalyce, combining courage with feminine\ndeportment, was prepared to fly like the wind across the country, had\nan occasion presented itself by the accidental discovery of a fleet\nhare. Arrived at the river's side, two Saxons with loaded guns kept a\ngood lookout for the lurking prey, while the hounds swam across to a\nsmall island, where an otter had been tracked by his _seal_ Shortly a\nhound was heard to challenge, but on the approach of the pack the\n\"goose-footed prowler,\" having been hunted before, left his couch, and\ndiving under the water made head up the stream. Now every eye on shore\nis intent on watching his _ventings_; his muzzle appears above the\nsurface for a second; again it disappears; and he can be tracked alone\nby the bubbles of air he throws out. The sport is now exciting. One of\nthe police, armed with a primitive spear, which he had taken from a\nriver poacher, consisting of a three-pronged fork fixed into the end\nof a long pole, is ready to hurl the weapon which has proved so fatal\nto many a salmon, should the otter appear in view, while the staunch\nhounds are close on the scent. \"Have a care there,\" cries a keen\nsportsman to the preserver of the peace. \"Don't strike too quickly, or\nbedad you may transfix a hound instead of the marauding animal.\" But\nhe is not doomed to die so inglorious a death as that caused by a\nrusty fork, for before the crude spear is hurled the hounds have\nseized him, and, after a desperate struggle, in which many of the\ngallant pack were bitten, shake the life out of the captured prey.\nWhile enjoying the sport of the morning, my attention was attracted to\na young lady on the opposite bank of the river, who, wising to join\nour party, entered a small cot, and gallantly paddled herself across\nthe fast-flowing stream. So admirably did this \"guardian Naiad of the\nstrand\" guide her fragile bark, that I could not fail to congratulate\nher upon her prowess. My compliments, however, fell very short of one\nuttered by a ragged boatman, who exclaimed:\n\n\"Ay, and sure, miss, you must be one of the queen's company. Bedad,\nmiss, you are worthy of taking a cot into the Meditherranean.\"\n\nWhile upon the clever sayings of the Irish, I must give an anecdote\nwhich was told me by Sir John Power, of Kilfane, than whom a finer\nsportsman or more hospitable man never existed. It seems that the\ncomplaints made against the vulpine race by owners of poultry are not\nconfined to England, and upon one occasion a genuine Irishman, \"Pat\nDriscoll by name,\" claimed compensation for damage done to a turkey\nand duck. This was awarded to him, when a week afterward he waited\nupon the owner of Kilfane, and asked him for compensation for \"a\nbeautiful cow killed by that nasty varmen, a fox.\" \"A fox kill a cow!\"\nsaid Sir John; \"impossible!\" \"Fait and sure he did,\" continued Pat.\n\"I'll tell you how it was. My cow was feeding in the meadow close to\nmy garden, and was eating a turnip, when up jumped a baste of a fox,\nand frightened her so much that bedad the poor creature choked\nherself.\" The good-humored baronet could not fail to be amused at\nDriscoll's ready wit, but declined paying for the loss of the animal,\nupon which Pat, not at all taken aback, remarked, \"Well, Sir John,\nit's rather hard upon me; but in future, instead of advertising your\nmeets at Kilfane or Thomastown, perhaps you will name _Kilmacoy_\"\n(pronounced \"Kilmycow\") \"as more appropriate to case.\"\n\n{306}\n\nChapters could be filled with Irish sayings, but space prevents my\ngiving more than one, which was told to me by a friend in whose\nveracity I have perfect confidence. An English gentleman dining in the\nhouse of an Irish lady, was greatly surprised at hearing the Butler\nask, \"please, ma'am, will I strip?\" \"Yes\", was the reply; \"all the\ncompany arrived.\" Turning to a neighbor, he inquired the meaning of\nthe expression, when he found it applied to taking the covers off the\ndishes, and was quite foreign to the usual acceptation of the word\n\"strip.\"\n\n------\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nBANNED AND BLESSED.\n\n  \"And the Lord God formed man of the slime of the earth; . . . .\n  Cursed is the earth in thy work.\n\n  \"And the word was made flesh and dwelt among us.\"\n\n\n  Bud out, glad earth, in beauty,\n    Ring out, glad earth, in song;\n  The funeral pall is lifted\n    That covered thee so long:\n  The heavy curse laid on thee\n    For Eden's primal wrong.\n\n  Long ages gone, the angels\n    Hailed thee with pure delight.\n  The blooming of thy day-time.\n    The radiance of thy night;\n  And e'en thy Maker named thee\n    As pleasant in his sight--\n\n  Soon lost that early joyance,\n    Brief worn that birth-day crown!\n  The very stars of heaven\n    Look sorrowfully down\n  On fairest flowers withered\n    Beneath man's sinful frown.\n\n  Blinded, and banned, and broken,\n    Along thy penance-path.\n  Thy vesture stream\u00e8d over\n    With the torrents of man's wrath;\n  Thou treadest through the ether\n    A thing of shame and scath.\n                                                           {307}\n  Lift up thy head, poor mourner,\n    Shake the ashes from thy brow;\n  Lay off thine age-worn sackcloth\n    And wear the purple now:\n  Amid the starry brethren,\n    Who honor hath, as thou?\n\n  The dust from off thy bosom\n    The Maker deigns to wear;\n  \"The word made flesh,\" in heaven,\n    Hath given thee such share\n  No grandeur of thy brethren\n    With it can hold compare.\n\n  Blest art thou that his footsteps\n    Along thy pathways trod;\n  Blest art thou that his pillow\n    Has been thy grassy sod;\n  And blest the burial shelter\n    Thou gavest to thy God.\n\n  And for that little service,\n    Divine the meed shall be:\n  When \"fervent heat\" hath melted\n    The starry choirs and thee,\n  The moulded dust of Eden\n    Shall live eternally.\n\n  \"The first-born of all creatures\"\n    Doth wear it on his throne,\n  The vesture of humanity\n    By which he claims his own.\n  How infinite the pardon\n    That doth thy penance crown!\n\n                             GENEVIEV\u00c9 SALES.\n                             March 22, 1806\n\n------\n\n{308}\n\nTranslated from French.\n\nL'ABB\u00c9 GERBET.   [Footnote 50]\n\nBY C. A. SAINTE-BEUVE.\n\n  [Footnote 50: \"Consid\u00e9rations sur le Dogme G\u00e9n\u00e9rateur de la Pi\u00e9t\u00e9\n  Cathiolique.\" 4e \u00e9dition, chez Vaton. 1859]\n\n\nFor a long time I have been reserving this subject for some feast-day,\nfor Corpus Christi or some festival of Mary, feeling that holiness\nbelongs to it; unction, grace mingled with science, and a reverential\nsmile. \"But why,\" some of our readers will say,--\"why does l'Abb\u00e9\nGerbet's name imply all this?\" I shall try to show them the reason and\ngive some idea of one of the most learned, distinguished, and truly\namiable men that the church of France possesses, as well as one of our\nbest writers; and, without embarking on vexed or doubtful questions,\nto delineate for them in soft tints the personality of the man and his\ntalent.\n\nBut in the first place, that I may connect with its true date this\nmodest name, which has rather courted oblivion than notoriety, let me\nremind my readers that during the Restoration, about the year 1820,\nwhen that regime, at first so unsettled, was beginning to enter into\ncomplete possession of its powers, a movement arose on all sides among\nthe youthful spirits, ardently impelling them to literary culture and\nphilosophical ideas. In poetry Lamartine had given the signal of\nrevival, others gave it in history, others again in philosophy; and\namong the young people there sprang up a universal spirit of\nemulation, a unanimous determination to begin anew. It seemed as if,\nlike a fertile land, the French mind, after its compulsory rest of so\nmany years, were eagerly demanding every kind of cultivation. Yes, in\nreligion then, in theology, it was the same; a generation had sprung\nup full of zeal and animation, who tried, not to renew what is in its\nnature immutable, but to rejuvenate the forms of teaching and\ndemonstration, adapt them to the mental condition of the times, and\nmake the principle of Catholicity respected even by its opponents.\nFor, in the words of one of these young Levites in the beginning of\nthe movement, \"to act upon the age, we must understand it.\"\n\nI could cite the names of several men who, with shades of difference\nknown in the ecclesiastical world, had this in common, that they stood\nat the head of the studious and intelligent young clergy: M. Gousset,\nnow cardinal archbishop of Rheims, and standing in the first rank of\ntheologians; Mgr. Affr\u00e9, who met his death so gloriously as archbishop\nof Paris; M. Douey, the present bishop of Montauban; and M. de\nSalinis, bishop of Amiens. But at that time, between the years 1820\nand 1822, one name alone among the clergy offered itself to men of the\nworld as a candidate for widespread fame. M. de Lamennais in his first\nCatholic fame had enforced the attention of all by his \"Essay on\nIndifference,\" stirring a thousand thoughts even in the minds of the\nastonished clergy.\n\nAnd here for the first time we meet l'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet. He was born in 1798\n{309} at Poligny, in the Jura. After completing his first studies in\nhis native town, he passed through a course of philosophy in the\nacademy of Besan\u00e7on; and in obedience to an instinctive vocation,\nwhich awoke within him at the age of ten years, began his theological\nstudies in the same city. During the dangers of invasion, in\n1814-1815, he went into the mountains to visit a curate, a relation or\nfriend of his family, and remained there to study. Thither came one\nday a young student of the Normal School, Jouffroy, two years his\nsenior, who in going home to pass his vacation in the village of\nPontets, had paused a moment on the way. Jouffroy, though in the first\nflush of youth and learning, and wearing the aureole upon his brow,\ndid not disdain to enter into discussion with the young provincial\nseminarian. He combated the proofs of revelation, and especially\ncontested the age of the world, relying upon the testimony of the\nfamous Zodiac of Denderah, so often invoked in those days, and so soon\ndestroyed. The young seminarian, in the presence of this unknown\nmonument, could only answer: \"Wait.\" These two young men never met\nagain, compatriots though they were, and from that day forth\nadversaries; but l'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet and Jouffroy, while carrying on a war,\npen in hand, never failed to do so in the most dignified terms of\ncontroversy, and Jouffroy, whose heart was so good despite his\ndogmatic language, always spoke of l'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet, if I remember\nrightly, with feelings of affectionate esteem.\n\nOn arriving in Paris at the close of the year 1818, l'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet\nentered the seminary of Saint-Sulpice, but his health, which was\nalready delicate, not allowing him to stay there long, he established\nhimself as a boarder in the House of Foreign Missions, where he\nfollowed the rules of the seminarians. He was ordained priest in 1822\nat the same time with l'Abb\u00e9 do Salinis, whose inseparable friend he\nhas always remained.\n\nA little later he was appointed assistant professor of the Holy\nScriptures in the Theological Faculty of Paris, and went to live in\nthe Sorbonne. Having no lectures to deliver, he soon began to assist\nM. de Salinis, who had been made almoner in the college of Henry lV.,\nand it was at this time that he first knew M. de Lamennais.\n\nAt twenty-four years of age, l'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet had given evidence of\nremarkable philosophical and literary talent, and had sustained a\nLatin thesis with rare elegance in the Sorbonne. By nature he was\nendowed with all the gifts of oratory, a sense of rhythmic movement,\nmeasure, and choice of expression, and a graphic power which, in one\nword, must become a talent for writing. To these endowments he added\nan acute and elevated faculty for dialectics, fertile in distinctions,\nwhich he sometimes took delight in multiplying, but without ever\nlosing himself among them. In the very beginning of his friendship\nwith M. de Lamennais, he felt, without perhaps acknowledging it to\nhimself, that that bold and vigorous genius, who was wont to open new\nviews and perspectives, as it were by main force, needed the\nassistance of an auxiliary pen, more tempered, gentler and firm,--a\ntalent that could use evidence judiciously, fill up spaces, cover weak\npoints, and smooth away a look of menace and revolution from what was\nsimply intended as a broader expression and more accessible\ndevelopment of Christianity. L'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet clothed M. de Lamennais'\nsystem as far as possible with the character of persuasion and\nconciliation that belonged to it: to soften and graduate its\ntendencies was properly the part he filled at this time of his youth.\n\nUpon this system I shall touch in a few words that will suffice to\nexplain what I have to say of l'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet's moral and literary\ngifts. Instead of seeking the evidences of Christianity in such and\nsuch texts of Scripture, or in a personal argument {310} addressed to\nindividual reason, M. de Lamennais maintained that it should, in the\nfirst place, be sought in the universal tradition and historical\ntestimony of peoples, for he believed that even before the coming of\nJesus Christ and the establishment of Christianity a sort of testimony\nwas to be traced, confused certainly, but real and concordant, running\nthrough the traditions of ancient races and discernible even in the\npresentiments of ancient sages. It seemed to him demonstrable that\namong all nations there had been ideas, more or less defined, of the\ncreation of man, of the fall and promised reparation, of the expiation\nor expected redemption--in short, of all that should one day\nconstitute the treasures of Christian doctrine, and was then only the\nscattered and persistent vestige of the primitive revelation. From\nthis he argued that the lights of ancient sages might be considered as\nthe dawn of faith, and that without, of course, being classed among\nthe fathers of the primitive church, Confucius, Zoroaster, Pythagoras,\nHeraclitus, Socrates, and Plato should be considered up to a certain\npoint as preparers for the gospel, and not be numbered among the\naccursed. They might almost be called, in the language of the ancient\nfathers, primitive Christians--at least they were like so many Magi\ntravelling more or less directly toward the divine cradle. By this\nsingle view of an anterior Christianity disseminated through the\nworld, by this voyage, as it were, in search of Catholic truths\nfloating about the universe, the teaching of theology would have been\nwonderfully widened and enlarged, for it necessarily comprised the\nhistory of philosophical ideas. M. de Lamennais' system, which is\nespecially attractive when developed historically by the pen of l'Abb\u00e9\nGerbet, has not since then been recognized by the church. It appeared\nto be at least delusive, if not false; but perhaps, even from the\npoint of view of orthodoxy, it can only merit the reproach of having\nclaimed to be the sole method, to the exclusion of all others;\ncombined with other proofs, and presented simply, as a powerful\naccessory consideration, I believe that it has never been rejected.\n\nIt may be understood, however, even without entering into the heart of\nthe matter, that in 1824, when l'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet, in concert with M. de\nSalinis, established a religious monthly magazine, entitled the\n\"Catholic Memorial,\" and began to develop his ideas therein with\nmodesty and moderation, but also with that fresh confidence and ardor\nthat youth bestows, there was, to speak merely of the external form of\nthe questions, a something about it that gave the signal for the\nstruggle of a new spirit against the stationary or backward spirit.\nThe old-fashioned theologians, whether formalist or rationalistic, who\nfound themselves attacked, resisted and took scandal at the name of\ntraditions which were not only Catholic but scholastic and classic.\nBut in l'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet they had to deal with a man thoroughly well read\nin the writings of the fathers, and possessed of their true\nsignificance. He could bring forward, in his turn, texts drawn from\nthe fountain-head in support of this freer and more generous method;\namong other quotations, he liked to cite this fine passage from\nVincent de L\u00e9rius: \"Let posterity, thanks to your enlightenment,\nrejoice in the _conception_ of that to which antiquity gave respectful\ncredence without understanding [its full meaning]; but remember to\nteach the same things that have been transmitted to you, so that,\nwhile presenting them in a new light, you do not invent new\ndoctrines.\" Thus, while maintaining fundamental immutability, he took\npleasure in remarking that, in spite of slight deviations, the order\nof scientific explanation has followed a law of progress in the\nchurch, and has been successively developed; a fact which he {311}\ndemonstrated by the history of Christianity.\n\n\"The Catholic Memorial,\" in its very infancy, stirred the emulation of\nyouthful writers in the philosophical camp. It was at first printed at\nLachevardi\u00e8re's, where M. Pierre Leroux was proof-reader, and the\nlatter, on seeing the success of a magazine devoted to grave subjects,\nconcluded that a similar organ for the promotion of opinions shared by\nhimself and his friends might be established with even better results.\nIn that same year, 1824, \"The Globe\" began its career, and the two\nperiodicals often engaged in polemic discussions, like adversaries who\nknew and respected each other while they clearly understood the point\nof controversy. For the benefit of the curious, I note an article of\nM. Gerbet's  [Footnote 51] (signed X.) which represents many others,\nand is entitled \"Concerning the Present State of Doctrines;\"--the\nobjections are especially addressed to MM. Damiron and Jouffroy. It\nwas the heyday then of this war of ideas.\n\n  [Footnote 51: 1825. Vol. 4th, p. 188. ]\n\nL'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet's life has been quite simple and uniform, marked by only\none considerable episode--his connection with l'Abb\u00e9 de Lamennais, to\nwhom he lent or rather gave himself for years with an affectionate\ndevotion which had no term or limit except in the final revolt of that\nproud and immoderate spirit. After fulfilling all the duties of a\nreligious friendship, after having waited and forborne and hoped,\nGerbet withdrew in silence. For a long time he had been all that\nNicole was to Arnauld--a moderator, softening asperities and averting\nshocks as far as possible. He never grew weary until there was no\nlonger room for further effort, and then he returned completely to\nhimself. These ultra and exclusive methods are unsuited to his nature,\nand he hastened to withdraw from them, and to forget what he would\nnever have allowed to break out and reach such a pass if he had been\nacting alone. It needs but a word, but a breath, from the Vatican to\ndissipate all that seems cloudy or obscure in l'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet's\ndoctrines. His gentle clouds inclose no storm, and, in dispersing,\nthey reveal a depth of serene sky, lightly veiled here and there, but\npure and delicious.\n\nI express the feeling that some of his writings leave upon the mind,\nand especially the work that has just been reprinted, of which I will\nsay a few words. \"Les Consid\u00e9rations sur le Dogme g\u00e9n\u00e9rateur de la\nPi\u00e9t\u00e9 Catholique,\" that is to say, Thoughts upon Communion and the\nEucharist, first appeared in 1829. It is, properly speaking, \"neither\na dogmatic treatise nor a book of devotion, but something\nintermediate.\" The author begins by an historical research into\ngeneral ideas, universally diffused throughout antiquity--ideas of\nsacrifice and offering, as well as of the desire and necessity of\ncommunication with an ever-present God, which have served as a\npreparation and approach toward the mystery; but, mingled with\nhistorical digressions and delicate or profound doctrinal\ndistinctions, we meet at every step sweet and beautiful words which\ncome from the soul and are the effusion of a loving faith. I will\nquote a few, almost at hazard, without seeking their connection, for\nthey give us an insight into the soul of l'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet. As, for\ninstance, concerning prayer:\n\n  \"Prayer, in its fundamental essence, is but the sincere recognition\n  of this continual need (of drawing new strength from the source of\n  life) and an humble desire of constant assistance; it is the\n  confession of an indigence full of hope.\"\n\n  \"Wherever God places intelligences capable of serving him, there we\n  find weakness, and there too hope.\"\n\nAnd again:\n\n  \"Christianity in its fulness is only a bountiful alms bestowed on\n  abject poverty.\"\n\n{312}\n\n  \"Is there not something divine in every benefit?\"\n\n  \"Charity enters not into the heart of man without combat; for it\n  meets an eternal adversary there--pride, the first-born of\n  selfishness, and the father of hatred.\"\n\n  \"The gospel has made, in the full force of the term, a revolution in\n  the human soul, by changing the relative position of the two\n  feelings that divide its sway: fear has yielded the empire of the\n  heart to love.\"\n\nL'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet's book is full of golden words; but when we seek to\ndetach and isolate them, we see how closely they are woven into the\ntissue.\n\nThe aim of the author is to prove that, from a Christian and Catholic\npoint of view, communion, accepted in its fulness with entire faith,\nfrequent communion reverently received, is the most certain,\nefficacious, and vivid means of charity. In speaking of the excellent\nbook entitled \"The Following of Christ,\" he says:\n\n  \"The asceticism of the middle ages has left an inimitable monument,\n  which Catholics, Protestants, and philosophers are agreed in\n  admiring with the most beautiful admiration, that of the heart. It\n  is wonderful, this little book of mysticism, upon which the genius\n  of Leibnitz used to ponder, and which roused something like\n  enthusiasm even in the frigid Fontenelle. No one ever read a page of\n  the 'Following of Christ,' especially in time of trouble, without\n  saying as he laid the book down: 'That has done me good.' Setting\n  the Bible apart, this work is the sovereign friend of the soul. But\n  whence did the poor solitary who wrote it draw this inexhaustible\n  love? (for he spoke so effectively only because of his great love.)\n  He himself tells us the source in every line of his chapters on the\n  blessed sacrament: the fourth book explains the other three.\"\n\nI could multiply quotations of this kind, if they were suited to these\npages, and if it were not better to recommend the book for the\nsolitary meditation of my readers; I would point out to be remembered\namong the most beautiful and consoling pages belonging to our language\nand religions literature, all the latter part of Chapter VIII. Nothing\nis wanting to make this exquisite little book of l'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet's more\ngenerally appreciated than it now is but a less frequent combination\nof dialectics with the expression of affectionate devotion. Generally\nspeaking, the tissue of l'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet's style is too close; when he\nhas a beautiful thing to say, he does not give it room enough. His\ntalent is like a sacred wood, too thickly grown;--the temple,\nrepository, and altar in its depths are surrounded on all sides, and\nwe can reach them only by footpaths. I suppose that this is because he\nhas always lived too near his own thoughts, never having had the\nopportunity to develop them in public. Feeble health, and a delicate\nvoice which needs the ear of a friend, have never allowed this rich\ntalent to unfold itself in teaching or in the pulpit. If at any time\nhe had been induced to speak in public, he would have been obliged to\nclear up, disengage, and enlarge not his views, but the avenues that\nlead to them.\n\nIn 1838, being troubled with an affection of the throat, he went to\nRome and, always intending to return home soon, remained there until\n1848. It was there that in the leisure moments of a life of devotion\nand study, in which, too, the most elevated friendship had its share,\nhe composed the first two volumes of the work entitled \"A Sketch of\nChristian Rome,\" designed to impart to all elevated souls the feeling\nand idea of the Eternal City. \"The fundamental thought in this book,\"\nhe says, \"is to concentrate the visible realities of Christian Rome\ninto a conception and, as it were, a portrait of its spiritual\nessence. An excellent interpreter in the way he has chosen for\nhimself, he goes on to speak of the monuments not with the dry science\nof a modern antiquary, {313} or with the _na\u00eff_ enthusiasm of a\nbeliever of the middle ages, but with a reflective admiration which\nunites philosophy to piety.\n\n  \"The study of Rome in Rome,\" he says again, \"leads us to the living\n  springs of Christianity. It refreshes all the good feelings of the\n  heart, and, in this age of storms, sheds a wonderful serenity over\n  the soul. We must not, of course, attach too much importance to the\n  charm which we find in certain studies, for books written with\n  pleasure to one's self run the risk of being written with less\n  charity. But none the less should we thank the Divine Goodness when\n  it harmonizes pleasure with duty.\"\n\nIn these volumes of l'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet, introductions and dissertations\nupon Christian symbolism and church history lead to observations full\nof grace or grandeur, and to beautiful and touching pictures. The\nCatacombs, which were the cradle and the asylum of Christianity during\nthe first three centuries, interested him especially, and inspired in\nhim thoughts of rare elevation. Here are some verses (for l'Abb\u00e9\nGerbet is a poet without pretending to be one) which give his first\nimpressions of them, and show the quality of his soul. The piece is\ncalled \"The Song of the Catacombs,\" and is intended to be sung.\n[Footnote 52]\n\n  [Footnote 52: We translate \"Le Chant des Catacombes\" into prose,\n  that the noble ideas may be given with literal accuracy. The author\n  intended it to be sung to the air of \"Le Fil de La Vierge\" (Scudo).\n  We give one verse of the original:\n\n  \"Hier j'ai visit\u00e9 les grandes Catacombes\n    Des temps anciens;\n  J'ai touch\u00e9 de mon front les immortelles tombes\n    Des vieux Chr\u00e9tiens:\n  Et ni l'astre du jour, ni les c\u00e9lestes sph\u00e8res,\n    Lettres du feu,\n  Ne m'avaient mieux fait lire en profonds caract\u00e8res\n    Lo nom de Dieu.\"]\n\n  \"Yesterday I visited the great Catacombs of ancient times. I touched\n  with my brow the immortal tombs of early Christians, and never did\n  the star of day, nor the celestial spheres with their letters of\n  fire, teach me more clearly to read in profound characters the name\n  of God.\n\n  \"A black-frocked hermit, with blanched hair, walked on in front--\n  old door-keeper of time, old porter of life and death; and we\n  questioned him about these holy relics of the great fight, as one\n  listens to a veteran's tales of ancient exploits.\n\n  \"A rock served as portico to the funeral vault; and on its fronton\n  some martyr artist, whose name is known, no doubt, to the angels,\n  had painted the face of Christ, with the fair hair, and the great\n  eyes whence streams a ray of deep gentleness like the heavens.\n\n  \"Further on, I kissed many a symbol of holy parting upon the tombs.\n  And the palm, and the lighthouse, and the bird flying to God's\n  bosom; and Jonas, leaving the whale after three days, with songs, as\n  we leave this world after three days of trouble called time.\n\n  \"Here it was that each one, standing beside his ready-made grave,\n  like a living spectre, wrestled the fight out, or laid his head down\n  in expectation! Here, that they might prepare a strong heart\n  beforehand for the great day of suffering, they tried their graves,\n  and tasted the first-fruits of death!\n\n  \"I sounded with a glance their sacred dust, and felt that the soul\n  had left a breath of life lingering in these ashes; and that in this\n  human sand, which weighs so lightly in our hands, lie, awaiting the\n  great day, germs of the almost god-like forms of eternity.\n\n  \"Sacred places, where love knew how to suffer purely for the soul's\n  good! In questioning you, I felt that its flame could never perish;\n  for to each being of a day who died to defend the truth, the Being\n  eternal and true, as the price of time, has given eternity.\n\n  \"Here at each step we behold, as it were, a golden throne, and while\n  treading on tombs we seem to be on Mount Tabor. Go down, go down\n  into the deep Catacombs, into their lowest recesses--go down, and\n  your {314} heart shall rise and, looking up from these graves, see\n  heaven!\"\n\nBeside these verses, which are not found in the volumes of \"Christian\nRome,\" and are only a first utterance, should be placed, as an\noriginal picture full of meaning, his words concerning the slow and\ngradual destruction of the human body in the Catacombs. We all know\nBossuet's _mot_ (after Tertullian) in speaking of a human corpse: \"It\nbecomes a something unutterable,\" he exclaims, \"which has no name in\nany language.\" The following admirable page from l'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet's book\nis, as it were, a development and commentary of Bossuet's words. At\nthis first station of the Catacombs he confines himself to the study\nof the nothingness of life: \"the work I do not say of death, but of\nwhat comes after death;\" the idea of awakening and of future life\nfollows later. Listen:\n\n  \"In your progress you review the various phases of destruction, as\n  one observes the development of vegetation in a botanic garden from\n  the imperceptible flower to large trees, rich with sap and crowned\n  with great blossoms. In a number of sepulchral niches that have been\n  opened at different periods one can follow, in a manner, step by\n  step, the successive forms, further and further removed from life,\n  through which _what is there_ passes before it approaches as closely\n  as possible to pure nothingness. Look, first, at this skeleton; if\n  it be well preserved in spite of centuries, it is probably because\n  the niche where it lies was hollowed out of damp earth. Humidity,\n  which dissolves all other things, hardens these bones by covering\n  them with a crust which gives them more consistency than they had\n  when they were members of a living body. But not the less is this\n  consistency a progress of destruction; these human bones are turning\n  to stone. A little further on is a grave where a struggle is going\n  on between the power that makes the skeleton and the power that\n  makes dust; the first defends itself, but the second is gaining\n  ground, though slowly. The combat between life and death that is\n  taking place in you, and will be over before this combat between one\n  death and another, is nearly ended. In the sepulchre near by, of all\n  that was a human frame nothing is left but a sort of cloth of dust,\n  a little tumbled and unfolded like a small whitish shroud, from\n  which a head comes out. Look, lastly, at this other niche; there is\n  evidently nothing there but simple dust, the color of which even is\n  a little doubtful from its slightly reddish tinge. There, you say,\n  is the consummation of destruction! Not yet. On looking closely, you\n  discern a human outline: this little heap, touching one of the\n  longitudinal extremities of the niche, is the head; these two heaps,\n  smaller and flatter, placed parallel to each other a little lower\n  down, are the shoulders; these two are the knees. The long bones are\n  represented by feeble trails, broken here and there. This last\n  sketch of man, this vague, rubbed-out form, barely imprinted on an\n  almost impalpable dust, which is volatile, nearly transparent, and\n  of a dull, uncertain white, can best give us an idea of what the\n  ancients called a _shade_. If, in order to see better, you put your\n  head into the sepulchre, take care; do not move or speak, hold your\n  breath. That form is frailer than a butterfly's wing, more swift to\n  vanish than a dewdrop hanging on a blade of grass in the sunshine; a\n  little air shaken by your hand, a breath, a tone, become here\n  powerful agents that can destroy in a second what seventeen\n  centuries, perhaps, of decay have spared. See, you breathed, and the\n  form has disappeared. So ends the history of man in this world.\"\n\nThis seems to me quite a beautiful view of death, and one that prompts\nthe Christian to rise at once to that which is above destruction and\nescapes the catacomb--the immortal principle of life, love, sanctity,\nand {315} sacrifice. I can only indicate these noble and interesting\nconsiderations to those who are eager to study in material Rome the\nhigher city and its significance.\n\nAmong l'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet's writings I will mention only one other, which\nis, perhaps, his masterpiece, and is connected with a touching\nincident that will be felt most deeply by practically religious\npersons, but of which they will not be alone in their appreciation. It\nwas before the year 1838, previously to the abb\u00e9's long residence in\nRome, that he became intimate with the second son of M. de la\nFerronais, former minister of foreign affairs. Young Count Albert de\nla Ferronais had married a young Russian lady, Mdlle. d'Alopeus, a\nLutheran in religion, whom he eagerly desired to lead to the faith. He\nwas dying of consumption at Paris in his twenty-fifth year, and his\nend seemed to be drawing near, when the young wife, on the eve of\nwidowhood, decided to be of her husband's religion; and one night at\ntwelve o'clock, the hour of Christ's birth, they celebrated in his\nroom, beside the bed so soon to be a bed of death, the first communion\nof one and the last communion of the other. (June 29, 1836.) L'Abb\u00e9\nGerbet was the consecrator and consoler in this scene of deep reality\nand mournful pathos, but yet so full of holy joy to Christians. It was\nthe vivid interest of this incomparable and ideal death-bed which\ninspired him to write a dialogue between Plato and F\u00e9n\u00e9lon, in which\nthe latter reveals to the disciple of Socrates all needful knowledge\nconcerning the other world, and in which he describes, under a\nhalf-lifted veil, a death according to Jesus Christ.\n\n  \"O writer of Phaedon, and ever admirable painter of an immortal\n  death, why was it not given to you to be the witness of the things\n  which we see with our eyes, hear with our ears, and seize with the\n  inmost perceptions of the soul, when by a concurrence of\n  circumstances of God's making, by a rare complication of joy and\n  agony, the Christian soul, revealed in a new half-light, resembles\n  those wondrous evenings whose twilight has strange and nameless\n  tints! What pictures then and what apparitions! Shall I describe one\n  to you, Plato? Yes, in heaven's name, I will speak. I witnessed it a\n  few days ago, but at the end of a hundred years I should still call\n  it a few days. You will not understand the whole of what I tell you,\n  for I can only speak of these things in the new tongue which\n  Christianity has made; but still you will understand enough. Know,\n  then, that of two souls that had waited for each other on earth and\n  had met,\" etc.\n\nThen follows the story, slightly veiled and, as it were, transfigured,\nbut without hiding the circumstances. \"Plato as a Christian would have\nspoken thus,\" said M. de Lamartine of this dialogue, and the eulogium\nis only just.\n\nL'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet could, no doubt, have written more than one of these\nadmirable dialogues if he had wished to devote himself to the work, or\nif his physical organization had enabled him to labor continuously. He\nprocesses all that is needed to make him the man for Christian\n_Tusculanes_. Three times in my life have I had the happiness of\nseeing him in places entirely suited to him, and which seemed to make\na natural frame for him: at Juilly, in 1831, in the beautiful shades\nthat Malebranche used to frequent; in 1839, at Rome, beneath the\narches of solitary cloisters; and yesterday, again, in the episcopal\ngardens of Amiens, where he lives, near his friend, M. de Salinis.\nEverywhere he is the same. Imagine a slightly stooping figure, pacing\nwith long, slow steps a peaceful walk, where two can chat comfortably\ntogether on the shady side, and where he often stops to talk. Observe\nclosely the delicate and affectionate smile, the benign countenance,\nin which something reminds us of {316} Fl\u00e9chier and of F\u00e9n\u00e9lon; listen\nto the sagacious words, elevated and fertile in ideas, sometimes\ninterrupted by fatigue of voice, and by his pausing to take breath;\nnotice among doctrinal views, and comprehensive definitions that come\nto life of themselves and prove their strength upon his lips, those\ncharming _mots_ and agreeable anecdotes, that talk strewn with\nreiniscences and pleasantly adorned with amenity,--and do not ask if\nit is any one else--it is he.\n\nL'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet has one of those natures which when standing alone are\nnot sufficient unto themselves, and need a friend; we may say that he\npossesses his full strength only when thus leaning. For a long time he\nseemed to have found in M. de Lamennais such a friend of firmer will\nand purpose; but these strong wills often end, without meaning to do\nso, by taking possession of us as a prey, and then casting us like a\nslough. True friendship, as La Fontaine understood it, demands more\nequality and more consideration. L'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet has found a tender and\nequal friend, quite suited to his beautiful and faithful nature, in M.\nde Salinis; to praise one is to win the other's gratitude at once.\nWill it be an indiscretion if I enter this charming household and\ndescribe one day there, at least, in its clever and literary\nattractions? L'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet, like Fl\u00e9chier, whom I have named in\nconnection with him, has a society talent full of charm, sweetness,\nand invention. He himself has forgotten the pretty verses, little\nallegorical poems, and couplets appropriate to festivals or occasional\ncircumstances, which he has scattered here and there, in all the\nplaces where he has lived and the countries he passed through. He is\none of those who can edify without being mournful, and make hours pass\ngaily without dissipation. In his long life, into which an evil\nthought never glided, and which escaped all turbulent passions, he has\npreserved the first joy of a pure and beautiful soul. In him a\ndiscreet spirituality is combined with cheerfulness. I have by me a\npretty little scene in verse which he wrote a few days ago for the\nyoung pupils of the Sacred Heart at Amiens, in which there is a faint\nsuggestion of Esther, but of Esther enlivened by the neighborhood of\nGresset. The bishop of Amiens always receives them on Sunday evenings,\nand they come gladly to his _salon_, where there is no strictness, and\nwhere good society is naturally at home. They play a few games, and\nhave a lottery, and, in order that no one may draw a blank, l'Abb\u00e9\nGerbet makes verses for the loser, who is called, I think, _le nigaud_\n(the ninny). These _nigauds_ of l'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet are appropriate and full\nof wit; he makes them _by obedience_, which saves him, he says, from\nall blame and from all thought of ridicule. It is difficult to detach\nthese trifles from the associations of society that call them forth;\nbut here is one of the little _impromptus_ made for the use and\nconsolation \"of the losers;\" it is called the \"Evening Game:\"\n\n  \"My children, to-day is our Lady's day;\n  Now tell me, I pray, in her dear name,\n  Should the hand that this morning a candle clasped,\n  Hold cards to-night in a childish game?\n\n  I would not with critical words condemn\n  A pastime the world holds innocent,\n  Let me but say that its levity\n  May veil a lesson of deep intent\n\n  Think at the drawing of each card\n  That every day is an idle game.\n  If at its close in the treasures of God\n  There is no prize answering to your name.\n\n  This evening game is an hour well passed\n  If God be the guardian of your sports;\n  And the day, closing as it dawned,\n  Shall rejoin this morning's holy thoughts.\n\n  I startle you all with my grave discourse;\n  You would laugh and I preach with words austere;\n  No worldly place this--'tis the bishop's house;\n  So pardon this sermon, my children dear.\"\n\nThis is the man who wrote the book upon the eucharist and the dialogue\nbetween Plato and F\u00e9n\u00e9lon, and who had a plan of writing the last\nconference of {317} St. Anselm on the soul; this is he whom the French\nclergy could oppose with honor to Jouffroy, and whom the most\nsympathetic of Protestants could combat only while revering him and\nrecognizing him as a brother in heart and intelligence. L'Abb\u00e9 Gerbet\nunites to these elevated virtues, which I have merely been able to\nglance at, a gentle gaiety, a natural and cultivated charm, which\nreminds one even in holiday games of the playfulness of a Rapin, a\nBougeant, a Bonhours. There has been much dispute lately as to the\nstudies and the degree of literary merit authorized by the clergy;\nmany officious and clamorous persons have been brought forward, and it\nis my desire to notice one who is as distinguished as he is modest.\n\nFor a long time I have said to myself, If we ever have to elect an\necclesiastic to the French Academy, how well I know who will be my\nchoice! And what is more, I am quite sure that philosophy in the\nperson of M. Cousin, religion by the organ of M. de Montalembert, and\npoetry by the lips of M. de Lamartine, would not oppose me.\n\n  Monday, Day after the Feast of Assumption,\n  Aug. 16, 1832.\n\n  [Since the above article was written, the Abb\u00e9 Gerbet has had\n  conferred on the episcopal dignity. He died about one year ago.--Ed.\n  C. W.]\n\n------\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nOUR NEIGHBOR.\n\n  Set it down gently at the altar rail,\n    The faithful, aged dust, with honors meet;\n  Long have we seen that pious face so pale\n    Bowed meekly at her Saviour's blessed feet.\n\n  These many years her heart was hidden where\n    Nor moth nor rust nor craft of man could harm;\n  The blue eyes seldom lifted, save in prayer,\n    Beamed with her wished for heaven's celestial calm.\n\n  As innocent as childhood's was the face,\n    Though sorrow oft had touched that tender heart;\n  Each trouble came as winged by special grace\n    And resignation saved the wound from smart.\n\n  On bead and crucifix her fingers kept\n    Until the last, their fond, accustomed hold;\n  \"My Jesus,\" breathed the lips; the raised eyes slept.\n    The placid brow, the gentle hand, grew cold.\n\n  The choicely ripening cluster lingering late\n    Into October on its shriveled vine\n  Wins mellow juices which in patience wait\n    Upon those long, long days of deep sunshine.\n\n  Then set it gently at the altar rail,\n    The faithful, aged dust, with honors meet;\n  How can we hope if such as she can fail\n    Before the eternal God's high judgment-seat?\n\n------\n\n{318}\n\n\nFrom The Literary Workmen\n\nJENIFER'S PRAYER.\n\nBY OLIVER CRANE.\n\nIN THREE PARTS.\n\n\n[CONCLUSION.]\n\n\nPART III.\n\n\nLady Greystock drove on briskly. They were out of the shadow of the\ntrees and again on the broad, white gleaming gravelled road that led\nto the west lodge, and the turnpike road to Blagden. Not a word was\nspoken. On went the ponies, who knew the dark shadows of the elms that\nstood at intervals, in groups, two or three together, by the side of\nthe road, and threw their giant outlines across it, making the\nmoon-light seem brighter and brighter as it silvered the surface of\nthe broad carriage drive, and made the crushed granite sparkle--on\nwent the ponies, shaking their heads with mettlesome impatience when\nthe pulling of the reins offended them, not frightened at the whirling\nof the great droning night insects, which flew out from the oak-trees\non the left, nor shying away from the shadows--on they went through\nthe sweet, still, soft, scented night air, and the broad, peaceful\nlight of the silent moon--on they went! Not one word mingled with the\nsound of their ringing hoofs, not a breath was heard to answer to the\nsighing of the leaves; the \"good night\" that had been spoken between\nthe stranger and themselves still seemed to live in the hearing of\nthose to whom he had spoken, and to keep them in a meditative and\npainful silence.\n\nAt last the lodge was reached. The servant opened the gates; the\ncarriage was driven through; the high road was gained, and all\nromantic mystery was over; the dream that had held those silent ones\nwas gone; and like one suddenly awoke, Lady Greystock said: \"Eleanor!\nhow wonderful; you knew that man! Eleanor! he knew you; asked about\nyou; had been seeking you. Why was he there in the Beremouth\nwoods--appearing at this hour, among the ferns and grass, like a wild\ncreature risen from its lair? Eleanor! why don't you speak to me? Why,\nwhen he spoke of you by your name, did you not answer for yourself?\nWhy did you send him to Jenifer? Oh! Eleanor; I feel there is\nsomething terrible and strange in all this. I cannot keep it to\nmyself. I must tell my father. It can't be right. It cannot be for any\ngood that we met a man lurking about, and not owned by you, though he\nis here to find you. Speak, Eleanor! Now that I am in the great high\nroad I feel as if I had gone through a terror, or escaped some strange\ndanger, or met a mystery face to face.\"\n\nLady Greystock spoke fast and in a low voice, and Eleanor, bending a\nlittle toward her, heard every word.\n\n\"You _have_ met a mystery face to face,\" she said in a whisper, which,\nhowever, was sufficiently audible. \"I _did_ know that man. And I am\n{319} not denying that he sought me, and that he had a right to seek\nme. But many things have changed since those old days, when, if I had\nobeyed him, I should have done better than I did. I know what he\nwants; and Jenifer can give it to him. Here we are at Blagden; think\nno more of it, Lady Greystock.\"\n\nNo answer was given to Eleanor's words; they met Dr. Blagden on the\nsteps at the door. \"You are later than usual--all right?\" \"All quite\nright,\" said Eleanor. \"The beauty of the night tempted us to come home\nthrough Beremouth,\" said Lady Greystock. \"How lovely it would look on\nsuch a sweet, peaceful night,\" said Mrs. Blagden, who now joined them;\nand then Eleanor took the carriage wraps in her arms up stairs, and\nLady Greystock went into the drawing-room, and soon after the whole\nhousehold--all but Eleanor--were in bed.\n\nNot Eleanor. She opened a box where she kept her letters, and many\nsmall objects of value to her, and carefully shutting out the\nmoonlight, and trimming her lamp into brilliancy, she took out letter\nafter letter from Henry Evelyn calling her his beloved one, and his\nwife; then the letter from Corny Nugent, saying that Henry Evelyn and\nHorace Erskine were one; and the one thing that Corny Nugent had sent\nto her as evidence--it seemed to be proof sufficient. It was a part of\na letter from Horace to his uncle, Mr. Erskine, which had been flung\ninto a waste-paper basket, and which, having the writer's signature,\nCorny had kept, and sent to Eleanor. Not, as he said, that he knew the\nman's handwriting, but that she did; and that, therefore, to her it\nwould have value as proving or disproving his own convictions.\n\nEleanor had never brought this evidence to the proof. She had laid by\nCorny's letter, and the inclosure. She had put it all aside with the\nweight of a great dread on her mind, and \"Not yet, not yet,\" was all\nshe said as she locked away both the assertion and the proof.\n\nBut her husband was at Beremouth now. Yes; and on what errand? She\nknew that too.\n\nMrs. Brewer had called that morning to see Lady Greystock. Mrs. Brewer\nhad come herself to tell Claudia that Mary would arrive, and that\nHorace would bring her. She would not trust any one but herself to\ngive that information. She never let go the idea of Horace having\nbehaved in some wrong way to Claudia. She knew Claudia's disposition,\nher bravery, her determination; and her guesses were very near the\ntruth. \"Mother Mary\" had those womanly instincts which jump at\nconclusions; and the truths guessed at through the feelings are\ntruths, and remain truths for ever, though reason has never proved\nthem or investigation explained them.\n\nThen, too, there was her sister's letter, which Mrs. Brewer had sent\nto Father Daniels. There the passing fancy for Claudia had been spoken\nof. In that letter the love of money had peeped out, and supplied the\nmotive; but Mrs. Brewer knew very well that Claudia's disposition was\nnot of a sort to have any acquaintance with passing fancies. If she\nhad loved Horace, she had loved with her whole heart; and if she had\nbeen deceived in him, her whole heart had suffered, and her whole life\nbeen overcast. \"Mother Mary\" had felt to some purpose; and now, only\nherself should say to Lady Greystock that he was coming among them\nagain.\n\nShe had arrived at Blagden and she had told Claudia everything; what\nHorace wished as to Mary, and what her sister and Mr. Erskine desired;\nand she had not hidden her own unwillingness to lose her child, or her\nown wish that Mary might have married, when she did marry, some one\nmore to her mother's mind, and nearer to her mother's {320} house. And\nit was in remembrance of this conversation that Lady Greystock, when\nshe took Jenifer into the carriage, had said: \"If you ever pray for my\nfather, and all he loves, pray _now_?\"\n\nSomething of all this had been told by Lady Greystock to Eleanor. And\nin the time that the aunt and niece had been together that day,\nEleanor had said to Jenifer, \"He is down at the park wanting to marry\nMiss Lorimer.\"\n\nJenifer's darling--Jenifer's darling's darling; how she loved \"Mother\nMary,\" and Lansdowne Lorimer's child, only her own great and good\nheart knew. What could she do but go to God, and his priest? What\nhuman foresight could have prevented this? What human wisdom could set\nthings right? And after all, they did not _surely_ know that Eleanor's\nhusband and Claudia's lover were met in one man, and that man winning\nthe heart of lovely, innocent Mary Lorimer, and pressing marriage on\nher. But for her prayer, Jenifer used to say, she should have gone out\nof her mind. Oh, the comfort that grew out of the thought that GOD\nKNEW! and that her life and all that was in it were given to him. Such\na shifting of responsibility--such a supporting sense of his never\nallowing anything to be in that life that was not, in some way, for\nhis glory--such practical strength, such heart-sustaining power, grew\nout of Jenifer's prayer that even Eleanor's numbed heart rested on it,\nand she had learnt to be content to live, from hour to hour, a life of\nsubmission and waiting.\n\nBut was the waiting to be over now?--was something coming? If so, she\nmust be prepared. And so, diligently, by the lamp-light, Eleanor\nproduced her own letters, and opened that torn sheet to compare the\nwriting. It was different in some things, yet the same. As she gazed,\nand examined, and compared terminations, and matched the capital\nletters together, she knew it was the same handwriting. Time had done\nits work. The writing of the present was firmer, harder, done with a\nworse pen, written at greater speed. But that was all the change. She\nwas convinced; and she put away her sorrow-laden store, locked them\nsafe from sight, said her night prayers, and went to bed. Not a sigh,\nnor a tear. No vain regrets, no heart-easing groans. The time for such\nconsolations had long been passed with Eleanor. Within the last nine\nyears her life had as much changed as if she had died and risen again\ninto another world of intermediate trial. A very great change had been\nwrought in her by Lady Greystock's friendship. Eleanor had become\neducated. The clever, poetical girl, who had won Horace Erskine's\nattention by her natural superiority to everything around her--even\nwhen those surroundings had been of a comparatively high state of\ncultivation, had hardened into the industrious and laborious woman.\nWhen it pleased Lady Greystock to hear her sing, in her own sweet,\nuntaught way, the songs of her own country, she had sung them; and\nthen, when Lady Greystock had offered to cultivate the talent, she had\nworked hard at improvement. She had been brought up by French nuns, at\na convent school, and had spoken their language from childhood; when\nLady Greystock got French books, it was Eleanor's delight to read\naloud; and she had made Mrs. Blagden's two little girls almost as\nfamiliar with French as she was herself. Those things had given rise\nto the idea that Mrs. Evelyn, as she was always called, had seen\nbetter days; and no one had ever suspected her relationship to\nJenifer. Mr. Brewer alone knew of it. As to Mr. Brewer ever telling\nanything that could be considered, in the telling, as a breach of\nconfidence, that was, of course, impossible.\n\nThat night--that night so important in our story, Jenifer, having done\nall her duties by her mistress, which were really not a few, and\nhaving seen that the girl who did the dirty {321} work was safe in the\ndarkness of a safely put out candle, opened her lattice to look on the\nnight. Her little room had a back view. That is, it looked over the\nflagged kitchen court, and the walled-in flower garden, and beyond\ntoward the village of Blagden and the majestic woods at the back of\nthe house at Beremouth.\n\nJenifer had gone to bed, and had risen again, oppressed by a feeling\nthat something was, as she expressed it, \"going on--something doing\nsomewhere--'something up,' as folks say, sir. I can't account for it.\nI fancied I heard something--that I was wanted. And I thought at first\nthat some one was in my room. Then I went into mistress's room,\nwithout my shoes, not to wake her. She was all right, sleeping like a\ntender babe. Then I went to Peggy's room. The girl was asleep. I\nsniffed up and down the passage, just to find if anything wrong in the\nway of smoke or fire was about. No; all was pure and pleasant; and\nthen I went down stairs to make sure of the doors being locked.\nEverything was right, sir\"--such was Jenifer's account to Mr. Brewer;\nwho, when she paused at this point, asked: \"What next did you do? Did\nyou go upstairs again to bed?\" \"I went upstairs,\" the woman answered,\n\"but not to bed. I sat at the window, and looked out over the garden,\nand over the meadows beyond the old bridge, and on to Beremouth. And\nthe night was the brightest, fairest, loveliest night I ever beheld.\nAnd so, sir, I said my prayers once more, and went again to bed; and\nslept in bits and snatches, for still I was always thinking that\nsomebody wanted me, till the clock struck six; and then I got up.\"\n\"You don't usually get up at six, or before the girl gets up, do you?\"\n\"No, sir; never, I may say. But I got up to ease my mind of its\nburthens. And when Peggy had got up, and was down stairs, I started\noff for the alms-house; I thought Mr. Dawson might be up to say mass\nthere, for it was St. Lawrence's Day.\" \"Well?\" \"But there had been no\nmessage about mass, and no priest was expected. And as I got back to\nour door there was Mrs. Fell, the milk-woman. She had brought the milk\nherself. I asked how that should be. She said they had had a cow like\nto die in the night, and that their man had been up all night, and\nthat she was sparing him, for he had gone to lie down. Then I said,\n'Why, I could never have heard any of you busy about the cattle in the\nnight'--you see they rent the meadows. But she said they were not in\nthe meadows; the beasts were all in the shed at the farm. 'But,' she\nsaid, it's odd if you were disturbed, for a man came to our place just\nbefore twelve o'clock, and asked for you.' 'For me!' I cried--'a man\nat your place in the middle of the night, asking for me!' She said,\n'Yes; and a decent-spoken body, too. But tired, and wet through and\nthrough. He said he had fallen into the Beremouth deer pond, up in the\npark. That is, he described the place clear enough, and we knew it was\nthe deer pond, for it could not be anywhere else!'\" \"And did you ask\nwhere the man went to?\" \"No, sir. I lifted my eyes, and I saw him.\"\n\"And who was he?\" \"Oh, Mr. Brewer, it must all be suffered as he gives\nit to me to suffer; but I am not clear about telling his name.\"\n\nMr. Brewer took out his watch and looked at it. \"It is nearly ten\no'clock,\" he said. \"Where's your mistress?\"\n\n\"Settled to her work, sir.\"\n\nMr. Brewer held this long talk with Jenifer in that right-hand parlor\ndown stairs where he had paid that money to Mrs. Morier, when the\nreader first made his acquaintance. He had great confidence in\nJenifer. He knew her goodness, and her patience, and her trust. He\nknew something, too, of her trials, and also of her prayer; but he had\ncome there to investigate a very serious matter, and he was going\nsteadily through with it.\n\n\"Listen, Jenifer.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n{322}\n\n\"Last night, just after our night prayers, Father Daniels being in the\nhouse, my friend, Mr. Erskine, who escorted my step-daughter, Mary\nLorimer, home, went out into the park, just, as was supposed, to have\na cigar before going to bed. Mrs. Brewer and I were in Mary's room\nwhen we heard Mr. Erskine leave the house. He certainly lighted his\ncigar. Mary's window was open, and we smelt the tobacco. Jenifer, he\nnever returned.\"\n\nThey were both standing and looking at each other. \"My life, and all\nthat is in it!\" Up went Jenifer's prayer, but voicelessly, to heaven.\n\"My life, and all that is in it!\" But a strong faith that the one\nterrible evil that her imagination pictured would not be in it, was\nstrong within her.\n\n\"He never returned. My man-servant woke me in my first sleep by\nknocking at the bed-room door, and saying that Mr. Erskine had not\nreturned. I rose up and dressed myself. I collected the men and went\nout into the park. We went to the south lodge, to ask if any one had\nseen him. 'No,' they said. 'But the west lodge-keeper had been there\nas late as near to ten o'clock, and he had said that a man had been in\ntheir house asking a good many questions about Beremouth, and who we\nhad staying there, and if a Mr. Erskine was there, or ever had been\nthere, and inquiring what sort of looking man he was, whether he wore\na beard, or had any peculiarity? how he dressed, and if there had ever\nbeen any report of his going to be married? They had answered his\nquestions, because they suspected nothing worse than a gossiping\ncuriosity; and they had given him a rest, and a cup of tea. He said\nthat a friend, a cousin of his, had lived as servant with Mr. Erskine;\nand he also asked if Mr. Erskine would be likely to pass through that\nlodge the next day, for that he had a great curiosity to see him. He\nsaid that he had known him well once, and wanted greatly to see him\nonce more. He, after all this talking, asked the nearest way to\nMarston. He was directed through the park, and he left them. Our\ninquiries about Horace Erskine having been answered by this history\ntold by one lodge-keeper to the other, we could not help suspecting\nthat some one had been on the watch for the young man, and taking\nJones from the lodge, and his elder boy with us, we dispersed\nourselves over the park to seek for him, a good deal troubled by what\nwe had heard. We got to the deer pond, but we had sought many places\nbefore we got there; it did not seem a likely place for a man to go to\nin the summer night. We looked about--we went back to get\nlanterns--they were necessary in the darkness made by the thick\nfoliage; one side was bright enough, and the pool was like a\nlooking-glass where it was open to the sloping turf, and the short\nfern, which the deer trample down when they get there to drink; but\nthe side where the thorns, hollies, and yew-trees grow was as black as\nnight; and yet we thought we could see where the wild climbing plants\nhad been pulled away, and where some sort of struggle might have taken\nplace. As we searched, when we came back, we found strong evidence of\na desperate encounter; the branches of the great thorn-tree were\nhanging split from the stem, and, holding the lantern, we saw the\nmarks of broken ground by the margin of the pond, as if some one had\nbeen struggling at the very edge of it. Then, all at once, and I shall\nnever understand why we did not see it before--the moonbeams grew\nbrighter, I suppose--but there in the pond was the figure of a man;\nnot altogether in the water, but having struggled so far out as to get\nhis head against the bank, hid as it was with the grass and low\nbrush-wood, the ferns and large-leaved water-weeds; we laid bold of\nthe poor {323} fellow--it was Horace Erskine, Jenifer!\"\n\n\"_My life, and all that is in it_.\" But the hope, the faith, rather,\nwas still alive, that that worst grief should not be in it--so she\nprayed--so she felt--for Jenifer! \"Master,\" she gasped, \"not dead--not\ndead--Mr. Brewer.\"\n\n\"Not dead!\" he said gravely; \"he would have been dead if we had not\nfound him when we did. He was bruised and wounded; such a sight of\nill-treatment as no eyes ever before beheld, I think. He must have\nbeen more brutally used than I could have believed possible, if I had\nnot seen it. His clothes were torn; his face so disfigured that he\nwill scarcely ever recover the likeness of a man, and one arm is\nbroken.\" \"But not dead?\" \"No; but he _may_ die; the doctor is in the\nhouse, and the police are out after the man whom we suspect of this\nhorrible barbarity. Now, Jenifer, hearing some talk of a stranger who\nseemed to know yon, I came here to ask you to tell me, in your own\nhonest way, your honest story.\"\n\nBut Jenifer seemed to have no desire to make confidences.\n\n\"Who told you of a stranger?\"\n\n\"Have you not told me yourself, in answer to my first questions,\nbefore giving you my reasons for inquiring?\"\n\n\"No, sir; that won't do. I judge from what you said that you had heard\nsomething of this stranger before you came here.\"\n\n\"I had, Jenifer.\" And Mr. Brewer looked steadily at her.\n\n\"Well, sir?\"\n\n\"Jenifer, I have really come out of tenderness to you, and to those\nwho may belong to you.\"\n\n\"No one doubts your tenderness, sir; least of any could I doubt it.\nTell me who mentioned a stranger to you, so as to send you here to\nme?\"\n\n\"Lady Greystock's groom, coming to Beremouth early, and finding us in\ngreat trouble, made a declaration as to a stranger who had appeared\nand stopped his mistress as she was driving through the park last\nnight. He says this man asked if they could tell where Mrs. Evelyn\nlived, and Mrs. Evelyn, immediately answering, said that she lived\nsomewhere in the neighborhood, and that he could learn by inquiring\nfor you. The groom says that the man evidently knew Mrs. Morier's\nname, as well as year name; and that after speaking to him, Mrs.\nEvelyn asked Lady Greystock to drive on, and that she drove rapidly,\nand never spoke till they had almost got back to Blagden.\"\n\n\"It is quite true,\" said Jenifer. \"He told me the same story this\nday.\"\n\n\"Can you say where this man is? He will be found first or last; and it\nis for the sake of justice that you should speak, Jenifer. The police\nare on his track. Let me entreat you to give me every information.\nConcealment is the worst thing that can be practised in such a case as\nthis--have you any idea where he is? I do not ask you who he is; you\nwill have to tell all, I fear, before a more powerful person than I\nam. I only come as a friend, that you may not be induced to conceal\nthe evil-doer.\"\n\n\"The evil-doer,\" said Jenifer; \"who says he did it?\"\n\n\"I say he will be tried for doing it; and that a trial is good for the\ninnocent in such a case of terrible suspicion as this.\"\n\n\"May be,\" said Jenifer, \"may be!\"\n\nThen, once more, that prayer, said, from her very heart, though\nunspoken by her lips; and then these quiet words--\"And as to the man\nhimself. He is my brother. My mother's child by her second husband.\"\n\"Your brother--he with whom Eleanor lived in Ireland?\" \"Yes, Mr.\nBrewer; he of whom I told you when you saved Eleanor so {324} many\nyears ago. And as to where he is--step into the kitchen, sir, and you\nmay see him sleeping in a chair by the fire--any way, I left him\nthere, when I came to open the door to you.\"\n\nMr. Brewer had really come to Jenifer in a perfectly friendly way;\nexactly as he had said--out of tenderness. He had known enough to send\nhim there, and to have those within call who would secure this\nstranger, whoever he was, and wherever he was found. Now, known, he\nwalked straight into the kitchen, and there stopped to take a full\nview of a man in a leathern easy chair, his arm resting on Jenifer's\ntea-table, and sound asleep. A finer man eyes never saw. Strong in\nfigure, and in face of a remarkable beauty. He was sunburnt; having\npulled his neckcloth off, the skin of his neck showed in fair\ncontrast, and the chest heaved and fell as the strong breath of the\nsleeper was drawn regularly and with healthy ease. It was a picture of\ncalm rest; it seemed like a pity to disturb it. There stood Mr. Brewer\nsafely contemplating one who was evidently in a state of blissful\nunconsciousness as to danger to others or himself.\n\n\"Your brother?\" repeated Mr. Brewer to Jenifer, who stood stiff and\nupright by his side.\n\n\"My half-brother, James O'Keefe.\"\n\n\"There is some one at the front door; will you open it?\"\n\nJenifer guessed at the personage to be found there. But she went\nsteadily through the front passage, and, opening the door, let the\npoliceman who had been waiting enter, and then she came back to the\nkitchen without uttering a word. As the man entered Mr. Brewer laid\nhis hand on the sleeper's shoulder, and woke him. He opened his fine\ngrey eyes, and looked round surprised. \"On suspicion of having\ncommitted an assault on Mr. Horace Erskine last night, in the park at\nBeremouth,\" said the policeman, and the stranger stood up a prisoner.\nHe began to speak; but the policeman stopped him. \"It is a serious\ncase,\" he said. \"It may turn out murder. You are warned that anything\nyou say will be used against you at your trial.\" \"Are you a\nmagistrate, sir?\" asked O'Keefe as he turned to Mr. Brewer. \"Yea; I\nam. I hope you will take the man's advice, and say nothing.\"\n\n\"But I may say I am innocent?\" \"Every word you say is at your own\nrisk.\" \"I ran no risk in saying that I am innocent--that I never saw\nthis Horace Erskine last night--though if I had seen him--\"\n\n\"I entreat you to be silent; you must have a legal adviser\"--\"I! Who\ndo I know?\"' \"You shall be well looked to, and well advised,\" said\nJenifer. \"There are those in this town, in the office where Lansdowne\nLorimer worked, who will work for me.\"\n\nIt was very hard for Mr. Brewer not to promise on the spot that he\nwould pay all possible expenses. But the recollection of the\ndisfigured and perhaps dying guest in his own house rose to his mind,\nand he had a painful feeling that he was retained on the other side.\nHowever, he said to Jenifer that perfect truth and sober justice\nanybody might labor for in any way. And with this sort of broad hint\nhe left the house, and Jenifer saw the stranger taken off in safe\ncustody, and, mounting his horse, rode toward Blagden. He asked for\nhis daughter; and he was instantly admitted, and shown upstairs into\nher sitting-room--there he found Claudia, looking well and happy,\nengaged in some busy work, in which Eleanor was helping her.\n\n\"Oh, my dear father!\" and Lady Greystock threw the work aside, and\njumped up, and into the arms that waited for her.\n\nIt was always a sort of high holiday when Mr. Brewer come by himself\nto visit his daughter. When the sound of the brown-topped boots was\n{325} heard on the stairs, like a voice of music to Claudia's heart,\nall human things gave way, for that gladness that her father's great\nheart brought and gave away, all round him, to everybody,\neverywhere--but _there_, there, where his daughter lived--there, among\nthe friends with whom she had recovered from a great illness and got\nthe better of a threatened, life-long woe--there Mr. Brewer felt some\nstrong influence making him _that_, which people excellently expressed\nwhen they said of him--\"he was more than ever himself that day.\"\n\nNow Mr. Brewer's influence was to make those to whom he addressed\nhimself honest, open, and good. He was loved and trusted. It did not\ngenerally enter into people's minds to deceive Mr. Brewer. Candor grew\nand gained strength in his presence. Candor took to herself the\nteachings of wisdom; candor listened to the advice of humility; candor\nthrew aside all vain-glorious garments when Mr. Brewer called for her\ncompany, and candor put on, forthwith, the crown of truth. \"My\ndarling!\" said Mr. Brewer, as he kissed Claudia; \"my darling!\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear father--my father, my dear father!\" so answered Claudia.\n\nThen she pushed forward a chair; and then Eleanor made ready to leave\nthe room. \"Yes, go; go for half an hour, Mrs. Evelyn. But don't be out\nof the way; I have a fancy for a little chat with you, too, to-day.\" A\ngrave smile spread itself over Eleanor's placid face as she said she\nshould come back when Lady Greystock sent for her, and then she went\naway. Once more, when she was gone, Mr. Brewer stood up and taking\nClaudia's hand, kissed her. \"My darling,\" he said, \"I have something\nto say, and I can only say it to you--I have some help to ask for, and\nonly you can help me. But are you strong enough to help me; are you\nloving enough to trust me?\"\n\n\"I will try to be all you want, father; I _am_ strong; I _can_\ntrust--but if you want to know how much I love you--why, you know I\ncan't tell you that--it is more than I can measure, I am afraid. Don't\nlook grave at me. It can't be anything very solemn, if _I_ can help\nyou; or anything of much importance, if my help is worth your having.\"\n\n\"Your help is absolutely necessary; at least necessary to my own\ncomfort--now, Claudia. Tell your father why you broke off your\nengagement with Horace Erskine.\"\n\n\"_He_ did it\"--she trembled. Her father took her little hand into the\ngrasp of his strong one, and held it with an eloquent pressure.\n\n\"He wanted more money, father. It came as a test. He was in debt. I\nhad loved him, as if--as if he had been what _you_ must have been in\nyour youth. You were my one idea of man. I had had no heart to study\nbut yours. I learnt that Horace Erskine was unworthy. He was a coward.\nThe pressure of his debts had crushed him into meanness. He asked me\nto bear the trial, and to save him. I did. I did, father!\"\n\n\"Yes, my darling.\"\n\nHe never looked at her. Only the strong fingers closed with powerful\nlove on the little hand within their grasp. \"But you were fond of Sir\nGeoffrey?\"\n\n\"Yes; and glad, and grateful. I should have been very happy--but--\"\n\n\"But he died,\" said her father, helping her.\n\n\"But Horace sent to Sir Geoffrey the miniature I had given\nhim--letters--and a lock of my poor curling hair--\" How tight the\npressure of the strong hand grew. \"I found the open packet on the\ntable\"--she could not say another word. Then a grave, deep voice told\nthe rest for her--\"And your honored husband's soul went up to God and\nfound the truth\"--and the head of the poor memory-stricken daughter\nfound a refuge on her father's breast, and she wept there silently.\n\n\"And that made you ill, my darling; my dear darling Claudia--my own\n{326} dear daughter! Thank you, my precious one. And you don't like\nBeremouth now?\"\n\n\"I love Beremouth, and everything about it,\" cried Lady Greystock,\nraising her head, and gathering all her strength together for the\neffort; \"but I dare not see this man--and I would rather never look\nagain on the deer-pond in the park, because there he spoke: there he\npromised--there I thought all life was to be as that still pool,\ndeep, and overflowing with the waters of happiness and their\nnever-ceasing music. We used to go there every day. I have not looked\non it since--I could not bear to listen to the rush of the stream\nwhere it falls over the stones between the roots of the old trees,\nbetween whose branches the tame deer would watch us, and where old\nDapple--the dear old beauty whose name I have never mentioned in all\nthese years---used to take biscuits from our hands. Does old Dapple\nlive, father? Dapple, who was called _'old'_ nine years ago?\" And Lady\nGreystock looked up, and took her hand from her father's grasp, and\nwiped her eyes, and wetted her fair forehead from a bowl of water, and\ntried by this question to get away from the misery that this sudden\nreturn to the long past had brought to mind.\n\n\"Dapple lives,\" said Mr. Brewer. And then he kissed her again, and\nthanked her, and said \"they should love each other all the better for\nthe confidence he had asked and she had given.\"\n\n\"But why did you ask?\"\n\n\"I want to have my luncheon at your early dinner,\" said Mr. Brewer,\nnot choosing to answer her. \"You do dine early, don't you?\"\n\n\"Yes, and to-day Eleanor was going to dine with me.\"\n\n\"Quite right. And I want to speak to her. Claudia, something has\nhappened. You most know all before long. Everybody will know. You had\nbetter be in the room while I speak to Eleanor. Let us get it over.\nBut you had better take your choice. It is still about Horace that I\nwant to speak--to speak to Eleanor, I mean.\"\n\n\"I should wish to be present,\" said Claudia. And she rose and rang the\nbell.\n\n\"Will you ask Mrs. Evelyn to come to us?\" she said, when her servant\nappeared. In a very few minutes in walked Eleanor.\n\n\"Mrs. Evelyn,\" said Mr. Brewer, \"last night you directed a man to seek\nJenifer at Mrs. Morier's house. That man was James O'Keefe, Jenifer's\nhalf-brother. You knew him?\" \"Yes, Mr. Brewer, I knew him.\" \"But he\ndid not know you?\" \"No.\" \"He asked about you. Why did you send him to\nMarston?\" \"Because he could there learn all he wanted to know. I am\nnot going to bring the shadow of my troubles into this kind house.\"\n\"That was your motive?\" \"Yes. But I might have had more motives than\none. I think that was uppermost; and on that motive I believe that I\nacted.\"\n\n\"That man was in the park. At the lodge-gate he had made inquiries\nafter my guest, Mr. Erskine. That man was at Mrs. Fell's, the\ndairy-woman, at midnight. He was not through; he had, he said, fallen\ninto the water--he described the place, and they knew it to be the\ndeer-pond.\"\n\nAs Mr. Brewer went on in his plain, straightforward way, both women\nlistened to him with the most earnest interest; but as he proceeded\nEleanor Evelyn fixed her eye on him with an anxiety and a mingled\nterror that had a visible effect on Mr. Brewer, who hesitated in his\nstory, and who seemed to be quite distracted by the manner of one\nusually so very calm and so unfailingly self-processed.\n\n\"Now Mr. Erskine had gone out into the park late. Mr. Erskine, my dear\nfriends,--Mr. Erskine _never came back._\" {327} He paused, and\ncollected his thoughts once more, in order to go on with his story.\n\n\"We went to seek for him. He was found at last, at the deer-pond,\nsurrounded by the evidences of a hard struggle having taken place\nthere, a struggle in which he had only just escaped with his life. He\nhas been ill-treated in a way that it is horrible to contemplate. He\nis lying now in danger of death. And this morning I have assisted in\nthe capture of James O'Keefe, whom I found by Mrs. Morier's kitchen\nfire, for this possible murder. I should tell you that Mr. Erskine is\njust as likely to die as to live.\"\n\n\"Mr. Brewer,\" said Eleanor, rising up and taking no notice of Lady\nGreystock's deathlike face,--\"Mr. Brewer, is there any truth in a\nreport that has reached me from a man who was in the elder Mr.\nErskine's service in Scotland--a report to the effect that Mr. Horace\nErskine wished to propose marriage, or had proposed marriage, to Miss\nLorimer?\"\n\n\"There _is_ truth in that report,\" said Mr. Brewer.\n\n\"Then I must see that man,\" said Mrs. Evelyn. \"Before this terrible\naffair can proceed, I must see Horace Erskine. If indeed it be true\nthat he has received this terrible punishment, I can supply a motive\nfor James O'Keefe's conduct that any jury ought to take into\nconsideration.\"\n\n\"But O'Keefe denies having ever seen him,\" said Mr. Brewer. \"He does\nnot deny having inquired about him. He even said words before me that\nwould make me suppose that he had come into this neighborhood on\npurpose to see him, and to take some vengeance upon him. Mr. Erskine\nis found with the marks of the severest ill-usage about him, and you\nsay you can supply a motive for such a deed. O'Keefe, however, denies\nall but the will to work evil; he confesses to the will to do the\ndeed, but denies having done it.\"\n\n\"I must see Mr. Erskine,\" was all that Eleanor answered. \"I must see\nMr. Erskine. Whether he sees me or not, _I_ must see _him_.\"\n\nThe young woman was standing up--her face quite changed by the\nexpression of anxious earnestness that animated it.\n\n\"I must see Mr. Erskine. Mr. Brewer, you must so manage it that I must\nsee Mr. Erskine without delay.\"\n\n\"But you would do no good,\" said Mr. Brewer, in a very stern tone and\nwith an utter absence of all his natural sympathy. \"The man is so\ninjured that his own mother could not identify him.\"\n\n\"Then may God have mercy on us!\" cried Eleanor, sinking into a chair.\n\"If I could only have seen that man before this woe came upon us!\"\n\nAnd then that woman burst into one of those uncontrollable fits of\ntears that are the offspring of despair. Lady Greystock looked at her\nfor a moment, and then rose from her chair. \"Victories half won are\nneither useful nor honorable,\" she said. \"Wait, Eleanor, I will show\nyou what that man was.\"\n\nShe opened a large metal-bound desk, curiously inlaid, and with a look\nof wondrous workmanship. She said, looking at her father, \"I left this\nat Beremouth, never intending to see it again, But it got sent here a\nfew years ago. It has never been opened since I locked it before my\nwedding day.\" She opened it, and took out several packets and small\nparcels. Then she opened one--it was a miniature case which matched\nthat one of herself which had been so cruelly sent to good, kind Sir\nGeoffrey--she opened it \"Who is that, Eleanor?\" It was curious to see\nhow the eyes, blinded by tears, fastened on it \"My husband--my\nhusband--Henry Evelyn. My husband, Mr. Brewer. Oh, Lady Greystock,\nthank God that at any cost he did not run his soul still {328} farther\ninto sin by bringing on you and on himself the misery of a marriage\nunrecognized by God.\"\n\n\"And because your unde, James O'Keefe, heard the report that got about\nconcerning that man and Miss Lorimer, he ran his own soul into a guilt\nthat may by this time have deepened into the crime of murder. Oh,\nEleanor! when shall we remember that 'vengeance is mine, saith the\nLord?'\"\n\n\"_My life, and all that is in it!_\" The words came forth softly, and\nMr. Brewer, turning round, saw Jenifer.\n\n\"He has been before the magistrates at Marston, Mr. Brewer. He has\ndenied all knowledge of everything about it. He is remanded on the\ncharge--waiting for more evidence--waiting to see whether Mr. Erskine\nlives or dies. I hired a gig, and came off here to you as fast as I\ncould be driven. Mr. May, in the old office, says that if Mr. Erskine\ndies, it will be hard to save him. But the doctor's man tells me Mr.\nErskine has neither had voice nor sight since he was found--I saw\nFather Daniels in the street, and he, too, is evidence against the\npoor creature. He knows of Corny Nugent's letter; and Corny wrote to\nJem also, so Jem told me, and he came off here to make sure that\nHorace Erskine and Henry Evelyn were the same people. And he walked\nfrom the Northend railway station, and asked his way to Beremouth, and\ngot a gossip with the gate-keeper, and settled to come on to Marston.\nAnd he met Lady Greys took in the carriage, and asked where Eleanor\nlived, and inquired his way. Did you know him, Eleanor?\"\n\n\"Yes, I knew him directly; and it was partly because I knew him that I\ndirected him on to you.\"\n\n\"Then he lost his way, and took to getting out of the park by walking\nstraight away in the direction he knew Marston to be lying in. And he\ngot by what we call 'the threshetts,' sir--the water for keeping the\nfishponds from shallowing--and there he must have fallen in, for he\nsays he climbed the hedge just after, and walked straight away through\nthe grass fields and meadows, and seeing the lights where the Fells\nwere tending the sick cow last night, he got in there, all dripping\nwet, as the town-clock struck twelve. He does not deny to the\nmagistrates that if he had found Horace Erskine and Henry Evelyn to be\none and the same man, that he might have been tempted to evil; he does\nnot deny that. He says he felt sore tempted to go straight to\nBeremouth House and have him out from sleep and bed, if to do so could\nhave been possible, and to have given him his punishment on the spot.\nHe says he wished as he wandered through the park that something might\nsend the man who had injured us all so sorely out to him, to meet him\nin the way, that they might have come hand to hand, and face to face.\nHe says he has had more temptations since Corny Nugent's letter to\nhim, and more heart-stirrings in the long silent time before it came,\nthan he can reckon up; and that he has felt as if a dark spirit goaded\nhim to go round the world after that man, and never cease following\nhim till he had made his own false tongue declare to all the earth his\nown false deeds--but something, he says, kept him back. Always kept\nhim back till now; till now, when Corny's last letter said that\nErskine was surely gone to Beremouth to be married. Then, he said, it\nwas as if something sent him--ah yes; and sent him _here_ to see the\nman, to make sure who he was. To tell you, as a brother Catholic, the\nwhole truth--to keep from the dear convert mother the bitter grief of\nseeing her child bound to a man whom she could never call that child's\nhusband. So {329} he came, Mr. Brewer. He came, and he was found\nhere--but he knows no more of the punishment of that poor man, that\npoor girl's husband\"--pointing to Eleanor--\"than an unborn babe. As I\nhear him speak, I trace the power of the prayer that I took up long\nago in my helplessness--when I could not manage my own troubles, my\nown life, my own responsibilities, it came into my heart to offer all\nto him. '_My life and all that is in it_.' You and yours have been in\nit, Mr. Brewer. Your wife has been in it, her life, and her\nchild's--you, too, my dear,\" turning to Claudia,--\"you whom I have\nloved like one belonging to me--you have been in it; and that woman,\nmy sister's legacy to my poor helplessness. There were so many to care\nfor, to fear for, to suffer for, and to love--how could I put things\nright, or keep off dangers? I could only give up all to the Father of\nus all--'_My life, and all that is in it_.' And I tell you this, Mr.\nBrewer--I tell it [to] you because my very soul seems to know it, and\nmy lips must utter it: In that life there will be no red-handed\npunishment--no evil vengeance--no vile murder, nor death without\nrepentance. I cannot tell you, I cannot even guess, how that bad man\ngot into this trouble--I have no knowledge of whose hands he fell\ninto--but not into the hands of any one who belongs to me, or to that\nlife which has been so long given into God's keeping.\"\n\nJenifer stopped speaking. She had been listened to with a mute\nattention. Her hearers could not help feeling convinced by her\nearnestness. She had spoken gently, calmly, sensibly. The infection of\nher entire faith in the providence of God seized them. They, too,\nbelieved. Lady Greystock, the only one not a Catholic, said afterward\nthat she felt quite overpowered by the simple trust that Jenifer\nshowed, and the calm strength with which it endowed her. And Lady\nGreystock was the first to answer her.\n\n\"It is no time for self-indulgence,\" she said. \"Father, Eleanor and I\nmust both go to Beremouth. And we must stay there. We must be there on\nthe spot, to see how these things are accounted for--to know how\nmatters end--to help, as far as we may, to bring them right.\"\n\nAnd so, before two hours were over, Jenifer was back in Mrs. Morier's\nparlor, and Mary Lorimer was with her; sent there to stay; and Lady\nGreystock and Mrs. Evelyn were at Beremouth.\n\nThere was silence in the house, that sort of woful silence that\nbelongs to the anxiety of a dreadful suspense. Toward evening there\nwere whispered hopes--Mr. Erskine was better, people thought. But the\nseverest injuries were about the neck and throat, the chest and\nshoulders. His hair had been cut off in large patches where the head\nwounds were--his face was disfigured with the bandages that the\ntreatment made necessary. He lay alive, and groaning. He was better.\nWhen more was known about the injuries done to the throat and chest,\nsomething less doubtful would be said as to his recovery. \"If he can't\nswallow, he'll die,\" said one nurse. \"He can live long enough without\nswallowing,\" said another. And still they waited.\n\nAt night, Eleanor and Lady Greystock stood in the room, with Mr.\nBrewer, far off by the door, looking at him. There was no love in\neither heart. The poor wife shrank away, almost wishing that the\nperiod of desertion might last for ever.\n\nA week passed, a terribly long week. He could swallow. He could speak.\nHe could see out of one eye. He had his senses. He had said something\nabout his arm. He would be ready in another week to give some account\nof all he had gone {330} through. He would be able, perhaps, to\nidentify the man. In the meantime, James O'Keefe was safe in custody.\nAnd Jenifer was saying her prayer--\"_My life, and all that is in it;_\"\nstill quite sure, with a strong, simple, never-failing faith, that the\ngreat evil of a human and remorseless vengeance was not in it. And\nyet, as time passed on, and, notwithstanding every effort made by the\npolice, backed by the influence of all that neighborhood, and by Mr.\nBrewer himself, not a mark of suspicion was found against any one\nelse, it seemed to come home to every one's mind with the force of\ncertainty that James O'Keefe had tried to murder Horace Erskine--that\nJames O'Keefe had done this thing, and no one else.\n\nVery slowly did Horace seem to mend--very slowly. When questions were\nput to him in his speechless state, he seemed to grow so utterly\nconfused as to alarm his medical attendants. It was made a law at\nBeremouth that he was to be kept in perfect quietness. James O'Keefe\nwas again brought before the magistrates, and again remanded; and\nstill this time of trial went on, and still, when it was thought\npossible to speak to Horace on the subject of his injuries, he grew so\nutterly confused that it was impossible to go on with the matter.\n\nWas there to be no end to this misery? The waiting was almost\nintolerable. The knowledge that now existed in that house of Horace\nErskine's life made it very easy to understand his confusion and\nincoherency when spoken to of his injuries. But the lingering--the\nweight of hope deferred--the long contemplation of the miserable\nsufferer--the slowness of the passage of time, was an inexpressible\nburthen to the inhabitants of Beremouth.\n\nOne sad evening, Lady Greystock and her father, on the terrace, talked\ntogether. \"Come with me to the deer-pond, Claudia.\" She shrank from\nthe proposal \"Nay,\" he said, \"come! You said at Blagden that half\nvictories were powerless things. You must not be less than your own\nwords. Come to the deer-pond--now.\" So she took his arm and they\nwalked away. It was the beginning of a sweet, soft night--the evening\nbreezes played about them, and they talked together in love and\nconfidence, as they crossed the open turf, and were lost in the\nthickets that gathered round the gnarled oak and stunted yew that\nmarked the way to the pond.\n\nIt had been many years since Claudia had seen its peaceful waters;\nterrible in dreams once; and now saddened by a history that would\nbelong to it for ever. They reached the spot, and stood there talking.\n\nSuddenly they heard a sound, they started--a tearing aside of the\nturning boughs--a sound, strong, positive, angry--then a gentle\nrustling of the leaves, a soft movement of the feathery fern--and Lady\nGreystock had let go her father's arm, and was standing with her hand\non the head, between the antlers, of a huge old deer--Dapple--\"Don\nDapple,\" as the children had called him--and speaking to him\ntenderly--\"Oh, Dapple, do you know me? Oh, Dapple--alas! poor\nbeast--did you do it--that awful thing? Are you so fierce, poor\nbeast--were you the terrible avenger?\" How her tears fell! How her\nwhole frame trembled! How the truth came on her as she looked into the\nlarge, tearful eyes of the once tame buck, that had grown fanciful and\nfierce in its age, and of whom even some of the keepers had declared\nthemselves afraid. Mr. Brewer took biscuit from his coat-pocket,\nchance scraps from lunches, secreted from days before, when he had\nbeen out on long rounds through the farms. These old Dapple nibbled,\nand made royal gestures of satisfaction and approval--and there,\nviewing his stately head in the water, where his spreading antlers\nwere mirrored, they left him to walk home, with one wonder out of\ntheir hearts, and another--wondering awe at the thing that had\nhappened among them--to by their for ever.\n\n{331}\n\nThey came back, they called the doctors, they examined the torn\nclothes. They wondered they had never thought of the truth before.\n\nTime went on. And at last, when Horace could speak, and they asked him\nabout the old deer at the pond, he said that it was so--it was as they\nhad thought. It had been an almost deadly struggle between man and\nbeast; and Horace was to bear the marks upon the face and form that\nhad been loved so well to his life's end. A broken-featured man, lame,\nwith a stiff arm, and a sightless eye--and the story of his ruined\nlife no longer a secret--known to all.\n\nLady Greystock and Mrs. Evelyn remained at Beremouth. Mary Lorimer was\nleft at her grandmother's under the care of the trusty Jenifer. James\nO'Keefe had returned to Ireland, leaving his niece and her history in\ngood guardianship with Father Daniels and Mr. Brewer; and Freddy,\nbeing at school, had been happily kept out of the knowledge of all but\nthe surface facts, which were no secrets from anybody, that a man who\nhad been seen in the park and was a stranger in the neighborhood had\nbeen suspected of being the perpetrator of the injuries of which the\nold deer had been guilty. Poor old deer--poor aged Dapple! It was with\na firm hand and an unflinching determination that the kindest man\nliving met the beast once more at the deer-pond, and shot him dead.\nMr. Brewer would trust his death to no hand but his own--and there in\nthe thicket where he loved to hide a grave was dug, and the monarch of\nthe place was buried in it.\n\nLady Greystock and Eleanor kept their own rooms, and lived together\nmuch as they had done latterly at Blagden. When Horace Erskine was fit\nto leave his bed-room, he used to sit in a room that had been called\n\"Mr. Brewer's.\" It was, in fact, a sort of writing-room, fitted up\nwith a small useful library and opening at the end into a bright\nconservatory. He had seen Lady Greystock. He knew of Eleanor being in\nthe house. He knew also that his former relations with her were known,\nand he never denied, or sought to deny, the fact of their Catholic\nmarriage.\n\nNo one ever spoke to him on the subject. The subject that was first in\nall hearts was to see him well and strong, and able to act for\nhimself. One thing it was impossible to keep from him; and that was\nthe anger of Mr. Erskine, his unde, an anger which Lucia his wife did\nnot try to modify. Mrs. Brewer wrote to her sister; Mr. Brewer pleaded\nwith his brother-in-law. Not a thing could they do to pacify them.\nHorace was everything that was evil in their eyes; his worst crime in\nthe past was his having made a Catholic marriage with a beautiful\nIrish girl, and their great dread for the future was that he would\nmake this marriage valid by the English law. They blamed Mr. Brewer\nfor keeping Eleanor in the house; they were thankless to Mr. Brewer\nfor still giving to Horace care, kindness, and a home. Finally, the\none great dread that included all other dreads, and represented the\noverpowering woe, was that contained in the thought that Horace might\nrepent, and become a Papist.\n\nMr. Brewer, when it came to that, set his all-conquering kindness\naside for the time, or, to adopt his wife's words when describing\nthese seeming changes in her husbands's character, \"he clothed his\nkindness in temporary armor, and went out to fight.\" He replied to Mr.\nand Mrs. Erskine that for such a grace to fall on Horace would be the\nanswer of mercy to the prayer of a poor woman's faith--that he and all\nhis household joined in that prayer; that priests at the altar, and\nnuns in their holy homes, were all praying for that great result; and\nthat for himself he would only say that for such a mercy to fall upon\nhis house would make him glad for ever.\n\nThere was no disputing with a man who could so openly take his stand\non {332} such a broad ground of hope and prayer in  such direct\nopposition to the wishes of his neighbors. The Erskines became silent,\nand Mr. Brewer had gained all he hoped for; peace, peace at least for\nthe time.\n\nAt last Horace was well enough to move, and Freddy's holidays were\napproaching, and there was an unexpressed feeling that Horace was not\nto be at Beremouth when the boy came back. Mr. Brewer proposed that\nHorace should go for change of air to the same house in which Father\nDawson was lodging, just beyond Clayton, where the sea air might\nrefresh him, and the changed scene amuse his mind; and where, too, he\ncould have the benefit of all those baths, and that superior\nattendance, described in the great painted advertisement that covered\nthe end of the lodging-houses in so promising a manner. Horace\naccepted the proposal gladly. He grew almost bright under the\nexpectation of the change, and when the day came he appeared to\nrevive, even under the fatigue of a drive so much longer than any that\nhe had been before allowed to venture upon.\n\nMr. Dawson was to be kind, and to watch over him a little; and Father\nDaniels was to visit him, and write letters for him, and be his,\nadviser and his friend. Before he left Beremouth he had asked to see\nLady Greystock. She went with her father to his room quite with the\nold Claudia Brewer cheerfulness prettily mingling with woman's\nstrength and woman's experience. He rose up, and said, \"I wished to\nask you to forgive me, Lady Greystock--to forgive me my many sins\ntoward you!\" She trembled a little, and said, \"Mr. Erskine, may God\nforgive _me_ my pride, my anger, my evil thoughts, which have made me\nsay so often I could never see nor pardon you.\" It seemed to require\nall her strength to carry out the resolution with which she had\nentered that room. \"Of course,\" she went on, \"the personal trial that\nyou brought upon me, here, in my young days, I know now to have been a\ngreat blessing in a grief's disguise. Though not--_not yet_--a\nCatholic, I know you were then, as now, a married man.\" Horace Erskine\nnever moved; he was still standing, holding by the heavy\nwriting-table, and his eyes were fastened on the carpet. She went on:\n\"Since then your wife, a beautiful and even an accomplished woman, has\nbecome my own dear friend. We are living together, and until she has a\nhome of her own, we shall probably go on living together. I have\nnothing, therefore, to say more, except--except--\" Here her voice\ntrembled, and changed, and she was only just able to articulate her\nlast words so as to be understood by her hearers, \"Except about my\ndear husband's death--better death than life under misapprehension.\nThat too was a blessing perhaps. Let us leave it to the Almighty\nJudge. I forgive you; if you wish to hear those words from my poor\nerring lips, you may remember that I have said them honestly,\nsubmitting to the will of _him_ who loves us, and from whom I seek\nmercy for myself.\"\n\nShe turned round to leave the room. \"Stop, Lady Greystock; stop!\"\ncried Horace. \"In this solemn moment of sincerity, tell me--do you\nthink Eleanor loves me now?\" \"I would rather not give any opinion.\"\n\"If you have ever formed an opinion, give it. I entreat you to tell me\nwhat is, as far as you know, the truth. Does Eleanor love me?\" \"Must I\nspeak, father?\" \"So solemnly entreated, I should say, _yes_.\" \"Does\nEleanor love me?\" groaned Horace. \"No,\" said Lady Greystock; and\nturning round quickly, she left her father alone with Horace, and went\nout of the room.\n\nFive years passed by. Freddy was growing into manhood, enjoying home\nby his bright sister Lady {333} Greystock's side, and paying visits to\nhis other sister, the happy bride, Mrs. Harrington, of\nHarrington-leigh, the master of which place, \"a recent convert,\" as\nthe newspapers said, \"had lately married the convert step-daughter of\nMr. Brewer, of Beremouth.\" Lady Greystock always lived with her father\nnow, united to him in faith, and joining him in such a flood of good\nworks that all criticism, all wonderment, all lamentation and argument\nat \"such a step!\" was simply run down, overpowered, deluged, drowned.\nThe strong flowing stream of charity was irresistible. The solemn\nmusic of its deep waters swallowed up all the surrounding cackle of\ninharmonious talk. Nothing was heard at Beremouth but prayer and\npraise--evil tongues passed by that great good house to exercise\nthemselves elsewhere. Evil people found no fitting habitation for\ntheir wandering spirits in that home of holy peace. And all his life\nMr. Brewer walked humbly, looking at Claudia, and calling her \"my\ncrown!\" She knew why. He had repented with a great sorrow of those\nearly days when he had left her to others' teaching. He had prayed\nsecretly, with strong resolutions, to be blessed with forgiveness. And\nat last the mercy came--\"crowned at last. All the mercies of my life\ncrowned by the great gift of Claudia's soul.\" So the good man went on\nhis way a penitent. Always in his own sight a penitent. Always\nrecommending himself to God in that one character--as a penitent.\n\nFive years were passed, and Lady Greystock had been at Mary's wedding,\nand was herself at Beremouth, still in youth and beauty, once more the\npetted daughter of the house--but Eleanor was there no longer. Full\nthree years had passed since Eleanor had gone to London with Lady\nGreystock, and elected not to return. They heard from her however,\nfrequently; and knew where she was. When these letters came Claudia\nwould drive off to Marston to see Grandmamma Morier, still enjoying\nlife under Jenifer's care. The letters would be read aloud upstairs in\nthe pretty drawing-room where the fine old china looked as gay and\nbright as ever, and where not a single cup and saucer had changed its\nplace. Jenifer would listen. Taking careful note of every expression,\nand whispering--sometimes in the voice of humble prayer, sometimes in\nsoft tones of triumphant thanksgiving--\"My life, and all that is in\nit!\"\n\nBut now this five years' close had been marked by a great fact; the\ndeath of Horace Erskine's uncle, and his great estate passing to his\nnephew, whom he had never seen since their quarrel with him, but whom\nhe had so far forgiven as not to alter his will.\n\nHorace Erskine was in London; and his Beremouth friends were going up\nto town to welcome him home after four years of life on the continent.\n\nLondon was at its fullest and gayest. Mr. Erskine had been well known\nthere, making his yearly visits, taking a great house, and attracting\nround him all the talent of the day. A very rich man, thoroughly well\neducated, with a fine place in Scotland, and his beautiful wife Lucia\nby his side, he found himself welcome, and made others in their turn\nwelcome too. Now all this was past. For two seasons London had missed\nMr. Erskine, and he had been regretted and lamented over, as a\nconfirmed invalid. Now he was dead. And after a little brief wonder\nand sorrow the attention of the world was fixed upon his heir, and\npeople of fashion, pleasure, and literature got ready their best\nsmiles for his approval.\n\nHorace had been well enough known once. Never exactly sought {334}\nafter by heads of homes, for he was too much of a speculation. He was\nknown to be in debt; and all inquiries as to his uncle's property had\nbeen quenched again and again by those telling words, \"no entail.\" But\nHorace had had his own world; and had been only too much of a hero in\nit. That world, however, had lost him; and as the wheels of fashion's\nchariot fly fast, the dust of the light road rises as a cloud and\nhides the past, and the people that belonged to Horace Erskine had\nbeen left behind and forgotten. Now, however, Memory was alive, and\nbrushing up her recollections; and Memory had found a tongue, and was\nhoping and prophesying to the fullest extent of friend Gossip's\nrequirements, when the news came that Horace Erskine had arrived. \"He\nhas taken that charming house looking on to the park. Mr. Tudor had\nseen him. Nobody would know him. Broken nose, my dear! And he was so\nhandsome. He is lame, too--or if not lame, he has a stiff shoulder. I\nforget which it is. He was nearly killed by some mad animal in the\npark at Beremouth. He behaved with the most wonderful courage,\nactually fought and conquered! But he was gored and trampled\non--nearly trampled to death. I heard all the particulars at the time.\nHis chest was injured, and he was sent to a warmer climate. And there\nhe turned Papist. He did, indeed! and his uncle never forgave him. But\nI suspect it was a love affair. You know he has brought his wife home.\nAnd she is lovely, everybody who has seen her says. She is so very\nstill--too quiet--too statuesque--that is her only fault in fact. But\nall the world is talking of her, and if you have not yet seen her lose\nno time in getting introduced; she is the wonder of the day.\"\n\nAnd so ran the talk--and such was Eleanor's welcome as Horace\nErskine's wife. Her husband had really repented, and had sought her,\nand won her heart all over again, and married her once more.\n\nTo have these great triumphs of joy and justice in her life was\ngranted to Jenifer's Prayer.\n\n------\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nSAINTS OF THE DESERT.\n\nBY VERY REV. J. H. NEWMAN, D.D.\n\n\n1. Abbot Cyrus said to a brother: \"If thou hadst no fight with bad\nthoughts, it would be because thou didst bad actions; for they who do\nbad actions are thereby rid of bad thoughts.\"\n\n\"But,\" said the other, \"I have bad memories.\"\n\nThe abbot answered: \"They are but ghosts; fear not the dead, but the\nliving.\"\n\n\n2. When Agatho was dying, his brethren would have asked him some\nmatter of business. He said to them: \"Do me this charity; speak no\nmore with me, for I am full of business already.\" And he died in joy.\n\n\n\n3. An old man visited one of the fathers. The host boiled some\npot-herbs, and said: \"First let us do the work of God, and then let us\neat.\"\n\n------\n\n{335}\n\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nCHRISTINE:\n\nA TROUBADOUR'S SONG,\n\nIN FIVE CANTOS.\n\nBY GEORGE H. MILES.   [Footnote 53]\n\n  [Footnote 53: Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year\n  1866, by Lawrence Kehoe, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court\n  of the United States for the Southern District of New York.]\n\n(CONCLUDED.)\n\n\nTHE FOURTH SONG.\n\nI.\n\n  Amid the gleam of princely war\n  Christine sat like the evening star,\n  Pale in the sunset's pageant bright,\n  A separate and sadder light.\n            O bitter task\n  To rear aloft that shining head,\n    While round thee, cruel whisperers ask--\n  \"Marry, what aileth the Bridegroom gay?\n  The heralds have waited as long as they may.\n  Yet never a sign of the gallant Grey.\n    Is Miolan false or dead?\"\n\nII.\n\n  The Dauphin eyed Christine askance:\n    \"We have tarried too long,\" quoth he;\n  \"Doth the Savoyard fear the thrust of France?\n  By the Bride of Heaven, no laggard lance\n    Shall ever have guard of thee!\"\n\n{336}\n\n  You could see the depths of the dark eyes shine\n    And a glow on the marble cheek,\n  As she whispered, \"Woe to the Dauphin's line\n  When the eagle shrieks and the red lights shine\n    Bound the towers of Pilate's Peak.\"\n\n  She levelled her white hand toward the west,\n    Where the omen beacon shone;\n  And he saw the flame on the castle crest.\n  And a livid glare light the mountain's breast\n    Even down to the rushing Rhone.\n\n  Never braver lord in all the land\n    Than that Dauphin true and tried;\n  But the rein half fell from his palsied hand\n  And his fingers worked at the jewelled brand\n    That shook in its sheath at his side.\n\n  For it came with a curse from earliest time,\n    It was carved on his father's halls,\n  It had haunted him ever from clime to clime,\n  And at last the red light of the ancient rhyme\n    Is burning on Pilate s walls!\n\n  Yet warrior-like beneath his feet\n    Trampling the sudden fear,\n  He cried, \"Let thy lover's foot be fleet--\n  If thy Savoyard would wed thee, sweet.\n    By Saint Mask, he were better here!\n\n  \"For I know by yon light there is danger near,\n    And I swear by the Holy Shrine,\n  Be it virgin spear or Miolan's heir.\n  The victor to-day shall win and wear\n    This menaced daughter of mine!\"\n\n  The lists are aflame with the gold and steel\n    Of knights in their proud array,\n  And gong and tymbalon chiming peal\n  As forward the glittering squadrons wheel\n    To the jubilant courser's neigh.\n\n  The Dauphin springs to the maiden's side,\n    And thrice aloud cries he,\n  \"Ride, gallants all, for beauty ride,\n  Christine herself is the victor's bride.\n    Whoever the victor be!\"\n\n{337}\n\n  And thrice the heralds cried it aloud,\n    While a wondering whisper ran\n  From the central lists to the circling crowd,\n  For all knew the virgin hand was vowed\n    To the heir of Miolan.\n\n  Quick at the Dauphin's plighted word\n    Full many an eve flashed fire,\n  Full many a knight took a truer sword,\n  Tried buckle and girth, and many a lord\n    Chose a stouter lance from his squire.\n\n  Back to the barrier's measured bound\n    Each gallant speedeth away;\n  Then, forward fast to the trumpet's sound,\n  A hundred horsemen shake the ground\n    And meet in the mad mel\u00e9e.\n\n  Crimson the spur and crimson the spear,\n    The blood of the brave flows fast;\n  But Christine is deaf to the dying prayer,\n  Blind to the dying eyes that glare\n    On her as they look their last.\n\n  She sees but a Black Knight striking so well\n    That the bravest shun his path;\n  His name or his nation none may tell,\n  But wherever he struck a victim fell\n    At the feet of that shape of wrath.\n\n  \"'Fore God,\" quoth the Dauphin, \"that unknown sword\n    Is making a merry day!\"\n  But where, oh where is the Savoyard,\n  For low in the slime of that trampled sward\n    Lie the flower of the Dauphin\u00e9e!\n\n  And the victor stranger rideth alone,\n    Wiping his bloody blade;\n  And now that to meet him there is none.\n  Now that the warrior work is done,\n    He moveth toward the maid.\n\n  Sternly, as if he came to kill,\n    Toward the damsel he turneth his rein;\n  His trumpet sounding a challenge shrill,\n  While the fatal lists of La S\u00f4ne are still\n    As he paces the purple plain.\n\n{338}\n\n  A hollow voice through the visor cried,\n    \"Mount to the crupper with me.\n  Mount, Ladye, mount to thy master's side.\n  For 'tis said and 'tis sworn thou shalt be the Bride\n    Of the victor, whoever he be.\"\n\n  At sound of that voice a sudden flame\n    Shot out from the Dauphin's eyes,\n  And he said, \"Sir Knight, ere we grant thy claim,\n  Let us see the face, let us hear the name,\n    Of the gallant who winneth the prize.\"\n\n  \"'Tis a name you know and a face you fear,\"\n    The Wizard Knight began;\n  \"Or hast thou forgotten that midnight drear,\n  When my sleeping fathers felt the spear\n    Of Vienne and Miolan?\n\n  \"Ay, quiver and quail in thy coat of mail,\n    For hark to the eagle's shriek;\n  See the red light burns for the coming bale!\"\n  And all knew as he lifted his aventayle\n    The Knight of Pilate's Peak.\n\n  From the heart of the mass rose a cry of wrath\n    As they sprang at the shape abhorred,\n  But he swept the foremost from his path,\n  And the rest fell back from the fatal swath\n    Of that darkly dripping sword.\n\n  But uprose the Dauphin brave and bold,\n    And strode out upon the green,\n  And quoth he, \"Foul fiend, if my purpose hold,\n  By my halidome, tho' I be passing old,\n    We'll splinter a lance for Christine.\n\n  \"Since her lovers are low or recreant.\n    Her champion shall be her sire;\n  So get a fresh lance from yonder tent.\n  For though my vigor be something spent\n    I fear neither thee nor thy fire!\"\n\n  Swift to the stirrup the Dauphin he sprang,\n    The bravest and best of his race:\n  No bugle blast for the combat rang;\n  Save the clattering hoof and the armor clang,\n    All was still as each rode to his place.\n\n{339}\n\n  With the crash of an April avalanche\n    They meet in that merciless tilt;\n  Back went each steed with shivering haunch.\n  Back to the croup bent each rider staunch.\n    Shivered each spear to the hilt.\n\n  Thrice flies the Baron's battle-axe round\n    The Wizard's sable crest;\n  But the coal-black steed, with a sudden bound,\n  Hurled the old Crusader to the ground,\n    And stamped on his mailed breast.\n\n  Thrice by the vengeful war-horse spurned,\n    Lowly the Dauphin lies;\n  While the Black Knight laughed as again he turned\n  Toward the lost Christine, and his visor burned\n    As he gazed at his beautiful prize.\n\n  Her doom you might read in that gloating stare,\n    But no fear in the maid can you see;\n  Nor is it the calm of a dumb despair,\n  For hope sits aglow on her forehead fair.\n    And she murmurs, \"At last--it is he!\"\n\n  Proudly the maiden hath sprung from her seat,\n    Proudly she glanceth around,\n  One hand on her bosom to stay its beat,\n  For hark! there's a sound like the flying feet\n    Of a courser, bound after bound.\n\n  Clearing the lists with a leopard-like spring,\n    Plunging at top of his speed.\n  Swift o'er the ground as a bird on the wing.\n  There bursts, all afoam, through the wondering ring,\n    A gallant but riderless steed.\n\n  Arrow-like straight to the maiden he sped.\n    With a long, loud, tremulous neigh,\n  The rein flying loose round his glorious head.\n  While all whisper again, \"Is the Savoyard dead?\"\n    As they gaze at the riderless Grey.\n\n  One sharp, swift pang thro' the virgin heart,\n    One wildering cry of woe.\n  Then fleeter than dove to her calling nest,\n  Lighter than chamois to Malaval's crest\n    She leaps to the saddle bow.\n\n{340}\n\n  \"Away!\" He knew the sweet voice; away,\n    With never a look behind;\n  Away, away, with echoing neigh\n  And streaming mane, goes the gallant Grey,\n    Like an eagle before the wind.\n\n  They have cleared the lists, they have passed her bower,\n    And still they are thundering on;\n  They are over the bridge--another hour,\n  A league behind them the Leaning Tower\n    And the spires of Saint Antoine.\n\n  Away, away in their wild career\n    Past the slopes of Mont Surjeu;\n  Thrice have they swum the swift Is\u00e8re,\n  And firm and clear in the purple air\n    Soars the Grand Som full in view.\n\n  Rough is their path and sternly steep,\n    Yet halting never a whit,\n  Onward the terrible pace they keep,\n  While the good Grey, breathing free and deep,\n    Steadily strains at the bit.\n\n  They have left the lands where the tall hemp springs,\n    Where the clover bends to the bee;\n  They have left the hills where the red vine flings\n  Her clustered curls of a thousand rings\n    Round the arms of the mulberry tree.\n\n  They have left the lands where the walnut lines\n    The roads, and the chestnuts blow;\n  Beneath them the thread of the cataract shines,\n  Around them the plumes of the warrior pines.\n    Above them the rock and the snow.\n\n  Thick on his shoulders the foam flakes lay.\n    Fast the big drops roll from his chest,\n  Yet on, ever on, goes the gallant Grey,\n  Bearing the maiden as smoothly as spray\n    Asleep on the ocean's breast.\n\n  Onward and upward, bound after bound,\n    By Bruno's Bridge he goes;\n  And now they are treading holy ground,\n  For the feet of her flying Caliph sound\n    By the cells of the Grand Chartreuse.\n\n{341}\n\n  Around them the darkling cloisters frown,\n    The sun in the valley hath sunk;\n  When right in her path, lo! the long white gown,\n  The withered face and the shaven crown\n    And the shrivelled hand of a monk.\n\n  A light like a glittering halo played\n    Round the brow of the holy man;\n  With lifted finger her course he stayed,\n  \"All is not well,\" the pale lips said,\n    \"With the heir of Miolan.\n\n  \"But in Chambery hangs a relic rare\n    Over the altar stone:\n  Take it, and speed to thy Bridegroom's bier;\n  If the Sacristan question who sent thee there,\n    Say, 'Bruno, the Monk of Cologne.'\"\n\n  She bent to the mane while the cross he signed\n    Thrice o'er the suppliant head:\n  \"Away with thee, child!\" and away like the wind\n  She went, with a startled glance behind,\n    For she heard an ominous tread.\n\n  The moon is up, 'tis a glorious night,\n    They are leaving the rock and the snow,\n  Mont Blanc is before her, phantom white,\n  While the swift Is\u00e8re, with its line of light,\n    Cleaves the heart of the valley below.\n\n  But hark to the challenge, \"Who rideth alone?\"--\n    \"O warder, bid me not wait!--\n  My lover lies dead and the Dauphin o'erthrown--\n  A message I bear from the Monk of Cologne\"--\n    And she swept thro' Chambery's gate.\n\n  The Sacristan kneeleth in midnight prayer\n    By Chamber's altar stone.\n  \"What meaneth this haste, my daughter fair?\"\n  She stooped and murmured in his ear\n    The name of the Monk of Cologne.\n\n  Slowly he took from its jewelled case\n    A kerchief that sparkled like snow.\n  And the Minster shone like a lighted vase\n  As the deacon unveiled the gleaming face\n    Of the Santo Sudario.\n\n{342}\n\n  A prayer, a tear, and to saddle she springs,\n    Clasping the relic bright;\n  Away, away, for the fell hoof rings\n  Down the hillside behind her--God give her wings!\n    The fiend and his horse are in sight.\n\n  On, on, the gorge of the Doriat's won,\n    She is nearing her Savoyard's home,\n  By the grand old road where the warrior son\n  Of Hanno swept with his legions dun,\n    On his mission of hatred to Rome.\n\n  The ancient oaks seem to rock and reel\n    As the forest rushes by her,\n  But nearer cometh the clash of steel,\n  And nearer falleth the fatal heel,\n    With its flickering trail of fire.\n\n  Then first the brave young heart grew sick\n    'Neath its load of love and fear,\n  For the Grey is breathing faint and quick,\n  And his nostrils burn and the drops fall thick\n    From the point of each drooping ear.\n\n  His glorious neck hath lost its pride,\n    His back fails beneath her weight.\n  While steadily gaining, stride by stride,\n  The Black Knight thunders to her side--\n    Heaven, must she meet her fate?\n\n  She shook the loose rein o'er the trembling head,\n    She laid her soft hand on his mane,\n  She called him her Caliph, her desert-bred,\n  She named the sweet springs where the palm trees spread\n    Their arms o'er the burning plain.\n\n  But the Grey looked back and sadly scanned\n    The maid with his earnest eyes--\n  A moment more and her cheek is fanned\n  By the black steed's breath, and the demon hand\n    Stretches out for the virgin prize.\n\n  But she calls on Christ, and the kerchief white\n    Waves full in the face of her foe:\n  Back with an oath reeled the Wizard Knight\n  As his steed crouched low in the wondrous light\n    Of the Santo Sudario.\n\n{343}\n\n  Blinded they halt while the maiden hies,\n    The murmuring Arc she can hear,\n  And, lo! like a cloud on the shining skies,\n  Atop of yon perilous precipice,\n    The castle of Miolan's Heir.\n\n  \"Fail not, my steed!\"--Round her Caliph's head\n    The relic shines like the sun:\n  Leap after leap up the spiral steep,\n  He speeds to his master's castle keep,\n    And his glorious race is won.\n\n  \"Ho, warder!\"--At sight of the gallant Grey\n    The drawbridge thundering falls:\n  Wide goes the gate at that jubilant neigh,\n  And, glory to God for his mercy to-day,\n    She is safe within Miolan's walls.\n\n\nTHE FIFTH SONG.\n\nI.\n\n  In the dim grey dawn by Miolan's gate\n  The fiend on his wizard war-horse sate.\n  The fair-haired maid at his trumpet call\n  Creeps weeping and wan to the outer wall:\n  \"My curse on thy venom, my curse on thy spell,\n  They have slain the master I loved too well.\n  Thou saidst he should wake when the joust was o'er,\n  But oh, he never will waken more!\"\n  She tore her fair hair, while the demon laughed,\n  Saying, \"Sound was the sleep that thy lover quaffed;\n  But bid the warder unbar the gate,\n  That the lost Christine may meet her fate.\"\n\n\nII.\n\n  \"Hither, hither thou mail\u00e8d man\n    With those woman's tears in thine eyes,\n  With thy brawny cheek all wet and wan,\n  Show me the heir of Miolan,\n    Lead where my Bridegroom lies.\"\n\n{344}\n\n  And he led her on with a sullen tread.\n    That fell like a muffled groan,\n  Through halls as silent as the dead,\n  'Neath long grey arches overhead,\n    Till they came to the shrine of Moan.\n\n  What greets her there by the torches' glare?\n    In vain hath the mass been said!\n  Low bends the sire in mute despair,\n  Low kneels the Hermit in silent prayer.\n    Between them the mighty dead.\n\n  No tear she shed, no word she spoke,\n    But gliding up to the bier,\n  She took her stand by the bed of oak\n  Where her Savoyard lay in his sable cloak,\n    His hand still fast on his spear.\n\n  She bent her burning cheek to his,\n    And rested it there awhile.\n  Then touched his lips with a lingering kiss,\n  And whispered him thrice, \"My love, arise,\n    I have come for thee many a mile!\"\n\n  The man of God and the ancient Knight\n    Arose in tremulous awe;\n  She was so beautiful, so bright,\n  So spirit-like in her bridal white,\n  It seemed in the dim funereal light\n    Twas an angel that they saw.\n\n  \"Thro' forest fell, o'er mount and dell,\n    Like the falcon, hither I've flown.\n  For I knew that a fiend was loose from hell,\n  And I bear a token to break this spell\n    From Bruno, the Monk of Cologne.\n\n  \"Dost thou know it, love? when fire and sword\n    Flamed round the Holy Shrine,\n  It was won by thee from the Paynim horde,\n  It was brought by thee to Bruno's guard,\n    A gift from Palestine.\n\n  \"Wake, wake, my love! In the name of Grace,\n    That hath known our uttermost woe,\n  Lo! this thorn-bound brow on thine I place!\"\n  And, once more revealed, shone the wondrous face\n    Of the Santo Sudario.\n\n{345}\n\n  At once over all that ancient hall\n    There went a luminous beam;\n  Heaven's deepest radiance seemed to fall,\n  The helmets shine on the shining wall,\n    And the faded banners gleam.\n\n  And the chime of hidden cymbals rings\n    To the song of a cherub choir;\n  Each altar angel waves his wings,\n  And the flame of each altar taper springs\n    Aloft in a luminous spire.\n\n And over the face of the youth there broke\n    A smile both stern and sweet;\n  Slowly he turned on the bed of oak,\n  And proudly folding his sable cloak\n    Around him, sprang to his feet.\n\n  Back shrank the sire, half terrified,\n    Both he and the Hermit, I ween;\n  But she--she is fast to her Savoyard's side,\n  A poet's dream, a warrior's bride,\n    His beautiful Christine.\n\n  Her hair's dark tangles all astray\n    Adown her back and breast;\n  The print of the rein on her hand still lay.\n  The foam-flakes of the gallant Grey\n    Scarce dry on her heaving breast.\n\n  She told the dark tale and how she spurred\n    From the Knight of Pilate's Peak;\n  You scarce would think the Bridegroom heard.\n  Save that the mighty lance-head stirred.\n    Save for the flush in his cheek;\n\n  Save that his gauntlet clasped her hair--\n    And oh, the look that swept\n  Between them!--all the radiant air\n  Grew holier--it was like a prayer--\n    And they who saw it wept.\n\n  E'en the lights on the altar brighter grew\n    In the gleam of that heavenly gaze;\n  The cherub music fell soft as dew,\n  The breath of the censer seemed sweeter too.\n  The torches mellowed their requiem hue,\n    And burnt with a bridal blaze.\n\n{346}\n\n  And the Baron clasps his son with a cry\n    Of joy as his sorrows cease;\n  While the Hermit, wrapt in his Rosary,\n  Feels that the world beneath the sky\n    Hath yet its planet of peace.\n\n  But hark! by the drawbridge, shrill and clear,\n    A trumpet's challenge rude:\n  The heart of Christine grew faint with fear,\n  But the Savoyard shook his mighty spear,\n    And the blood in his forehead stood.\n\n  \"Beware, beware, 'tis the Fiend!\" quoth she:\n    \"Whither now!\" asks the ancient Knight,\n  \"What meanest thou, boy?--Leave the knave to me:\n  Wizard, or fiend, or whatever he be,\n  By the bones of my fathers, he shall flee\n    Or ne'er look on morning light.\n\n  \"What, thou just risen from the grave,\n    Atilt with an arm\u00e8d man?\n  Dost dream that youth alone is brave,\n  Dost deem these sinews too old to save\n    The honor of Miolan?\"\n\n  But the youth he answered with gentlest tone,\n    \"I know thee a warrior staunch.\n  But this meeting is meant for me alone.\n  Unhand me, my lord, have I woman grown?\n  Wouldst stop the rushing of the Rhone,\n    Or stay the avalanche?\"\n\n  He broke from his sire as breaks the flash\n    From the soul of the circling storm:\n  You could hear the grasp of his gauntlet crash\n  On his quivering lance and the armor clash\n    Round that tall young warrior form.\n\n  \"Be this thy shield?\" the maiden cried,\n    Her hand on the kerchief of snow;\n  \"If forth to the combat thou wilt ride,\n  Face to face be the Fiend defied\n    With the Santo Sudario!\"\n\n  But the young Knight laid the relic rare\n    On the ancient altar-stone;\n  \"Holy weapons to men of prayer.\n  Lance in rest and falchion bare\n    Must answer for Miolan's son.\"\n\n{347}\n\n  Again the challenger's trumpet pealed\n    From the barbican, shrill and clear;\n  And the Savoyard reared his dinted shield,\n  Its motto, gold on an azure field--\n    \"ALLES ZU GOTT UND IHR.\"\n\n  To horse!--From the hills the dawning day\n    Looks down on the sleeping plain;\n  In the court-yard waiteth the gallant Grey,\n  And the castle rings with a joyous neigh\n    As the Knight and his steed meet again.\n\n  And the coal-black charger answers him\n    From the space beyond the gate,\n  From the level space, where dark and dim\n  In the morning mists, like giant grim,\n    The Fiend on his war-horse sate.\n\n  Oh, the men at arms how they stared aghast\n    When the Heir of Miolan leapt\n  To saddle-bow sounding his bugle-blast;\n  How the startled warder breathless gasped.\n    How the hoary old seneschal wept!\n\n  And the fair-haired maid with a sob hath sprung\n    To the lifted bridle rein;\n  Fast to his knee her white arms clung,\n  While the waving gold of her fair hair hung\n    Mixed with Grey Caliph's mane.\n\n  \"O Miolan's heir, O master mine,\n    O more than heaven adored,\n  Live to forget this slave of thine,\n  Wed the dark-eyed Maid of Palestine,\n    But dare not yon demon sword!\"\n\n  But the Baron thundered, \"Off with the slave!\"\n    And they tore the white arms away,\n  \"A woman 's a curse in the path of the brave;\n  Level thy lance and upon the knave,\n    For he laughs at this fool delay!\n\n  \"But pledge me first in this beaker bright\n    Of foaming Cyprian wine;\n  Thou hast fasted, God wot, like an anchorite.\n  Thy cheeks and brow are a trifle white,\n  And, 'fore heaven, thou shall bear thee in this fight\n    As beseemeth son of mine!\"\n\n{348}\n\n  The youth drank deep of the burning juice\n    Of the mighty Mar\u00e8tel,\n  Then, waving his hand to his Ladye thrice,\n  Swifter than snow from the precipice,\n    Spurred full on the infidel.\n\n  \"O Bridegroom bold, beware my brand!\"\n    The Knight of Pilate cries,\n  \"For 'tis written in blood by Eblis' hand,\n  No mortal might may mine withstand\n    Till the dead in arms arise.\"\n\n  \"The dead are up, and in arms arrayed,\n    They have come at the call of fate:\n  Two days, two nights, as thou know'st, I've laid\n  On oaken bier\"--and again there played\n  That halo light round the Mother Maid\n    In the niche by the castle gate.\n\n  Each warrior reared his shining targe,\n    Each plumed helmet bent.\n  Each lance thrown forward for the charge,\n  Each steed reined back to the very marge\n    Of the mountain's sheer descent.\n\n  The rock beneath them seemed to groan\n    And shudder as they met;\n  Away the splintered lance is thrown,\n  Each falchion in the morning shone,\n    One blade uncrimsoned yet\n\n  But the blood must flow and that blade must glow\n    E'er their deadly work be done;\n  Steel rang to steel, blow answered blow,\n  From dappled dawn till the Alpine snow\n    Grew red in the risen sun.\n\n  The Bridegroom's sword left a lurid trail,\n    So fiercely and fleetly it flew;\n  It rang like the rattling of the hail,\n  And wherever it fell the sable mail\n    Was wet with a ghastly dew.\n\n  The Baron, watching with stern delight,\n    Felt the heart in his bosom swell:\n  And quoth he, \"By the mass, a gallant sight!\n  These old eyes have gazed on many a fight,\n  But, boy, as I live, never saw I knight\n    Who did his devoir so well!\"\n\n{349}\n\n  And oh, the flush o'er his face that broke,\n    The joy of his shining eyes,\n  When, backward beaten, stroke by stroke,\n  The wizard reeled, like a falling oak,\n    Toward the edge of the precipice.\n\n  On the trembling verge of that perilous steep\n    The demon stood at bay.\n  Calling with challenge stern and deep,\n  That startled the inmost castle keep,\n  \"Daughter of mine, here's a dainty leap\n    We must take together to-day.\n\n  \"Come, maiden, come!\" Swift circling round,\n    Like bird in the serpent's gaze,\n  She sprang to his side with a single bound.\n  While the black steed trampled the flinty ground\n    To fire, his nostrils ablaze.\n\n  \"Farewell!\" went the fair-haired maiden's cry,\n    Shrilling from hill to hill;\n  \"Farewell, farewell, it was I, 'twas I,\n  Who sinned in a jealous agony,\n    But I loved thee too well to kill!\"\n\n  High reared the steed with the hapless pair,\n    A plunge, a pause, a shriek,\n  A black plume loose in the middle air,\n  A foaming plash in the dark Is\u00e9re,--\n  Thus banished for ever the maiden fair\n    And the Knight of Pilate's Peak.\n\n  A mighty cheer shook the ancient halls,\n    A white hand waved in the sun,\n  The vassals all on the outer wall\n  Clashed their arms at the brave old Baron's call,\n    \"To my arms, mine only one!\"\n\n  But oh, what aileth the gallant Grey,\n    Why droopeth the barb\u00e8d head?\n  Slowly he turned from that fell tourney\n  And proudly breathing a long, last neigh,\n    At the castle gate fell dead.\n\n\nIII.\n\n  Lost to all else, forgotten e'en\n  The dark eyes of his dear Christine,\n  His fleet foot from the stirrup freed,\n  The Knight knelt by his fallen steed.\n\n{350}\n\n  Awhile with tone and touch of love\n  To cheer him to his feet he strove:\n  Awhile he shook the bridle-rein--\n  That glazing eye!--alas, in vain.\n  Bareheaded on that fatal field.\n  His gauntlet ringing on his shield,\n  His voice a torrent deep and strong,\n  The warrior's soul broke forth in song.\n\n\nTHE KNIGHT'S SONG\n\n    And art thou, _art_ thou dead,--\n  Thou with front that might defy\n  The gathered thunders of the sky.\n  Thou before whose fearless eye\n    All death and danger fled!\n\n    My Khalif, hast thou sped\n  Homeward where the palm-trees' feet\n  Bathe in hidden fountains sweet,\n  Where first we met as lovers meet,\n    My own, my desert-bred!\n\n    Thy back has been my home;\n  And, bending o'er thy flying neck,\n  Its white mane waving without speck,\n  I seemed to tread the galley's deck.\n    And cleave the ocean's foam.\n\n    Since first I felt thy heart\n  Proudly surging 'neath my knee,\n  As earthquakes heave beneath the sea,\n  Brothers in the field were we;\n    And must we, _can_ we part?\n\n    To match thee there was none!\n  The wind was laggard to thy speed:\n  O God, there is no deeper need\n  Than warrior's parted from his steed\n    When years have made them one.\n\n    And shall I never more\n  Answer thy laugh amid the clash\n  Of battle, see thee meet the flash\n  Of spears with the proud, pauseless dash\n    Of billows on the shore?\n\n{351}\n\n    And all our victor war,\n  And all the honors men call mine,\n  Were thine, thou voiceless warrior, thine;\n  My task was but to touch the rein--\n    There needed nothing more.\n\n    Worst danger had no sting\n  For thee, and coward peace no charm;\n  Amid red havoc's worst alarm\n  Thy swoop as firm as through the storm\n    The eagle's iron wing.\n\n    O more than man to me!\n  Thy neigh outsoared the trumpet's tone.\n  Thy back was better than a throne,\n  There was no human thing save one\n    I loved as well as thee!\n\n    O Knighthood's truest friend!\n  Brave heart by every danger tried,\n  Proud crest by conquest glorified.\n  Swift saviour of my menaced Bride,\n    Is this, is _this_ the end?--\n\n    Thrice honored be thy grave!\n  Wherever knightly deed is sung.\n  Wherever minstrel harp is strung,\n  There too thy praise shall sound among\n    The beauteous and the brave.\n\n    And thou shalt slumber deep\n  Beneath our chapel's cypress sheen;\n  And there thy lord and his Christine\n  Full oft shall watch at morn and e'en\n    Around their Khalif's sleep.\n\n    There shalt thou wait for me\n  Until the funeral bell shall ring.\n  Until the funeral censer swing.\n  For I would ride to meet my King,\n    My stainless steed, with thee!\n\n----\n\n  The song has ceased, and not an eye\n  'Mid all those mailed men is dry;\n  The brave old Baron turns aside\n  To crush the tear he cannot hide.\n\n{352}\n\n  With stately step the Bridegroom went\n  To where, upon the battlement,\n  Christine herself, all weeping, leant.\n  Well might that crested warrior kneel\n  At such a shrine, well might he feel\n  As if the angel in her eyes\n  Gave all that hallows Paradise.\n  And when her white hands' tender spell\n  Upon his trembling shoulder fell.\n  Upward one reverent glance he cast,\n  Then, rising, murmured, \"Mine at last!\"\n\n  \"Yes, thine at last!\" Still stained with blood\n  The Dauphin's self beside them stood.\n  \"Fast as mortal steed could flee,\n  My own Christine, I followed thee.\n  Saint George, but 'twas a gallant sight\n  That miscreant hurled from yonder height:\n  Brave boy, that single sword of thine,\n  Methinks, might hold all Palestine.\n  But see, from out the shrine of Moan\n  Cometh the good Monk of Cologne,\n  Bearing the relic rare that woke\n  Our warrior from his bed of oak.\n  See him pass with folded hands\n  To where the shaded chapel stands.\n  The Bridegroom well hath won the prize,\n  There stands the priest, and there the altar lies.\"\n\n\nIV.\n\n  When the moon rose o'er lordly Miolan\n    That night, she wondered at those ancient walls:\n    Bright tapers flashing from a hundred halls\n  Lit all the mountain--liveried vassals ran\n    Trailing from bower to bower the wine-cup, wreathed\n    With festal roses--viewless music breathed\n  A minstrel melody, that fell as falls\n    The dew, less heard than felt; and maidens laughed.\n    Aiming their curls at swarthy men who quaffed\n  Brimmed beakers to the newly wed: while some\n    Old henchmen, lolling on the court-yard green\n    Over their squandered Cyprus, vowed between\n  Their cups, \"there was no pair in Christendom\n    To match their Savoyard and his Christine?\"\n\n----\n\n{353}\n\n  The Trov\u00e8re ceased, none praised the lay,\n  Each waited to hear what the King would say.\n  But the grand blue eye was on the wave,\n  Little recked he of the tuneless stave:\n  He was watching a bark just anchored fast\n  With England's banner at her mast,\n  And quoth he to the Queen, \"By my halidome,\n  I wager our Bard Blondel hath come!\"\n  E'en as he spoke, a joyous cry\n  From the beach proclaimed the Master nigh;\n  But the merry cheer rose merrier yet\n  When the Monarch and his Minstrel met.\n  The Prince of Song and Plantagenet.\n  \"A song!\" cried the King. \"Thou art just in time\n  To rid our ears of a vagrant's rhyme:\n  Prove how that recreant voice of thine\n  Hath thriven at Cyprus, bard of mine!\"\n  The Minstrel played with his golden wrest,\n  And began the \"_Fytte of the Bloody Vest_.\"\n  The vanquished Trov\u00e8re stole away\n  Unmarked by lord or ladye gay:\n  Perchance one quick, kind glance he caught,\n  Perchance that glance was all he sought.\n  For when Blondel would pause to tune\n  His harp and supplicate the moon,\n  It seemed as tho' the laughing sea\n  Caught up the vagrant melody;\n  And far along the listening shore.\n  Till every wave the burthen bore,\n  In long, low echoes might you hear--\n  \"Alles, Alles zu Gott und Ihr!\"\n\n------\n\n{354}\n\n\nFrom The Dublin Review.\n\nTHE CHRISTIAN SCHOOLS OF ALEXANDRIA.--ORIGEN.\n\n\n_Origenis Opera Omnia_, Ed. De la Rue, accurante J. P. Migne.\nParisiis. _S. Gregorii Thaumaturgi_, Oratio Panegyrica in Origenem\n(Opera Omnia), accurante J. P. Migne. Parisiis.\n\nLast July we commenced a sketch of the history and labors of Origen.\nWe resume our notes on those twenty years (211-280) which he spent\nwith little interruption at Alexandria, engaged chiefly in the\ninstruction of the catechumens. We have already seen what he did for\nthe New Testament; let us now study his labors on the Old.\n\nThe authorship of that most famous Greek version of the Old Testament,\nthe Septuagint, seems destined to be a mystery in literature. The\ngorgeous and circumstantial account of the Jew Aristeas, with all its\ndetails of embassy and counter-embassy, of the seventy-two venerable\nsages, the cells in the rock, the reverence of the Ptolemy, and the\nwind-up of banquets, gifts, and all good things, seems, as Dom\nMontfaucon says, to \"savor of the fabulous.\" There is some little\ndifficulty about dates in the matter of Demetrius Phalerius, the\nliterary minister under whose auspices the event is placed. There is a\nfar more formidable difficulty in the elevation of Philadelphus, a\ncruel, sensual despot, into a devout admirer of the law of Moses,\nbowing seven times and weeping for joy in presence of the sacred\ndocuments, and in the sudden conversion of all the cultivated Greeks\nwho are concerned in the story. The part of Aristeas's narration which\nregards the separate cells, and the wonderful agreement of the\ntranslations, is curtly set down by St. Jerome as a fiction. It seems\nprobable, moreover, that the translator of the Pentateuch was not the\nsame as the translate of the other parts of the Old Testament. In the\nmidst of uncertainties and probabilities, however, four things seem to\nbe tolerably clear; first, that the version called the LXX. was made\nat Alexandria; secondly, that it was the work of different authors;\nthirdly, that it was not inspired; fourthly, that it was a holy and\ncorrect version, quoted by the apostles, always used in the Greek\nchurch, and the basis of all the Latin editions before St Jerome's\nVulgate.\n\nAll the misfortunes that continual transcription, careless blundering,\nand wilful corruption could combine to inflict upon a manuscript had\nfallen to the lot of the Septuagint version at the time when it was\nhanded Origen to be used in the instruction of the faithful and the\nrefutation of Jew and Greek. This was only what might have been fully\nexpected from the fact that, since the Christian era, it had become\nthe court of appeal of two rival sets of controversialists--the\nChristian and the Jew. Indeed, from the very beginning it had been\ndefective, and, if we may trust St. Jerome, designedly defective; for\nthe Septuagint translation of the prophetical books had purposely\nomitted {355} passages of the Hebrew which its authors considered not\nproper to be submitted to the sight of profane Greeks and Gentiles. Up\nto the Christian era, however, we may suppose great discrepancies of\nmanuscript did not exist, and that those variations which did appear\nwere not much heeded in the comparatively rare transcription of the\ntext. The Hellenistic Jews and the Jews of Palestine used the LXX. in\nthe synagogues instead of the Hebrew. A few libraries of great cities\nhad copies, and a few learned Greeks had some idea of their existence.\nBeyond this there was nothing to make its correctness of more\nimportance than that of a liturgy or psalm-book. But, soon after the\nChristian era, its character and importance were completely changed.\nThe eunuch was reading the Septuagint version when Philip, by divine\ninspiration, came up with him and showed him that the words he was\nreading were verified in Jesus. This was prophetic of what was to\nfollow. The Christians used it to prove the divine mission of Jesus\nChrist; the Jews made the most of it to confute the same. Thereupon,\nsomewhat suspiciously, there arose among the Jews a disposition to\nunderrate the LXX., and make much of the Hebrew original. Hebrew was\nbut little known, whereas all the intellectual commerce of the world\nwas carried on by means of that Hellenistic Greek which had been\ndiffused through the East by the conquests of Alexander. If,\ntherefore, the Jews could bar all appeals to the well-known Greek, and\nremove the controversy to the inner courts of their own temple, the\ndecision, it might be expected, would not improbably turn out to be in\ntheir own favor. Just before Origen's own time more than one Jew or\nJudaizing heretic had attempted to produce Greek versions which should\nsupersede the Septuagint. Some ninety years before the period of which\nwe write, Aquila, a Jewish proselyte of Sinope, had issued what\nprofessed to be a literal translation from the Hebrew. It was so\nuncompromisingly literal that the reader sometimes found the Hebrew\nword or phrase imported bodily into the Greek, with only the slight\nalteration of new characters and a fresh ending. Its purpose was not\ndisavowed. It was to furnish the Greek-speaking Jews with a more exact\ntranslation from the Hebrew, in order to fortify them in their\nopposition to Christianity. Some five years later, Theodotion, an\nEbionite of Ephesus, made another version of the Septuagint; he did\nnot profess to re-translate it, but only to correct it where it\ndiffered from the Hebrew. A little later, and yet another Ebionite\ntried his hand on the Alexandrian version; this was Symmachus. His\ntranslation was more readable than that of Aquila, as not being so\nutterly barbarous in expression; but it was far from being elegant, or\neven correct, Greek.\n\nOf course Origen could never dream of substituting any of these\ntranslations for the Septuagint, stamped as it was with the\napprobation of the whole Eastern church. But still they might be made\nvery useful; indeed, notwithstanding the original sin of motive to\nwhich they owed their existence, we have the authority of St. Jerome,\nand of Origen himself, for saying that even the barbarous Aquila had\nunderstood his work and executed it more fairly than might have been\nexpected. What Origen wanted was to get a pure Greek version. To do\nthis he must, of course, compare it with the Hebrew; but the Hebrew\nitself might be corrupt, so he must seek help also elsewhere. Now\nthese Greek versions, made sixty, eighty, ninety years before, had\nundoubtedly, he could see, been written with the Septuagint open\nbefore their writers. Here, then, was a valuable means of testing how\nfar the present manuscripts of the Septuagint had been corrupted\nduring the last century at {356} least. He himself had collected some\nsuch manuscripts, and the duties of his office made him acquainted\nwith many more. From the commencement of his career he had been\naccustomed to compare and criticise them, and he had grown skilful, as\nmay be supposed, in distinguishing the valuable ones from those that\nwere worthless. We have said sufficient to show how the idea of the\n\"Hexapla\" arose in his mind. The Hexapla was nothing less than a\ncomplete transcription of the Septuagint side by side with the Hebrew\ntext, the agreement and divergence of the two illustrated by the\nparallel transcription of the versions of Aquila, Theodotion, and\nSymmachus; the remaining column containing the Hebrew text in Greek\nletters. The whole of the Old Testament was thus transcribed sixfold\nin parallel columns. These extra illustrations were furnished by the\npartial use of three other Greek versions which Origen found or picked\nup in his travels, and which he considered of sufficient importance to\nbe occasionally used in his great work. And Origen was not content\nwith the mere juxtaposition of the versions. The text of the\nSeptuagint given in the Hexapla was his own; that is to say, it was an\nedition of the great authoritative translation completely revised and\ncorrected by the master himself. It was a great and a daring work. Of\nits necessity there can be no doubt; but nothing except necessity\ncould have justified it; and it is certainly to the bold and\nunprecedented character of the enterprise that we owe the shape that\nhe has given it in performance. To correct the Septuagint to his own\nsatisfaction was not enough; it must be corrected to the satisfaction\nof jealous friends and, at least, reasonable enemies. Side by side,\ntherefore, with his amended text he gave the reasons and the proofs of\nhis corrections. He was scrupulously exact in pointing out where he\nhad altered by addition or subtraction. The Alexandrian critics had\ninvented a number of critical marks of varied shape and value, which\nthey industriously used on the works about which they exercised their\npropensity to criticise. Origen, \"Aristarchus sacer,\" as an admiring\nauthor calls him, did not hesitate to avail himself of these profane\n_notae_. There was the \"asterisk,\" or star, which marked what he\nhimself had thought it proper to insert, and which, therefore, the\noriginal authors of the Septuagint had apparently thought it proper to\nleave out. Then there was the \"obelus,\" or spit, the sign of\nslaughter, as St. Jerome calls it; passages so marked were not in the\noriginal Hebrew, and were thereby set down as doubtful and suspected\nby sound criticism. Moreover, there was the \"lemniscus,\" or pendent\nribbon, and its supplement, the \"hypo-lemniscus;\" what these marks\nsignified the learned cannot agree in stating. It seems certain,\nhowever, that they were not of such a decided import as the first two,\nbut implied some minor degree of divergence from the Hebrew, as for\ninstance in those passages where the translators had given an elegant\nperiphrasis instead of the original word, or had volunteered an\nexplanation which a critic would have preferred to have had in the\nmargin. The \"asterisk\" and \"obelus\" still continue to figure in those\nscraps of Origen's work that have come down to us; so, indeed, does\nthe lemniscus; but since the times of St. Epiphanius and St. Jerome no\nMS. seems to make much distinction between it and the \"asterisk.\" Of\nthe other marks, contractions, signs, and references which the MSS. of\nHexapla show, the greater part have been added by transcribers who had\nvarious purposes in view. Some of these marks are easy to interpret,\nothers continue to exercise the acumen of the keenest critics.\n\nThe Hexapla, as may be easily supposed, was a gigantic work. The labor\nof writing out the whole of the {357} Old Testament six times over,\nnot to mention those parts which were written seven, eight, or nine\ntimes, was prodigious. First came the Hebrew text twice over, in\nHebrew characters in the first column, in Greek in the second.\nBiblical scholars sigh to think of the utter loss of Origen's Hebrew\ntext, and of what would now be the state of textual criticism of the\nOld Testament did we possess such a Hebrew version of a date anterior\nto Masoretic additions. But among the scattered relics of the Hexapla\nthe Hebrew fragments are at once fewest in number and most disputable\nin character. The two columns of Hebrew were followed by Aquila the\nstiff, and be by Symmachus, so that the Jews could read their Hebrew\nand their two favorite translations side by side. Next came the\nSeptuagint itself, pointed, marked, and noted by the master.\nTheodotion closed the array, except where portions of the three extra\ntranslations before mentioned had to be brought in. Beside these\nformidable columns, which may be called the text of the Hexapla, space\nhad to be found for Origen's own marginal notes, consisting of\ncritical observations and explanations of proper names or difficult\nwords, with perhaps an occasional glance at the Syriac and Samaritan.\nFifty enormous _volumina_ would hardly have contained all this, when\nwe take into consideration that the characters were in no tiny Italian\nhand, but in great broad uncial penmanship, such as befitted the text\nand the occasion. The poverty and unprovidedness of Origen would never\nhave been able to carry such a work through had not that very poverty\nbrought him the command of money and means. It is always the detached\nmen who accomplish the really great things of the world. Origen had\nconverted from some form of heresy, probably from Valentinianism, a\nrich Alexandrian named Ambrose. The convert was one of those zealous\nand earnest men who, without possessing great powers themselves, are\nalways urging on and offering to assist those who have the right and\nthe ability to work, but perhaps not the means or the inclination. The\nadamantine Origen required no one to keep him to his work; and yet the\ngrateful Ambrose thought he could make no better return for the gift\nof the faith than to establish himself as prompter-in-chief to the man\nthat had converted him. He seems to have left his master very little\npeace. He put all his wealth at his service, and it would appear that\nhe even forced him to lodge with him. He was continually urging Origen\nto explain some passage of Scripture, or to rectify some doubtful\nreading. During supper he had manuscripts on the table, and the two\ncriticised while they ate; and the same thing went on in their walks\nand recreations. He sat beside him far into the night, prayed with him\nwhen he left his books for prayer, and after prayer went back with him\nto his books again. When the master looked round in his catechetical\nlectures, doubtless the indefatigable Ambrose was there, note-book in\nhand, and doubtless everything pertaining to the lectures was rigidly\ndiscussed when they found themselves together again; for Ambrose was a\ndeacon of the church, and as such had great interest in its external\nministration. Origen calls him his [Greek text], or _work-presser_.\nand in another place he says he is one of God's work-pressers. There\nis little doubt that the Hexapla is in great measure owing to Ambrose.\nOrigen resisted long his friend's solicitations to undertake a\nrevision of the text; reverence for the sacred words, and for the\ntradition of the ancients, held him back; but he was at length\nprevailed upon. Ambrose, indeed, did a great deal more than advise and\nexhort; he put at Origen's disposal seven short-hand writers, to take\ndown his dictations, and seven transcribers to write out fairly what\nthe others had taken down. And so the gigantic work was begun. When it\nwas finished we cannot exactly tell, but it cannot have been till near\nthe end of {358} his life, and it was probably completed at Tyre, just\nbefore he suffered for the faith. After his death, the great work,\n\"opus Ecclesia,\" as it was termed, was placed in the library of\nCaesarea of Palestine. Probably no copy of it was ever taken; the\nlabor was too great. It was seen, or at least quoted, by many; such as\nPamphylus the Martyr, Eusebius, St. Athanasius, Didymus, St. Hilary,\nSt. Eusebius of Vercelli, St. Epiphanius, St. Basil, St. Gregory\nNyssen, St. Ambrose, St. Augustine, and especially St. Jerome and\nTheodoret. It perished in the sack of Caesarea by the Persians or the\nArabs, before the end of the seventh century.  [Footnote 54]\n\n  [Footnote 54: A new edition of the fragments of the Hexapla is\n  announced, at we write, by Mr. Field, of Norwich. The first\n  instalment of this important work, for which there are now many more\n  materials than Dom Montfaucon had at command, may be expected almost\n  as we go to press. The editor's new sources are chiefly the recently\n  discovered Sinaitic MSS., and the Syro-Hexaplar version, part of\n  which he has lately re-translated into Greek in a very able manner,\n  by way of a specimen.]\n\nWe need not say much here about the Tetrapla. Its origin appears to\nhave been as follows: When the Hexapla was completed, or nearly\ncompleted, it was evident that it was too bulky to be copied. Origen,\ntherefore, superintended the production of an abridgment of it. He\nomitted the two columns of Hebrew, the great stumbling-block to\ncopyists, and suppressed some of his notes. He then transcribed\nAquila, Symmachus, and Theodotion, putting his amended version of the\nSeptuagint, without the marks and signs, just before the last. The two\nfirst answered the purposes of a Hebrew text, the last was a sort of\nconnecting link between it and the freedom of the Septuagint; and so,\nfor all practical purposes, he had a version that friends might put\ntheir trust in, and that enemies could not dispute.\n\nSuch was the work that Origen did for the Bible. It was not all done\nat once, in a year, or in ten years. It was begun almost without a\ndistinct conception of what it would one day grow to. It progressed\ngradually, in the midst of many cares and much other labor, and it was\nbarely completed when its architect's busy life was drawing to a\nclose. Every one of those twenty years at Alexandria, which we are now\ndwelling upon, must have seen the work going on. The seven short-hand\nwriters, and the seven young maidens who copied out, were Origen's\ndaily attendants, as he seems to say himself. But the catechetical\nschool was in full vigor all this time. Indeed, the critical fixing of\nthe Bible text, wonderful as it was, was only the material part of his\nwork. He had to preach the Bible, not merely to write it out. His\npreaching will take us to a new scene and to new circumstances--to\nCaesarea, where the greater part of his homilies were delivered. But,\nbefore we accompany him thither, we must take a glance at his school\nat Alexandria, and try to realize how he spoke and taught. We have\nalready described his manner of life, and the description of his\nbiblical labors will have given some idea of a very important part of\nhis daily work; what we have now to do is to supplement this by the\npicture of him as the head of the great catechetical school.\n\nOne of the most striking characteristics of the career of Origen is\nthe way in which his work grew upon him. It is, indeed, a feature in\nthe lives of all the great geniuses who have served the church and\nlived in her fold, that they have achieved greatness by an apparently\nunconscious following of the path of duty rather than by any brilliant\nexcursion under the guidance of ambition. Origen was the very opposite\nof a proud philosopher or self-appointed dogmatizer. He did not come\nto his task with the consciousness that he was the man of his age, and\nthat he was born to set right the times. We have seen his birth and\nbringing up, we have seen how he found himself in the important place\nthat he held, and we have seen how all his success {359} seemed to\ncome to him whilst he was merely bent on carrying through with the\nutmost industry the affair that had been placed in his hands. We have\nseen that, so far was he from trying to fit the gospel to the\nexigencies of a cramped philosophy,--that he was brought up and passed\npart of his youth without any special acquaintance with philosophy or\nphilosophers. He found, however, on resuming his duties as catechist,\nthat if he wished to do all the good that offered itself to his hand,\nhe must make himself more intimate with those great minds who, erring\nas he knew them to be, yet influenced so much of what was good and\nnoble in heathenism. At that very time, a movement, perhaps a\nresurrection, was taking place in Gentile philosophy. A teacher,\nbrilliant as Plato himself, and with secrets to develop that Plato had\nonly dreamt of, was in possession of the lecture-hall of the Museum.\nAmmonius Saccas had landed at Alexandria as a common porter; nothing\nbut uncommon energy and extraordinary talents can have given him a\nposition in the university and a place in history, as the teacher of\nthe philosophic Trinity and the real founder of Neo-Platonism. Origen,\nto whom the Museum had been strange ground in his early youth, saw\nhimself compelled to frequent it at the age of thirty. Saccas, to be\nsure, was probably a Christian of some sort. At any rate, the\nChristian teacher went and heard him, and made himself acquainted with\nwhat it was that was charming the ears of his fellow-citizens, and\nfurnishing ground for half of the objections and difficulties that his\ncatechumens and would-be converts brought to him for solution. That\nthe influence of these studies is seen in his writings is not to be\ndenied. It would be impossible for any mind but the very dullest to\ntouch the spirit of Plato and not to be impressed and affected. The\nwritings of Origen at this period include three philosophical works.\nThere is first the \"Notes on the Philosophers,\" which is entirely\nlost. We may suppose it to have been the common-place book wherein was\nentered what he learnt from his teacher, and what he thought of the\nteacher and the doctrine. Then there is the \"Stromata\" (a work of the\nsame nature as the Stromata of his master, St. Clement), whose leading\nidea was the great master-idea of Clement, that Plato and Aristotle\nand the rest were all partially right, but had failed to see the whole\ntruth, which can only be known by revelation. This work, also, is\nlost--all but a fragment or two. Thirdly, there is the celebrated\nwork, [Greek text], or, \"De Principiis.\" Eusebius tells us expressly\nthat this work was written at Alexandria. Most unfortunately, we have\nthis treatise not in the original, but in two rival and contradictory\nLatin versions, one by St. Jerome, the other by Ruffinus. Both profess\nto be faithful renderings of a Greek original, and on the decision as\nto which version is the genuine translation depends in great measure\nthe question of Origen's orthodoxy or heterodoxy. And yet this\ntreatise, \"De Principiis,\" much as it has been abused, from Marcellus\nof Ancyra down to the last French author who copied out Dom Ceillier,\nand waiving the discussion of certain particular opinions that we may\nhave yet to advert to, seems to us to bear the stamp of Origen on\nevery page. It is such a work as a man would have written who had come\nfresh from an exposition of deep heathen philosophy, and who felt,\nwith feelings too deep for expression, that all the beauty and depth\nof the philosophy he had heard were overmatched a thousand times by\nthe philosophy of Jesus Christ. It is the first specimen, in Christian\nliterature, of a regular scientific treatise on the _principles_ of\nChristianity. Every one knows that a discussion on the principles or\nsources of the world, of man, of life, was one of the commonest shapes\nof controversy between the {360} schools of philosophy; and at that\nvery time, the great Longinus, who probably sat beside Origen in the\nschool of Ammonius Saccas, was writing or thinking out a treatise with\nthe very title of that of Origen. It was a natural idea, therefore, to\nshow his scholars that he could give them better _principia_ than the\nheathens. The treatise takes no notice, or next to none, of heathen\nphilosophy and its disputes; but it travels over well-known ground,\nand what is more, it provokes comparison in a very significant manner.\nFor instance, the words wherewith it commences are words which Plato\nintroduces in the \"Gorgias,\" and to those who knew that elaborate\ndialogue, the sudden and unhesitating introduction of the name of\nChrist, and the calm position that he and none else is the truth, and\nthat in him is the science of the good and happy life, must have been\nquite as striking as its author probably intended it to be. The\ntreatise is not in the Platonic form--the dialogue; that form, which\nwas suitable to the days of the Sophists and the sharp-tongued\nAthenians, had been superseded at Alexandria by the ornate monologue,\nmore suitable to an audience of novices and wonderers. Origen adopts\nthis form. One God made all things, himself a pure spirit; there is a\nTrinity of divine persons, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; of the\nrational creatures of God, some fell irremediably, others fell not at\nall; others again--that is, the race of man--fell, but not\nirremediably, having a mediator in Jesus Christ, being assisted by the\ngood angels and persecuted by the bad; the wonderful fact that the\nWord was made flesh; man's free will, eternal punishment and eternal\nreward; such are the heads of the subjects treated of in the \"De\nPrincipiis.\" The lame and disjointed condition of the present text is\nevident on a very cursory examination; it is perfectly unworthy of the\n\"contra Celsum.\" But the reader who studies the text carefully, by the\nlight of contemporary thought, can hardly help thinking that materials\nso solid and good must have been put together in a form as\nsatisfactory and as conclusive. A first attempt in any science is\nalways more admired for its genius than criticised for its faults.\nThis of Origen's was a first attempt toward a scientific theology. We\nsay a theology, not a philosophy; for, though philosophic in form, and\naccepted as philosophy by his hearers, it is wholly theological in\nmatter, being founded on the continual word of Holy Scripture, and not\nunfrequently undertaking to refute heresy. Christianity, as we have\nbefore observed, was looked upon by strangers as a philosophy, and its\ndoctors rightly allowed them to think so, and even called it so\nthemselves. Now the \"De Principiis\" was Origen's philosophy of\nChristianity. It did not prove so much as draw out into system. It\nanswered all the questions of the day. What is God? asked the\nphilosophers. He is the creator of all things, and a pure spirit,\nanswered the Christian catechist. Is not this Trinity a wonderful\nidea? said the young students to each other, after hearing Saccas.\nChristianity, said Origen, teaches a Trinity far more awful and\nwonderful, and far more reasonable, too--a Trinity, not of ideas, but\nof persons. The new school talked of the inferior gods that ruled the\nlower world, and of the demons, good and bad, who executed their\nbehests. The Christian philosopher explained the great fact of\ncreation, and laid down the true doctrine of guardian angels and\ntempting devils. The constitution of man was another puzzle; the\nrebellion of the passions, the nature of sin, the question of\nfree-will. Plotinus, who listened to Saccas at the same time as\nOrigen, has left us the attempts at the solution of these difficulties\nthat were accepted in the school of his master; the answers of Origen\nmay be read in the \"De Principiis.\" The earnest among the heathen\n{361} philosophers were totally in the dark as to the state of soul\nand of body after death. Some were ashamed of having a body at all,\nand few of them could see of what use it was, or how it could subserve\nthe great end of arriving at union with God. Origen dwells with marked\nemphasis, and with tender lingering, on the great key of mysteries,\nthe incarnation, and its consequences, the resurrection of the flesh;\nand shows how the body is to be kept down in this life by the rational\nwill, that it too may have its glory in the life to come. The whole\neffort and striving of Neo-Platonism was to enable the soul to be\nunited with the Divinity. Origen accepted this; it was the object of\nthe Christian philosophy as well; but he drew into prominence two\nall-important facts--first, the necessity of the grace of God;\nsecondly, the moral and not physical nature of the purification of the\nsoul; together with the Christian dogma that it was only after death\nthat perfect union could take place. All this must have been perfectly\nfitted to the time and the occasion. And yet there are evident signs\nthat it was not delivered or written as a manifesto to the frequenters\nof the Museum; it was evidently meant as an instruction to the upper\nclass of the catechetical school. Its author's first idea was that he\nwas a Christian teacher, and he spoke to Christians who believed the\nHoly Scriptures. What his words might do for others he was not\ndirectly concerned with, but there is no doubt that the subjects\ntreated of in the \"De Principiis\" must have been discussed over and\nover again with those students and philosophers from the university\nwho, as Eusebius tells us, flocked to hear him in such numbers, and\nalso with that large class of Christians who still retained their love\nof scientific learning, though believing most firmly in the faith of\nJesus Christ.\n\nOf the matter of his ordinary catechetical instructions we need say\nlittle, because it is evident that it would be mainly the same as it\nhas been under the like circumstances in all ages. Those of St. Cyril\nof Jerusalem, delivered a century later, may furnish us with a good\nidea of them, saving where doctrinal distinctions are discussed which\nhad not arisen in the time of the elder teacher. It is rather\nextra-ordinary that so little trace has reached us of any formal\ncatechetical discourse of Origen. We are inclined to think, however,\nthat the \"De Principiis,\" in its _original_ form, must have been the\nsummary or embodiment of his periodical instructions. But we have\nnumerous hints at what he taught in the several works on Holy\nScripture, some lost, some still partly extant, which he composed\nduring these twenty years at Alexandria. It appears that he was in the\nhabit of writing three different kinds of commentary on the\nScriptures; first, brief comments or notices, such as he has left in\nthe Hexapla; secondly, scholia, or explanations of some length; and\nthirdly, regular homilies. But his homilies belong to a later period.\nAt Alexandria he commented St. John's Gospel (a labor that occupied\nhim all his life), Genesis, several of the Psalms, and the \"Canticle\nof Canticles,\" a celebrated work, yet extant in a Latin version, of\nwhich it has been said that whereas in his other commentaries he\nexcelled all other interpreters, in this he excelled himself. But the\nwhole interesting subject of his creation of Scripture-commenting must\nbe treated of when we follow him to Caesarea, and listen to him\npreaching.\n\nWhat we desire now, to complete our idea of his Alexandrian career,\nand of what we may call the inner life of his teaching, is, that some\none--a contemporary and a scholar, if possible--should describe his\nmethod and manner, and let us know how he treated his hearers and how\nthey liked him. Fortunately, the very witness and document that we\nwant is ready to our hands. One of the most famous of Origen's\nscholars was St. Gregory Thaumaturgus, and the most {362} interesting\nof the extant works of that father is undoubtedly the discourse and\npanegyric which he pronounced upon his master, on the occasion of\nbidding farewell to his school. Gregory, or, as he was then called,\nTheodore, and his brother Athenodorus, were of a noble and wealthy\nfamily of Cappadocia; that is to say, probably, descendants of Greek\ncolonists of the times of the Alexandrian conquests, though, no doubt,\nwith much Syrian blood in their veins. When Gregory was fourteen they\nlost their father, and the two wealthy young orphans were left to the\ncare of their mother. Under her guidance they were educated according\nto their birth and position, and in a few years began to study for the\nprofession of public speakers. As they would have plenty of money, it\nmattered little what they took to; but the profession of an orator was\nsomething like what the bar is now, and gave a man an education that\nwould be useful if he required it, and ornamental whether he required\nit or not. The best judges pronounced that the young men would soon be\nfinished _rhetores_; St. Gregory tells us so, but will not say whether\nhe thinks their opinion right, and before proof could be made the two\nyouths had been persuaded by a master they were very fond of to take\nup the study of Roman jurisprudence. Berytus, a city of Phoenicia,\nbetter known to the modern world as Beyrout, had just then attained\nthat great eminence as a school for Roman law which it preserved for\nnigh three centuries. Thither the young Cappadocians were to go. Their\nmaster had taught them what he could, and wished either to accompany\nthem to the law university or to send them thither to be finished and\nperfected. It does not appear, however, that they ever really got\nthere. Most biographies of St. Gregory say that they studied there;\nwhat St. Gregory himself says is, that they were on their way thither,\nbut that, having to pass through Caesarea (of Palestine), they met\nwith Origen, to whom they took so great an affection that he converted\nthem to Christianity and kept them by him there and at Alexandria for\nfive years. The \"Oratio Panegyrica\" was delivered at Caesarea, and\nafter the date of Origen's twenty years as catechist at Alexandria;\nbut it will be readily understood that the whole spirit, and, indeed,\nthe whole details, of the composition are as applicable to Alexandria\nas to Caesarea; for his teaching work was precisely of the same nature\nat the latter city as at the former, with a trifling difference in his\nposition. The oration of St. Gregory is a formal and solemn effort of\nrhetoric, spoken at some public meeting, perhaps in the school, in the\npresence of learned men and of fellow-students, and of the master\nhimself. It is written very elegantly and eloquently, but it is in a\nstyle that we should call young, did we not know that to make parade\nof apophthegms and weighty sayings, to moralize rather too much, to\npursue metaphors unnecessarily, and to beat about a thing with words\nso as to do everything but say it, was the characteristic of most\norators, old and young, from the days of Ptolemy Philadelphus till the\ndays when oratory, as a profession, expired before anarchy and the\nbarbarians. But its literary merits, though great, are the least of\nits recommendations. Its value as a theological monument is shown by\nthe appeals made to it in the controversy against Arius; and in more\nrecent times Bishop Bull, for instance, has made great use of it in\nhis \"Defensio Fidei Nicaenae.\" To us, at present, its most important\nservice is the light it sheds upon the teaching of Origen. We need\nmake no apology for making St. Gregory the type of the Alexandrian or\nCaesarean scholar; they may not have been all like him, but one real\nliving specimen will tell us more than much abstract description.\n\nFirst of all, then, the scholar was not of an emphatically philosophic\ncast of mind. The Greek philosophers were absolutely unknown to him.\nHe was a rich and clever young {363} man, bade fair to be a good\nspeaker, studied the law not because he liked it, but because his\nfriends and his master wished it; thought the Latin language very\nimperial, but _very_ difficult; and had a habit of taking up what\nopinions he did adopt more after the manner of clothes that he could\nchange as he pleased than as immutable truths. He was of a warm and\naffectionate disposition, and had a keen appreciation of physical and\nmoral beauty. He was not without leanings to Christianity, but he\nleaned to it in an easy, off-hand sort of way, as he might have leaned\nto a new school in poetry or a new style of dress. He had no idea that\nthere is such a thing as the absolutely right and the absolutely wrong\nin ethics any more than in taste. He was confirmed in this state of\nmind by the philosophic schools of the day, among whom it was\nconsidered disreputable to change one's opinions, however good the\nreasons for a change might be; which was to degrade philosophy from\ntruth to the mere spirit of party, and to make a philosopher not a\nlover of wisdom but a volunteer of opinion. So prepared and\nconstituted, the scholar, on his way to Berytus, fell in with Origen,\nnot so much by accident as by the disposition of Providence and the\nguidance of his angel guardian; so at least he thought himself. The\nfirst process which he went through at the hands of the master is\ncompared by the scholar to the catching of a beast, or a bird, or a\nfish, in a net. Philosophizing had small charms for the accomplished\nyoung man; to philosophize was precisely what the master had\ndetermined he should do. We must remember the meaning of the word\n[Greek text]; it meant to think, act, and live as a man who seeks true\nwisdom. All the sects acknowledge this theoretically; what Clement and\nOrigen wanted to show, among other things, was that only a Christian\nwas a true philosopher in practice. Hence the net he spread for\nTheodore, a net of words, strong and not to be broken. \"You are a fine\nand clever young man,\" he seemed to say; \"but to what purpose are your\naccomplishments and your journeys hither and thither? you cannot\nanswer me the simple question, Who are you? You are going to study the\nlaws of Rome, but should you not first have some definite notion as to\nyour last end, as to what is real evil and what is real good? You are\nlooking forward to enjoyment from your wealth and honor from your\ntalents; why, so does every poor, sordid, creeping mortal on the\nearth; so even do the brute beasts. Surely the divine gift of reason\nwas given you to help you to live to some higher end than this.\" The\nscholar hesitated, the master insisted. The view was striking in\nitself, but the teacher's personal gifts made it strike far more\neffectually. \"He was a mixture,\" says the scholar, \"of geniality,\npersuasiveness, and compulsion. I wanted to go away, but could not;\nhis words held me like a cord.\" The young man, unsettled as his mind\nhad been, yet had always at heart believed in some sort of Divine\nBeing. Origen completed the conquest of his intellect by showing him\nthat without philosophy, that is, without correct views on morality,\nthe worship of God, or _piety_, as it used to be called, is\nimpossible. And yet wisdom and eloquence might have been thrown away\nhere as in so many other cases had not another influence, imperious\nand all-powerful, been all this time rising up in his heart. The\nscholar began to love the master. It was not an ordinary love, the\nlove with which Origen inspired his hearers. It was an intense, almost\na fierce, love (we are almost translating the words of the original),\na fitting response to the genuineness and kindly spirit of one who\nseemed to think no pains or kindness too great to win the young heart\nto true morality, and thereby to the worship of the only God--\"to that\nsaving word,\" says St. Gregory, in his lofty style, \"which alone can\nteach God-service, which to whomsoever it comes home {364} it makes a\nconquest of them; and this gift God seems to have given to him, beyond\nall men now in the world.\" To that sacred and lovely word, therefore,\nand to the man who was its interpreter and its friend, sprang up in\nthe heart of the scholar a deep, inextinguishable love. For that the\nabandoned pursuits and studies which he had hitherto considered\nindispensable; for that he left the \"grand\" laws of Rome, and forsook\nthe friends he had left at home, and the friends that were then at his\nside. \"And the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David,\" quotes\nthe scholar, noting that the text speaks emphatically of the union of\nthe soul, which no earthly accidents can affect, and finding a\nparallel to himself in Jonathan, to his master in David, the wise, the\nholy, and the strong. And though the hour for parting had come, the\nmoment when these bonds of the soul should be severed would never\ncome!\n\nThe scholar was now completely in the hands of his teacher---\"as a\nland,\" he says, \"empty, unproductive, and the reverse of fertile,\nsaline\" (like the waste lands near the Nile), \"burnt up, stony,\ndrifted with sand; yet not absolutely barren; nay, with qualities\nwhich might be worth cultivating, but which had hitherto been left\nwithout tillage or care, to be overgrown with thorn and thicket.\" He\ncan hardly make enough of this metaphor of land and cultivation to\nshow the nature of the work that the teacher had with his mind. We\nhave to read on for some time before we find out that all this\nvigorous grubbing, ploughing, harrowing, and sowing represents the\ndialectical training which Origen gave his pupils, such pupils, at\nleast, as those of whom Gregory Thaumaturgus was the type. In fact,\nthe dialectics of the Platonists and their off-shoots is very\ninadequately represented by the modern use of the word logic. It seems\nto have signified, as nearly as a short definition can express it, the\nrectifying the ideas of the mind about itself, and about those things\nmost intimately connected with it. A modern student takes up his\nmanual of logic, or sits down in his class-room with his most\nimportant ideas, either correct and settled, or else incorrect, beyond\nthe cure of logic. At Alexandria manuals were scarce, and the ideas of\nthe converts from heathenism were so utterly and fundamentally\nconfused, that the first lessons of the Christian teacher to an\neducated Greek or Syrian necessarily took the shape of a Socratic\ndiscussion, or a disquisition on principles. And so the scholar, not\nwithout much amazement and ruffling of the feelings, found the field\nof his mind unceremoniously cleared out, broken up, and freshly\nplanted. But, the process once complete, the result was worth the\ninconvenience.\n\nIt was about this stage, also, that the master insisted on a special\ntraining in natural history and mathematics. In his youth Origen had\nbeen educated, as we have seen, by his father in the whole circle of\nthe sciences of the day. Such an education was possible then, though\nimpossible now, and the spirit of Alexandrian teaching was especially\nattached to the sciences that regarded numbers, the figure of the\nearth, and nature. The schools of the Greek philosophers had always\ntolerated these sciences in their own precincts; nay, most of the\nschools themselves had arisen from attempts made in the direction of\nthose very sciences, and few of them had attempted to distinguish\naccurately between physics and metaphysics. Moreover, geography,\nastronomy, and geometry, were the peculiar property of the Museum, for\nEratosthenes, Euclid, Ilipparchus, and Ptolemy himself, had observed\nand taught within its walls. Origen, therefore, would not be likely to\nundervalue those interesting sciences which he had studied with his\nfather, and which nine out of ten of his educated catechumens were\nmore or less {365} acquainted, and puzzled, or delighted, with. Happy\ndays when mathematics was little and chemistry in its infancy, when\nastronomy lived shut up in a tower, clad in mystic vesture, and when\ngeology was yet in the womb of its mother earth! Enviable times, when\nthey all (such at least as were born) could be sufficiently attended\nto and provided for in a casual paragraph of a theological\ninstruction, or brought into a philosophical discussion to be admired\nand dismissed! Origen, however, had, as usual, a deeper motive for\nbringing physics and mathematics into his system. We need not remind\nthe reader that, if Plato can be considered to have a weak part, that\npart is where he goes into Pythagorean speculations about bodies,\nnumbers, and regular solids. His revivers, about the time we are\nspeaking of, had with the usual instinct of revivers found out his\nweak part, and made the most of it, as if it had been the sublimest\nevolution of his genius. We may guess what was taking place from what\nafterward did take place, when even Porphyry fluctuated all his life\nbetween pretensions to philosophy and what Saint Augustine calls\n\"sacrilegious curiosity,\" and when the whimsical triads of poor old\nProclus were powerless to stop the deluge of theurgy, incantations,\nand all superstitions that finally swamped Neo-Platonism for ever.\nWith this view present to our minds the words of the scholar in this\nplace are very significant \"By these two studies, geometry and\nastronomy, he made us _a path toward heaven_,\" The three words that\nSaint Gregory uses in the description of this part of the master's\nteaching are worth noticing. The first is Geometry, which is taken to\nmean everything that relates to the earth's surface. The second is\nastronomy, which treats of the face of the heavens. The third is\nphysiology, which is the science of nature, or of all that comes\nbetween heaven and earth. So that Origen's scientific teaching was\ntruly encyclopaedic. He was, moreover, an experimental philosopher,\nand did not merely retail the theories of others. He analyzed things\nand resolved them into their elements (their \"very first\" elements,\nsays the scholar); he descanted on the multiform changes and\nconversions of things, partly from his own discoveries, and gave his\nhearers a rational admiration for the sacredness and perfection of\nnature, instead of a blind and stupid bewilderment; he \"carved on\ntheir minds geometry the unquestionable, so dear to all, and astronomy\nthat searches the upper air.\" What were the precise details of his\nteachings on these subjects it would be unfair to ask, even if it were\npossible to answer. We know that he thought diamonds and precious\nstones were formed from dew, but this is no proof he was behind his\nage; and his acquaintance with the literature of the subject proves he\nwas, if anything, before it. With regard to naphtha, the magnet, and\nthe looking-glass, it will be pleasing to know he was substantially\nright. He was, perhaps, the first to make a spiritual use of the\naccepted notion that the serpent was powerless against the stag; the\nreason is, he says, that the stag is the type of Christ warring\nagainst Anti-Christ. That he believed in griffins is unfortunate, but\nnatural in an Alexandrian, who had lived in an atmosphere d stories\nbrought down from the upper Nile by the ingenious sailors. As to his\n\"denying the existence of _the Tragelaphus_\" we must remain ignorant\nwhether it redounds to his credit or otherwise, until modern\nresearches have exhausted the African continent.\n\nTO BE CONTINUED.\n\n------\n\n{366}\n\n\nTranslated from the Revue Contemporaine.\n\nEVE DE LA TOUR-D'ADAM.\n\nBY G. DE LA LANDELLE.\n\n\nI hate those pretentious and high-sounding Christian names which\ncertain upstarts inflict as a label of ridicule on their children;\nbut, though I should be accused of having two weights and two\nmeasures, I should be pleased to see perpetuated in the descendants of\na noble race the most fantastic of those chosen by their ancestors. My\nantipathy gives way before the religion of remembrance, before heroic\nor knightly traditions. I love then even their oddity. I can pardon\neven their triviality. I perceive only the old glory, the reflection\nof which is preserved by these consecrated names.\n\nAmong the Roqueforts, who claim to have sprung from the Merovingians,\nthey have, even to our days, the names of Clodimir, Chilp\u00e9rie, or\nBathilde. Since the time of the Crusades, the youngest son of the Du\nMaistres is always an Amaury. The Canluries of Gonneville owe their\nnames of Arosca and Essomerie to the discoveries of the celebrated\nnavigator, their ancestor, who brought from southern lands, in 1503,\nthe Prince Essomerie, son of the King Arosca, whom he adopted and\nmarried later, in Normandy, to one of his relations. There is a family\nin Brittany who never part with the names of Audren, Salomon, Grallow,\nor Conau. The Corr\u00e9as, originally from Portugal, pride themselves on\nseeing on their genealogical tree those of Caramuru and of\nParaguassus, which signify the _Man of Fire_ and _Great River_.\n\nChivalry, the Crusades, some semi-fabulous legend, some marvellous\nchronicle, the grand adventures of a Tancred or a Bohemond, the\nexploits of a Tannegry, finally, the great alliances, explain and\njustify in certain families the privileged use of first names too\nrare, or too commonplace, fantastic, romantic, strange, or old, to be\nsuitable except for them.\n\nNow, it was thus that, in virtue of an old custom, the grand-daughter\nof the Marquis de La Tour-d'Adam had received that of Eve at the\nbaptismal fonts of St. Sulpice.\n\nIn passing the Gorge d'Enfer, not far from the famous valley of\nRoncevaux, you have perhaps remarked the ruins, still majestic, of a\ntower which leans above a frightful precipice. The shepherds of the\ncountry maintain that it was built by the fathers of the human race;\nwere I the most profound of archaeologists I should be very careful\nnot to contradict them. Who can prove that the Pyrenees did not rise\non the limits of Eden? In the fourteenth century was not all Europe\nconvinced that the terrestrial paradise, engulfed in the Atlantic,\nrises partly above the water in the form of Saint Brandan's Isle, the\npromised land of the saints, where Enoch and Elias await the last day?\n\nIn the same manner that the erudite La Tour d'Auvergne, as simple as\nhe was brave, has demonstrated in his \"Origines Gauloises\" that Adam\nand Eve spoke Bas-Breton, in the same manner the Basque tongue\nfurnishes unexceptionable proofs of the antiquity {367} of the times\nof Adam which the waters of the deluge respected.\n\nBe this as it may, antediluvian or not, Punic or Roman, Gothic,\nSaracen, or Spanish, the old tower was the cradle of an illustrious\nfamily--illustrious on both sides of the Pyrenees. From time\nimmemorial the first-born was given the name of Adam or of Eve.\n\nAt the beginning of this simple history we have not the leisure to\nrecount how a royal Moorish prisoner, who, it is said, was called\nAdam, escaped from the tower, carrying with him the heiress of the\ncastle. Nor can we stop from the wars in Palestine one of the warlike\nancestors of our Parisian heroine, a proud Crusader, who brought to\nhis domains an Oriental Eve, the beloved daughter of we know not what\nSaladin.\n\nThese different traditions, which were not the only ones, made the\ncustoms of their ancestors very dear to the family of La Tour-d'Adam;\nbut the young and merry companions of the grand-daughter of the last\nmarquis did not care to inquire into the cause of her unusual name.\nThey kept themselves in bounds in finding it tolerably ridiculous that\nshe should be called just like the ancestors of the human species.\n\n\"Really, I do not know who could have served as god-mother to our\nbeautiful friend,\" said Clarisse Dufresnois, biting her lips. \"In my\ndays I would not consent to give so dangerous a name. When one hears\nit one seems to have a too decided fancy for forbidden fruit.\"\n\n\"Oh! Clarisse, that is mean,\" murmured Leonore.\n\nThis charitable and timid observation received no response. Albertine,\nValerie, Suzanne, and several other young girls, who were chattering\ntogether while waiting the opening of the ball, seemed by their smiles\nto encourage the mocking spirit of Clarisse Dufresnois. They made a\ncharming group. Blondes and brunettes, red and white, adorned with\nflowers and ribbons with delicate taste, they presented to the view an\nadorable reunion of smiles and graces, as they said in the last\ncentury. Youth, gaiety, freshness, beautiful black eyes, large blue\neyes, lovely figures, wilful airs, piquant countenances, enjoyment,\nvivacity, delicacy--what then did they lack that the gentlemen\ncavaliers should make them wait? Truly, we cannot say; but their\nhabitual delay contradicted the olden fame of French gallantry. These\ngentlemen, without doubt, were a thousand times culpable for\nClarisse's little sarcasms.\n\n\"With the fortunate name of Eve,\" she continued, \"should one not\nalways be the first to show herself?\"\n\n\"If you would say, at least the first to arrive,\" interrupted Leonore.\n\n\"But it has a grand air to appear late; it produces a sensation; one\nseats by her entrance all the most elegant dancers; one would be\nwatched for, desired, impatiently waited for.\"\n\n\"For that matter, I am sure,\" said Leonore quickly, \"Eve thinks little\nabout all that; she is as simple as she is good.\"\n\n\"You see, girls,\" replied Clarisse, with equal vivacity, \"that I have\nsaid something evil of our dear Eve! Goodness! I love her with all my\nheart. She is languid, cool, and sentimental; she has her little\neccentricities. Who of us has not? I said simply that she is always\nthe last to arrive; but, however, I do not think she is so much\noccupied in varying her toilette. She is inevitably crowned with\nartificial jasmine.\"\n\n\"Nothing becomes her better,\" said Leonore. \"Beside, Eve is\nsufficiently pretty to be charming in anything.\"\n\n\"Doubtless,\" replied Clarisse, a little piqued; \"only I ask, how can\nyou tell what becomes her best when she has never worn anything else\nfor at least four years.\"\n\n\"Four!\" cried nearly all the girls. \"Four years! Why, that is an age!\"\n\n\"Four years of jasmine!\" said Valerie; \"what constancy!\"\n\n{368}\n\n\"Bouquet, garland, crown, and I don't know what else,\" continued\nClarisse, \"Eve always has jasmine in some shape.\"\n\n\"For me,\" said Suzanne, \"I would not, for anything on earth, show\nmyself three times in succession with a branch or wreath of jasmine.\"\n\nThe word jasmine, repeated four or five times, made a young girl\ntremble as she entered, and, not knowing any of the young ladies, seat\nherself at a distance; but, as if drawn by the word which affected her\nso singularly, Louise de Mirefont took her place nearest to Clarisse.\n\nLouise was nineteen; she did not yield in natural grace to Suzanne nor\nto Valerie; her color was equal in freshness to the charming\nAlbertine's; Lucienne had not such brilliant black hair, Leonore an\nexpression of gentleness not more sympathetic. A timidity acquired,\nperhaps, by a sudden trouble veiled the looks of the new rival who now\ndisputed with all the palm of beauty; a lively carnation spread itself\nover her features, which had a faultless purity. With her blushes and\nher embarrassment was mingled a vague sentiment of sadness; but what\nphysiognomist would have been sufficiently skilful to explain the\nimpression which affected her?\n\nOf all the merry young girls collected at the ball, Louise was the\nsimplest attired. She was beautiful enough to carry off any costume; a\nsimple white dress, a light, rose-colored ribbon around her waist,\nthat was all. All her companions had either flowers or pearls in their\nhair; she alone had no other coiffure than her waving curls, which\nrolled round her white shoulders. Each young girl had some rarity in\nher toilette. Clarisse, for example, had admirable bracelets and\near-rings, Lucienne, had a valuable cameo, Suzanne was distinguished\nby a spencer of an original pattern, even Leonore by knots of ribbons\nof exquisite taste, Albertine by bands of coral interwoven in the\ntresses of her fair hair.\n\nNo borrowed ornament could have increased the value of Louise's\ncharms, whom if one could not without hesitation discern as the prize\nof the concourse, at least as the most faithful lover of the Greek\ntype the model of which she presented in her classic perfection.\n\nAt the moment she approached, Leonore had said, indulgently: \"Four\nyears! four winters!--without doubt Clarisse exaggerates.\"\n\n\"No, Miss Leonore, I do not exaggerate; I repeat that for four years\nEve has worn only jasmine.\"\n\nClarisse alone could call up the memories of four years; she was the\noldest of all her friends. Some of these had been only a few months\nout of the convent, others had made their entrance into society only\nthe winter preceding. She was not even of the same age as Eve, who had\ncome out much earlier than any of them.\n\nClarisse had just passed the age of twenty-five. Having dreamed of six\nor seven superb marriages, she had the grief of aspiring to a seventh\ndream, and this was why her indulgence, at all times mediocre enough,\nwent decreasing in hope as hope deceived, or in inverse ratio to the\nsquare of her age, to help ourselves for once, by chance, by the\nalgebraic style. Clarisse could have said, but she did not, that she\nhad seen Eve de La Tour-d'Adam, crowned with roses, the first time she\nappeared at the house of the Comtesse de Peyrolles.\n\nFour or five springs, at most, made a second crown of roses for the\nbrow of that maiden, who conducted an old septuagenary whose ideas and\ndecorations recounted the exploits of a generation almost extinct. Eve\nadvanced on the arm of the Marquis de La Tour-d'Adam, who had not been\nseen for several years. Man of the world as he had been in his youth,\nand was no longer, the marquis reserved to himself to introduce her\ninto society. {369} Eve was very young, but the weight of years was\nheavy on the old man. The hour was advanced because he wished it so.\n\nTheir entrance made a great sensation; Clarisse remembered that it\nmade too much.\n\nFair, delicately pale, frail and slender as a wasp, the only and last\nheiress of the Lords de La Tour-d'Adam, Eve, the child yet unknown,\nattracted all eyes. Give life to one of those aerial vignettes to\nwhich the English sculptors deny nothing, unless it is a soul; render\nmotion to those images of the saints which the simple and pious\nworkmen sculpture and _animate_ in some sort with their faith, for the\nfront of our temples; spread an expression of angelic sweetness and\ninfinite tenderness over the countenance of a virgin purer than the\nazure of the sky; around this creation of your least profane thought\nlet there reign an atmosphere of generous sympathies, that hearts may\nbe touched, that souls may he captive, that men and women shall be\nequally attracted by this undefined sentiment, commonly called of\ninterest, that this interest shall extend to every harmonious gesture,\nto every movement, to every word of the fair young girl; take into\naccount the veneration inspired by the presence of the old gentleman,\nher grandfather--and you will understand at once what was Eve, and the\neffect of her first appearance at Madame de Peyrolles'.\n\nFour years had passed since then. Eve now had entered her nineteenth\nyear. Had she grown old in one day, had she grown young again, or some\nslow suffering, unknown phenomenon, some mysterious illness, was it,\nthat, without wasting the young girl, abruptly arrested her\ndevelopment, up to that time so precocious? But, such as she was seen\nat Madame de Peyrolles' four winters before, as such Eve reappeared in\nthe same drawing-room; only Clarisse Dufresnois had said enough about\nit--the crown of roses was replaced by a branch of jasmine entwined in\nher golden hair.\n\nAnd, indeed, a branch of jasmine was placed on the front of the girl's\ndress, when dressed for the ball, and, accompanied by Madame du\nCastellet, her governess, she presented herself to her grandfather,\nwho awaited her in the west parlor of the mansion of La Tour-d'Adam\nand welcomed her with a tender smile.\n\nEve came forward raising to him her sweet blue eyes, and, in melodious\naccents:\n\n\"My father,\" she said, \"I have obeyed you; you see I am ready; but why\nwill you oblige me to leave you again alone for all one long evening?'\n\n\"Child, I shall not be alone; I shall think that my Eve is amusing\nherself, I shall see her as if I were there! Youth should have\ninnocent distractions. Oh! thou hast nobly loved me with all thy\nheart, but the society of an old man like me does not suffice at thy\nage.\"\n\n\"God knows I would renounce this ball with happiness, in order to give\nyou your evening reading.\"\n\n\"I do not doubt it, my child; but you have promised me that you will\ngo; go then, amuse yourself with your companions; dance, frolic,\nreceive the homage which is your due. I am not a miser who hides his\ntreasure, I wish that my diamond should shine for all eyes; your\ntriumphs are mine, and your gaiety is the joy of my life.\"\n\n\"My father, I am never gay except by your side.\"\n\nThe old man smiled, not without a little incredulity, but the young\ngirl's clear eyes were fixed on him with a touching expression of\nveneration and filial love. Eve repeated with affecting candor that\nthe watch by her grandfather's side was to her a thousand times\npreferable to the noisy pleasures of the world; she grew animated,\nand, drawing yet nearer, she said:\n\n{370}\n\n\"When I have passed the evening with you, I return joyously to my\nroom, my heart full of noble thoughts. Often you have recounted to us\nsome incidents of your life, and I am proud of being your child; I\nwish for power to imitate your generous example; finally, I find an\ninexpressible charm in your recollections and in your narratives. If\nyou have spoken to me of my father and my mother, whom I have never\nknown, I am still happy; my melancholy is sweet; I represent to myself\nas my guardian angels those whom your words make me love more every\nday.\"\n\nThe Marquis de La Tour-d'Adam felt himself touched; the young girl's\ngoverness had seated herself. Eve added in a less firm tone:\n\n\"On the contrary, when I return from a ball, I feel an indefinable\nsentiment of void and weariness; I do not know what it is that I want,\nI am sad, discontented with myself.\"\n\n\"Childishness!\" interrupted the old gentleman. \"Off with us! A little\nthoughtlessness and folly, I insist upon it! One is discontented with\noneself only when one has failed in some duty; you are good,\nsubmissive, pious, charitable.\"\n\nEve blushed slightly, and while her grandfather was continuing his\neulogy she prepared him a cup of tea, drew the stool near, arranged\nthe cushion on which he rested his head, then, going to the piano, she\nplayed an old battle air of which he was very fond.\n\nMeanwhile the marquis addressed the governess.\n\n\"My cousin,\" he said (Madame du Castellet was a distant relative of\nthe Tour-d'Adams), \"combat these tendencies, I implore you; pleasures\nand distractions, they are the remedy! I do not understand why this\nball should sadden our darling Eve, why meeting her friends and her\npartners should make her melancholy. Eve does not know how to be\nuntruthful, she hides nothing from us; but she is ignorant herself why\nshe suffers. Discover this secret, I implore you, that she may be\nhappy.\"\n\n\"Eve's happiness is my only desire,\" replied the governess. \"You know\nthat I love her as my own daughter. I never contradict her; indeed,\nshe never desires anything that is not praiseworthy. She plans to do\ngood with an admirable perseverance and delicacy.\"\n\nThe old marquis at this moment recognized the martial air which Eve\nwas playing for him; he was deeply affected:\n\n\"She forgets nothing,\" he murmured.\n\nThen noticing the flowers the young girl wore:\n\n\"Always jasmine,\" he said to the governess.\n\n\"She forgets nothing,\" said Madame du Castellet, in her turn.\n\n\"It is then impossible to overcome the pride of those unfortunate\nMirefonts?\" replied the marquis.\n\n\"My nephew, Gaston, cannot get anything accepted,\" respondent the\ngoverness; \"but we will save them in spite of themselves.\"\n\n\"Heaven preserve me,\" said the marquis immediately, \"from blaming\ntheir susceptibility; unfortunately, the secret means which Eve has so\nlong employed scarcely suffice; it is necessary to do more.\"\n\n\"Gaston will aid us, I imagine,\" replied the governess in a low voice;\n\"but hush! my pupil will not pardon me if I betray her secrets.\"\n\nEve returned from the piano; the marquis and the governess exchanged a\nglance of prudent intelligence.\n\n\"Off with us, young lady, to the ball, to the ball, the carriage is\nwaiting!\" said the old gentleman gaily, kissing the young girl's\nforehead.\n\nMadame du Castellet dragged off Eve; the marquis, left alone, thought\ntenderly of his dear grandchild, the bouquet of jasmine, the\nunfortunate Mirefont family, of all that Eve had said or done with her\nhabitual grace, while the military march she had played still\nresounded in his heart.\n\n{371}\n\n\"The noble child!\"  he murmured; \"they counselled me to be severe; how\ncould I be? I have been indulgent; I have repressed nothing, spoiled\nnothing; her generous nature has freely developed itself; she has made\nherself blessed even by those who do not know her. Happy, yes, happy,\nwill he be who shall be her husband.\"\n\nThe few words exchanged between the marquis and Eve's governess have\nshown us that for some time, at least, the secret of one of the young\ngirl's good actions had been revealed to her grandfather. The old\ngentleman would have thought little enough of the coiffures chosen by\nEve, or of her taste for such or such a flower; but Madame du\nCastellet had been much surprised one day by her pupil's predilection\nfor bouquets and wreaths of jasmine. Questions followed each other;\nEve evaded them for a long time; the governess insisted. She blamed\nthe girl's extravagance, which did not cease to expend considerable\nsums for the same flowers.\n\n\"I wish to know if this caprice has anything reasonable in it?\" she\nsaid finally, with firmness, even at the risk of displeasing the young\nheiress.\n\nEve blushed; then in a suppliant tone--\n\n\"Be at least discreet,\" she said. \"It is the matter of an honorable\nfamily suddenly fallen into extreme poverty, whose only resource is\nthe sale of jasmine. People do not buy it, so it is that I buy so\nmuch.\"\n\n\"But still,\" said Madame du Castellet, \"without doubt you know the\nname of the family.\"\n\n\"No, cousin. Fearing to wound worthy people, I have not asked it. Only\nmy artificial-flower seller told me that this jasmine was the work of\nthe only child of a poor knight of St. Louis, completely ruined by the\nlast revolution, and struck with incurable infirmities. His wife can\nonly take care of him and wait on him. I was much affected by the\nstory, and above all by the courage shown by this young girl, who\nobtained a living for her father and mother by her work. I promised\noften to buy jasmine on condition that my name should never be\nmentioned; do not be surprised, cousin, that I keep my promise.\"\n\nMadame du Castellet embraced Eve with fervor. But soon going to the\nsource, she knew that the family suffering from so many misfortunes\nwas that of the Mirefonts. The marquis was instructed. Various offers\nof assistance were made, but proudly refused.\n\nEve continued to adorn herself with jasmine and to make liberal\npresents of it to all her friends, which Clarisse Dufresnois\npleasantly laughed at.\n\n\"Do you love jasmine?\" she said, smiling. \"Apply to Eve. For a\nlottery, a vase or a crown of jasmine; for a present, jasmine; for a\nhead-dress, jasmine. Madeline, who has penetrated into the delicious\nboudoir of Mademoiselle de La Tour-d'Adam, saw only jasmine on every\nside. Has she not given some to you also?\"\n\n\"Eve has given me a charming bunch,\" said Leonore. \"It was a\nmaster-piece of its kind; a flower was never more perfectly imitated.\"\nNobody listened to Leonore.\n\n\"Jasmine is, then, Eve's adoration?\" said Albertine.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" suggested Suzanne, \"it is the emblem of a deep sentiment,\nsome memory.\"\n\n\"In any case, it is a passion, a mania.\"\n\n\"I do not know what to imagine,\" said Leonore; \"but I would rather\nbelieve it a work of charity.\"\n\n\"You hear Leonore, young ladies,\" cried Clarisse; \"would it still be\nwicked to find this abuse of jasmine monotonous?\"\n\nLouise de Mirefont had started several times, for she was the unknown\nartist whose filial devotion created the bouquets and wreaths which\nEve had not ceased to buy.\n\nFor the second time in her life Louise penetrated into the\ndrawing-room of the Countess de Peyrolles, where she had been\npresented the {372} preceding winter by Mlle. de Rouvray, an old\nfriend of her mother, and companion to the Countess. At the reiterated\nrequests of Mlle. de Rouvray, Louise's parents consented that their\ndaughter should go among the society in which her birth and education\ncalled her to live, had not her entire want of fortune kept her away.\n\nAt the time of that single party, which occupied a large place in the\nyoung girl's memory, she had remarked one of her masterpieces over the\nbrow of Eve de La Tour-d'Adam. She had blushed, not without an\ninnocent joy.\n\nHow different was her feeling now! Every mocking shaft of Clarisse\nwounded her, the smiles of the other girls put her to torture; and\nwhen Leonore, in her indulgent observations, which had consoled her a\nlittle, innocently pronounced the word charity, she grew pale and felt\nhumbled. Pride brought to her eyes two tears, which vexation dried on\nher eyelashes.\n\n\"Mlle. de La Tour-d'Adam has done me an act of charity,\" she thought\nwith a sort of wrath. \"We have a disguised alms, and M. Gaston du\nCastellet has failed in all his promises.\"\n\nSuch were, we are obliged to avow it, Louise de Mirefont's first\nthoughts; pride rendered her unjust and ungrateful. Alas! as we have\nbeen told many times, first thoughts in our weak nature are not always\nthe best. An angry suspicion, moreover, augmented the girl's\nindignation.\n\nThe nephew of Eve's governess, Gaston du Castellet, introduced into\nthe family of Mirefont by Mlle. de Rouvray, had he, in an excess of\nzeal, revealed the secret of a distress courageously concealed for\nmore than four years? Gaston was, himself, in a position of fortune\nmore than mediocre, he lived honorably, but in a very modest office.\nHe had been received with a noble simplicity; his tact, his delicacy,\nrendered him worthy of such a reception, and he had also conquered the\ngood graces of M. and Mme, de Mirefont.\n\nLouise, during her long is hours of work, often surprised herself\nthinking of the amiable qualities, the distinction, the benevolence,\nof Gaston du Castellet. While with a light hand she cut out or\nadjusted the green leaves or white flowers on their stem, she could\nnot forbid herself to dream of the prudent attentions which Gaston\nshowed her. Together with her fairy fingers, her imagination, or\nrather her heart, built a frail edifice of green leaves, hope, and\nwhite flowers, like the innocence of her love. A word, a glance, a\nsmile of Gaston's, some mark of solicitude for her venerable parents,\na generous word pronounced with feeling, received with eagerness,\nplunged her in long and sweet reveries. Her floral task was generally\nfinished before her dream.\n\n\"He wished to associate his efforts with mine to comfort my parents'\nold age! With what eagerness he assisted my mother!\" thought Louise,\ntrembling with emotion. \"'Why can I not always replace you thus?' said\nhe. 'My presence will permit you to continue your pious work.' I\nsucceeded in finishing that evening the crown of jasmine for which my\nemployer waited so impatiently. And on Sunday, what could be greater\nthan Gaston's sincere goodness toward my father while my mother and I\nhad gone to pray for him? When we returned our prayers seemed to have\nbeen heard: he suffered less, and attributed the amelioration of his\nstate to Gaston's cares, cordial gaiety, and conversation. Heavens!\nwhat were they talking of in our absence?\"\n\nAnd Louise's mind lost itself in sweet and charming suppositions. Add\nto this, that a year before Gaston had met Louise at a ball at Madame\nde Peyrolles'; he had noticed her there; and a few days afterward was\npresented to her parents by their old friend Mlle. de Rouvray. Gaston\nwas the only young man admitted to their intimacy. Six months had not\nrolled away before he occupied a room in the same house with Louise.\n\n{373}\n\nLouise believed herself loved, and did not fear to speak without\ndisguise of the extreme trouble of her family. The young man had\nalready ventured various offers of assistance, he returned to the\ncharge; H. and Mme. de Mirefont constantly with a grateful dignity\nrefused them. Louise, whose delicious work was selling better and\nbetter, positively forbade him to attempt any officious proceeding.\nGaston promised to make none, and very sincerely kept his word.\n\n\"But Gaston was the nephew of Eve de La Tour-d'Adam's governess. As\nClarisse Dufresnois said, Eve bought jasmine with devotion; according\nto Leonore, it was without doubt from charity she did so. Well, then I\nhad Gaston broken his promise? his direct offers being refused, had he\nemployed indirect means? might he not be, finally, Eve de La\nTour-d'Adam's agent, her associate, her agent in good works?\"\n\nLouise loved Gaston. And you will pardon her injustice, her\ningratitude, her jealousy; for her second thought was a burst of\nrepentance; she reproached herself for her pride, she was ashamed of\nherself for doubting Gaston, and, more than all, for being ungrateful\nto her benefactress.\n\nEve entered; she entered crowned with jasmine.\n\nA tear--but this was a tear of gratitude--bathed Louise's eyelashes,\nand slowly descended down her burning cheeks. Her heart was already\nrefreshed. She no longer heard Clarisse's whispers, she did not see\nthe mocking smiles of Valerie, Albertine, and their companions; she\ndid not even perceive that several young men were coming toward her,\nand asking her hand for a contra-dance; Eve had entered--she saw only\nEve.\n\n\"Oh! she is an angel! she murmured rapturously.\n\n\"You say truly, Miss Louise, she is an angel!\" replied Gaston, taking\nher hand.\n\nLouise raised her head, dried her eyes, and permitted herself to be\ncarried off by her attentive cavalier, who had observed all, heard\nall, and understood all, from the moment she had taken her place in\nthe circle of girls.\n\nEve, conducted by her partner, passed near them, and turning:\n\n\"Gaston,\" she said in a tone of affectionate familiarity, \"will you be\nour _vis-\u00e2-vis?_\"\n\nThe young girls found themselves in each other's presence, their looks\nmet; Louise's ardent gratitude suddenly aroused Eva de La\nTour-d'Adam's sympathy.\n\n\"What a charming young girl! Do you know her, sir?\"\n\n\"No, Miss Eve,\" answered Eve's partner, and his reply was not finished\nwithout the compliment called forth by a natural term of comparison,\nbut the triumphant gentleman expended his eloquence for nothing.\n\n\"Does she know me?\" said Louise to Gaston; \"how she looks at me!\"\n\n\"Eve does not know who you are; she will doubtless ask me your name;\nwell, in telling it, I shall not relate any of your family secrets.\"\n\n\"Oh! so much the better!\" exclaimed Louise.\n\n\"Just now you were blushing and turning pale, I heard, I noticed--\"\n\nLouise lowered her eyes in embarrassment.\n\n\"You were wrong,\" continued Gaston. \"The only indiscretion committed\nhas been by your employer, the flower-merchant. Eve is interested in\nyou, she loves you without knowing your name. Her sincere solicitude\ngoes back already for four years; it is only one, Louise, since I had\nthe happiness of first seeing you. It was here. The next day Mlle, de\nRouvray received a visit from me, and a few days afterward your\nparents kindly admitted me to their house.\"\n\nAn expression of happiness lighted Louise's delicate features.\n\n\"Then, just now,\" she said after a moment's interruption, \"you divined\nmy thoughts?\"\n\n{374}\n\n\"I heard Miss Clarisse Dufresnois. I suffered as you suffered. I\nhastened to justify myself to you.\"\n\n\"Oh, Gaston, how much better is your beautiful cousin than I!\"\n\nThey now passed in the contra-dance; Eve's hand was not slow in taking\nLouise's; the two girls shivered at once.\n\nEve must have seemed singularly absent to her partner; she did not\ncease to watch Louise and Gaston, she was troubled, and was conscious\nof a strange uneasiness.\n\n\"Why this extreme emotion?\" she asked herself; \"oh! how my heart\nbeats! I tremble, I suffer, my eyes are growing dim! What is the\nmatter with me? Who is this young girl, and what is Gaston saying to\nher? They pronounced my name, I believe!\"\n\nGaston was talking enthusiastically to Louise.\n\n\"Eve is not of this earth!\" he said. \"She is a celestial being whom I\nfeel myself disposed to invoke on my knees; the respect with which she\ninspires me prevents me from seeing even her beauty. I venerate her,\nbut you, Louise, you I love!\"\n\nLouise started.\n\n\"Oh! do not be vexed by this avowal; I am permitted to make it. During\nyour absence, on Sunday, M. de Mirefont yielded to my request. My\nhappiness, Louise, depends on you alone.\"\n\nThe young girl did not succeed in dissembling her joy, her smiles\ncrowned Gaston's wishes; he continued in a softened voice:\n\n\"Oh! it was not without trouble that I triumphed, dear Louise. For a\nlong time your father rejected me on account of his deplorable\nposition; he would not consent, he said, that I should bind my future\nto the sad destinies of his family. I spoke of my love, he replied by\nreciting his misfortunes. Permit, I said to him, a son to diminish by\nhis zeal your Louise's task. Would you repulse me if fortune favored\nyou? or do you find me unworthy to share your lot? Her filial virtues\neven more than her charms have captivated me. If she were destined to\nopulence like Mlle, de La Tour-d'Adam, for example, I should be insane\nto dare to aspire to her hand. But your Louise is the companion\nnecessary for a poor, hard-working man like me. She is courageous and\ndevoted. I came to supplicate you to accept my devotion and my\ncourage. Finally, overcome by my insistance, he held out his hand to\nme; I bathed it with my tears; then, opening his arms: 'Louise shall\npronounce,' he said. With what impatience I waited for you that\nevening! Your mother by this time should be aware of my application,\nand to-morrow, if you consent, it shall not be simply as a friend, but\nas your _fianc\u00e9_ that I shall enter under your parent's roof.\"\n\n\"Gaston--my _fianc\u00e9_,\" murmured Louise. \"O God! I am too happy.\"\n\nEve also was near succumbing under a strange emotion; but by a supreme\neffort she succeeded in conquering it; but she was so pale she might\nhave been taken for an alabaster statue. She was faint when she seated\nherself at some distance behind Mme. du Castellet and Mlle. Rouvray,\nwho, retired to one side apart, were talking in a low voice but with\nanimation.\n\nGaston's aunt and the countesses companion, drawn together by the\nsimilarity of their positions, made part of that commendable variety\nof aristocracy which we are permitted to call the poor of the great\nworld. Resigned, free from envy, devoted, body and soul, to the\nfamilies in which even their office increased the consideration and\nthe regard which they merited, such persons are always justly\nrespected. Their presence honors the houses which welcome them. They\nlived in the highest sphere with an admirable abnegation; the firmness\nof their principles equalled the amiability of their character: they\nhad espoused the interests which exclusively occupied them, and were\nslaves to their duties.\n\n{375}\n\nEve, still trembling, continued to watch Gaston and Louise, at the\nsame time that, as if her nervous excitement had given her the faculty\nof hearing the feeblest sounds, she did not lose a word of the\nconversation of the two old friends.\n\n\"You cannot believe how much this marriage contents me,\" said Madame\ndu Castellet, \"I have always been afraid that my nephew was taken with\nEve. Eve is so beautiful, so tender, so generous: one cannot know her\nwithout loving her. Gaston already loved her like a brother; they saw\neach other continually in spite of all my skill. I did well, the old\nmarquis did not even suspect the danger. It would have been imprudent\nto have hinted the possibility; I have lived on thorns for three or\nfour years. Eve and Gaston have known each other from childhood; a\nformidable friendliness reigned between them; Eve was full of sisterly\nattentions; I trembled for my poor nephew.\"\n\n\"It is certain that Mlle. de La Tour-d'Adam, with her name and her\nimmense fortune, can only make a grand marriage,\" said Mlle, de\nRouvray. \"We can doubly felicitate ourselves on the success of our\neffort. The old Chevalier de Mirefont was ten years younger this\nevening, when he announced to me the regular request made by Gaston.\"\n\n\"It is scarcely any time since I said to the marquis how much I relied\non my nephew, but I did not know it was so advanced.\"\n\n\"It is a settled thing,\" said Mlle. de Rouvray, smiling, for Gaston\nand Louise had been constantly observed by the two old friends.\n\n\"My nephew will soon be advanced,\" said Madame du Castellet, \"he will\nnot lack a future, and moreover, he will not refuse the advantages of\nwhich our good cousin will assure him by marriage contract. The\nMirefont family will soon find themselves in ease.\"\n\n\"Louise is worthy of this good fortune,\" said Mademoiselle de Rouvray.\n\n\"When I shall be permitted to tell Eve that her cousin is to marry her\ninteresting _prot\u00e9g\u00e9_, oh! I am sure she will be transported with\njoy.\"\n\nEve, at these words, thoroughly understood. Detaching from her\nheaddress a little branch of flowers, she contemplated it a moment.\nThen she regarded Louise and Gaston, seated by each other, wrapped in\ntheir happiness, oblivious of the world around them.\n\n\"How happy they are!\" she thought\n\nThe ball was very animated, Albertine, Valerie, and Lucienne had\nabandoned themselves to the gaiety of their age, but Clarisse, who\nobserved with secret envy sometimes Gaston and Louise, sometimes Eve,\npensive, refusing ten invitations,--Clarisse cried out all at once:\n\n\"Mademoiselle de La Tour-d'Adam is ill.\"\n\nThe musicians stopped playing. Gaston rushed to his cousin. Louise was\nthe first to take in hers Eve's ice-cold hands; she could not refrain\nfrom pressing them to her lips.\n\nEve soon opened her eyes, saw Louise on her knees, Gaston at her side,\nsmiled on them with angelic sweetness, and addressing herself to the\nyoung girl:\n\n\"You do not know me,\" she said, \"but I wish you to be my friend. You\nwill come to see me, will you not?\"\n\nThe little branch of jasmine which Eve had taken from her own forehead\nremained in Louise's hands. Madame du Castellet, aided by her nephew,\ncarried away Eve de la Tour-d'Adam.\n\nA few minutes after Louise was conducted home.\n\nClarisse Dufresnois did not fail to attribute Eve's fainting to the\ndesire of appearing interesting; this was at least the version which\nshe gave to the young ladies Suzanne, Valerie, Lucienne, and\nAlbertine, but the supposition which she expressed to the Vicomte de\nla Perli\u00e8re, the object of her seventh matrimonial dream, was less\ninoffensive.\n\n{376}\n\n\"Mademoiselle de La Tour-d'Adam,\" said she, \"was taken ill of jealousy\nand vexation, on remarking her cousin's attention to Mlle, de\nRouvray's _prot\u00e9g\u00e9_.\"\n\nShe enlarged on this theme with so much wit, that the Vicomte de la\nPerli\u00e8re, a man of sense who did not lack heart, forgot at the end of\nthe winter to propose to her. The autumn following he asked and\nobtained Leonore's hand, which did not prevent Clarisse from being\nmore witty than ever.\n\n\n\nII.\n\nEve passed a frightful night, a prey to the delirium of fever; the\ndoctors, forced to reassure the old marquis and the governess, did not\nconceal from Gaston that his cousin's case presented very alarming\nsymptoms. Gaston was uneasy, Louise shared his fears, but their\nbetrothal took place notwithstanding; the promise already made by M.\nde Mirefont was confirmed in the family, but on account of Eve's\nillness Madame du Castellet's absence was excused.\n\nIn the Castle de La Tour-d'Adam reigned a profound sadness.\n\nEve had recovered her ordinary calm and serenity, but her weakness and\npallor were extreme; the old marquis was conducted to her room.\n\n\"Eve, my dear child, when I think of all you said to me before going\nto the ball, I reproach myself bitterly for having forced you to go.\"\n\n\"Do not regret it, grandfather, for I am delighted to have seen the\nyoung girl who is going to marry my cousin Gaston. I wish her to be my\nbest friend.\"\n\n\"My child,\" said the marquis again, \"is anything lacking that you\nwish? Have confidence in me.\"\n\n\"What can I lack? you refuse me nothing.\"\n\n\"Doubtless, and for all,\" suggested the old man, with a real timidity,\n\"you fear to unveil for me the state of your heart! I hesitate to say\nwhat I think, my dear daughter, but if you have a secret\ninclination--\"\n\nEve shuddered, and lowered her large eyes.\n\n\"Know well, at least, that I shall never be an obstacle to your\nhappiness; my Eve would not know how to make an unworthy choice.\"\n\nThe young girl bent her head and remained silent. Mme. du Castellet\nobserved her sadly.\n\n\"Eve,\" said she, \"you answer nothing?\"\n\n\"What can I answer?\" murmured the heiress, \"I ask myself,\" she said\nwith feeling. \"My good father,\" she said again, \"words are wanting to\nexpress to you my gratitude and my tenderness.\"\n\n\"Then from what does she suffer?\" the marquis asked himself in\ndespair.\n\nAs a flower scorched by the sun, Eve languished; the fever\ndisappeared, but her strength did not return. Her only pleasure was to\nput on, one after another, the freshest of her jasmine wreaths.\n\nThe doctors understood nothing of her illness; the most skilful of all\ninterrogated the governess.\n\n\"I fear that this young girl is struck by a moral hurt; love, when it\nis opposed, sometimes presents analogous symptoms.\"\n\n\"We have been beforehand with your question, doctor; Eve knows that\nher choice would be approved; she made no response.\"\n\n\"Has she pronounced any name in her delirium?\"\n\n\"None; she spoke only of the good works which constantly occupied\nher.\"\n\nMadame du Castellet had found that Eve knew the whole history of\nLouise's filial devotion.\n\n\"Madame,\" replied the physician, \"I persist in believing that Mlle, de\nLa Tour-d'Adam conceals her secret from you. A false shame, without\ndoubt, restrains her; send for her confessor, and have him, if\npossible, oblige her to tell you the truth.\"\n\nWhen the doctor had gone, Madame du Castellet burst into tears. Eve\nwas given up by science, because they {377} absolutely would have it\nthat her illness had a mysterious origin.\n\nThe confessor was called, although the governess hoped nothing from\nhis intervention. An emotion of profound piety was painted on the\nfeatures of the man of God when he came out of the invalid's chamber,\nbut Eve, calm and with pious recollection, was praying with her eyes\nraised to heaven. The young girl made no confidence to Mme. du\nCastellet, only several hours later--\n\n\"Cousin,\" she said, \"Mlle. Louise de Mirefont and Gaston are slow in\ncoming to see me.\"\n\nIt was not the first time that Eve had expressed the same desire; the\ngoverness ordered the carriage in order to go for Mlle. de Mirefont.\n\n\"Louise, generous Louise,\" murmured Eve, \"I would that my soul could\nbe blended with yours!\"\n\nHer heart beat violently as she thought of Gaston's happiness; Eve did\nnot account to herself for her poignant emotion, but she prayed that\nGod would permit her to live for her noble grandfather.\n\n\"My loss would be too cruel for him,\" she murmured, weeping.\n\nThen she interrogated herself with a simple severity:\n\n\"Would I then be culpable for not speaking of that of which I am\nmyself ignorant?\"\n\nHer conscience responded by a firm resolution not to carry trouble to\nthe hearts of all those who cherished her. \"My duty, I feel, is to\nrejoice at the happiness of Gaston and of Louise. Do I deceive myself?\nMy God! enlighten me, guide me!\"\n\nEve was kneeling; the Marquis de La Tour-d'Adam, assisted by his\nvalet, entered, and in a reproachful tone--\n\n\"Why do you fatigue yourself thus?\" said he; \"Eve, I implore thee, be\ncareful of thy strength, if only out of pity for me.\"\n\nEve arose with difficulty.\n\n\"Forgive me,\" she said with a sweet smile, \"I will not kneel again\nuntil I am cured.\"\n\nThen she sat by her grandfather's side. The marquis, frightened at her\nmortal pallor, contemplated her with anguish.\n\n\"I saw her father perish in the flower of his age,\" he thought; \"her\nmother a few months after died in giving her life; she was an orphan\nfrom her cradle. All my affections are concentrated in her; she has\nnever given me occasion for the least pain. Alas! I suffer to-day for\nall the happiness she has given me.\"\n\n\"Do not distress yourself, my father,\" said Eve, who surprised a tear\nin the old man's dry eyes; \"I have asked of God to let me remain to\nconsole the rest of your days; my prayer has been heard, it will be\ngranted. Oh, for pity, do not cry more.\"\n\nThe marquis took her hand and pressed it against his heart.\n\n\"My father,\" said Eve after several moments of silence, \"our cousin\nhas gone for Gaston and his _fianc\u00e9e_; my father, I have a request to\nmake of you.\"\n\n\"Tell it, tell it,\" said the old man ardently.\n\nEve bent, and said in a trembling voice:\n\n\"They are both of them generous and devoted; both of them have\nsuffered much: make them rich, I implore you, lest your wealth should\npass into avaricious hands.\"\n\n\"Oh! my God! you expect, then, to die! Eve, my darling daughter, is\nthis your secret?\"\n\n\"No! I do not wish to die! no! I wish to live for you!\"\n\n\"But I am old, very old!\" the marquis replied, with hesitation,\n\"and--after me--\"\n\n\"After you whom shall I love?\" said Eve in a melodious voice. \"Father,\nI implore you, make Gaston and Louise's future sure, and you will have\ncrowned all my wishes.\"\n\nEve had scarcely finished when Mme. du Castellet entered; Louise and\nGaston followed her. The two lovers succeeded in wiping away their\ntears, but their emotion was {378} redoubled when they saw themselves\nbetween the young girl and her grandfather.\n\n\"Come to me,\" said Eve, \"come, Louise! Do you not know that I loved\nyou before I knew you? See, all that surrounds me is your work. What\nwould I not give to have made, like you, one of these bouquets of\njasmine!\n\n\"Mademoiselle,\" murmured Louise, \"I have known you and have loved you\nonly for a few days; but my gratitude and my affection for you are\nboundless.\"\n\n\"Place them on Gaston: he is dear to me as a brother; and you, Louise,\ncall me henceforth your sister.\"\n\nShe held her one hand, with the other she drew Gaston forward; then,\naddressing the marquis:\n\n\"Father,\" she said, \"see them before you; bless them, I pray you.\"\n\nThe old gentleman, weeping, extended his hands, then with a voice\nchoked with sobs:\n\n\"Eve, my beloved child! Eve, thou wishest then to die?\"\n\nThe young girl blushed slightly, a ray of sunlight which played\nthrough the curtains crowned her with a luminous halo; she had risen,\nher ethereal figure mingled with the white flowers which adorned her\nroom.\n\nGaston said in a low voice to Louise:\n\n\"You see plainly, my friend, that she is not of the earth.\"\n\nThey bent reverently; but Eve extended her arms: Louise found herself\npressed against her heart.\n\nThe marquis, seeing Eve so radiant, renewed his hope:\n\n\"She is saved!\" he said to Madame du Castellet. \"The presence of these\nyoung lovers has done her good. Have them come often, I pray you. But\nI should leave them together. Adieu, my children, adieu!\"\n\nHe was carried back to the great hall. However, the governess\ntrembled; she saw at last the fatal truth. The heiress's great blue\neyes were fixed on hers; the old lady's trouble increased. Eve put her\nfinger on her lips, and drawing her to one side:\n\n\"Why are you still distressed, my good cousin,\" she said to her; \"do\nyou not see how happy I am in their happiness?\"\n\nGaston's aunt retired heart-broken, doubtful of her suppositions, not\ndaring to hope for the young girl's recovery.\n\nEve was seated between the two lovers:\n\n\"I demand a part in your joy, my friends, and I wish that my memory\nmay always live with you.\"\n\nThen she recounted with simplicity the history of her four last years.\nThe praises which she gave to Louise's filial piety penetrated the\nhearts of the two betrothed, who wished to prostrate themselves before\nher, her words had so much purity, sweetness, and unction. Louise\nreproached herself, as if it were a sacrilege, for the thought of\npride which she had felt at the ball. Gaston was under an indefinable\nimpression of tenderness and of gratitude. Eve addressed him with\nnoble and tender encouragement. Eve, with a pious ardor, made wishes\nfor the felicity of their union; finally, when they were retiring she\ndivided between them a branch of jasmine.\n\n\"Preserve this,\" she said, \"in memory of me.\"\n\nThe sacrifice was accomplished. When they had gone, Eve sighed,\nprayed, and felt herself weaker. She had expended in this interview\nthe little strength which remained to her.\n\nA despairing cry soon resounded through the house where the young\ngirl's inexhaustible goodness had won all hearts.\n\n\"Mademoiselle is dying! Mademoiselle is going to die!\"\n\nThe Marquis de La Tour-d'Adam, fulfilling his promise, went to add a\ndisposition to his will, in case the heiress should not attain her\nmajority. The pen fell from his hand, the chill of death ran through\nhis veins:\n\n{379}\n\n\"Eve! Eve! who will take me to her?\"\n\nBut Eve entered the room, for she, on her side, had prayed the\ngoverness to have her conducted there.\n\nThe old man saw on her features the certain mark of death, and death\nstruck him. He murmured for the last time the name of Eve, then fell\nback, cold, in his arm-chair.\n\nHowever, Eve lived an entire day after her grandfather.\n\nHer agony was slow and gentle. She asked for jasmine, her couch was\ncovered with white flowers, bathed in her tears whose filial love had\nmade them.\n\n\"May Louise be your daughter,\" said Eve to Madame du Castellet \"Louise\nwill replace me with you.\"\n\nThen, addressing Louise:\n\n\"My sister, make your husband happy. Love the poor and pray with them\nfor my parents, my grandfather, and myself. God be praised,\" she\nmurmured finally, \"my father's father has preceded me, I go to join\nhim. Adieu, Gaston! my brother, adieu!\"\n\nHer voice failed, her heart ceased to beat, heaven counted one angel\nmore.\n\nMadame du Castellet, Gaston, and Louise passed the night in prayers by\nthe two beds of death. Finally, the same hearse conducted to the same\ntomb Adam, Marquis de La Tour-d'Adam, last of the name, and his\ngrandchild Eve, the last branch of an illustrious stock.\n\nA sword which had never been drawn except in a just and holy cause\ndecorated the aged man's coffin, but that of the child cut down at the\nthreshold of life was covered with the white flowers which she had so\npiously loved.\n\nTo-day the mansion of the Tour-d'Adams is inhabited by M. and Mme. de\nMirefont, Mme. du Castellet, her nephew Gaston, and her niece, Louise.\n\nA room hung with crowns and wreaths of artificial jasmine serves as\nthe family oratory.\n\nNo one ever penetrates there except with recollection.\n\nThe servants call it the saints' chamber.\n\nIt is that whence rose toward heaven, as an agreeable perfume to God,\nthe soul of a maiden dying in all the purity of first innocence; dead\nwithout knowing there existed a forbidden fruit; dead because she\nloved with that celestial love which belongs only to the angels in\nparadise.\n\n------\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nBURY THE DEAD\n\n\n\"Give me a grave, that I made bury my dead\nout of my sight.\"--Genesis xxiii.\n\n\n          Enwrapt in fair white shroud.\n  With fragrant flowers strewn.\n  With loving tears and holy prayers,\n                    And wailing loud,\n                    Shut out the light!\n  Bury the Dead, bury the Dead,\n                    Out of my sight!\n                                                            {380}\n          Corruption's touch will wrong\n          The sacred Dead too soon;\n  Then wreath the brow, the eyelids kiss;\n                    Delay not long,\n                    Behold the blight!\n  Bury the Dead, bury the Dead,\n                    Out of our sight!\n\n          But there are other Dead\n          That will not buried be,\n  That walk about in glaring day\n                    With noiseless tread.\n                    And stalk at night;\n  Unburied Dead, unburied Dead,\n                    Ever in sight.\n\n          Dear friendships snapt in twain.\n          Sweet confidence betrayed,\n  Old hopes forsworn, old loves worn out,\n                    Vows pledged in vain.\n                    There is no flight,\n  Ye living, unrelenting Dead,\n                    Out of your sight.\n\n          Oh! for a grave where I\n          Might hide my Dead away!\n  That sacred bond, that holy trust,\n                    How could it die?\n                    Out of my sight!\n  O mocking Dead, unburied Dead,\n                    Out of my sight!\n\n          O ever-living Dead,\n          Who cannot buried be;\n  In our heart's core your name is writ.\n                    What though it bled?\n                    The wound was slight\n  To eyes that loved no more, in death's\n                    Remorseless night\n\n          O still belov\u00e8d Dead,\n          No grave is found for you;\n  No friends weep with us o'er your bier.\n                    No prayers are said;\n                    For out of sight\n  We wail our Dead, our secret Dead,\n                    Alone at night.\n\n          Give me a grave so deep\n          That they may rest with me;\n  For they shall lie with my dead heart\n                    In healing sleep;\n                    Till out of night\n  We shall all pass, O risen Dead,\n                    Into God's sight!\n\n------\n\n{381}\n\n\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nRELIGION IN NEW YORK.\n\n\nThe city of New York is supposed to contain about one million of\ninhabitants. Of these, from 300,000 to 400,000 are Catholics, probably\n60,000 Jews, and from 550,000 to 650,000 Protestants, or\nNothingarians.\n\nWe will first speak of the provision made for the religions\ninstruction of the non-Catholic majority of our population.\n\nThere are 280 churches of all descriptions, excluding the Catholic\nchurches. Of these, there are:\n\n  Episcopalian  61\n  Presbyterian  56\n  Methodist   48\n  Baptist  30\n  Jewish  25\n  Dutch Reformed  20\n  Lutheran  9\n  Congregational  4\n  Universalist  4\n  Unitarian   3\n  Friends   3\n  Miscellaneous  17\n    [Footnote 55]\n\n  [Footnote 55: These figures are taken from the last Directory. The\n  \"Walk about New York\" gives the number at 318.]\n\nThe number of communicants in Protestant churches is estimated as\n64,800. If the churches were all of ample size and equally distributed\nthrough the city, they would suffice tolerably well for the\naccommodation of the people, should they be generally disposed to\nattend public worship. A large proportion of them, however, are small,\nand only 80 churches are situated below First street. The lower and\nmore populous portion of the city is therefore very destitute of\nchurch accommodation, while the great majority of the churches,\nespecially the largest and finest, are in the upper part of the town,\namong the residences of the more well-to-do classes of the community.\nThe Protestant population as a whole is, therefore, very poorly\nprovided with church accommodation.\n\nA pamphlet, entitled \"Startling Facts: a Tract for the Times, by\nPhilopsukon: Brinkerhoff, 48 Fulton street, 1864,\" gives a\nconsiderable amount of information on this point. The estimates of\nthis gentleman are based on a supposed population of 950,000. For the\nsection of the city below Canal and Grand streets, including the first\nseven wards, there are, according to him, 12 churches and 8 mission\nchapels, capable of accommodating about 15,000 persons. The population\nof this district is 185,000. Twenty Protestant congregations have\nwithin the last twenty-five years abandoned their churches in this\ndistrict, and removed to new ones up town. One of the old churches\n(St. George's) is retained as a mission chapel, and another, a very\nfine one, the Rutgers street Presbyterian church, has been converted\ninto a Catholic church. These removals have reduced the church\naccommodation from 18,000 to 20,000 sittings, while the population has\nmeanwhile doubled.\n\nFor the section between Canal and Fourteenth streets, including also\nseven wards, there are 88 churches for a population of 262,000.\nFourteen churches have been abandoned within ten years. Of these 34\nabandoned churches, 3 have been turned into livery stables, and the\nremainder into public offices or stores and factories.\n\nThe upper section, extending to Sixty-first street, includes eight\nwards, with a population of 418,000, and has 82 churches.\n\n{382}\n\nThis gentlemen has counted only what he calls \"Evangelical\" churches,\nin which he estimates the total sittings throughout the whole city at\n126,600, but the actual attendance at only 84,400. A \"Condensed\nStatement\" which we have in our bands, estimates the total Protestant\nchurch accommodation at 200,000, and the number of communicants at\n64,800. If we allow 150,000 for the ordinary or occasional attendants\nat Protestant worship, and 25,000 for the Jewish synagogues, we shall\nhave then from 375,000 to 475,000 of the non-Catholic population who\nattend no place of religious worship or instruction at all.  [Footnote\n56] The author of the \"Startling Facts,\" who summarily hands over all\nexcept the attendants at \"Evangelical\" churches to the devil, takes a\nvery gloomy view of the state of things, and considers that \"865,600\nout of the 950,000 pass to the judgment-seat of Christ WITHOUT THE\nMEANS OF GRACE;\" to be condemned, we are left to infer, because they\ndid not enjoy those means; while those who did enjoy them and failed\nto provide for the wants of the remainder are to be rewarded.\n\n  [Footnote 56: \"The Great Metropolis, a Condensed Statement,\" gives\n  the Protestant church accommodation at 200,000. \"Walks about New\n  York, by the Secretary of the City Mission,\" estimates the number of\n  attendants at \"Evangelical churches\" at 324,000. Allowing 10,000\n  more for other Protestant congregations, and 25,000 for the Jewish\n  synagogues, this leaves 240,000 as the minimum number of the\n  non-Catholic population who attend no place of public worship. It\n  appears to us that it is a large calculation to allow 1,000\n  attendants to each church, which would give the total of 280,000\n  church-goers, leaving a remainder of 320,000. All the non-Catholic\n  churches together are capable of accommodating less than 225,000\n  persons at one time, leaving 375,000 who have not sufficient\n  church-room to accommodate them, if all were disposed to attend\n  regularly. Nevertheless, it does not appear that the majority of the\n  Protestant churches are over-crowded. The mass of the\n  non-church-goers are quite apathetic on the subject. They do not\n  wish to have churches, and probably would not frequent them if they\n  were built for them free of expense.]\n\nIt must be allowed, however, that he berates them handsomely for their\nneglect of duty. He says:\n\n  \"Nor is it intended in these few pages to canvass the question as to\n  the necessity or the expediency, etc., of what is called the\n  _up-town removal_ of so many of the churches (in all 36), first from\n  the lower, and now from the central section of the city. All that\n  can be done is to note the following facts, and leave others to draw\n  their own inference as to their practical effects.\n\n  \"1. In every instance of such church removal, it has originated in\n  _the change of residence of a few of the wealthier families_ of said\n  church: this, of course, was followed by a diminution of the means\n  of support to the said church. Hence the plea of _necessity_ for its\n  removal; and, making no provision to retain the old church for\n  _missionary_ purposes, the effect has been to scatter by far the\n  larger portion both of the church members and of the congregation to\n  the four winds. For,\n\n  \"2. The old church property having been sold, the new location has\n  been selected with a sole view to the accommodation of these\n  families of wealth, who left it for an up-town palatial residence,\n  and a costly church edifice has been erected (often largely beyond\n  their means) compatible with their tastes. The _result_ of this has\n  been,\n\n  3. To place the privileges of the church beyond the reach of the\n  _mediocre_ and _lower_ classes. And this has led to an _ignoring_ of\n  that divinely appointed law of God, \"_the rich and the poor meet\n  together, the Lord being the maker of them all_\" (Prov. xxiii. 12).\n  Hence the origin of _caste_ in the churches. _Money_ has been\n  erected into _the standard of personal respectability_, by which\n  every man is measured; and hence a courting of the favor of the\n  rich, and a despising of the poor.\n\n  \"Thus the way is prepared _to account for the paucity_ of attendance\n  at many of these larger and wealthier churches. A consciousness of\n  _self-respect_ operates largely to deter those who might otherwise\n  repair to them. They shrink from an encounter, whether right or\n  wrong, from that _invidiousness_ to which the above principle of the\n  measurement of personal respectability subjects them; and taking\n  human nature as it is, it cannot be otherwise. Hence, finding\n  themselves thus \"cut off\" from the privileges of the churches, and\n  that by the act of the churches themselves, {383} they relapse into\n  a state of absolute \"_neglect of the great salvation_.\"  [Footnote 57]\n\n [Footnote 57: How this is possible in the case of those who have\n received the gift of infallible perseverance, it is difficult to see,\n unless the \"elect\" are chiefly found among the _\u00e9lite_ of society.]\n\n  \"And when there is taken into the account _the neglect_ of these\n  wealthier churches to make provision for the populations in those\n  sections of the city formerly occupied by them, there is furnished\n  _an explanation of the vast disparity_ between the number of\n  churches compared with the immense population as a whole, which\n  remain unprovided for.\n\n  \"True, in order to escape the imputation of neglecting _'the poor of\n  this world'_ altogether, some of the wealthier churches have\n  established _missionary Sabbath schools outside_ of their own\n  congregations. The principal denominations--the Episcopalians,\n  Methodists, Baptists, Reformed Dutch Church, and Presbyterians, are\n  also doing something in the way of supporting _missionary chapels\n  for the poor_; but none of them are making provisions for them in a\n  manner or to an extent at all commensurate either with their _duty_\n  or their _means_.\n\n  \"Take, in illustration, a view of the amount of missionary work\n  being done in this city by the large and wealthy presbytery of New\n  York. True, the Brick church; the Fifth avenue church, corner\n  Twenty-first street; the Fifth avenue church, between Eleventh and\n  Twelfth streets; the Presbyterian church in University place, corner\n  Tenth street, and perhaps one or two others, each support,\n  independently of drawing upon the funds raised for domestic\n  missions, a _mission Sabbath school and chapel_. But out of the\n  moneys contributed annually by the churches connected with the\n  presbytery, amounting to from $12,000 to $15,000, there are only\n  _two regularly organized missionary churches_ connected with that\n  body. These are the German mission church in Monroe street, comer of\n  Montgomery, and the African mission church in the Seventh avenue,\n  each supported at an expense of $600 per annum. Nor are the\n  ecclesiastical judicatories of other churches doing much better.\n\n  \"Is this, then, the way to _'continue in God's goodness?'_ Writing\n  on this subject, so long ago as 1847, the Rev. Dr. Hodge, the oldest\n  professor occupying a chair in the Princeton Theological Seminary,\n  and the learned and able editor of 'The Princeton Review,' had used\n  his pen in refuting the statement of those in the Presbyterian\n  Church who affirm that _'we have already more preachers than we know\n  what to do with,'_ etc.; and having disposed of that matter, he\n  passes to the subject of the _difference in the mode_ of sustaining\n  and extending the gospel in and by the Presbyterian Church. In\n  reference to the _policy_ adopted by said church to this end, he\n  says:\n\n  \"'Our system, which requires the minister to rely for his support\n  _on the people_ to whom he preaches, has had the following\n  inevitable results: 1. In our cities _we have no churches to which\n  the poor can freely go and feel themselves at home_. No doubt, in\n  many of our city congregations there are places in the galleries in\n  which the poor may find seats free of charge; but, as a general\n  thing, _the churches are private property_. They belong to those who\n  build them, or who purchase or rent the pews after they are built.\n  They are intended and adapted for the cultivated and thriving\n  classes of the community. There may be exceptions to this remark,\n  but we are speaking of a general fact. _The mass of the people in\n  our cities are excluded from our churches._ The Presbyterian Church\n  is practically, in such places, _the church for the upper classes_\n  (we do not mean the worldly and the fashionable) _of society._\" And\n  to this Dr. Hodge adds, as the _result_ of the working of 'our\n  system,' the following:\n\n{384}\n\n  \"'_The Presbyterian Church_ IS NOT A CHURCH FOR THE POOR. She has\n  precluded herself from that high vocation by adopting the principle\n  _that the support of the minister must be derived from the people to\n  whom he preaches._ If therefore, the people are too few, too sparse,\n  too poor, to sustain a minister, or too ignorant or wicked to\n  appreciate the gospel, THEY MUST GO WITHOUT IT.'\"\n\nThus far the author of the tract and Dr. Hodge. The statements of the\nlatter are indorsed by the General Assembly of the Presbyterian\nChurch. A Baptist clergyman, writing in the \"Memorial Papers,\" a work\nwhich was suppressed after publication, says: \"The Church has no\nconversions and no hold on the masses. The most successful church\nbuilding is that which excludes the poor by necessity.\"   [Footnote\n58]\n\n  [Footnote 58:  A high price will be paid at this office for a copy\n  of \"The Memorial Papers.\"]\n\nWe do not cite these statements in order to make a point against\nProtestantism from the admissions of its advocates, or to exult over\nthese admissions. We respect our anonymous friend, and the learned and\naccomplished Princeton divine, for their candor, honesty, and zeal for\nthe religious instruction of the poor. We have nothing in view except\nan exposition of the real state of things in New York, and are anxious\nto arrive at facts. Allowing for all errors and exaggerations, and\nwith a perfect willingness to admit everything which can be said to\nextenuate the evil, we must admit the palpable, undeniable fact, that\nsome hundreds of thousands of our population are either unprovided\nwith the opportunity of attending any form of worship and religious\ninstruction, or are indifferent to the subject. Sunday is to them a\nmere holiday from work (to many not even that), to be spent in\nrecreation and amusement, if not in something positively bad.\n\nIt appears especially that the lower section of the city has been\nalmost entirely given up by Protestants.   [Footnote 59] There is one\nvery notable and very honorable exception, however, in Trinity church,\nwhich has always been the best managed ecclesiastical corporation of\nall the Protestant religious institutions in our country.\n\n  [Footnote 59: That is, except as a missionary ground.]\n\nThe educational and eleemosynary institutions of New York are on a\ncolossal scale. We will not go into extensive details on this subject,\nas our topic is properly the religion of the city. It is estimated\nthat there are 144,000 children in New York, of whom 104000 are at\nschool,  [Footnote 60] and 40,000 growing up without instruction. The\npoverty, wretchedness, and indifference of parents is more to blame\nfor the condition of that portion not at school, than the want of\naccommodation.\n\nHospitals, refuges, asylums of all kinds, abound in the city; as well\nas dispensaries where medical assistance and medicine can be obtained\nby the poor gratuitously. There is, beside, a gigantic system of\ndomestic relief and outdoor charity under the direction of the\nmunicipal authorities. The number of individuals relieved in various\nways during the year by these public charities is about 57,000; 30,000\nreceive gratuitous medical attendance from the dispensaries. For\neducation, $1,000,000 a year is expended by the city, and for public\ncharity, $700,000. The collections made for local purposes of\nbenevolence are estimated at $500,000, and the other collections made\nin Protesant churches at $500,000 more. The ecclesiastical expenses of\nmaintaining the various churches are estimated at $1,000,000. The\ngreat Protestant societies whose headquarters are in New York, receive\nabout $2,700,000 annually. $6,000,000 were distributed among the\nfamilies of soldiers during the late war. Beside these rough estimates\nof the vast sums expended by great public organizations, there is no\ncounting the amount of individual contributions, often on a large\nscale, to colleges, etc., and the sums expended in benevolent works by\nprivate societies or individuals.\n\n  [Footnote 60: This includes also Catholic schools and colleges. The\n  estimate is too small, however, and another gives 206,000 as the\n  number going to school.]\n\n{385}\n\nThere can be no doubt that the people of New York, possessing means,\nare a very liberal and philanthropic class. That there is still\nremaining a great deal of \"evangelical\" religious zeal and activity is\nalso manifest. Nevertheless, it cannot be denied that the influence of\nthe old, orthodox Protestant tradition has remarkably diminished, and\nthat the minority of nominal Protestants have lapsed into a state of\nindifference to positive Christianity. We doubt if 25,000 men can be\nfound in the city who sincerely profess to believe the tenets common\nto what are called the \"evangelical\" churches; and of these but a\nsmall fraction adhere intelligently to the distinctive doctrines of\nany one sect; _e.g._, the Protestant Episcopal, or Presbyterian. The\nremainder have a general belief in the truth of Protestant\nChristianity, more or less vague, with a great disposition to consider\npositive doctrines as matters of indifference. Outside the communion\nlist of the different churches, we believe the general sentiment to\nbe, among the educated, that Christianity is a very useful, moral\ninstitution, containing substantially all the truth which can be known\nrespecting ultra-mundane things, but without any final authority over\nthe reason, and completely subject to the criticism of science. Among\nthe uneducated, we believe that negative unbelief, and a supine\nindifference to everything beside material interests, prevails. We\nwill not attempt to assign causes or reasons for it; but the fact is\nevident. A vast mass of the population is completely outside of the\ninfluence of any religious body, or any class of religious teachers\nprofessing to expound revealed truths concerning God and the future\nlife. Moreover, the traditional belief in revealed truths is much\nweaker in the young and rising generation, even of those brought up\nunder positive religious instruction, than it is in the present adult\ngeneration. There appears to be no tangible, palpable reason for\nthinking that Protestant Christianity, under any form, is in a\ncondition to revive its former sway; to keep what it retains, or to\nrecover what it has lost. The mere lack of church accommodation will\nnot account for this, and if at once this lack were remedied, it would\nnot change it materially. For, in those places which are furnished\nwith a superabundance of churches, the same undermining of religious\nbelief is going on. The fact that the most respectable Protestant\npublishers make no scruple of republishing the works of such writers\nas Renan and Colenso, and that these books are read with such avidity,\nindicates the way the current is setting.\n\nWhat the result of all this will be, is a matter for very serious\nconsideration. Our political, civil, and moral order is founded on\nChristianity. The old Christian tradition has been the principle of\nthe interior life of the nation. Take away positive Christian belief,\nand the moral principles which are universally acknowledged are still\nonly a residuum of the old religion. The spirit of Christianity\nsurvives partly in civilization as its vital principle. How long a\ncertain political and social order may continue after faith has died\nout, we cannot say. We cannot but think, however, that a\ndisintegrating principle begins to work as soon as religious belief\nbegins to die out. There is nothing, therefore, more destructive to\nthe temporal well-being of men, than the spread of sceptical and\ninfidel principles. Merely from this point of view, therefore, the\ndecay of religious belief and earnestness ought to be deplored as the\ngreatest of evils, and one for which no advance in physical science or\nmaterial prosperity can compensate. What the moral fruits already\nproduced by this decay are, and what the prospects are for the future\nin this direction, we leave our readers to gather from the perusal of\nthe secular papers; and it may be estimated from the cry of alarm\nwhich is from time to time forced from them, as new and startling\ndevelopments of the progress in vice and criminality are made.\n\n{386}\n\nWe turn our attention now to the Catholic population of the city, and\nthe religious institutions under the control of the Catholic Church.\n\nThe Catholic population is variously estimated at from 300,000 to\n400,000. As no census has been taken, all estimates must be merely\napproximate. One way in which an estimate may be made, is by taking\nthe returns of the census giving the total population of foreign\nbirth, and getting the proportion of Catholics to non-Catholics among\nthe various nationalities. Some probable estimate of the native-born\nCatholics must then be made and added to the number of foreign-born.\nIn 1860 the number of inhabitants of foreign birth was 383,717, out of\na total of 813,669. If we suppose that the foreign-born population has\nincreased to 460,000, it seems not improbable that the Catholic\nproportion of it, with the home-born Catholics added, will reach the\ntotal of 400,000.\n\nAnother basis of calculation is the ratio of baptisms to the whole\npopulation. A register is kept with the utmost exactness in each\nparish, and the result transmitted once a year to the chancery, where\nit is entered in the diocesan record. We are furnished, therefore,\nwith an authentic census of births from Catholic parents each year,\nand if the exact multiplier could be ascertained by which to multiply\nthis number, we should reach a certain result. It can only be\nconjectured, however, with more or less probability, and varies in\ndifferent localities remarkably according to the character of the\npopulation. The baptisms for one year are 18,000. Multiply the number\nby 33, as is usually done in making the estimates of the general\ncensus, and you have 594,000. This number is too large, however. If we\ntake 20, it gives us 360,000; 25, 450,000. We do not profess to come\nany nearer than this to an estimate of the actual Catholic population.\nThe two conjectural calculations, compared with each other, appear to\nsettle the point that it is, as we have already stated, between\n300,000 and 400,000.\n\nThe number of churches is 32, or one to from 10,000 to 12,000 people;\nand the number of priests 93, or one to about 4,000 people. In the\nlower section, embracing the first seven wards, there are five\nchurches: St. Peter's in the Third ward, St. James's in the Fourth,\nSt. Andrew's and Transfiguration in the Sixth, and St. Teresa's in the\nSeventh. These churches furnish nearly three times as much\naccommodation as the Protestant churches in the same district. It must\nbe remembered that the capacity of a Catholic church includes standing\nroom as well as sittings, and must be multiplied by the number of\nmasses. A church which will hold, when crowded, 2,000 persons, and\nwhere four masses are celebrated, will accommodate 8,000 on one\nSunday; and, considering the causes which keep many from attending\nchurch regularly, 12,000 different individuals who attend regularly or\noccasionally. One of these churches, St. Teresa's, is a very fine\nbuilding of stone, which was purchased about four years ago from the\nPresbyterians, and was called in former times the Rutgers street\nPresbyterian church. No Catholic church in the lower part of the city\nhas ever been closed, or moved up town, with the exception of St.\nVincent de Paul's.\n\nThe middle district has nine churches: St. Alphonsus' in the Eighth\nward (German and English), St. Joseph's in the Ninth, St Bridget's in\nthe Eleventh, St. Mary's in the Thirteenth, St. Patrick's in the\nFourteenth, St. Ann's in the Fifteenth, Holy Redeemer (German), St.\nNicholas's (German), Nativity, in the Seventeenth.\n\nBelow Fourteenth street we have, therefore, fourteen churches, most of\nthem very large, surrounded by a dense Catholic population, and\ncrowded with overflowing congregations. A very large proportion of our\nCatholic population is in this part of the city.\n\n{387}\n\nBetween Fourteenth and Eighty-sixth streets we have fifteen churches:\nSt. Columba's and St. Vincent de Paul's (French) in the Sixteenth\nward, St. Francis Xavier's and the Immaculate Conception in the\nEighteenth, St. Francis's (German), St. John Baptist's (German), and\nSt. Michael's in the Twentieth, St. Stephen's and St. Gabriel's in the\nTwenty-first, Holy Cross, Assumption (German), and St. Paul's in the\nTwenty-second, St. Boniface's, St. John's, and St. Lawrence's in the\nNineteenth. Above Eighty-sixth street we have St. Paul's, Harlem, and\nthe Annunciation and St. Joseph's (German), Manhattanville. [Footnote\n61]\n\n  [Footnote 61: Of these churches, St. Teresa's, Immaculate Conception\n  St. Michael's, St. Gabriel's, St. Boniface's, Assumption, St.\n  Paul's, and St. Joseph's (German), are comparatively new; and a very\n  large cathedral, capable of containing 10,000 persons is building.\n  St. Stephen's is also being enlarged to a capacity of 5,000, and a\n  church has been purchased for the Italians.]\n\nAfter the old Catholic fashion of jamming and crowding, all these\nchurches might allow somewhere near 200,000 persons, or two-thirds of\nthe adult Catholic population, to hear mass on any one Sunday, if they\nshould all attempt to do so on the same day. Judging by the way\nchurches are crowded, we would suppose that more than two-thirds\nattend occasionally; and of those who do not, the majority neglect it\nthrough poverty, discouragement, indolence, and a careless habit, or\nsome other reason which does not imply loss of faith. As to\nconfessions and communions, they flow in a ceaseless stream throughout\nthe year, as if the paschal time were perpetual. In cachone of our\nchurches there are from 100 to 500 communions every week, and a much\ngreater number on the principal festivals. Probably the usual number\nof communions in the city, on any Sunday taken at random, is not short\nof 5,000. At least 8,000 children receive first communion and\nconfirmation every year; and from 40,000 to 50,000 are instructed\nevery week in the catechism, the Sunday schools varying in their\nnumbers from 500 to 2,500.\n\nThe Catholic population is increasing at the rate of at least 20,000 a\nyear. New York is now about the fourth city in the world in Catholic\npopulation, and bids fair, in a few years, to rank next to Paris in\nthis respect.\n\nThe Catholic institutions for education, strictly within the city\nlimits, are:\n\n1. Two colleges, St. Francis Xavier's and Manhattan colleges, the\nfirst conducted by Jesuits, and the second by Christian Brothers.\n\n2. Two academies for boys and twelve for girls.\n\n3. Twenty-one parochial schools for boys, and twenty for girls, the\nwhole containing about 14,000 pupils.\n\nThere are other very large and fine establishments in the vicinity of\nNew York, practically belonging to the city, but not within its\nlimits.\n\nThere are 4 orphan asylums, a protectory for the reception of vagrant\nchildren in two departments, male and female, which is out of town,\nanother for servant girls out of place, a very fine industrial school\nfor girls, 2 hospitals, 4 religious communities of men; and 11 of\nwomen. The most numerous of these religious congregations are the\nJesuits and the Sisters of Charity; the former having in the diocese\n39 fathers, beside numerous members of inferior grade, and the latter\n333 sisters and 39 different establishments.\n\nIn every sense except as regards municipal government, Brooklyn, which\nis on the other side of East River, is a part of New York; and there\nwe have another diocese of immense proportions, with another great\ncongeries of Catholic institutions. On the opposite side of the town,\nand on the Jersey shore of the Hudson, the churches of Jersey City,\nwhich is remarkably advanced in Catholic institutions, are plainly\nvisible.\n\nOur object in this article has been to give a general idea of the\nprovision made for the religious wants of the mass of the population\nin the city of New York.\n\n{388}\n\nIn spite of the uncertainty of the estimates and statistics we have\ngiven in regard to exact numbers, it is plain that this provision is\nvery inadequate; that a vast mass of our population is unprovided for\nor totally indifferent; that the orthodox Protestant societies have\nlost to a great extent their influence over the mass of the\npopulation, and that a great body of practically heathen people has\nbeen gradually forming and accumulating in the very bosom of our\nsocial system.\n\nWhere are we to look for a remedy to this state of things? It is\nnecessary to our political and social well-being that crime and vice\nshould be restrained, that the mass of the people should be instructed\nand formed in virtue, taught sobriety, chastity, honesty, obedience to\nlaw, fidelity to their obligations, and universal morality. Soldiers,\npolicemen, prisons, poor-laws, and all extrinsic means of this kind\nare insufficient preventives or remedies for the disorders caused by a\nprevalence of vice and immorality. They will burst all these bonds,\nand disrupt society, if not checked in their principle. Can liberal\nChristians, philanthropists, philosophers, political economists, and\nour wealthy, well-informed gentlemen of property, who have thrown away\ntheir Bibles, and who sneer at all positive revelation, indicate to us\na remedy? Can they apply it? Is it in their power, by scientific\nlectures, by elegant moral discourses, by material improvements, by\nsocieties, by laws, by any means whatever, to tame, control, civilize,\nreform, make gentle, virtuous, conscientious, this lawless multitude?\nCan they give us incorruptible legislators, faithful magistrates,\nhonest men of business, a virtuous commonalty? Can they create truth,\nhonor, and magnanimity, patriotism, chastity, filial obedience,\ndomestic happiness, integrity? If not, then give them their way, let\ntheir doctrines prevail, throw away faith in a positive revelation,\nand they will not be safe in their houses. The rogues will hang the\nhonest men, and might will be the only right. One of the leaders of\nthe party has not hesitated to avow that the prevalence of his\nprinciples would necessarily produce a social and moral chaos of\ndisorder, before mankind could learn in a rational way that their true\nhappiness lies in intellectual and moral cultivation. What has the\nsect of the philosophers ever done yet to produce virtue and morality\nin the mass of mankind? What can they do now? They cannot even\nreproduce what was good in heathenism, for that was due to an\nimperfect and corrupted tradition of the ancient revelation, and the\ninfluence of the sophists tended to destroy even that. Our modern\nsophists act on the same principle, and are busily at work to destroy\nthe Christian tradition of faith, and with it the principle which\nvitalizes Christian civilization.\n\nCan orthodox Protestantism recover its ancient sway, and reproduce a\nstate of religions belief and moral virtue equal to that which once\nprevailed? We would like to have them prove their ability to do so,\nand show that they have even made a fair beginning toward recovering\ntheir lost ground. We leave them to do what they can, and to try out\ntheir experiment to the end on the non-Catholic majority of our\npopulation. If their intelligence, wealth, zeal, and prestige of\nposition were thrown into the defence of the common cause of Christian\nrevelation by union with the Catholic Church, the victory would be\ncertain. Unbelief and indifferentism could never make any stand\nagainst a united Christianity, in a population so full of religions\nreminiscences and predilections, and so susceptible to persuasive\nlogic and genuine eloquence, as our own. The Christian cause is\nweakened by its divisions, and by the political and social schisms\nwhich are bred by the schisms in religion. Not only those who are\nseparated from the common trunk of the Catholic Church suffer from the\nseparation, but the trunk itself suffers and is mutilated by the loss.\n{389} The Catholic Church cannot do her work completely where the\nmajority of those who prefer Christianity are opposed to her,\nespecially when this majority includes the greater part of the more\nelevated classes.\n\nIt is evident, nevertheless, that the Catholic Church in New York has\ndone a great work in our population, and has a great work to do. We\nhave much more than one-third of the whole population, and the\nmajority of the laboring class, and of the poor people, on our hands.\nThe Catholic clergy alone possess a powerful and extensive religions\nsway over the masses of the people. The poor are emphatically here, as\nthey have been always and everywhere, our inheritance. Nearly all that\nhas been done, and is now doing, in an efficacious manner and on a\nlarge scale, for the religions welfare of the populace, is the work of\nour priesthood and their coadjutors. It is impossible to estimate the\nbenefit to society in a political, social, and moral point of view,\naccruing from the influence and exertions of the Catholic clergy. This\nis persistently denied by a certain class of writers, who never do\njustice to the Catholic Church except under compulsion. One of them,\nwriting in one of our principal weeklies, recently qualified the\nCatholic Church in the United States, whose growth and progress he\ncould not ignore, as a mere empty shell without any moral life or\npower. He accused the Catholic clergy of not exercising that moral\ninfluence in the country at large which they ought to exercise, and\nhave exercised in other times and places.\n\nWhat a change of base this is! But now, the Catholic religion was a\nkind of embodied spirit of evil, and her ministers had to vindicate\ntheir title to the rank of men and Christians. Religion, morality,\nliberty, happiness, would be swept from the country if they were not\nexterminated! Now, forsooth, we are gravely asked why we do not exert\na greater influence for promoting the general well-being of the\ncountry? The truth is, that the influence of the Catholic clergy on\nthe people at large has until now been a cipher. They have had no\nrecognized position, and have been counted for nothing, except so far\nas certain individuals have commanded a personal respect. There is,\nmoreover, a great amount of sham and trumpet-blowing about the great\nmoral demonstrations of the day. The Catholic clergy have not chosen\nto meddle with questions which were none of their business, or to\nparade and speechify on platforms or at anniversaries. They have\nenough to do in looking after the immediate and pressing spiritual and\ntemporal wants of their own people. And in doing this they prevent and\nreform more vice, produce more solid morality, and work more\neffectually for the well-being of their fellow-men, than could be done\nby the best devised philanthropic schemes. One mission in a city\ncongregation, one paschal-time with its labor in the confessional,\nwill do more to uproot drunkenness, dishonesty, and licentiousness, or\nto hinder these upas-trees from striking root in virgin soil, than our\namateur philanthropists could _describe_ if they were all to write and\nlecture on the subject for a year.\n\nThe one great, palpable fact which confronts us on every side is, that\nthe religious and moral education of nearly one-half our population is\nin the hands of the Catholic Church, and that the well-being of our\ncommonwealth depends, therefore, to a great degree on the thorough\nfulfilment of this task. It is evident that we have enough to do in\nmaking provision for our vast and increasing Catholic population, to\nemploy all the energies and resources which can possibly be brought\ninto play, both by the clergy and the laity.\n\n------\n\n{390}\n\n\nTranslated from Le Correspondant\n\nA PRETENDED DERVISH IN TURKESTAN.\n\nBY \u00c9MILE JONVEAUX.\n\n\nIV.\n\nThe next day the hadjis assembled in the court of the monastery in\nwhich they had resided since arriving in Khiva. The caravan, thanks to\nthe generosity of the faithful, presented a very different appearance\nfrom that which it offered at its arrival. They were no more those\nragged beggars, covered with sand and dust, whose pious sufferings the\nmultitude had admired; every pilgrim had the head enveloped in a thick\nturban as white as snow, the haversacks were full, and even the\npoorest had a little ass for the journey.\n\n\"It was Monday, toward the close of the day,\" relates our traveller,\n\"that making an end of our benedictions, and tearing ourselves with\ndifficulty from the passionate embraces of the crowd, we left Khiva by\nthe gate Urgendi. Many devotees in the excess of their seal followed\nus more than a league; they shed many tears, and cried despairingly,\n'When will our city have the happiness again to shelter so many\nsaints?' Seated upon my donkey, I was overwhelmed with their too\nlively demonstrations of sympathy, when happily for me, the animal,\nfatigued by so many embraces, lost patience and started off at a grand\ngallop. I did not think it proper at first to moderate his ardor; only\nwhen at a considerable distance from my inconvenient admirers I\nendeavored to slacken somewhat his pace. But my long-eared hippogriff\nhad taken a fancy to the course; my opposition only vexed him, and he\ntestified his ill-humor in noisy complaints which displayed the extent\nand richness of his voice, but which I could have preferred to hear at\na distance.\"\n\nThe travellers, after a day's march, encamped on the bank of the Oxus,\nwhich they wished to cross at this point. The river, swollen by the\nmelting of the snows, becomes so wide in the spring that one can\nhardly see the opposite bank. The yellow waves, hurried rapidly along,\ncontrast with the verdure of the trees and cultivated lands which\nextend as far as eye can reach. Toward the north, a\nmountain--Oveis-Karaine--is defined like an immense cloud upon the\nazure sky. The passage of the Oxus, begun in the morning, lasted till\nsunset. It would not have required so long a time, but the current\ncarried the voyagers into the midst of little arms from which it was\nnecessary afterward to ascend or re-descend, and this accident\noccurred every few paces. The transportation of the donkeys, which it\nwas necessary now to put upon land, and again to gather into the\nboats, was, as one may imagine, a prodigious labor. \"We were reduced,\"\nsays our traveller, \"to carry them in our arms like so many babies,\nand I laugh yet when I think of the singular figure of one of our\ncompanions, named Hadji Yakaub. He had taken his _monture_ upon his\nback, and while he tenderly pressed the legs to his bosom, the poor\nanimal, all trembling, tried to hide his head upon the shoulder of the\npilgrim.\"\n\n{391}\n\nThe caravan followed the banks of the Oxus for many days, or rather\nduring many nights, for the heat was so great that it was impossible\nto travel until sunset. The pale light of the moon gave to the\nlandscape something fantastic; the long file of camels and travellers\nextended itself in tortuous folds upon the flinty soil, the waters of\nthe river flowing slowly with a mournful noise, and beyond extended\nafar the formidable desert of Tartary. This district, which bears the\nname of Toyeboyun (camel's back), no doubt on account of the curves\ndescribed by the Oxus, is inhabited at certain seasons of the year by\nthe Kirghiz, a nomad people among the nomads. A woman to whom Vamb\u00e9ry\nmade some remarks on the subject of this vagabond existence, replied\nlaughing, \"Oh, certainly! one never sees us, like you other mollahs,\nremain days and weeks sitting in the same place; man is made for\nmovement. See! the sun, the moon, the stars, the animals, the fish,\nthe birds, everything moves in this world; only death remains\nmotionless.\" As she finished these words, the cry was heard, \"The\nwolf! the wolf!\" The shepherdess cut short her philosophical\ndissertation to fly to the assistance of her flock, and made so good a\nuse of voice and gesture, that the ferocious beast took flight,\ncarrying with him only the beautiful fat tail of one of the sheep.\n\nThe Kirghiz are very numerous in central Asia; they inhabit the\nimmense prairies situated between Siberia, China, Turkestan, and the\nCaspian sea; but it is difficult to compute their number. Ask them a\nquestion on this subject, and they will reply emphatically, \"Count\nfirst the sands of the desert, then you will be able to number the\nKirghiz.\" Their wandering habits have secured them against all\nauthority, and Europeans are in an error when they believe them to be\nsubject to the government of Russia or that of the Celestial Empire.\nNone of these nations have ever exercised the least power over the\nKirghiz; they send, it is true, officers charged to left taxes among\nthem, but the nomads regard these functionaries as the chiefs of a\nvast foray, and they only admire how, instead of despoiling them of\neverything, they content themselves with levying upon them only a\nslight tax. Revolutions have often changed the face of the world, the\ninhabitants of the desert have remained the same for thousands of\nyears; singular types of savage virtue and vice, they offer today a\nfaithful image of the ancient Turani.\n\nThe pilgrims were anticipating with delight the end of their journey;\nonly six or eight stages remained, when one morning at break of day,\ntwo men almost naked approached the caravan, crying in suppliant\ntones: \"A morsel of bread, for the love of God!\" Every one hastened to\nassist them, and when food had somewhat restored their strength, they\ninformed the dervishes that, surprised by a band of Cossacks, _ataman\nTekke_, they had lost baggage, clothes, provisions, and were only too\nhappy not to have lost their lives. The brigands, one hundred and\nfifty in number, were planning a raid upon the troops of Kirghiz\ncamped upon the banks of the Oxus: \"Fly, then, or hide yourselves,\"\nadded the men, \"or else you will meet them in a few hours, and in\nspite of your sacred character, these bandits without faith or law\nwill abandon you in the Khalata, after robbing you of all you\npossess.\" The kervanbashi, who had already been pillaged twice, no\nsooner heard the words Tekke and ataman than he gave the order to beat\na retreat. Consequently after having rested the animals a short time\nand filled their bottles, the hadjis, casting a look of inexpressible\nregret upon the tranquil banks of the Oxus, made their way toward\nthose frightful solitudes which had already swallowed up so many\ncaravans. They advanced in perfect silence, not to arouse their\nenemies; the step of the camels upon the dusty soil returned no sound,\nand very soon the shades of night enveloped them.\n\n{392}\n\nToward midnight all the pilgrims were obliged to dismount and walk,\nbecause the animals buried themselves to the knees in the sand. It was\na severe trial for Vamb\u00e9ry; his infirmity doubled the fatigue of a\ntramp over a moving ground, in the midst of a continuous chain of\nlittle hills, therefore he hailed with joy the point designated for\nthe morning station. The place, however, bore a name little calculated\nto inspire confidence. _Adamkyrylgan_ (the place where men perish)\njustified in appearance its sinister appellation. As far as the eye\ncould reach, extended only a sea of sand, which, on one side raising\nitself in hills like furious waves, still bore the visible imprint of\nthe tempest, and on the other resembled a tranquil lake hardly ruffled\nby a light breeze. Not a bird traversed the air, not an animal, not an\ninsect gave an appearance of life to this desolate spot. Far and near\nwere seen only the blanched bones of men and camels, frightful\nwitnesses of the disasters caused by the _Tebbad_ or fever-wind, which\nfrom time to time poured upon the desert its burning breath.\n\nThe travellers were not pursued; the Tekkes themselves, bold\ncavaliers, hesitated to penetrate the Khalata. According to the\ncalculation of the kervanbashi, six days' journey at most separated\nthe caravan from Bokhara; the bottles being well filled, the pilgrims\nhoped they should not suffer from thirst; they had not counted upon\nthe burning sun of the dog-days, which evaporated the precious liquid.\nIn vain, to escape from this cursed region, they endeavored to double\nthe hours of march; many camel died of fatigue, and the water\ndiminished all the more rapidly. At last two hadjis, exhausted by\nprivations, became so ill that it was necessary to bind them upon\ntheir donkeys with cords, for they were unable to hold themselves up.\n\"Water! Water!\" they murmured in dying accents. Alas, their best\nfriends refused to sacrifice for them the least swallow of this\nliquid, each drop of which represented an hour of life; so, on the\nfourth day, when the pilgrims reached Medemin Bulag, one of these\nunhappy men was released by death from the cruel tortures of thirst.\nHis palate had assumed a grayish tint, his tongue had become black,\nthe lips like parchment and the open mouth displaying the naked teeth.\nHorrible to relate, the father hides from the son, brother from\nbrother, the provision of water which would relieve his torture! Under\nany other proof, these men would, perhaps, have shown themselves\ngenerous and devoted, but thirst drives from the heart every sentiment\nof compassion.\n\nVamb\u00e9ry soon experienced himself its terrible effects. He managed with\nthe parsimony of a miser the contents of his bottle, until he\nperceived with fright a black point formed upon the middle of his\ntongue. Then, blinking to save his life, he swallowed at once half the\nwater which he had left. The fire which devoured him became more\nviolent toward the morning of the fifth day, the pains in the head\nincreased, and he felt his strength failing him. Meanwhile, they\napproached the mountains of Khalata, the sand became less deep, all\neyes eagerly sought the tracks of a flock, or the hut of a shepherd;\nin this instant the kervanbashi called the attention of the pilgrims\nto a cloud of dust which rose at the horizon, warning them to lose not\na moment in dismounting from their camels.\n\n\"The poor animals,\" relates Vamb\u00e9ry, \"felt the approach of the Tebbad.\nUttering a doleful cry, they threw themselves upon their knees,\nextended their long necks upon the ground, and endeavored to hide\ntheir heads in the sand. We sheltered ourselves near them as behind a\nwall; hardly were we upon the ground when the tempest broke over us\nwith a sullen roar, leaving us the moment after, covered with a thick\ncoat of dust. When this rain of sand enveloped me, it seemed to me\nburning like fire. If we had been attacked by this tempest two days\nbefore in the midst of the desert, we must all have perished.\n\n{393}\n\n\"The air had become of an overwhelming weight; I could not have\nremounted my camel without the aid of my companions; I suffered\nintolerable pains, of which no words can give the least idea. In face\nof other perils, courage had now left me, but in this moment I felt\nbroken down, my head ached so that I could not think, and a heavy\nsleep overcame me. On awaking, I found myself lying in a hut of clay,\nsurrounded by long-bearded men whom I recognized as Iranians.\"\n\nThey were, in fact, Persian slaves sent into the desert to watch the\nflocks of their master; these brave fellows made Vamb\u00e9ry swallow a\nwarm drink, and, soon after, a beverage composed of sour milk, water,\nand salt, which soon restored his strength. Before quitting the\nSunnite pilgrims, in whom they must have recognized the bitterest\nenemies of their race, the poor prisoners shared with them their\nslender provision of water, an act of meritorious charity which\nwithout doubt was regarded with complacency by the God of mercy who is\nthe Father of all.\n\nThe caravan at last reached Bokhara, the most important city of\ncentral Asia, but which preserves to-day few traces of its ancient\ngrandeur. Still, it possesses fine monasteries and colleges which\nrival those of Samarcand. These schools, founded at a great expense\nand sustained by great sacrifices, have given Europeans a high idea of\nAsiatic learning; but it must be remembered, they are controlled by a\nblind fanaticism. The exclusive spirit of the Bokhariots restricts\nsingularly the circle of studies, all instruction turning upon the\nprecepts of the Koran and religious casuistry. We do not find to-day a\nsingle disciple who occupies himself with history or poetry; if any\none were tempted to do it, he would be obliged to conceal it, for\nattention given to subjects so frivolous would be considered a proof\nof weakness of mind.\n\nVamb\u00e9ry and his companions found asylum in a _Tekki_ or convent, a\nvast square building, of which the forty cells opened upon a court\nplanted with fine trees. The _Khalfa_, or \"reverend abbot,\" as our\nHungarian traveller calls him, was a man of agreeable exterior and\ngentle and published manners. He received Vamb\u00e9ry most graciously, and\nthe two interlocutors opened a pompous, subtle conversation, full of\nreticence and mental reserves, which charmed the good Khalfa and gave\nhim also the highest opinion of his new guest; so from his arrival in\nBokhara, our traveller acquired a great reputation for learning and\nsanctity.\n\nThe next day, accompanied by Hadji Bilal, he went out to see the city.\nThe streets and houses of this noble city are chiefly remarkable for\ntheir slovenly appearance and ruinous condition. After having crossed\nthe public squares, where they went up to the ankles in a blackish\ndust, the two friends arrived at the bazaar which was filled with a\nnoisy and busy crowd. These establishments by no means equal those of\nPersia in extent and magnificence, but the mingling of races, of\ncostumes and habits, forms a bizarre spectacle which captivates the\neye of a stranger. Persians, their heads wrapped in their large blue\nor white turbans, according to the class to which they belong, jostle\nthe savage Tartar, the Kirghiz with his slouching gait, the Indian\nwith his yellow and repulsive face, bearing upon the forehead the red\nbrand, and, finally, the Jew, who preserves here, more than anywhere\nelse, his distinctive type, his noble features, his deep-sunk eyes,\nwhere an astute intelligence glitters. Here and there we meet also a\nTurcoman, easily recognized by his proud mien and bold glance;\nmotionless before the shops of the merchants, they think perhaps of\nthe precious booty which the riches displayed before them will furnish\nfor their forays.\n\nThe pilgrims received everywhere marks of enthusiastic sympathy; the\nforeign appearance of Vamb\u00e9ry excited particular admiration. \"What\n{394} faith he must have,\" said one, \"to come from Constantinople to\nBokhara, and endure the fatigue of a  journey through the great\nDesert, in order to meditate at the tomb of Baveddin!\"   [Footnote 62]\n\"Without doubt,\" replied another, \"but we also go to Mecca, the holy\ncity by eminence, and in order to accomplish this pilgrimage we leave\nour business, and endure, I should think, quite enough fatigue. These\npeople,\" and he pointed his finger at Vamb\u00e9ry, \"have no business to\noccupy them; their whole life is consecrated to exercises of piety and\nto visiting the tombs of the saints.\"--\"Bravo, very well imagined!\"\nthought our traveller, while he cast glances which he tried to render\nindifferent, upon the display of Russian and other European goods\nexposed for sale; he often had great difficulty in repressing an\nimprudent emotion when he saw articles of merchandise bearing the\nstamp of Manchester or Birmingham. Quickly turning his head for fear\nof betraying himself, he fixed his attention upon the products of the\nsoil and of native industry, examined a fine cotton fabric called\n_Aladja_, where two colors alternate in narrow stripes, silken stuffs,\nrich and various, from the elegant handkerchief as thin as the\nlightest gauze, to the heavy _atres_, which falls in large luxurious\nfolds. Leathers play an important part in Bokharist manufactures, the\nshoemakers of the country make of them long boots for both sexes; but\nthe shops towards which the people pressed most eagerly were those of\nthe clothes-merchant, where ready-made garments strike the eye by\ntheir dazzling colors, for Bokhara is the Paris of central Asia,\nregarded by the Turcomen as the centre of elegance.\n\n  [Footnote 62: An ascetic celebrated throughout Islam, founder of the\n  order of the Nakishbendi, to which the Hungarian traveller pretended\n  to belong.]\n\nWhen he had sufficiently contemplated this curious tableau, Vamb\u00e9ry\nasked Hadji Bilal to take him to a place where he might rest and\nrefresh himself; and the two friends went together to a place called\n_Lebi Hanz Divanbeghi_(quay of the reservoir of Divanbeghi), where all\nthe  fashionables of the city collect. In the middle of the square is\na reservoir one hundred feet deep and eighty wide, bordered with cubic\nstones forming a stair of eight steps to the water's edge. All around\nmagnificent elms shade the inevitable tea-shop, and the colossal\n_samovar_, not less inevitable, invites every passer-by to take a cup\nof the boiling liquid. On three sides of the square, little stalls,\nsheltered by bamboo matting, display to the eye bread, fruits,\nconfectionery, hot and cold meats. The fourth side takes the form of a\nterrace, and close by rises the mosque _Mesdjidi Divanbeghi_, Before\nthe doors are planted a number of trees, under which the dervishes and\n_meddah_ (popular orators) recount to the wondering crowd, the\nexploits of heroes, or the holy deeds of the prophets. Just as Vamb\u00e9ry\narrived, the Nakishbendis crossed the square, making their daily\nprocession. \"Never shall I forget,\" says our traveller, \"the\nimpression which these wild enthusiasts made upon me: their heads\ncovered with pointed hats, with flowing hair, and long staves in their\nhands, they danced a round like the orgies of witches, yelling sacred\nsongs, of which their chief, an old man with a gray beard, intoned\nalone the first strophe.\"\n\nThe secret inquisition established in Bokhara began very soon to annoy\nVamb\u00e9ry in spite of his reputation for sanctity. Spies sent by the\ngovernment came almost every day, upon one pretext or another, to open\nwith the stranger conversations which always turned upon Europeans,\ntheir diabolical artifices, and the chastisements which had punished\nthe audacity of many of them. They hoped that some imprudent word\nwould drop to justify their suspicions, but the European was too much\non his guard to be caught; he listened at first with patience, and\nthen affecting an air of contemptuous indifference, \"I left\nConstantinople,\" said he, \"to get away from these {395} cursed\nEuropeans, who, no doubt, owe their arts and sciences to the demon.\nNow, Allah be praised! I am in Bokhara, and I don't want to be\ntroubled with thinking about them.\"\n\nThe emir was then absent; the minister who directed the inquest,\nseeing that his emissaries were completely foiled, resolved to make\nthe stranger appear before a tribunal composed of onlemas, where his\northodoxy would be scrupulously examined. He had, in fact, to sustain\na running fire of embarrassing questions which would be sure some day\nto pierce his incognito. Fortunately, he perceived the snare in time,\nand changing his character, took himself the part of questioner. Urged\nby a pious zeal, he consulted the learned doctors on the most minute\ncases of conscience, wished to know the differences, often\nimperceptible, between the _Farz_ and the _Sunnet_, precepts of\nobligation, and the _Tadjib_ and the _Mustahab_, simple religious\ncounsels. This artifice had complete success; many an obscure text\nfurnished material for an animated discussion, in which Vamb\u00e9ry never\nlost an occasion of making a pompous eulogium of the Bokharist\noulemas, and loudly proclaiming their superiority. Then the judges,\ngained to his cause, told the minister that he had committed a grave\nmistake. Hadji Reschid was a very distinguished mollah, well prepared\nto receive the divine inspiration, precious heritage of the saints.\n\nVamb\u00e9ry, free henceforth from all fear, could study at leisure the\ncharacter and aptitudes of the people of Bokhara. This city, which is,\naccording to him, the Home of Islam, since Mecca and Medina represent\nJerusalem, is not a little proud of its religious supremacy. Though it\nrecognizes the spiritual authority of the Sultan, it does not, like\nKhiva, blindly submit to it, and it hardly pardons the emperor for\npermitting himself to be corrupted by the detestable influence of\nEuropeans. Our traveller, in his supposed quality of Turk, was\nfrequently obliged to defend Constantinople from the reproaches\naddressed to him: \"Why,\" demanded, for example, the fervent\nBokharists,--\"why does not the sultan put to death all the Europeans\nwho live in his states? why does he not ordain every year a holy war\nagainst the unbelievers?\" Or again: \"Why do not the Turks wear the\nturban and the long robe which the law prescribes? Is not this a\nfrightful sin? and also, why have they not the long beard and short\nmoustache which the Prophet wore?\"\n\nThe emir Mozaffar ed Din watches carefully over the maintenance of the\nsacred doctrines. Every city has its _Re\u00efs_ or guardian of religion,\nwho, whip in hand, runs through the streets and public squares,\ninterrogating every one he meets upon the precepts of Islam. Woe to\nthe unhappy passenger taken in the flagrant crime of ignorance: if it\nwere a gray-headed old man he is also, all business ceasing, sent for\na fortnight to the benches of the school. A discipline equally\nrigorous, obliges every one to go to the mosques at the hour of\nprayer. Finally, the espionage of the Re\u00efs does not stop at the\nthreshold of the private dwelling, and in the privacy of his family a\nBokharist takes care not to omit the least rite, or even to pronounce\nthe name of the emir without adding the sacramental formula, \"May\nAllah give him a hundred and twenty years of life!\" It needs not to\nsay that all joy and gaiety are banished from social life, except the\nmomentary animation of the bazaar. Bokhara presents a sad and\nmonotonous aspect. During the day, every one fears perpetually to find\nhimself in the presence of a spy; in the evening, two hours after\nsunset, the streets are deserted; no one ventures to visit a friend,\nthe sick may perish for want of help, for Mozaffar ed Din forbids any\none to go out under the most severe penalties.\n\nNevertheless, this prince is generally beloved by his subjects: he is\nstrictly faithful to the policy of his predecessors, but they cannot\nreproach {396} him with any crime, or arbitrary or cruel act. A pious\nand instructed Mussulman, he has taken for device the word \"justice,\"\nand he conforms himself to it scrupulously. This Bokharist justice\nmight appear a little summary to Europeans, and the war against\nKhokand, is not, as we shall see by-and-bye, just in the full\nacceptation of the word, yet a prince of central Asia, educated in the\nbosom of the most fiery fanaticism, must be judged with some\nindulgence. It must be said in his praise, that if he is sometimes\nlavish of the blood of his nobles, he spares at least that of the\npoorer class, so that his people have surnamed him \"the destroyer of\nelephants, and the protector of, mice.\"\n\nA declared enemy of all innovation, the emir applies himself\nespecially to maintain the austere manners of the ancient Bokhara. The\nimportation of articles of luxury is forbidden, very rigorous\nsumptuary laws regulate not only dress, but even the structure and\nfurniture of the dwellings. Mozaffar ed Din gives the first example of\nthe contempt of all luxury; he has reduced by half the number of his\nservants; and one vainly seeks in his palace the least appearance of\nprincely pomp. The same simplicity resigns in the harem, the oversight\nof which is intrusted to the mother and grandmother of the sovereign;\nthe wise direction of these two princesses merits for this sanctuary a\nhigh reputation for chastity. Its doors, carefully closed to laics,\nopen only to the mollahs, whose sacred breathings bring with them only\nhappiness and piety. The sultanas, four in number, are accustomed to\nthe exercise of domestic virtues; their table is frugal, their dress\nmodest; they make their own garments and sometimes those of the emir,\nwho exercises over all expenses a minute control.\n\nBefore quitting Bokhara, Vamb\u00e9ry wished to visit the tomb of Baveddin,\nthe supposed end of his long pilgrimage.\n\nThis saint, the patron of Turkestan, is the object of profound\nveneration throughout all Asia. They regard him as a second Mohammed;\nand even from the heart of China, the faithful come in crowds to kiss\nhis relics. The sepulchre is in a little garden, near which they have\nbuilt a mosque; troops of blind, lame or paralytic beggars completely\nobstruct the approach. In front of the mausoleum is found the famous\n_Stone of Desire_, which has been much worn by the contact of the\nforeheads of pilgrims; on the tomb are placed rams' horns, a banner,\nand a broom sanctified by a long service in the temple of Mecca. Many\ntimes they have tried to cover all with a dome, but Baveddin prefers\nthe open air, and always after three nights the buildings are thrown\ndown. At least such is the legend, related by the sheiks, descendants\nof the saint.\n\n\n\nV.\n\nThe two companions of Vamb\u00e9ry, Hadji Salih and Hadji Bilal, were\nimpatient to quit Bokhara in order to reach before winter the distant\nprovince where they lived. Our traveller proposed to accompany them to\nSamarcand; he wished to see this celebrated city, and anticipating an\ninterview with the emir, he wished to secure for himself the support\nof the pilgrims. The day of departure the caravan was already much\nreduced, being contained entirely in two carts. The European,\nsheltered from the sun by a hanging of mats, expected to repose\ncomfortably in his rustic carriage, but this illusion was soon broken.\nThe violent jolting of the vehicle threw the pilgrims every instant\nhere and there, now against each other, now against the heavy\nwagon-frame; their heads were beaten about like billiard-balls. \"For\nthe first few hours,\" adds Vamb\u00e9ry, \"I was literally sea-sick; I\nsuffered much more than when mounted upon the camel, the swaying of\nwhich, {397} resembling the rolling of a ship, I had dreaded very\nmuch.\"\n\nThe travellers followed, at first a monotonous road; short, stinted\npastures extended everywhere to the horizon, but nothing justified the\nmarvellous stories of the inhabitants of the charming villages and\nenchanted gardens which lie between Bokhara and Samarcand. The caravan\ncrossed the little desert of _Chol Melik_, and reached the next day\nthe district of Kermineh; there the landscape suddenly changes,\nbeautiful hamlets, grouped near each other, offer to the eye their\ninns, before which the gigantic _samovar_ makes the traveller dream of\nsolace and comfort; their farms, surrounded by rich harvests, by\nprairies where magnificent cattle feed, and by farm-yards sheltering\ntheir feathered population. Everything breathed life and abundance,\nand Vamb\u00e9ry could not contemplate without emotion this smiling\npicture, which recalled his fertile Germany.\n\nAfter a journey of five days the hadjis arrived within sight of\nSamarcand. Thanks to the remembrances of the past, and the distance\nwhich separates it from Europe, the ancient capital of Timour excites\na lively curiosity. We will permit the Hungarian traveller to\ndescribe, himself, this famous city.\n\n\"Let the reader,\" says he, \"take a seat beside me in my modest\ncarriage. He will perceive toward the east a high mountain, the\ncupola-like summit of which is crowned by a small edifice; there\nreposes Chobanata, the venerated patron of shepherds. Below extends\nthe city. Its circumference nearly equals that of Teheran, but it must\nbe much less populous, for the houses are much more scattered; on the\nother hand its ruins and public monuments give it an air more grand\nand imposing. The eye is first attracted by four lofty dome-like\nbuildings, which are the _midresses_ or colleges. Further on we\nperceive a small, guttering dome, then toward the south another,\nlarger and more majestic; the first is the tomb, the second the mosque\nof Timour. Just in front of us, at the extreme southwest of the city,\nrises on a hill the citadel (_Ark_), itself surrounded by temples and\nsepulchres, which define themselves against the blue sky. If now we\nimagine all this intermingled with gardens of the most luxuriant\nvegetation, we shall have an idea of Samarcand. A feeble and imperfect\nidea, it is true, for the Persian proverb justly says 'It is one thing\nto see and another to hear.'\n\n\"Alas! why must we add that in entering this city all this prestige\nvanishes, and gives place to a bitter disappointment? We were obliged\nto cross the cemetery before reaching the inhabited quarters, and in\nspite of myself, this line of a Persian poet, which to-day seems\ntinged with a cruel irony, came to my mind?\n\n  \"Samarcand is the sun of the world.\"\n\nThe same evening Vamb\u00e9ry and his companions were received in a house\nvery near the tomb of Timour. Our traveller was delighted to learn\nthat his host filled important functions near the Emir. The return of\nthis prince, who had just finished a victorious campaign in Khokand,\nbeing expected very soon, Hadji Salih and Haji Bilal consented, out of\nregard to their friend, to prolong their stay in Samarcand until\nVamb\u00e9ry had obtained an audience of Mozaffar ed Din, and found a\ncaravan with which he might return to Persia. While waiting the\npilgrims visited the ancient monuments of the city, which, in spite of\nits miserable appearance, is the richest city in Central Asia in\nhistorical remembrances. The plan of this sketch does not permit us to\nfollow the author in the details which he gives of these remarkable\nbuildings. We only cite.\n\n1. The summer palace of Timour, which preserves, even to-day, some\nvestiges of its ancient magnificence. The apartment, to which we\nascend by a marble staircase of forty steps, {398} contains rich mural\npaintings, made with colored bricks, and the pavement, entirely of\nmosaic, preserves the freshness and brilliancy of the first day.\n\n2. The citadel, where we admire in a vast apartment called \"Timour's\naudience-hall,\" the celebrated _K\u00f6ktash_ (green stone) upon which was\nplaced the throne of the famous conqueror.\n\n3. The tomb of Timour, surmounted by a very beautiful stone of deep\ngreen, two spans and a half wide, ten long, and of the thickness of\nsix fingers. Not far from this a black stone shades the sepulchre of\n_Mir Seid Berke_, the spiritual director of the emir, near whom the\npowerful monarch wished to be buried. In the vaults of this mausoleum\nis preserved a copy of the Koran written upon gazelle skin, by the\nhand of Osman, the secretary and successor of Mohammed.\n\n4. The _Midusses_, of which many, entirely abandoned, are falling into\nruin; others, yet flourishing, are maintained with care. The most\nremarkable is that of Tillakair, so called from its golden ornaments.\n\nThe new city is much smaller than the ancient capital of Timour; it\nhas six gates, and several bazaars where they sell at a very low price\nmanufactured articles, confessedly of European workmanship. Vamb\u00e9ry,\nwithout thinking, like the Tartars, that \"Samarcand resembles\nParadise,\" still found it quite superior to other Turcoman cities, by\nthe beauty of its situation, the splendor of its monuments, and the\nrichness of its vegetation.\n\nMeanwhile, days passed and the emir did not arrive, the caravan which\nwas to take Vamb\u00e9ry back prepared to start, when the conqueror of\nKhokand at last made his triumphant entry. Mozaffar ed Din, following\nthe unscrupulous policy adopted in the east, had organized a vast\nconspiracy against the sovereign of the rival khanat; then hired\nassassins, by his orders, delivered him from his enemies; and\nprofiting by the confusion thus caused, Mozaffar succeeded in making\nhimself master of the capital. At this news Samarcand burst into\ntransports of joy, the people considered Mozaffar as a new Timour, who\nwas about to reduce successively under his dominion, China, Persia,\nAfghanistan, India, and Europe; in their warlike ardor the Turcomen\nsaw already the world divided between their prince and the Sultan of\nConstantinople. Nor must we be so much surprised that the taking of\nKhokand had so greatly excited them; this city, four times as large,\nthey say, as Teheran, is the capital of a powerful khanat, which has\nfor a long time remained in a state of perpetual hostility to the\nBokharists. But one foresees that the Russian government will soon\nestablish peace between these two enemies, in assuming the part of the\njudge in the fable. It slowly pursues its end, sows division, and\nalready its bayonets have subjected Tashkend, the most western city of\nKhokand, and equally important in a commercial and military point of\nview.\n\nAt the period when Vamb\u00e9ry visited Samarcand, the intoxication of the\nvictory obtained by the emir dispelled all gloom; the Europeans and\ntheir encroachments were forgotten in the noisy rejoicings. The happy\nreturn of Mozaffar ed Din was celebrated by a national festival, in\nwhich rice, mutton, tallow, and tea were distributed to the people\nwith royal prodigality; the next day, the emir having granted his\nsubjects a public audience, our traveller seized the occasion to be\npresented. Accompanied by his friends the pilgrims, he was preparing\nto enter the palace, when a Mehrem stopped him, saying that his\nMajesty desired to see the hadji of Constantinople alone. \"We were\nextremely alarmed,\" relates Vamb\u00e9ry; \"this distinction seemed to us an\nill omen. Nevertheless, I followed the officer with a firm step. He\nintroduced me into a spacious hall, where I perceived the emir seated\nupon an ottoman, and surrounded with books and manuscripts of all\nsorts. I did not suffer myself to be intimidated by the cold and\nsevere air of the {399} prince, and after having recited a short\n_sura_, followed by the habitual prayer for the sovereign, I seated\nmyself without asking permission near the royal person. He did not\nappear offended, for my character of dervish authorized this conduct,\nbut he fixed upon me his great black eyes with a suspicious and\ninterrogatory air, as if he would read to the bottom of my soul.\nFortunately, for a long time I have lost the habit of blushing,\ntherefore I sustained this scrutiny with coolness.\n\n\"Hadji,\" at last the emir said to me, \"you have come from Turkey, I\nunderstand, to visit the tombs of Baveddin and the saints of\nTurkestan?\"\n\n\"'Yes, Takhsir' (Your Majesty), but I wished also to refresh myself\nwith the sight of your divine beauty.'\n\n\"'It is very strange! how, have you no other motive for undertaking so\nlong a journey?'\n\n\"'No, Takhsir; I have always had an ardent desire to behold the noble\nBokhara, the enchanting Samarcand, the sacred soil of which, according\nto the remark of the sheikh Djilal, ought to be trodden with the head\nrather than with the feet. I have beside no other business in this\nworld, and for a long time I have wandered about like a pilgrim of the\nuniverse.'\n\n\"A pilgrim of the universe! you, with your lame leg!'\n\n\"'Remember, Takhsir, that your glorious ancestor Timour,  [Footnote\n63] peace be with him, had the same infirmity, which did not hinder\nhim from being the conqueror of the universe.'\n\n  [Footnote 63: This prince, from whom the emirs of Bokhara pretend to\n  descend, was lame, from whence came the surname of Timonr-leuk, or\n  Timour the lame, of which we make Tamerlan (Fr.), Tamerlane (Eng.) ]\n\n\"These words charmed the emir; he addressed to me various questions\nrelating to my journey, asking the impression which Bokhara and\nSamarcand had made upon me. My answers, all wrapped in Persian\nsentences and verses of the Koran, gained the confidence of the\nprince. Before dismissing me, he gave an order to remit to me a\ncomplete suit of clothes, and to count me out thirty tenghes.\"\n\nVamb\u00e9ry, much elated, hastened to inform his friends of the result of\nthe interview; they advised him not to count too surely on the royal\nprotection, and not to defer his departure. It cost him much to quit\nthese good dervishes, generous and devoted hearts, the faithful\ncompanions of his hours of suffering. The bold explorer, the witty and\nsarcastic writer, full of pungent humor, here finds words which\nindicate deep feeling \"I cannot describe,\" says he, \"the emotion with\nwhich we parted. For six months, we had lived the same life, shared\nthe same perils; perils in the midst of the burning sands of the\ndesert, perils from the savage Turcomen, perils from the inclemency of\nnature and the elements. Differences of age, of position, of\nnationality, had disappeared; we were members of one family. Now we\nwere to separate, never to meet again; death could not have parted us\nmore widely, nor left in our souls a deeper grief. My heart\noverflowed, and I sobbed aloud, when I thought that even in this\nsupreme hour, I could not confide to these men, my best, my dearest\nfriends, the secret of my disguise. I must deceive those to whom I\nowed my life. This thought caused me a real remorse: I sought, but in\nvain, an occasion for bringing out the dangerous confidence.\"\n\nHow, in fact, could he tell these pious pilgrims, zealous believers,\nthat the friend whose religious learning they had admired, whose faith\nand virtue they respected, was an impostor, who, urged by the thirst\nfor secular learning, had surprised their confidence, profaned their\nministry, had trifled, in a word, with their dearest sentiments? Such\nan avowal might not, perhaps, have broken the bonds of affection which\nunited him to the two dervishes, but what a bitter deception for these\nfervent and sincere souls t {400} And why destroy an illusion so\nsweet? Vamb\u00e9ry retained the secret ready to escape him; his eyes\nswimming in tears, he tore himself from the embraces of his friends.\n\"I see them always,\" he adds, \"motionless in the place where I had\nquitted them, the hands raised toward heaven, imploring the blessing\nof Allah for my journey. Many times I turned my head to see them\nagain; at last they disappeared in the fog, and I could distinguish\nonly the domes of Samarcand, feebly lighted by the rays of the moon.\"\n\nThe journey home was marked by fewer dramatic incidents. Vamb\u00e9ry had\nto cross the country of Bokhara, but avoiding the capital, he arrived\nafter three days at Karshi, the second city of the khanat in extent\nand commercial relations. It contains six caravansaries and a\nwell-supplied market, where are seen very remarkable articles of\nnative cutlery, which are largely exported into central Asia, Persia,\nArabia, and even into Turkey. These fine blades, richly damaskeened,\nthe handles covered with incrustations of gold and silver, are far\nsuperior to the best products of Sheffield or Birmingham. Vamb\u00e9ry's\nnew companions advised him to use such funds as he had left, in\npurchasing knives, needles, and glass-ware, the exchange of which\nwould secure a pilgrim the means of existence among the nomad tribes.\nOur traveller thought it best to follow this prudent counsel, and add,\nas he gaily remarks, \"the profession of merchant to that of antiquary,\nhadji and mollah, without prejudice to a crowd of not less important\nfunctions, such as bestowing benedictions, holy breathings, amulets,\nand talismans.\"\n\nThe caravan passed through Bokhara without disturbance; the rigor with\nwhich the emir enforces the police regulations rendering all the roads\nfrom across the desert perfectly secure, not only for caravans, but\neven for individual travellers. Vamb\u00e9ry could hardly contain his joy\nin crossing the frontier: at every step he approached the West; he was\nabout to revisit Persia, the first stage of civilization, the object\nof his ardent desires. Other members of the caravan were not less\nimpatient, these were Iranian slaves, returning to their own country.\nOne of them, an old man, bent under the weight of years, had been to\nBokhara to pay the ransom of his son, the only support of his family,\nthe price demanded was fifty ducats, and the poor father had exhausted\nhis resources in the payment. \"But,\" said he, \"better to fear the\nstaff of the beggar than to leave my son in chains.\" Another of these\nunhappy men greatly excited Vamb\u00e9ry's compassion; his wasted features,\nand hair prematurely white, proved sufficiently his sufferings, eight\nyears previous, a Turcoman raid had carried away his wife, his sister\nand his six children; the unfortunate man pursued them, vainly sought\nthem in the two Khanats of Khiva and Bokhara; when at last he\ndiscovered the place of their captivity, his wife, his sister and two\nchildren had perished under the rigors of slavery. Of the four who\nremained he was able to ransom only two; the others having become men,\ntheir master exacted so heavy a ransom that the unhappy father was\nunable to raise the sum.\n\nThese instances give but a faint idea of the scourge which has for\ncenturies depopulated the north of Persia and neighboring countries.\nThe Turcomen Tekkes number to-day more than fifteen thousand mounted\nplunderers, whose only occupation consists in organizing a system of\nvast brigandage, to decimate families and ravage hamlets. The\ntravellers crossed whole districts desolated by war and exactions of\nall sorts; the laws are powerless to repress disorders, a bribe\nsuffices to exculpate one from the most odious crime; therefore every\none speaks with admiration of Bokhara, whose emir is regarded as a\nmodel of justice and wisdom. An inhabitant of Audkuy acknowledged that\nhis compatriots envied the happiness of being {401} subject to the\nsceptre of Mozaffar ed Din, and added that the Europeans would be\npreferable to the present Mussulman chiefs.\n\nMeanwhile, the journey was long, and Vamb\u00e9ry saw with anxiety his\nlittle package of merchandise diminish. He hoped to obtain assistance\nat Herat; but unfortunately, when they arrived in this city, the key\nof central Asia, it had just been put to sack by the Afghans. The\nfortifications and houses were only a heap of ruins, the citadel\ntrembled, half demolished upon its crumbling base, some few\ninhabitants here and there showed themselves, the celebrated bazaar,\nwhich had stood so many sieges, alone offered some animation, but the\nshops were opened timidly, the remembrance of the foray still\nterrifying the people. Moreover, the custom-house system, established\nby the rapacity of the Afghans, promises little prosperity either to\ncommerce or industry, an article of fur which has been purchased for 8\nfrancs, pays 3 francs tax; they levy one franc upon a hat of the value\nof two francs, and so of every thing else. When we add to that, for\narticles brought from distant provinces, the rights already collected\nin intermediate districts, we see how much the merchant must raise his\nprice in order to realize anything.\n\nIn a city so ravaged, the trade of a dervish is not lucrative; no one\nasked Vamb\u00e9ry for his holy breathing, his cutlery and pearls were\nexhausted; his travelling companions, very different from Hadji Bilal,\nlent him no help. Only one young man named Ishak, remained faithful to\nhim. Every morning he begged the food for the day, and prepared the\nfrugal repasts of our traveller, whom he regarded as his master, and\nserved with affectionate respect.\n\nIn order to neglect nothing which might enable him to continue his\njourney, Vamb\u00e9ry resolved to apply to the Viceroy of Herat, Serdar\nMehemmed Yakoub, the son of the King of Afghanistan. The halls of the\npalace were filled with servants and soldiers; but the large turban of\nthe pretended dervish, and the hermit-like air which long fatigues had\ngiven him, were letters of recommendation which opened all doors. The\nprince, not more than sixteen years old, sate in a large easy chair,\nsurrounded by high dignitaries. Vamb\u00e9ry, faithful to his character,\nwent directly to him, and sat by his side, pushing aside the vizier to\nmake himself a place. This behavior excited general hilarity. Serdar\nMehemmed regarded the stranger attentively, then rose suddenly, and\ncried, half-laughing, half-bewildered: \"You are an Englishman, I'll\ntake my oath!\" He approached our traveller, clapping his hands like a\nchild who has made a happy discovery: \"Say, say,\" added he, \"are you\nnot an Englishman?\" In the presence of this innocent joy, Vamb\u00e9ry had\nhalf a mind to discover himself, but remembering that the fanaticism\nof the Afghans might yet expose him to great perils, he resolved not\nto raise the mask which protected him. Taking, then, a serious air:\n\"That will do,\" said he to the prince, \"have you then forgotten this\nproverb--'He who even in joke treats a true believer as an infidel,\nmakes himself worse than an infidel?' Give me rather something for my\nbenediction, that I may have the means of pursuing my journey.\"\nVamb\u00e9ry's look, and the maxim which he so appropriately recalled, put\nthe young viceroy out of countenance. He stammered some excuses,\nalleging the singular physiognomy of the stranger, which was not of\nthe Bokhariot type. Vamb\u00e9ry hastened to reply that he was a native of\nStamboul; he showed to Serdar Mehemmed and to the vizier his Turkish\npassport, spoke of an Afghan prince residing in Constantinople, and\nsucceeded in completely effacing the impression which he had at first\nmade.\n\nThe 15th of November, 1868, the grand caravan which was going to\nMeshed, left Herat, taking with it our traveller. It comprised not\nless than two thousand persons, at least {402} half of whom were\nAfghans, who, in spite of the most frightful misery, had undertaken,\nwith their families, a pilgrimage to the tombs of the Shiite saints.\nIn proportion as Vamb\u00e9ry approached civilization, he let fall little\nby little the veil of his incognito, and let it be understood that in\nMeshed he should find powerful protectors, and financial resources\nwhich would enable him to recompense the services of his companions.\nThe doubtful light which surrounded him furnished inexhaustible matter\nfor conjecture, and gave rise to some lively discussions, which very\nmuch amused Vamb\u00e9ry. At last, twelve days after leaving Herat, the\ndome of the mosque, and the tomb of Iman-Riza, gilded by the first\nrays of the sun, announced the approach to Meshed. The sight caused\nthe European deep emotion, his dangerous exploring expedition was\nfinished, and he had no further need of disguise. In passing the gates\nof the city he forgot the Turcoman, the desert, the Tebbad, to think\nof the happiness of seeing friendly faces, and of speaking at his ease\nof Europe. He passed successively through Meshed, Teheran, and\nConstantinople, where he bade adieu to Oriental life; then through\nPesth, where he left his Turcoman companion, the faithful Ishak, who\nhad followed him even to Europe, and the 9th of June, 1864, he arrived\nin London.\n\nSingular force of habit. Vamb\u00e9ry had so identified himself with the\ncharacter of a learned effendi, he was so impregnated with Asiatic\nmanners and customs, that this son of Germany found himself ill at\nease in England. \"It cost me,\" says he, \"incredible difficulty to\naccustom myself to my new life, so different from that which I had led\nat Bokhara some months previous. Everything in London seemed strange\nand novel; one would have said that the remembrances of my youth were\na dream; only my travels had left upon my mind a deep impression. Is\nit astonishing that sometimes in Regent street or in the saloons of\nthe English aristocracy I felt myself as embarrassed as a child, and\nthat often I forgot everything around me to dream of the profound\nsolitudes of central Asia, of the tents of the Kirghiz and the\nTurcomen?\"\n\nVamb\u00e9ry's book paints in vivid colors the real condition of central\nAsia; it contains curious and characteristic details regarding the\nthree khanats of Turkestan (Khiva, Bokhara, and Khokand), on the\nparticular manners of each people, the commerce and industry of the\ncities. We follow there the slow but continuous progress of the\nRussian government, whose ambition is excited by the riches of these\nfertile provinces. It advances with persevering obstinacy toward the\nconquest of Turkestan, the only country which is wanting to-day to the\nimmense Asiatic kingdom dreamed of, four centuries ago, by Ivan\nVasilievitch. Since that period the czars have never lost an\nopportunity to extend their influence in the Orient. Russia maintains\nwith the khanats regular and active commercial relations; her\nexportations into central Asia were valued in 1850 at twenty-five\nmillions of francs, and her importations from thence at not less than\nthirty-three millions. England, whose possessions in India approach\nTurkestan, has not taken so deep root there, she understands less the\ntastes, and submits less to the exigencies, of the Tartar populations.\nAt the same time, the protection which she gives the Afghans, the\ndeclared enemies of the Khivites and Bokhariots, gives her a part to\nplay in the events which are preparing, and which the taking of\nTashkend by Russian troops will perhaps precipitate.\n\nCentral Asia is destined to be absorbed by one or other of the rival\npowers which every day embrace her more closely. Will she be Russian\nor English? that is the only form the question takes to-day.\n\n{403}\n\nPersia and Turkey, tottering themselves, cannot protect her. The grand\ncontest, commenced centuries ago, between the two hostile\ncivilizations, between the sword of Mohammed and the cross of Christ,\nto-day touches its term. Of the different oriental tribes, these\nendeavor to revive themselves by the contact of our arts and sciences,\nthose intrench themselves behind their mountains and their deserts;\nbut these powerless barriers cannot hinder European activity from\nreaching them. They are, moreover, condemned to inevitable ruin by\nbarbarism, superstition, and fatalism, which form the basis of their\ncharacter and their creeds, the populations, bent under an implacable\ndespotism, consider even the encroachments of Europeans as a benefit,\ntheir faith, moreover, delivers them without defence to misfortune, to\ntyranny, to the joke of the stranger, for it persuades them that an\ninflexible destiny, against which the will of man is powerless, rules\nthe lot of individuals and nations. \"Who can prevail agamst the\nNasib?\" said to Vamb\u00e9ry an unfortunate man whose wife and children had\nbeen carried off. \"It was written!\" replied the Mussulmans when their\nmost beautiful provinces were snatched from them.\n\nThe European race, on the contrary, energetic and indefatigable, makes\nall obstacles yield before it; its science and industry transform\nnature into a docile instrument; difficulties stimulate its courage:\n\"This sea I will cross,\" it cries; \"I will level this mountain; this\npeople, reputed invincible, I will subjugate.\" From antiquity it had\nraised upon its flag this proud device, which made the grandeur of the\nRoman world: \"Audaces fortuna juvat.\" Afterward, Christianity, in\nelevating minds, and pouring upon all hearts sentiments of tenderness\nand charity heretofore unknown, brought new elements to this expansive\nforce. It showed God respecting, even in their errors, the liberty of\nmen; it showed the sacrifice of Jesus, this Son of the Most High come\nupon earth to suffer all griefs, yet voluntarily powerless to save man\nwithout his concurrence and his own participation. This noble morality\nnot only regenerated consciences, it developed individual action, made\nknown the value of the hidden force which we call the will, and\ncontributed largely to the social and political progress of the\nwestern nations. At the same time, it is true, the Christian dogma\npreached resignation in sufferings, but this pious resignation\nresembles as little the oriental indolence as the calm of death\nresembles that of strength and health.\n\nSuch are the causes of European supremacy. The Asiatics, not less\ngifted by nature, have stifled, under the double influence of fatalism\nand a sensual morality, the germs of civilization which might have\ngiven them a durable life and glory. To-day, as we learn from the\nintrepid traveller who has penetrated into the very heart of Turkestan\nand returned again safe and sound, everything among them is in decay;\ntheir cities and institutions, alike, offer nothing but ruins.\n\n------\n\n{404}\n\n\nFrom The Lamp,\n\nUNCONVICTED; OR, OLD THORNELEY'S HEIRS.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\n\n  \"Mr. Thorneley presents his compliments to Mr. John Kavanagh, and\n  would feel obliged if he would call in Wimpole street this evening\n  at seven o'clock. Mr. Thorneley wishes to have Mr. Kavanagh's\n  professional assistance in a matter of business.\n\n  \"100 Wimpole street, Cavendish Square,\n     \"Oct. 23, 185--\"\n\nThe above note lay amidst a heap of letters awaiting my return from a\npleasant mountaineering tour among alps and glaciers, perpetual snows,\nand ice-bound passes. Yes, it had been in every sense of the word a\ndelightful excursion, a real holiday to me,--me, a dusty, musty,\nhard-working lawyer, living in chambers, poring over parchments, and\ndeeds, and matters dull and dry to all, save them whom those things\nconcerned,--me, a middle-aged bachelor, a solitary man, with little of\nkith or kin left to surround my dying bed or follow my old bones to\ntheir grave. It was a renewal of youth and early days to climb those\nmountains, to face those majestic peaks, to scale those rugged passes,\nand feel the fresh clear air fanning my brow as I raised it to God's\nheaven above, whilst all that was of the world worldly seemed to lie\nbeneath my feet. My two months' holiday and repose from labor, when I\npacked my modest portmanteau, locked up my papers, left my rooms to\nthe care of clerk and laundress, and took my ticket at London Bridge\nfor Dover or Boulogne, bound for Chamouni, Unterwalden, or the\nSimplon,--these eight weeks of pure enjoyment were the oasis in the\ndesert of my life. But now, for this year at least, it was over. I was\nback to busy life again; to work and daily duty; to my calf-bound\nvolumes, my inky table, my yellow sheets inscribed with the promises\nof one said party to another said party--how soon to be broken, God\nonly knew--or the blue folio pages stating how this said man is to\nbully that said fellow man, and how there is to be war between two\nChristian beings, not to the knife, but to the bar, the judge, jury,\nprison, and future ruin of one or the other fellow heir to the great\ninheritance of a hereafter. I had returned to it all--this turmoil of\nstrife and struggle, out of which quagmire I got my daily bread, like\nhundreds of others cruising in the same barque on the sea of life; and\nmy table was heaped with the business correspondence that once more\nwas to induct me into my ordinary avocations. There were\ncommunications from old clients about affairs of long standing, and\nfamiliar to me as my morning shave; and letters from new clients\npromising fresh labor and new grist to the mill, but I scanned them\nall with the same feeling of weariness and disgust--casting many a\nregretful thought to the scenes I had left behind me,--inclined to\nthrow business, law, and clients wholesale and pell-mell into the Red\nSea. It was in this frame of mind that I opened the above note, but as\nI read it, my ennui and lassitude gave place to the keenest interest\nand curiosity. That old Thorneley should send for me professionally,\nwhen I knew for certain that all his affairs were completely in the\nhands, and he entirely under the thumbs, of my highly-respected\nbrother lawyers Smith and Walker, was enough to rouse one from a\nmesmeric sleep. Old Thorneley; who {405} lived like a hermit, never\nmeddling with anything nor anybody; whose last intentions were\nsupposed amongst us in Lincoln's Inn to be hermetically sealed up in a\ncertain tin box, lodging at Messrs. Smith and Walker's; whose frugal\nhouse-keeping and simple taste could involve him in no pecuniary\ntrouble,--what could he want with the professional advice of one who\nwas almost a stranger to him, whose standing in the law was of much\nlater date and whose clientage much less distinguished than that of\nthe firm above mentioned, and who had been his legal advisers during\nhis whole lifetime?\n\nAgain I referred to the note--\"Oct. 23;\"--the interview was asked for\nthat very evening I looked at my watch--it was half-past six, the hour\nnamed, seven. Tired with travel and hungry as a hunter, I was little\ninclined to leave my cosy fire, my tender steak, my fragrant cup of\nbohea, my delicious plate of buttered toast, and face the raw air and\nmizzling rain of an autumnal evening at the beck of a man whose hand I\nhad never shaken, at whose table I had never sat, and whose foot had\nnever crossed my threshold. But curiosity and interest prevailed at\nlast, and these were induced by two motives. 1. Thorneley was a\nmillionaire--a man whose name Rothschild had not scorned on 'Change,\nand whose breath had once fluttered the money-markets of Europe. 2.\nAnd a far more powerful one,--he was the uncle of Hugh Atherton. O\nHugh, best of friends, thou man of true and noble heart, if these\npages ever meet your eyes, and you look back through the dim vista of\nintervening years, bear witness how mournfully I stand by the grave of\nour buried affection, opened on this night, how tenderly I touch the\nfragments of our wrecked friendship! and from your heart, O lost\ncomrade and brother, believe that, whatever of pain lay between us\ntwo, severing our lives, no thought disloyal to you ever crossed my\nsoul or shook the fealty of my honor and reverence. Hastily I\ndespatched the meal, made a few changes in my dress, threw myself into\nthe first hansom, and knocked at 100 Wimpole street, at five minutes\npast seven.\n\nI was ushered at once into Mr. Thorneley's study--a\ncomfortably-furnished room, lined with well-stocked bookcases, and\nhung with neatly-framed engravings of first-rate excellence. He was\nsitting reading beside a cheery fire when I entered, and on a table\nnear him stood fruit, biscuits, and wine. I had not seen him for many\nmonths; and as he rose to receive me, the light of the shaded gas lamp\nfalling upon his head and face revealed to me how aged and broken his\nappearance had become in that period of time. Then I remembered him as\na hale, hearty old man, strong of limb, straight and square about the\nshoulders, carrying himself with the air of an old soldier, gaunt,\nupright, stern, unbending and unbent. Now, before me stood a bowed\ninfirm figure, with trembling hands and tottering feet, with thin\npinched features and sunken eyes. Little as I knew the man, and little\nas I liked what I knew or had heard of him, I was touched to see what\na wreck he looked of his former outward self. Involuntarily I\nstretched out my hand to him, and expressed my regret at seeing him\nlook so ill. He bowed, and touched my hand with the tips of his\nfingers, which were clammy and cold. Then he motioned me in silence to\na chair on the opposite side of the fire to where he sat, and resumed\nhis own seat.\n\n\"You are somewhat late, sir,\" he said querulously, glancing at me from\nbeneath his shaggy brows; the same keen searching glance I remembered\nof old--the glance of a man who has made money.\n\n\"But five minutes, Mr. Thorneley,\" I replied; \"and that I think you\nwill excuse when I tell you I have crossed the Channel to-day, and\nonly arrived home about an hour ago.\"\n\n\"Have you dined? Allow the to order you something.\"\n\n{406}\n\n\"Nothing, thanks. I took my usual meal after a journey--a meat tea;\nand, though despatched in haste, it sufficed for mine requirements.\"\n\n\"At least,\" he said more courteously, \"you will take a glass of wine!\"\n\n\"With pleasure, sir, after we have finished the business in which I\nunderstand you require my assistance.\"\n\nHe saw that I wished to come to the point at once; and drawing his\nchair near to mine, he fixed his piercing gray eyes upon my\ncountenance. I returned his gaze steadily enough; and he then shifted\nuneasily, so that his countenance was turned sideways to me.\n\n\"You are aware, Mr. Kavanagh, that my family solicitors have been, and\nstill are, Messrs. Smith and Walker, and no doubt you are surprised\nwhy I should now require other professional aid than theirs. Your\ncuriosity and speculative faculties, if you possess such, must have\nbeen on the _qui vive_ since you got my note. Eh, sir?\"\n\nThere was a covert sarcasm in the old man's voice which vexed me.\n\"Every movement of Mr Thorneley's must be a matter of general\ninterest,\" I said, with equal satire.\n\n\"Ha, ha, ha! Very good--given me back in my own kind,--tit for tat.\nLike you all the better for it, Mr. Kavanagh,--a sharp lawyer is a\ngood thing in its way. Well, you've not repudiated the curiosity, so\nI'll satisfy it. I sent for you to make _my Will_;\" and again he\nturned on me those shrewd glittering eyes, as if enjoying the\namazement I could not entirely suppress.\n\n\"But I thought--\" I stammered; \"surely, sir, your own lawyers are the\nfittest persons; it is against etiquette. Indeed, sir, I'd rather not\nhave any thing to do with it.\"\n\n\"You will be _paid_ sir,\" he said rudely.\n\n\"It is not a question of _payment_, Mr. Thorneley; simply, you place\nme, I foresee, in an awkward position with regard to a firm with whom\nI am on the most friendly terms. But of course they are acquainted\nwith your desire of having my services?\"\n\n\"Of course they are nothing of the sort. If you are squeamish in the\nmatter, I can get another man to do my business, and they'll not be a\nbit more enlightened on the subject. Whomsoever I employ must be bound\nto inviolable secrecy during my lifetime. Let us understand each\nother, Mr. Kavanagh: I sent for you because I knew you to be a\ndiscreet man, on whose prudence after my death I could rely. But I do\nnot choose that Smith and Walker should know any thing of this\ntransaction. You can do as you please in the matter, but you must make\nyour decision now.\"\n\nI gave a rapid glance at my position with all the care time would\nallow; and one consideration outweighed every thing else,--I take\nheaven to witness it!--the thought that Hugh Atherton's interests,\nwhich I felt to be now involved, would be safer in my hands than in\nthose of any other man; and I replied, \"So be it, Mr. Thorneley; you\nmay command my services.\" If I had known what was coming; if in mercy\none shadowy vision of that miserable future had been vouchsafed to me;\nif but a ray of light had illumined my darkened sight, I had shaken\nthe dust off my feet, and left that doomed house never again to cross\nits threshold.\n\nThorneley rose and pushed a small writing-table towards me, on which\nwas placed the printed form of a will to be filled in.\n\n\"Are you ready?\" he asked.\n\n\"I am.\"\n\nHe bent forward, with his hand shading his rugged brow, his eyes fixed\nintently on the fire and spoke in low distinct tones. I listened\nalmost breathlessly; and as I listened, I felt the cold sweat breaking\nout upon my forehead. And then I made the will. Yes, God help me! I\nmade the will, for I saw it was inevitable.\n\n{407}\n\n\"We must have witnesses,\" I said when it was finished.\n\nMr. Thorneley rang the bell. \"Tell Thomas I want him here, and come\nback yourself.\" The two men returned in a few moments,--coachman and\nfootman; and before those two, with unshaken hand, with a face of\nrigid firmness, Gilbert Thorneley wrote his name; the servants affixed\ntheir signatures, and the deed was done.\n\nWhen we were alone I rose to depart, and bade him good-night. As I\nleft the room I looked back at the old man. He had sunk in his chair,\nand his face was buried in his hands, bowed and bent beside the fire,\nwith his thin gray locks straying over his forehead, as if some bitter\nblast had swept over him and left him desolate;--thus I saw him for\nthe last time on earth.\n\nI left that house with a heavy secret locked in my breast, with a\nweight on heart and brain, and heeded not the blinding, drizzling rain\nas I bent my footsteps rapidly homeward, longing only to reach my\nquiet chamber, where I might commune with myself and be still. I am\nnot an inveterate smoker; but when I want to think out a knotty point,\nwhen I wish to obtain a clear view of any difficult question, I can\nquite appreciate the aid which a good cigar affords one. This night I\nwas dazed, bewildered, and mechanically I sought my old friend in my\nbreast-pocket. I stopped beside the window of a large chemist's shop\nat the comer of Vere street and Oxford street to strike a light, when\nsome one hastily passed out of the shop and ran full against me.\n\n\"Kavanagh!\" \"Atherton!\" The man of all men in the world to meet _that_\nnight! What fatality was it that was hedging me in and fencing me\nround, without any agency of my own?\n\n\"Who would have thought of seeing you here?\" he exclaimed as he\ngrasped my hand. \"I had no idea you had returned even.\"\n\n\"I came back this very evening.\"\n\n\"Only this evening! and whither away so soon, old fellow?\"\n\nI muttered something about business.\n\n\"Business! Come, I like that. You have changed your nature, John, if\nyou go after business the first evening of your return from\nSwitzerland. Why, I didn't suppose you would have stirred if my old\nuncle yonder had sent for you to make his will, leaving me his sole\nheir.\" And he laughed his old hearty joyous laugh, which had been\nmusic to me from the time when I fought his first battle for him at\nRugby. Now it filled me with an unaccountable dread; now it fell on my\near as the knell of times which were never more to come back. So near\nthe truth too as he had been, talking in his own thoughtless,\nlight-hearted way. What spell was over us all that fatal evening?\nPerhaps--I think it must have been so--all the dark shadows which were\ngathering over my soul revealed themselves in my countenance, for I\nsaw him look at me with the kind solicitous look that never became a\nmanly face better than his.\n\n\"I'll tell you what it is, dear old John,\" he said, putting his arm\nwithin mine; \"you are looking terribly hipped about something or\nanother, and any thing but the man you ought to look, after such a\njolly outing as you've just had. Come, I'll go home with you, and\nwe'll have a prime Manilla, a steaming tumbler, and a cosy chat\ntogether; and if that doesn't send the blues back to the venerable old\nparty from which they are generally supposed by all good Christians to\ncome, why, as Mr. Peggotty hath it, 'I'm gormed!' \"And again that\nfatal influence stepped in, making me its agent to bring upon us the\ninevitable _To be_; and putting his friendly hand from off my arm, I\nsaid, '\"No, Hugh, not to-night; I have need to be alone. Indeed I am\ntoo tired to be good company even to you.\"\n\n\"Well, good-night then, my friend; I'll betake me to mine uncle, and\nsee {408} how the old man is getting along this damp weather. Lister\nsaid he should look in, so we can tramp home together. But I won't be\nshirked by you to-morrow, Master Jack,--don't think it; and I shall\nbring somebody to fetch the Swiss toy I know you have got packed away\nfor her somewhere in your knapsack. Good-night, good-night.\"\n\nWe shook hands, and he turned down Vere street. An impulse,--blind,\nunreasoning,--seized me a minute afterwards to call him back and ask\nhim to come home with me; and I followed quickly upon his footsteps.\nThe evening was very dark, and the rain beat blindingly in one's face,\nso that it was difficult, with my near sight, to distinguish his\nfigure ahead amidst the numerous other foot-passengers. After a few\nmoments I gave up the chase, half angry with myself for haying been\nthe sport of a sudden fancy. As once more I turned round to retrace my\nsteps, a woman passed me at a hurried pace, and as she passed she\nalmost stopped and gazed intently at me. A thick veil prevented my\nseeing her face, and in no way was her figure familiar to me; but the\ngesture with which she stared at me was remarkable, and for a moment a\nmatter of wonder; then I forgot the circumstance, and rapidly made my\nway home, thinking of the strange revelations I had just heard;\nthinking of Hugh Atherton and our chance meeting; thinking of the days\npast and the days to come,--of much and many things which belong to\nthe story I am telling,--of the time when I was a boy again at school,\nsenior in my form and umpire in all pitched battles and the petty\nwarfare boys wage with one another, when that little curly-headed,\nblue-eyed fellow, with his cheeks all aglow and his nostrils big with\nindignant wrath, had come to me, a great burly clumsy lad of sixteen,\nand laid his plaint before me:\n\n\"Please, Kavanagh, the fellows say I'm a coward because I won't lick\nTom Overbury. Will you tell them to leave me in peace?--because I\n_won't_ lick him.\"\n\n\"Why not, spooney?\"\n\n\"Because I don't wish to.\"\n\n\"That won't go down here, you know, Atherton; you must give your\nreasons.\"\n\n\"He's got something the matter with his right arm, and he can't hit\nout. He'd have no chance against me. I know all about it, but the\nother fellows don't, and they think he can't fight; he bade me not\ntell any one. That's why they are always at him to make him pick\nquarrels. They set him on at me; but I won't fight him, not for the\nwhole school, masters and all.\"\n\nSuch was Hugh Atherton as a boy; such was he as a man,--ever generous\nand noble-hearted. I thought of him as then, I thought of him as now,\nremembering all our long friendship, our close intimacy, with the\nweight of that dread secret upon me, and with the indescribable sense\nof coming evil clinging to me. I wished I had yielded to his request,\nand allowed him to accompany me home; I wished I had persevered in\ngoing after him; in short, I wished anything but what then was. Were\nthose desires troubling me a taste of the vain, futile, heart-bitter\nwishes which the morrow was to bring forth? So, with the cold wind\nwhistling round me, and scattering the dead leaves across the desolate\nsquare, where stood the house wherein I dwelt, the rain beating\nagainst my face, and the sky above black and lowering, I reached my\nhome, wet and weary.\n\nMethodical habits to a man brought up to the law, who has any pretence\nof doing well in his profession, become like second nature; and when I\nhad divested myself of my wet garments, I took out my journal and made\nan entry as usual of the date, object, etc., of my visit to Mr.\nThorneley; and then I wrote out a brief memorandum of the same, which\nI addressed to Hugh Atherton in case of my death, and carefully locked\nit up with some {409} very private papers of my own, about which he\nalready had my instructions. This done, I smoked a cigar, drank a\ntumbler of hot brandy-and-water, and went to bed, thoroughly tired\nout. But I could not sleep. For hours I tossed restlessly from side to\nside; now and then catching a few moments' repose, which was disturbed\nby the most horrible and distressing dreams. Toward morning, I\nsuppose, I must at last have fallen into a deep slumber--so profound\nthat I never heard the old laundress's hammering at the door, nor the\narrival of my clerk, nor the postman's knock.\n\nAt last I awoke, or rather was awakened. The day had advanced some\nhours; all traces of last night's rain seemed to have vanished, and\nthe sun shown full and bright in at the windows. Beside my bed stood\nHardy, my old clerk.\n\n\"God bless you, sir, I thought you'd never wake!\"\n\n\"I wish I never had, for I am awfully tired. How are you. Hardy? and\nhow is all going on?\"\n\n\"Quite well, sir, thank you; and I hope you're the same. We've wanted\nyou badly enough. There's that Williams, he's been here almost every\nday, teasing and tormenting about having his mortgage called in; and\nLady Ormskirk, she called twice, and seemed in some trouble. Then\nthere was a queer young chap from the country with a long case about\nsome inheritance; in short, sir, if you had been at home we might have\nbeen no end busy--what with the old ones and what with the new;\" and\nHardy cast a sigh after the possible tips and fees of which my absence\nhad deprived him.\n\n\"Well, I'll see to it all as soon as I have dressed and had some\nbreakfast. I suppose they've brought it up, and also the hot water?\"\n\n\"Some time ago, sir; you slept so late that I ventured to come in.\"\n\n\"All right. I shall be ready directly.\"\n\nHardy still lingered, and I knew by his face there was some news\ncoming.\n\n\"There's a fine to-do at Smith and Walker's, sir, this morning. I just\nmet their head-clerk as I was coming here.\"\n\nI sprang up in bed as if I had been shot, the old fancies and dread of\nthe previous night returning with full force.\n\n\"Smith and Walker's!\" I cried; \"what is the matter there?\"\n\n\"Well, sir, I couldn't quite make out the particulars, he was in such\na hurry; but old Mr. Thorneley's been found dead in his room this\nmorning, and they suspect there has been foul play. Mr.\nGriffiths--that's the clerk--was going off to Scotland Yard. It's a\nterrible thing, an't it, sir, to be hurried off so quick? and none of\nthe best of lives too, if one may believe what folks say. It's shocked\nyou, sir, I see; and so it did me, for I thought of Mr. Atherton and\nwhat a blow like it would be to him.\"\n\nWhiter and whiter I felt my face was getting, and a feeling of dead\nsickness seized me. The man whom I had seen and spoken with but such\nfew short hours since lay dead! the secret of whose life I possessed,\nknowing what I now knew of him, and what had been left untold hanging\nlike a black shadow of doubt around me; he was gone from whence there\nwas no returning,--he was standing face to face with his Creator and\nhis Judge!\n\nBy this time Hardy had left the room, and I proceeded hastily to dress\nmyself, feeling that more was coming than I wotted of then, and that\nthe fearful storm which was gathering would quickly burst.\n\nScarcely was I dressed when I heard a loud double-knock at the\noffice-door, and directly after Hardy's voice demanding admittance. I\nopened my door.\n\n\"Sir, there is a police-officer who wishes to see you immediately.\"\n\nI went out into the sitting-room. A detective in plain clothes was\nthere; I had known the man in another business formerly.\n\n\"What do you want with me, Jones?\"\n\n{410}\n\n\"You have heard of Mr. Thorneley being found dead, sir?\"\n\n\"Yes--my clerk has just told me. What did he die of?\"\n\n\"He was poisoned, Mr. Kavanagh.\"\n\nI felt the man's eyes were fixed on me as if he could read in my soul\nand see the fearful dread therein. I could have hurled him from the\nwindow.\n\n\"Who is suspected?\" I asked as calmly as my parched tongue would let\nme speak.\n\nThe man did not answer my question.\n\n\"You were with him last evening, sir, were you not?\"\n\n\"Good heavens!\" I exclaimed, completely thrown off my guard; \"they\nsurely don't suspect _me!_\"\n\n\"Not that I'm aware of, sir; but your evidence is necessary, since you\nwere _one_ of the last persons who saw him alive.\"\n\n\"But not the last,\" I said, still blind to the fact pointed at. \"Mr.\nAtherton, his nephew, was with him after I left. I met him going there\nat the comer of Vere street.\"\n\nThere was a peculiar look on the man's countenance--of compassion for\nme, I had almost said.\n\n\"Mr. Kavanagh, sir, I had rather have cut off my right hand than that\nyou should have told me that, for you've both been kind gentlemen to\nme and mine. _Mr. Atherton is arrested on suspicion of having\nadministered the poison to his uncle._ When you remember _where_ you\nmet him, you can guess what your evidence will be against him.\nHere--Mr. Hardy! Help!\"\n\nI remember nothing more, for I had fallen back insensible.\n\nTO BE CONTINUED.\n\n------\n\n[Original.]\n\nPeace.\n\n  \"Not as the world giveth give I unto you.\"--St. John 14th.\n\n\n  Break not its sleep, the faithful grief, still tender;\n    God gives at length his own beloved rest;\n  How worn and the suffering brow! Yet these meek fingers\n    Still press the cross of patience to her breast.\n\n  Stir not the air with one sweet, lingering cadence\n    From life's fair prime of love and hope and song;\n  Serener airs, from martyr hosts celestial,\n    To that high trance of Conquered peace belong.\n\n  Hush mortal joy or wail, hush mortal paeans;\n    Ye cannot reach that Thabor height sublime\n  Where God's eternal joy, in tranquil vision,\n    Seems nearer than the sights and sounds of time.\n\n------\n\n{411}\n\n[Original.]\n\nTWO PICTURES OF LIFE IN FRANCE BEFORE 1848.\n\n\nThose who are familiar with the Journal of Eug\u00e9nie de Gu\u00e9rin, know\nthat in Languedoc, near the towns or villages of Andillac and Gaillac,\nand not far from Toulouse, there is an ancient estate called Le Cayla;\nbut they know little more than this of the place where Maurice and\nEug\u00e9nie de Gu\u00e9rin passed their youth in the quaint an beautiful\nsimplicity that stamped their genius with so marked and individuality.\n\nThe peasantry of that region are wedded to old habits and traditions,\nand the ancient families are imbedded like rocks in the land, says\nLamartine, (from whose \"Entretiens\" many of these local details are\ntaken), and are nobles by common consent, because the ch\u00e2teau is\nmerely the largest ruin in the village, and every one goes there as to\na home to get whatever he needs in the way of advice, agricultural\ntools, medicine or food.\n\nLet us in the imagination visit the Ch\u00e2teau of like a lot, as it was\nin the year 1837, four we must make our first acquaintance with it\nwhen it is graced by the exquisite presence of those two, whose names\nare fast becoming household words on both sides of the Atlantic\n--Maurice and Eug\u00e9nie de Gu\u00e9rin.\n\nIt is not like one's dream of an ancient _castel_, this spreading,\nrectangular house, built of brick and stone after a fashion of Henry\nthe Fourth's time, and perched on the summit of a sharp declivity.\nThere is little to distinguish it from the great farms of the country\nround, but a half ruined portico, projecting over the flight of stone\nsteps, a pointed current and the grooves of a drawbridge, over which\nthe ruthless hand of 1793 as effaced the ancient arms of the Gu\u00e9rins.\nThe great flagstones of the courtyard were loosened and uprooted long\nago by the drainage from the stables, and in the angles of the wall\ngrow holly and elder bushes, not too aristocratic to take root in such\na soil. These gates stand open always, admitting wayfarers who may\nwish for a cup of water from the bucket hanging behind the door, or\nfor a plate of soup to eat, sitting in the sunshine on the broad steps\nthat lead down into the courtyard from the kitchen, an important\ndepartment in this venerable homestead.\n\nWithin doors blazes a goodly fire on the hearth, a whole tree,\nstanding on end, sending its smoke up a great chimney through which\ndaylight is visible, and ready to give a comfortable greeting to Jean,\nor Gilles, or Romigni\u00e8res, when they come to talk about corn or sheep\nwith the master, they sitting on the stone settles, built into the\nwall, he on one of those walnut armchairs standing between the kitchen\ntable and the fireplace. See the great copper boilers standing around\nthe wall, and those immense soup-tureens, ornamented with coarse\npainting, and the big dishes for the fish that they catch in the\nmill-pond once in three years.\n\nThere--we have looked long enough; pass through this long smoke-dried\ncorridor to the dining-room, where masters and servants take their\nmeals together, excepting on state occasions, the menials standing or\nsitting at the lower and of the unbleached cloth.\n\nNow down this little flight of steps to the _salon_, which is all\nwhite, with a large sofa, some straw chairs, and a table with books on\nit. Yes--here {412} we pause--here are the objects of our search. In a\nfaded tapestry arm-chair sits Maurice reading and Eug\u00e9nie is near\nhere. He looks but shadowy still, having just recovered from a fever,\nbut the outline of his face is beautiful as he bends slightly over the\nbook, the refined mouth, the expressive, drooping eyelids, the noble\nbrow declaring him the worthy descendent of a long line of knights and\ngentlemen. One of these ancestors, Gu\u00e9rin de Montaigu, Grand Master of\nthe Knights of Malta, looks down upon us from the wall as we stand\nbehind Maurice's chair, glancing, by the way, over his shoulder at the\npage he is reading, one of Barbey d'Aurevilly's brilliant articles.\nAnd now he reads aloud a striking passage, and Eug\u00e9nie lifts her eyes\nand lets the work drop on her lap. What earnest, dovelike eyes they\nare! See how softly the hair parts on her forehead, passing over the\npretty ear and falling in little curls at the back of her neck. The\ndress looks old-fashioned to us now, with its half-high, baby waste,\nand belt, and tucker, and her hair is dressed too high to be becoming;\nbut there is the air of a refined lady in everything about her, and\nher face is like the face of a sweet, good little child.\n\nThe reading has stopped and their talk turns upon private matters,\nsomething about Caroline, and hopes and fears for the future. We will\nleave them to their conversation, and pass out through yonder door,\npausing for an instant to admire that picture of the Madonna and\nchild, presented to the family by the Queen, and to look through the\nglass doors and arched window at the terrace, all green and blossoming\nwith roses and acacias.\n\nHere we are in an M. de Gu\u00e9rin's room, with its table and chairs\nloaded with books and with dust! That pri\u00e8-Dieu was embroidered by\nMme. de Gu\u00e9rin and whose pensive look face looks out from the\npictures, hanging between the fireplace and the bed. There is the\ncross presented by Christine Rognier, and the holy water vase, and the\npicture of Calvary before which Eug\u00e9nie used to kneel and pour out her\nchildish woes. One day she prayed that some spots might disappear from\nher frock, and a disappeared--and again she begged that her doll might\nhave a soul, but that never came to pass. No doubt it was in this\ngreat state bed that Madame de Gu\u00e9rin died at midnight on the second\nof April, 1819. Eug\u00e9nie had fallen asleep at her mother's feet, and as\nthe spirit passed away from the long suffering body, M. de Gu\u00e9rin\nwaked the little girl. \"My God! I hear the priest, I see the lighted\ncandles and a pale face the in tears,\" she wrote sixteen years\nafterwards. Poor little soul! She awoke to the double responsibility\nof child and parent, for the little eight-year-old Maurice was her\nmother's legacy to her.\n\nNow a dark spiral staircase in the turret leads to a large hall on the\nfirst story, and then winds on with several landing-places to the\nupper part of the house where the servants sleep.\n\nThis hall is the grand reception-room for guests of distinction, and\nhas more and air of grandeur then the rest of the ch\u00e2teau. This\nornamented ceiling and deep wainscoting of carved wood, these\npaintings set in the panels, and that huge chimney-piece supported on\nstone caryatides, call up to our fancy the days when stately dames and\ngentle couriers visited Le Cayla for the hunting season. But there is\na golden renown in store for this shattered, time-worn house, more\nprecious than that shed upon it by any Gu\u00e9rin of the seventeenth\ncentury.\n\nSuites of small rooms lead from the hall--here is the room that\nEug\u00e9nie shares with her younger sister Marie, and near by is the\n_chambrette_ where Maurice sleeps when he is at home. In his absence\nit is her nest where she reads, writes, prays, or leans on the\nwindow-sill to listen to the brook rippling below the terrace, two\ndoves, and nightingales and all the lovely {413} out-door sounds; or\nto look over the corn-fields, groves, chestnut trees, and vineyards in\nthe valley, far away to the mountains where the friend, Louis de\nBayne, lives in a white ch\u00e2teau with a linden tree walk, in a country\nof ravines and waterfalls;--but we have indulged long enough in this\nsummer dream of Le Cayla, and must turn to a picture full of sober\ntints and shadows.\n\nLA CHENAIE\n\nIn Brittany, within a few hours drive from Rennes, was the old family\nplace of the Lamennais, where about the year 1830 Hughes Filicit\u00e9 de\nLamennais drew about him several of the most promising intellects of\nFrance,  [Footnote 64] with the view of establishing a new religious\norder, that should meet all the demands of that most grasping of\ncenturies, the nineteenth. Montalembert, Gerbert, Sainte-Beuve,\nLacordaire, Rohrbacher, Combalot, and many others of more or less\ndistinction, were inmates or frequent visitors in the old white house\nwith its peaked French roof, surrounded on every side by thick woods\nthat were full of beauty and song in summer, but in winter pressed\nabout it in dusky--brown monotony, while overhead on the grey, heavy\nBreton sky.\n\n  [Footnote 64: The precise period at which La Ch\u00eanaie became the\n  resort of the celebrated men we have been unable to ascertain.\n\n  The Lamennais were a commercial family in Bordeaux, ennobled during\n  the reign of Louis XVI. L'Abb\u00e9 de Lamennais, the second son,\n  refusing to become a merchant, retired to La Ch\u00eanaie, and prepared\n  himself for the priesthood.]\n\n\nHere Lamennais passed through many of the struggles of his giant\nnature, slow in its action, but never pausing until it had reached the\nextreme result of any course of thought or feeling. Here, at fifteen\nyears of age, he took refuge with his brother, Jean de Lamennais, to\nthink out the perplexities that clouded his faith so persistently as\nto prevent him from receiving his first communion until he was\ntwenty-two years old; and hither he came to labor over the task he had\nproposed to himself, of procuring the banishment of tyranny and\nsuffering from the earth.\n\nAt the time Maurice de Gu\u00e9rin [Footnote 65] joined the little circle\nat La Ch\u00eanaie, Lamennais had reached the turning point in his career.\nAfter preaching in his journal, with the assurance of a prophet, the\npublic union of Catholicity and democracy, he had suffered the\nmortification of finding himself obliged to suspend the publication of\n_L'Avenir_. A visit to Rome, where he was treated with the greatest\npersonal consideration, convinced him that there was no prospect of\nsupport from the Holy See, and he returned home oppressed with\ndisappointment, and though apparently submissive to the decisions of\nhis superiors, already resolving in his mind, perhaps unconsciously,\nplans to crush the power that had crushed him. Those around him feared\nthat he would die of grief. One day he said to his favorite pupil,\nElie de Kertauguy, when they were sitting together under one of the\nScotch pines behind the chapel, in the great spreading garden: \"There\nis the place where I wish to rest,\" marking out on the grass the form\nof a grave with his stick: \"But no tombstone over me--only a mound of\nearth. Oh! I shall be well off there.\"\n\n  [Footnote 65: Vide M. Sainte-Beuve's \"Notice sur Maurice de\n  Gu\u00e9rin.\"]\n\n\"If,\" says M. Sainte-Beuve, \"he had died then, or in the following\nmonths, if his heart had snapped in it's hidden struggle, what a fair,\nunblemished memory he would have left, what fame as a faithful\nbeliever (fid\u00e8le) a hero--almost a martyr! What a mysterious subject\nof meditation and revery to those who love to contemplate great\ndestinies thwarted!\" And yet even then Lamennais' sufferings must have\nproceeded more from wounded pride than from disappointed philanthropy,\nfor one can hardly imagine a sterner course of tyranny then that of\nforcing dogmatically upon Catholic nations a theory of political\nfreedom that would have thrown half the civilized world into a state\nof revolution.\n\n{414}\n\nA striking point in M. Sainte-Beuve's masterly analysis of the\ncharacter of his former friend is the strange contrast offered by the\ndouble nature of Lamennais, who always leaned completely to one side\nor the other, without any gradation, sometimes being possessed by what\nBuffon calls, in speaking of beasts of prey, \"a soul wrath;\" and again\nfilled with a sweetness and tenderness that drew little children to\nhim, a truly fascinating mood; and from one humor to the other he\nwould pass in an instant.\n\nTo La Ch\u00eanaie and to the influence of this wonderful being, this\ncompound a pathetic gentleness and combative obstinacy, of magnetism\nand repulsion, Gu\u00e9rin came one afternoon early in the December of\n1832. M. F\u00e9li, as Lamennais was called in his household, where\nceremony was laid aside, and the most charming relations existed\nbetween old and young, received him very cordially in his little\nprivate parlor, which was furnished with one chair and a chest of\ndrawers. The master had a way of letting the person he was conversing\nwith say everything that he had to say upon a subject without\ninterruption (and uncomfortable method, by the way, of convincing one\nof the paucity of one's ideas), and then he would take up the matter\nhimself, and speak \"gravely, profoundly, luminously.\" But on this\noccasion he gave himself up freely to a chat upon all sorts of\nsubjects calculated to draw out the general intelligence of his new\npupil--the weather in Languedoc, Maurice's traveling companions, his\nage, the high tides that Saint Malo, Calderon, oyster fishing,\nCatholic poetry, Victor Hugo, the most remarkable fishes on the coast\nof Brittany--all the while hurrying to and fro in the little room,\npresenting a singular appearance with his small, slender figure clad\nin grey from head to foot, his oblong head, pale complexion, grey\neyes, long nose, and brow furrowed with wrinkles.\n\nThe life at La Ch\u00eanaie suited Gu\u00e9rin's taste admirably, excepting\nperhaps the practice of rising at five o'clock, against which every\nwell-regulated mind must rebel. One of his great enjoyments was the\ndaily mass in the quiet little chapel below the terrace in the garden.\n\"At breakfast,\" he wrote to Eug\u00e9nie, \"we have butter, and bread which\nwe toast to make it more appetizing (toast was rather a luxury in\nthose days on the continent), butter plays an important part in the\nmeals. Dinner _tr\u00e8s confortable_, with coffee and _liqueurs_ when we\nhave company, is seasoned with a rolling fire of wit, generally coming\nfrom M. F\u00e9li--whose _mots_ are charming--vivid, piercing, sparkling,\nand innumerable. His genius escapes in this way when he is not at\nwork, and from sublime he becomes fascinating.\"\n\nIn studies, Maurice was thrown into modern languages, Catholic\nphilosophy, and the history of philosophy. Each pupil had a room to\nhimself, but they all studied in a common room sitting round a good\nfire. Their recreations consisted in skating on a pond close by the\nhouse, or taking walks in the woods, staff in hand, M. F\u00e9li marching\non ahead wearing a battered old straw hat such as great men love to\nshelter their illustrious heads with. They had supper at eight o'clock\nand then adjourned to the pleasant, quaint old parlor, where chess and\nbackgammon greeted the master's longing eyes, smoothing his brow and\nputting him in genial mood. Then he would throw himself on the immense\nsofa that stood under his grandmother's portrait, and become absorbed\ninto the threadbare crimson velvet, except the little head ever\nrolling restlessly from side to side with eyes gleaming like\nfire-flies.\n\n      \"And then he would talk,\n  Ye gods! how he would talk!\"--\n\nWhat treasures of wit, humor, anecdote, analysis, and broad\ngeneralization poured from that horn of plenty, {415} his mind stored\nwith the prints of nearly half a century of philosophic research and\nobservation of men and things! His voice varied with his words from\ngrave to gay, and now and then came long peals of shrill laughter,\nmore derisive perhaps than mirthful. \"That is _our man!_\" said Maurice\nproudly, after describing such an evening; that evening perhaps when\nhis own attractions eclipsed the master's brilliancy in the estimation\nof one who saw him for the first time--M. de Marzan, a former pupil of\nLamennais, who revisited La Ch\u00eanaie on the 18th of December, 1832.\n\nM. F\u00e9li was in one of his most delightful moods, recounting the\nexperiences of his late Italian journey, and drawing out in his genial\nway the keen observations of the young men about him--of all excepting\npoor Maurice, who stood silent among the hopeful, eager talkers,\npainfully conscious of himself and distrustful of others, we must\nconfess, with all affectionate sympathy for our hero. But in his\nreserved mien, in his expressive southern eyes and intellectual face,\nthere was a magnetism that won completely M. de Marzan's attention\nfrom the delights of conversation, and as soon as the evening ended,\nhe obtained an introduction through Elie de Kertauguy, a handsome,\ngifted youth from Lower Brittany, passionately devoted to Lamennais,\nand compassionately attentive to Gu\u00e9rin, regarding him, as did most of\nthe inmates of La Ch\u00eanaie, as a refined but very inefficient member of\ntheir circle.\n\nNot so Marzan, who in twenty-four hours had thawed Maurice's reserve,\nwon his confidence, seen his journal, heard the circumstances of his\nunrequited love for Mlle. de Bayne, and laid the foundation of a\nfriendship that lasted unbroken to the day of Gu\u00e9rin's death. What\ndays, and nights too, of rapture these two young poets used to spend\ntogether, guided by their older and more experienced friend, Hippolyte\nde La Morvonnais (a frequent visitor at La Ch\u00eanaie), who had been to\nGrasmere to visit Wordsworth, and come home imbued with veneration for\n\"Les Lakistes\". (The Lake Poets). There came to be a mania among the\nthree friends for describing in homely language the simplest domestic\ndetails, which they considered it a triumph in art to be able to give\nin a rhythm so dubious that none but the initiated could tell whether\nit was meant for prose or verse.\n\nEven at this early period, Gu\u00e9rin gave evidence of the peculiar\nstrength and weakness of his style, the vagueness and looseness of his\nverse, the faultless harmony of his prose, which is as pure as air,\nfree from the least touch of provincialism or mannerism; and yet, in\nthe simple fervor of its revelations of the secrets that nature poured\ninto his attentive ear, we are reminded of the sweet pipings of the\nEttrick Shepherd, as dear old Christopher North interprets them to us.\nThrough him we see and hear trees wave and waters flow, birds sing and\nwinds sigh in the woods, and without being disturbed by moral\ninferences and philosophical conclusions. And surely, when beauty\ncomes to us so pure and fresh and untarnished, she may be left to\nteach her own lessons, which come to us so softly too from her lips.\n\nThe months that Maurice spent at La Ch\u00eanaie were not especially\nfruitful to him, except in the sad experiences that tended to develop\nhis moral strength. But for Morvonnais and Marzan, he would have\nremained quite unappreciated, for Lamennais, who gave the tone to the\nhousehold, was too much \"absorbed in his apocalyptic social visions\"\n[Footnote 66] to be conscious of the jewel that glittered before his\neyes. Lamennais was a logician, a philosopher, a passionate and\nfanatical worker. Gu\u00e9rin was a man of {416} exquisite artistic\nperceptions, but dreamy, undecided, deficient in vigor. Odin and\nApollo,--sledge-hammer and chisel,--thunderbolt and sunbeam, are not\nmore unlike in use and significance. M. F\u00e9li offered nothing but\npitying tenderness, which Maurice accepted in dumb veneration. No\nwonder that, with the life at La Ch\u00eanaie, all intimate intercourse\nbetween them ceased.\n\n  [Footnote 66: Sainte-Beuve.]\n\nBut it is a matter for surprise that, with all his powers of\nfascination, Lamennais inflicted (so far as we can learn the\ncircumstances of the case) no permanent injury upon the faith of any\none of his companions at La Ch\u00eanaie. Lacordaire, Gerbet, Montalembert,\nand Bohrbacher became renowned champions of the church. Combalot, who\nhad adored Lamennais, burst forth into a storm of invectives against\nhim (as is the wont of disappointed idolaters), and then exclaimed,\n\"Alas! I have wounded that heart into which I could have poured\ntorrents of love!\" Morvonnais and Marzan were ardent believers; Elie\nde Kertauguy and Gu\u00e9rin died Catholics. In short, Lamennais had\ndevoted the prime of life to the church, and in those years had\nuttered words of wisdom never to be unsaid or forgotten. In spite of\nhimself he must always be an eloquent advocate of the faith he\ndeserted, a powerful enemy of the cause he espoused.\n\nThe time was already drawing near when the asylum should be closed to\nMaurice where he had found, in spite of disappointment and frequent\ndepression, a happy, congenial home. On Easter Sunday, Lamennais\ncelebrated his last mass and gave communion to all the little circle.\n\"Who would have said\" (we quote from Sainte-Beuve) \"to those who\nclustered round the master, that he who had just given them communion,\nwould never administer it again to anyone; that he would refuse it\nforevermore; and that he would soon adopt for his too true device an\n_oak shattered_ by the storm, with the proud motto: _I break but bend\nnot!_ A Titan's device, _\u00e0 la Capan\u00e9e!_\"\n\nEarly in the autumn of 1833, the Bishop of Rennes ordered the\ndissolution of Lamennais' religious community, and the pupils were\nremoved to Plo\u00ebrmel, where they continued their studies under the\nsupervision of M. Jean de Lamennais. M. F\u00e9li disbanded his little army\nwith the dignity of a defeated general, and then threw himself\nsingle-handed again into the fight. He changed his patrician name to\nF. Lamennais, and demanded of democracy (says one of his biographers),\nas he had demanded of the church, a wand-stroke that should free the\nworld at once from suffering and oppression. His success may be judged\nby the political history of France in the last sixteen years. In\nreligion he adopted \"_Christianisme l\u00e9gislate,_\"   [Footnote 67]\nwhatever that may be. \"If,\" said he, \"men feel so irresistibly\nimpelled to unite themselves to God that they return to Christianity,\nlet no one suppose that it can be to that Christianity which presents\nitself under the name of Catholicism.\"\n\n  [Footnote 67: Lamartine.]\n\nIn the revolution of '48 he thought he saw the birth of liberty; in\nthe \"Coup d'Etat\" he received its death-blow in his own person.\nBaffled on every side, he betook himself to literature, and translated\nthe \"Divina Commedia;\" then \"feeling within him no life-sustaining\nthought,\" he died in his seventy-third year, after an illness of a few\nweeks, leaving these words in his will: \"I will be buried among the\npoor, and like the poor. I will have nothing over my grave, not even a\nstone; nor will I have my body carried into any church.\" They laid him\nin P\u00e8re la Chaise, and no word of blessing was uttered over his grave.\nPoor Lamennais! What magnificent possibilities were shattered in his\nfall!\n\nAnd Maurice, what were his emotions when the door of La Ch\u00eanaie dosed\nbehind him?--the \"little paradise\" he called it, but then, poor soul,\n{417} anything that had escaped him for ever seemed to have been\nparadise. He suffered all that must be endured by those who have\nmistaken personal influence for a divine attraction. The novitate on\nwhich he had entered at La Ch\u00eanaie with a certain reluctance, galled\nhim beyond endurance at Plo\u00ebrmel. \"I would rather run the chance of a\nlife of adventure than be garrotted by a rule,\" he said, and so he\nwent out into the world again, feeling like a thing let loose in the\nuniverse, and by the blessing of Providence was received into the home\nof his unfailing friend, Hippolyte de la Morvonnais, who lived most\ndelightfully on the coast of Brittany, at a place called Le Val de\nl'Arquenon.\n\nTwo months of simple country life, and of intercourse with Morvonnais,\nand with his wife, who exercised over Maurice the noblest and sweetest\ninfluence, gave him renewed strength to battle with life again. In the\nfollowing extract from his journal, describing the last walk at Le\nVal, we see with what tenacity he clung to the past, and with what\nsadness he encountered the future: \"Ten o'clock in the evening. Last\nwalk, last visit to the sea, to the cliffs, to the whole grand scenery\nthat has enchanted me for two months. Winter is smiling upon us with\nall the grace of spring, and giving us days that make birds sing and\nleaves burst forth on the rose-bushes in the garden, on the eglantine\nin the woods, on the honeysuckle climbing over rock and wall. About\ntwo o'clock we took the path that winds so gracefully through\nflowering broom and coarse cliff grass, skirting along wheat-fields,\nbending toward ravines, twisting in and out between hedge-rows, and at\nlast boldly ascending the loftiest rocks. The object of our walk was a\npromontory that commands the Bay of Quatre-Vaux. A hundred feet below\nus shone the sea, breaking against the rocks with sounds that passed\nthrough our souls as they mounted to heaven. Toward the horizon the\nfishing-boats unfurled against the azure sky their dazzling sails, and\nas our eyes turned from this little fleet to the more numerous one\nthat sailed singing nearer to us, an innumerable crowd of sea-birds\nfishing gaily, and gladdening our eyes with the sight of their bright\nplumage and graceful movements over the water--the birds, the sails,\nthe lovely day and universal peace gave to the sea a festal beauty\nthat filled my soul with glad enthusiasm in spite of the sad thoughts\nI had brought with me to our promontory; and then I looked with all my\nsoul at headlands, rocks, and islands, trying to imprint them on my\nmemory and carry them away with me. Coming home I trod religiously,\nand with regret at every step, the path that had so often led me to\nsuch beautiful thoughts, in such sweet company. The path is so\ncharming when it reaches the coppice, and passes on among high hazel\ntrees, and a thick, bushy hedge of boxwood! Then the joy that nature\nhad bestowed upon me died away, and the melancholy of parting took\npossession of me. Tomorrow will make of sea, and woods, and coast, and\nall the charms I have enjoyed, a dream, a floating thought to me; and\nso, that I might carry away from these dear places as much as\npossible, and as if they could give themselves to me, I besought them\nto engrave their images upon my soul, to give me something of\nthemselves that could never pass away; and I broke off branches of\nboxwood, bushes, and luxurious thickets, plunging my head into their\ndepths to breathe in the wild perfumes they exhale, to penetrate into\ntheir very essence, and speak as it were heart to heart.\n\n\"The evening passed as usual in talking and reading. We recalled the\nhappiness of past days; I traced a faint picture of them in this book,\nand we looked at it sadly, as at some dear, beautiful, dead face.\"\n\nOne more passage from his journal and we will leave Maurice de Gu\u00e9rin\nin Paris. Two years from the following date he was a fashionable man\nof the world, capable of vieing in {418} conversation with those\nmarvels of wit and brilliancy, the talkers of Paris; but we have to do\nwith him only as the banished recluse, the exile from La Ch\u00eanaie.\n\n  \"Paris, Feb., 1834.\n  \"O God! close my eyes, keep me from seeing all this multitude, whose\n  presence rouses in me thoughts so bitter and discouraging. As I pass\n  through it, let me be deaf to the sounds, inaccessible to the\n  impressions that overwhelm me when I am in the crowd; set before my\n  eyes some image, some vision of the things I love, a field, a\n  valley, a moor, Le Cayla, Le Val, something in nature; I will walk\n  with eyes fastened upon these dear forms, and pass on without a\n  sense of suffering.\"\n\n------\n\nFrom the Month.\n\nOF DREAMERS AND WORKERS.\n\nNearly all men are born either dreamers or workers; not perhaps only\nthe one or only the other, but one of these two points is the centre\nof their oscillation. Like a pendulum, they can move only so far\ntoward their opposite, some more, some less; but, like the pendulum,\nthey invariably return to their centre. Do we not all know some man\nwith abstracted eye, high, retreating forehead, rather refined and\noften slightly attenuated frame and features, and placidly resolute in\ndemeanor, who has held the same position in the opinion of his\nfellow-men, or, it may be, has occupied the same bench on the Sunday\nquietly for twenty years or more? He is a specimen of the extreme type\nof dreamers--venerative, mystical, and benevolent; but to all\nappearance practically useless, helpless, and inert. Viewed\nphysiologically, these men are chiefly fair-haired and of the nervous\nlymphatic temperament; sometimes this is combined with the bilious\ntemperament, and in such cases (to some of which we shall have more\nparticularly to allude) they become remarkable characters. It has been\nsaid that the religion natural to dreamers is a mild form of Buddhism;\nbut this is probably because most Buddhists are dreamers and mystics\nin the highest degree. One thing is certain, dreamers are in politics\neither conservative or utopian, and in religion are little disposed\neither to reject what they have been taught or to influence others to\ndo so. If they have been educated as Catholics, mild and devout\nCatholics they live and die; if as Protestants, they are unusually\ngentle and tolerant, and oppose alike reforms that would be\ninnovations, and innovations that would be reforms. A man who lives by\nfaith, thus resting on the invisible, has at times an apparent\nresemblance to a dreamer. It is not our object in this paper to point\nout the distinction, wide as it indeed is. Dreamers are the subject of\nwonderful anecdotes about their absence of mind: it is related of them\nthat they forget their meals, start on a journey without their hats,\nwalk with their eyes wide open over precipices, ride on their\nwalking-sticks, and are surprised when toll is not demanded of them\nfor their charger. There is no occasion to believe all these\npreposterous tales, but no doubt there are many very curious and\nperfectly well-authenticated cases of abstraction of mind so entire as\nto cause catastrophes both painful and ludicrous. To these men their\nreal life is their dream, their working-day is only their interruption\nand annoyance. They are in heart mystics, and only need a certain\nactivity of brain and speech to proclaim themselves as such. They\npossess great store of happiness within themselves, owing to their\npeculiarity of caring less than others for those {419} substantial and\ngolden rewards which cause the unrest of the world. They love the\nunseen and mysterious better than the visible and sensuous, and would\nin general barter any amount of distinct and limited reality for\nindefinite prospects; so that the single streak of wan and dying\nlight, which sleeps on the edge of the dark horizon, is more precious\nto them, as suggesting Infinity, than any view which could be offered\nof noble cities or fertile plains. Almost all things are to them\nsymbolical. No action is in their thought simply what it seems to be;\nbut there is about every deed performed, circumstance encountered, or\nseason passed, a secret sense of omen or prescience, of brightness or\nof shadow. Light becomes a sentiment calling up images of\ncorresponding radiance and beauty, but especially perhaps that early\nmorning light which seems, while yet sleeping, to float in on the\nworld, as opposed to the fading colors of departing day. Darkness,\nagain, sometimes lends a sense of peril; but more often is peopled by\nspirits--a realm of shadows and shadowy delights, all called into\nbeing, moved, governed, and colored by the dreamer in his dream. The\nmany gradations between brightness and gloom have each their especial\nfascination for dreamers, who are in this respect as discriminative\nand fanciful as the Jews, who, in olden times, distinguished two kinds\nof twilight: the doves' twilight, or crepusculum of the day, and\nravens' twilight, or the crepusculum of the night. In truth, their\ntendency is to behold all actual things as illusions, and to consider\nthe spiritual and unseen world as the only true one: thus, in the\ncloudy mantle of constant reverie they hide all the ills and\ninfirmities of humanity, and slumber in the \"golden sleep of halcyon\nquiet apart from the everlasting storms of life.\" For when a man can\nsit calmly on an uncomfortable pole, like the Indian mystic, and say\n\"I am the Universe, and the Universe is me,\" he has attained to the\ngreatest conceivable height and perfection of dream-life. From the age\nof Plato to our own times dreamers have been born perpetually among\nthe sons of men. St. John is claimed by them as being the most\nprofound and loving mystic ever given to the world. There have been\ncountless others; we need not add a list of names; those of\nSwedenborg, Boehmen, and Irving, will occur to the memory as\nrepresenting one class of dreamers. These leaders are, as one might\npredict, regarded with the extreme veneration characteristic of the\norder. Indeed, of some it may be chronicled, as it was of the ancient\ndeities, Buddha, etc., \"Once a man, now a God!\" In general, dreamers\nhave tenanted our madhouses rather than filled our prisons; if,\nhowever, they do commit crimes, they are serious ones. Religious and\npolitical assassinations have been commonly the fruits of mad\ndreamers. In the ranks have been numbered many holy men, and as a rule\nthey have influenced mankind rather by the example of their life and\nthe teaching of their pen than by busy practical action. Only certain\nprofessions and occupations are suitable for dreamers. In the olden\ntimes they were poets, shepherds, prophets, soothsayers, diviners,\nalchemists, rhabdomantists.  [Footnote 68] In these days they are by\nrights clergymen, authors, poets, philanthropists, and, philosophers.\nIf they enter trade they commonly end in the _Gazette_; and placed in\npositions of authority, where severity of discipline has to be\nexercised, they are uniformly unsuccessful; in situations of trust,\nthey are invariably single-hearted and faithful, but in every place\nand at all times they are the most frequent victims of fraudulent\nrepresentations and impudent imposture. A certain number of the\npriesthood among all nations, gentle, speculative, and saintly men,\n{420} have been of this order; weaving their work and their dreams\ntogether into a fair fabric of many colors, which if it seems to\nordinary eyes shadowy and unsubstantial as the mist, is yet, like the\nair, elastic, solid, and capable of resisting a very heavy pressure.\nIdealists are, however, rarely formidable in action unless the bilious\nis largely transfused in their temperament. They then become\nmissionaries and martyrs; patriots, revolutionists, fanatics; they\nhead revolutions, plan massacres, overthrow monarchies, and shatter\ncreeds. Peter the Hermit, John of Leyden, are examples of this order.\n\n  [Footnote 68: [Greek text], _a rod_; men who undertook, and in\n  certain unenlightened regions do still undertake, to discover wells\n  of water, veins of minerals, or hidden treasures of money and\n  jewels, by means of divining-rods. ]\n\nThe workers born into the world are widely different in temperament\nand disposition, and antagonistic in principles, sentiment, and\naction. They consist both of those who work with their hands alone,\nand of those who work up into a practical form the reveries and\nspeculative schemes of the dreamers. Physiologically viewed, the\nextreme type of the worker exhibits most frequently the bullet-shaped\nhead, square jaw, muscular, thick neck, large chest development, and\nelemental hand, commonly also the sanguine, sanguine-nervous, or\nsanguine-bilious temperament, They have an irresistible propensity to\ndo, to acquire, to conquer or invade; they are fertile in resource,\nopulent in stratagem, full of quarrel, and essentially aggressive. A\ncontest is to them an occasion of inexplicable delight; and naturally\ndedicated to action, they are as unable to conceive of disappointment\nas the other class are to resist that which is or seems to be their\ndestiny. They become engineers, manufacturers, merchants, inventors,\nmighty hunters, soldiers, sailors, pioneers, emigrants, rough-riders,\npugilists, smugglers, aeronauts, acrobats, and celebrated performers\nin travelling circuses and menageries, lion-tamers, snake-charmers,\nrat-catchers, burglars, thieves, and highwaymen. They are gamekeepers,\nand devote their lives to circumvent and strive in mortal strife with\npoachers; or they are poachers, and spend their days and nights in\nplotting against and harassing and threatening the gamekeepers. As\nclergymen they are most hard-working, zealous and excellent, but also\nthe most quarrelsome and intolerant. When they come on to the earth as\nyounger members of the aristocracy, who may neither dig, trade, nor\nfight in the ring, and have not the wherewithal to keep racehorses and\nhunters, they enter the army or navy, and there in times of peace,\nwhen no legitimate outlet presents itself for the expenditure of these\nenergies, they form a very insubordinate and turbulent item of the\npopulation. The lower classes of the workers who cannot get work, then\ncrusade against the upper classes, who are in the same predicament;\nand we see the result in the perpetual placarding in some journals and\nnewspapers of \"deplorable blackguardism in high life.\" Three parts out\nof five, or even a larger proportion, of the Anglo-Saxon population\nare composed of workers as opposed to dreamers; and the seething\nunquiet mass of humanity known and described by some writers as our\n\"dangerous classes\" is almost entirely recruited from their ranks.\nMany centuries ago they were Vikings, pirates, and border robbers;\nthey scoured the seas, made raids, reived the cattle, and levied\nblack-mail; anon they were crusaders, for though Peter the Hermit was\na dreamer, his followers were workers; subsequently they destroyed\nmonasteries; and in these days they have made railroads and abolished\nthe corn-laws. But, nevertheless, the men who first built churches,\nand dwelt in monasteries, and discovered the mysterious agency by\nwhich the engine was to do its work, were not workers, but dreamers,\nand were reviled in their day as visionaries and enthusiasts. Where a\ndreamer would have been an alchemist, a modern worker finds his\nmission to be a gold-digger; where one is a shepherd, the other will\nbe a hunter or trapper:--the first works that he may retire to dream.\n{421} the second dreams how he shall arise and work.\n\nThe dreamers among men select as mates the workers among women, or are\n(perhaps more often) selected by them, and _vice versa_. It is the old\neternal law of nature--the duality pervading all things, types, and\nclasses, man and woman, positive and negative, matter and spirit,\nreason and faith; and, in spite of the gentle scorn which dreamers\ncherish for workers, and the undisguised contempt with which workers\nregard dreamers, so they will continue to exist side by side until the\nday comes when the worker can work no more, and the dreamer shall have\ndreamed for the last time.\n\n--------\n\nMISCELLANY.\n\n\n_The Old Church at Chelsea, England_,--Mr. H. H. Burnell read a paper\nbefore the British Archaeological Society lately, on the Old Church of\nChelsea. The chancel, with the chauntries north and south of it, are\nthe only portions of ancient work left. The north chauntry, called the\nManor Chauntry, once contained the monuments of the Brays, now in very\nimperfect condition, having been destroyed or removed to make space\nfor those of the Gervoise family. There remains, however, an ancient\nbrass in the floor. Of the south, or More Chauntry, he stated that the\nmonument of Sir Thomas More was removed from it to the chancel; and\nthe chauntry had been occupied by the monuments of the Georges family,\nnow also removed, displaced, and destroyed. Mr. Blunt showed that,\nnotwithstanding the current contrary opinion, founded on Aubrey's\nassertion, the More monument is the original one for which Sir Thomas\nMore himself dictated the epitaph. Mr. Burnell, the architect of the\nimprovements effected subsequently to 1857, spoke positively as to the\nnon-existence of a crypt which conjecture had placed under the More\nChauntry. The foundation of the west end of the church before it was\nenlarged in 1666, he found west of Lord Dacre's tomb. On the north\nside of the chancel an aumbrey, and on the south a piscina was found,\ncoeval with the chancel (early fourteenth century). The arch between\nthe More Chauntry and the chancel is a specimen of Italian\nworkmanship--dated 1528--a date confirmed by the objects represented\nin the carved ornaments, those objects being connected with the Roman\nCatholic ritual. It is a remarkably early instance of the use of\nItalian architecture in this country. In a window of this chapel, then\npartly bricked up, was found in the brickwork in 1858 remains of the\nstained glass which once filled it. The body of Sir Thomas More was,\naccording to Aubrey, interred in this chapel, and his head, after an\nexposure of fourteen days, testifying to the passers-by on London\nBridge the remorseless cruelty of Henry VIII. and his barbarous\ninsensibility, was consigned to a vault in St. Dunstan's Church,\nCanterbury. It was seen and drawn in that vault in 1715.--_Reader_.\n\n\n_New Artesian Well in Paris_,--A third artesian well is now being\nadded to the two which Paris' has already. Already the perforation has\nreached the depth of eighty-two metres, being twenty metres below the\nsea-level. Before reaching this point, considerable difficulties had\nto be overcome in the shape of intermediate sheets of water, which\nform a series of subterranean lakes. The first of these was kept in\nits bed by means of a strong iron tube driven perpendicularly through\nit; that which followed received wooden palings, and the subsequent\nstratum being clay, the masonry was continued without difficulty to\nabout five metres above sea-level. But at this point a layer of\nagglomerations was reached, which let a great deal of water escape. It\nthus became necessary to have again recourse to pumps: those employed\nwere in the aggregate of 20 horse-power. Owing to the bad nature of\nthis stratum, it was resolved to protect the perforation by a\nrevetment of extraordinary thickness; and in order that the well might\npreserve its diameter of two metres notwithstanding, the upper part\nhas had to be widened in proportion, so as to {422} give it the\nenormous width of four metres at the top. After this labor the work of\nperforation was continued through a stratum of pyrolithic limestone.\nAt the depth corresponding to the level of the sea, they reached a\nlayer of tubular chalk, all pierced with large holes, forming so many\nspouts, as thick as a man's thigh, through which water poured into the\nwell with incredible velocity. While the pumps were at work to get rid\nof this water, a cylindrical revetment of bricks was built on a sort\nof wheel made of oak, and laid down flat at the bottom of the\nperforation by way of a foundation, and the intermediate space between\nthis cylinder and the chalk stratum was filled with concrete, 47,000\nkilos, of which were expended in this operation. As soon as the\nconcrete might be considered to have set, or attained sufficient\nconsistency, the brick cylinder was taken to pieces again, and the\nperforation continued to the pressure point, where a new sheet of\nwater has been reached, requiring ingenious contrivances._--Artisan_.\n\n\n\n_New Irish Coal Fossils_.--Through the labors of Professor Huxley, Dr.\nE. P. Wright, and Mr. Brownrig, some very interesting fossils from the\nCastlecomer coal-measures of Co. Kilkenny, Ireland, have been brought\nunder the notice of geologists. The specimens consist of fish,\ninsects, and amphibian reptiles. Three out of the five forms of these\namphibians are _undoubtedly new_ to science, and, in all probability,\nthe remaining two also. The first, and most remarkable genus,\nProfessor Huxley has named \"_Ophiderpeton_,\" having reference to its\nelongated, snake-like form, rudimentary limbs, peculiar head, and\ncompressed tail. In outward form _Ophiderpeton_ somewhat resembles\n_Siren lacertina_ and _Amphiuma_, but the ventral surface appears\ncovered with an armature of minute, spindle-shaped plates, obliquely\nadjusted together, as in _Archaegosaurus_ and _Pholidogaster_. The\nsecond new form, which he names _Lepterpeton_, possesses an eel-like\nbody, with slender and pointed head, and singularly constructed\nhourglass-shaped centra, as in _Thecodontosaurus_. The third genus,\nwhich Professor Huxley names _Ichthyerpeton_, has also ventral armor,\ncomposed of delicate rod-like ossicles; the hind limbs have three\nshort toes, and the tail was covered with small quadrate scutes, or\napparently horny scales. The fourth new amphibian Labyrinthodont he\nappropriately names _Keraterpeton_, a singular salamandroid-looking\nform, but minute as compared with the other associated genera. Its\nhighly ossified vertebral column, prolonged epiotic bones, and armor\nof overlapping scutes, determine its character in a remarkable manner.\nA paper has been read before the Royal Irish Academy upon the subject,\nand, in the course of the discussion which followed, Professor\nHaughton said he had Professor Huxley's authority for stating that the\ncoal-pit at Castlecomer had within a few months afforded more\nimportant discoveries than all the other coal-pits of\nEurope.--_Geological Magazine_.\n\n\n\n_The Accommodation-Power of the Eye._--The manner in which the human\neye alters its focus for the perception of objects at various\ndistances has always been a difficult problem for physiologists and\nphysicists. The literature of medical science is full of dissertations\non this subject, yet very little, if anything, is positively known of\nthe exact means by which the alteration is achieved. There appears to\nbe now a tendency among ophthalmologists to believe that the effect\nrequired is produced by an alteration of the form of the crystalline\nlens of the eye, which becomes less or more convex as occasion\ndemands. This view has just received a rather strong condemnation by\nthe Rev. Professor Haughton, of Trinity College, Dublin, in some\nremarks published in the \"Dublin Quarterly Journal of Science.\"\nSpeaking of the alteration of form in the lens, he says:--\"Even this\nmust take place on a far greater and more important scale than\nanatomists have as yet suspected. The change amounts to the addition\nof a double convex lens of crown glass having a radius of a third of\nan inch. Anatomists have not as yet discovered a mechanism for\nchanging the shape of the lens sufficient to produce these results.\nThe lens should almost be turned into a sphere, and I know of no\nciliary muscles capable of effecting so great a change.\"--_Popular\nScience Review_.\n\n\n\n{423}\n\n_Petroleum as a Substitute for Coal_.--Some recent experiments with\npetroleum oil used for heating water, gave results from which it was\nestimated that petroleum had more than three times the heating effect\nof an equal weight of coal. Mr. Richardson's experiments at Woolwich,\nhowever, gave an evaporation of 13.96 to 18.66 lb. of water, by one\npound of American petroleum; 9.7 lb. of petroleum being burnt per\nsquare foot of grate per hour. With shale oil the evaporation was 10\nto 10.5 lb. of water per pound of fuel. The evaporative power of good\ncoal may be taken, for comparison, at 8 to 8.5 lb. per pound of fuel.\nTaking into account the saving of freight due to the better quality of\nthe fuel, and the saving of labor in stoking, it is possible that at\nsome future time mineral oil may supersede coal in some of our ocean\nsteamers.--\n\n\n\n_Frith of Forth Bridge_.--Parliamentary sanction has been obtained for\na bridge over the Frith of Forth, of a magnitude which gives it great\nscientific interest. It is to form part of a connecting-link between\nthe North British and Edinburgh and Glasgow Railways. Its total length\nwill be 11,755 feet, and it will be made up of the following spans,\ncommencing from the south shore:--First, fourteen openings of 100 feet\nspan, increasing in height from 63 to 77 ft. above high-water mark;\nthen six openings of 150 ft. span, varying from 71 ft. to 79 ft. above\nhigh water level; and then six openings of 175 ft. span, of which the\nheight above high-water level varies from 76 to 83 ft. These are\nsucceeded by fifteen openings of 200 ft. span, and height increasing\nfrom 80 ft. to 105 ft. Then come the four great openings of 500 ft.\nspan, which are placed at a clear height of 135 ft. above high-water\nspring tides. The height of the bridge then decreases, the large spans\nbeing followed by two openings of 200 ft., varying in height from 105\nto 100 ft. above high-water; then four spans of 175 ft., decreasing\nfrom 102 to 96 ft. in height; then four openings of 150 ft. span,\nvarying in height from 95 to 91 feet; and lastly seven openings of 100\nft. span, 97 to 93 feet in height. The piers occupy 1,005 feet in\naggregate width. The main girders are to be on the lattice principle,\nbuilt on shore, floated to their position, and raised by hydraulic\npower. The total cost is estimated at \u00a3476,543.--_Engineering_, Jan.\n5.\n\n\n\n_Origin of the Diamond_.--Contrary to the usual opinion that the\ndiamond has been produced by the action of intense heat on carbon,\nHerr Goeppert asserts that it owes its origin to aqueous agency. His\nargument is based upon the fact that the diamond becomes black when\nexposed to a very high temperature. He considers that its Neptunian\norigin is proved by the fact that it has often on the surface\nimpressions of grains of sand, and sometimes of crystals, showing that\nit has once been soft.\n\n\n\n_The Purification of Coal-Gas_.--An important essay on this subject\nhas been written by Professor A. Anderson, of Queen's College,\nBirmingham. It relates chiefly to the methods discovered by the author\nfor the successful removal of bisulphide of carbon and the\nsulphuretted hydro-carbons by means of the sulphides of ammonium. By\nwashing the gas with this compound, a very large proportion (nearly 35\nper cent.) of the sulphur impurities are removed, and the illuminating\npower of the gas, so far from being diminished, becomes actually\nincreased. Professor Anderson records several carefully conducted\nexperiments, all of which prove the truth of the conclusions at which\nhe has arrived. His method is now in operation at the Taunton and\nother local gas-works, and is highly spoken of by those who have given\nit careful consideration.\n\n\n_Paraffine in the Preservation of Frescoes_.--In _Dingler's Journal et\nBulletin de la Soci\u00e9t\u00e9 Chimique_ it is stated that paraffine may be\nused with advantage for the above purpose. Vohl coats the picture with\na saturated solution of paraffine in benzole, and, when the solvent\nhas evaporated, washes the surface with a very soft brush. Paraffine\nhas this advantage over other greasy matters--it does not become\ncolored by time.\n\n\n\n_Welsh Gold_.--During the year 1864, we learn from statistics only\nrecently published, there were five gold-mines working in\nMerionethshire. In these 2,836 tons were crushed, from which 2,887\nozs. of gold, valued at \u00a39,991, were obtained. This is in excess of\nthe quantity obtained in 1868, which was only 552 ozs.; but it is\nconsiderably less than the production of 1862, when 5,299 ozs., having\na value of \u00a320,390, were extracted.\n\n{424}\n\n_A New Train-Signaling Apparatus._--Sundry mechanical contrivances\nand improvements in philosophical apparatus have been exhibited at the\nscientific gatherings of the present season in London, attracting more\nor less of attention, according to their merits and utility. Mr.\nPreece's train-signalling apparatus for promoting the safety of\nrailway-travelling, can hardly fail of being interesting to everybody.\nIt is in use on the South-western Railway, and if properly used,\naccidents from collision ought never to happen; it has the advantage\nof being applicable to any number of stations, which is of importance,\nconsidering how stations are multiplying in and around the metropolis.\nMr. Preece has a very simple and complete method of communication\nbetween the signalman and switchman. The latter, on being informed\nthat trains are waiting to come in, operates on the lever-handles\nbefore him, there being as many handles as lines of converging\nrailway; and these handles are so contrived, that on moving any one to\nadmit a train, it locks the others; so that if the switchman should\npull at any one of them by mistake, he cannot move it. He is thus\nprevented from admitting two trains at the same time upon one line of\nrails, and thus one of the most frequent occasions of railway accident\nis avoided. And besides this, safety is further promoted by a series\nof small signal-discs, which start up before the switchman's eyes at\nthe right moment, and give him demonstration that he has given the\nright pull at the right handle.\n\n\n\n_Action of Liquid Manure on certain Soils_.--Some recent researches on\nthis point, conducted by Professor Voelcker, were alluded to by Dr. G.\nCalvert in his Canton lecture before the Society of Arts. In some\nrespects Dr. Voelcker's conclusions differ from those of Mr. Way. They\nare briefly as follows: (1.) That calcareous, dry soils absorb about\nsix times as much ammonia from the liquid manure as the sterile, sandy\nsoil. (2.) That the liquid manure in contact with the calcareous soil\nbecomes much richer in lime, whilst during its passage through the\nsandy soil it becomes much poorer in this substance. (3.) That the\ncalcareous soil absorbs much more potash than the sandy soil. (4) That\nchloride of sodium is not absorbed to any considerable extent by\neither soil, (5.) That both soils remove most of the phosphoric acid\nfrom the liquid. (6.) That the liquid manure, in passing through the\ncalcareous soil, becomes poorer, and in passing through the sandy soil\nbecomes richer in silica.\n\n\n\n_The Value of Sewage_.--This important question, which has been so\nably discussed by Baron Liebig in his various works upon Agricultural\nChemistry, had a paper devoted to it by Dr. Gilbert at a late meeting\n(February 1st) of the Chemical Society. After entering into the\ndetails of his subject, the author draws the following general\nconclusions: 1st. It is only by the liberal use of water that the\nrefuse matters of large populations can be removed from their\ndwellings without nuisance and injury to health. 2d. That the\ndischarge of town sewage into rivers renders them unfit as water\nsupplies to other towns, is destructive to fish, causes deposits which\ninjure the channel, and emanations which are injurious to health, is a\ngreat waste of manurial matter, and should not be permitted. 3d. That\nthe proper mode of both purifying and utilizing sewage-water is to\napply it to land. 4th. That, considering the great dilution of town\nsewage, its constant daily supply at all seasons, its greater amount\nin wet weather, when the land can least bear, or least requires more\nwater, and the cost of distribution, it is best fitted for application\nto grass, which alone can receive it the year round, though it may be\noccasionally applied with advantage to other crops within easy reach\nof the line or area laid down for the continuous application to grass.\n6th. That the direct result of the general application of town sewage\nto grass land would be an enormous increase in the production of milk\n(butter and cheese) and meat, whilst by the consumption of the grass a\nlarge amount of solid manure, applicable to arable land and crops\ngenerally, would be produced. 6th. That the cost or profit to a town\nof arrangements for the removal and utilization of its sewage must\nvary greatly, according to its position and to the character of the\nland to be irrigated; where the sewage can be conveyed by gravitation\nand a sufficient tract of suitable land is available, the town may\nrealize a profit; but, under contrary conditions, it may have to\nsubmit to a pecuniary loss to secure the necessary sanitary\nadvantages.\n\n------\n\n{425}\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\nTHE PRINCIPLES OF BIOLOGY.\nBy Herbert Spencer. New York:\nAppleton & Co. 1866, Vol. I. 12mo. Pp. 475.\n\nWe have omitted the long list of works of which Herbert Spencer is the\nauthor, works of rare ability in their way, but essentially false in\nthe philosophical principles on which they are based. Mr. Herbert\nSpencer is naturally one of the ablest men in Great Britain, far\nsuperior to the much praised Buckle, and equalled, if not surpassed by\nJohn Stuart Mill, now member of Parliament. We have heretofore\nconsidered him as belonging to the positivist school of philosophy,\nfounded by Auguste Comte, and the ablest man of that school; able, and\nless absurd than even M. Littr\u00e9. But in a note in the work before us\nhe disclaims all affiliation with Positivism, declares that he does\nnot accept M. Comte's system, and says that the general principles in\nwhich he agrees with that singular man, he has drawn not from him, but\nfrom sources common to them both. This we can easily believe, for in\nthe little we have had the patience to read of M. Comte's unreadable\nworks we have found nothing original with him but his dryness,\ndulness, and wearisomeness, in which if he is not original, he is at\nleast superior to most men. Yet we have not been able to detect any\nessential difference of doctrine or principle between the Frenchman\nand the Englishman, and to us who are not positivists, M. Comte, M.\nLittr\u00e9, George H. Lewes, Herbert Spencer, John Stuart Mill, Miss\nEvans, and Harriet Martineau belong to one and the same school.\n\nIt is but simple justice to Herbert Spencer to say that he writes in\nstrong, manly, and for the most part classical English, and has made\nhimself master of the best philosophical style that we have met with\nin any English or American writer. He understands, as far as a man can\nwith his principles, the philosophy of the English tongue, and writes\nit with the freedom and ease of a master, though not always with\nperfect purity. He must have been a hard student, and evidently is a\nmost laborious thinker and industrious writer. But here ends, we are\nsorry to say, our commendation. It is the misfortune, perversity, or\nfolly of Herbert Spencer to spend his life in attempting to obtain or\nat least to explain effects without causes, properties without\nsubstance, and phenomena without noumena or being. In his _Principles\nof Philosophy_, he divides the real and unreal into the knowable and\nthe unknowable, without explaining, however, how the human mind knows\nthere is an unknowable; and to the unknowable he relegates the\nprinciples, origin, and causes of things; that is, in plain English,\nthe principles, origin, and causes of things, are unreal at least to\nus, and are not only unknown, but absolutely unknowable, and should be\nbanished as subjects of investigation, inquiry, or thought. Hence the\nknowable, that to which all science is restricted, includes only\nphenomena, that is to say, the sensible or material world.\n\nBiology, which is the subject of the volume before us, is the science\nof life, but on the author's principles, is necessarily confined to\nthe statement, description, and classification of facts, or phenomena\nof organic as distinguished from inorganic matter. He can admit on his\nphilosophy no vital principle, but must explain the vital phenomena\nwithout it, by a combination, brought about nobody knows how, of\nchemical, mechanical and electric changes, forces, action, and\nreaction--as if there can be changes, forces, action, or reaction\nwhere there is no relation of cause and effect! But after all his\nlabor, and it is immense, to show what chemical, mechanical, and\nelectric changes and combinations, binary, tertiary, etc., are\nobserved in a living subject, he explains nothing; for life, while it\nlasts, is neither mechanical, chemical, nor electrical, but to a\ncertain extent resists and counteracts all these forces, and the human\nbody falls completely under their dominion only when it has ceased to\nbe a living body, when by chemical action it is decomposed, and\nreturns to the several elements from which it was formed. Mr. Spencer\ndescribes very scientifically the entire {426} process of\nassimilation; but what is that living power within that assimilates\nthe food we eat and converts it into chyle, blood, and flesh and bone?\nYou see here a principle operating of which no element is found in\nmechanics, chemistry or electricity, or any possible combination of\nthem. The muscles of my arms and shoulder may operate on mechanical\nprinciples in raising my arm when I will to raise it; but on what\nmechanical, chemical, or electric principles do I will to raise it?\nThat I will to raise it, and in willing to do so perform an immaterial\nact, I know better than you know that \"percussion produces detonation\nin sulphide of nitrogen,\" or that \"explosion is a property of\nnitro-mannite,\" or \"of nitroglycerine.\"\n\nThe simple fact is that the physical sciences are all good and useful\nin their place, and for purposes to which they are fitted; but they\nare all secondary sciences, and without principles higher than\nthemselves to give dialectic validity to their inductions, they are no\nsciences at all. There is no approach to the science of life in\nHerbert Spencer's Biology; there is only a painfully elaborate\nstatement of the principal external facts which usually accompany it\nand depend on it. Indeed, we had the impression that our most advanced\nphysiologists, while admitting in their place chemical and electric\nforces as necessary to the phenomena of organic life, had abandoned\nthe attempt to expound the science of physiology on chemical, electric\nor mechanical principles, or any possible combination of them. Even\nDr. Draper, if he makes no great use of it in his physiology,\nrecognizes a vital principle, even an immaterial soul, in man. We had\nalso the impression that the medical profession were abandoning the\nchemical theory of medicine, so fashionable a few years ago. We may be\nwrong, but as far as we have been able to keep pace with modern\nscience, Mr. Spencer is a quarter of a century behind his age.\n\nThe chapter on genesis, generation, multiplication, or reproduction,\nis as unscientific as it is unchristian. We merely note that the\nauthor insists on metagenesis as well as parthenogenesis, that is,\nthat the offspring may differ in kind from the parents, and that there\nare virgin, or rather, sexless mothers. Some years ago, in conversing\nwith a scientific friend, I ventured to deny this alleged fact, on the\nstrength of the theological and scriptural doctrine that every kind\nproduces its like. He laughed in my face, and brought forward certain\nwell-known facts in the reproduction of the aphid or cabbage-louse. I\nassured him that if he would take the pains to observe more closely he\nwould find that his metagenesis and parthenogenesis are only different\nstages in the entire process of the reproduction of the aphid. Of\ncourse he did not believe a word of it; but a few days afterwards he\ncame and informed me that he had seen his friend. Dr. Burnham of\nBoston, a naturalist of rare sagacity, who told him that naturalists\nwere wrong in asserting metagenesis in the case of aphides. \"I have,\"\nsaid he, \"been making my observations for some years on these little\norganisms, and I find that what we have taken for metagenesis is only\nthe different stages in the process of reproduction, for I have\ndiscovered the young aphid properly formed and enveloped in the\nso-called virgin or sexless mother.\" The naturalist is dead, but his\nfriend, my informant, is living.\n\nWe have no space to enter into any detailed review of this very\nelaborate volume. It contains many curious materials of science, but\nthe author rejects creation, generation, formation, and emanation, and\nadopts that of evolution. Life is evolved from various elements which\nare reducible to gases, and, upon the whole, he gives us a gaseous\nsort of life. His theory seems to be that of Topsy, who declared she\ndidn't come, but _growed_. We cannot perceive that Mr. Herbert Spencer\nhas made any serious advance on Topsy. The universe is evolution, and\nevolution is growth, and he must say of himself with Topsy, \"I didn't\ncome, I growed.\" At any rate, he must be classed with those old\nphilosophers who evolved all things from matter, some from fire, some\nfrom air, and some from water, and made all things born from change or\ncorruption; or rather, with Epicurus, who evolved all from the\nfortuitous motion, changes, and combination of atoms. Those old\nphilosophers were unjustly ridiculed by Hermias, or our recent\nphilosophers have less science than they imagine. Verily, there is\nnothing new under the sun, and false science only traverses a narrow\n{427} circle, constantly coming round to the absurdities of its\nstarting point. Yet Herbert Spencer's book has profited us. It has\nmade us feel more deeply than ever the utter impotence of the greatest\nman to explain anything in nature, without recognizing God and\ncreation.\n\n\nTHE CHRISTIAN EXAMINER. May, 1866.\n\nThe first volume of the new series of this periodical is completed in\nthe present number, and, we suppose, is a fair specimen of the way in\nwhich we may expect to see its programme carried out. On the whole,\nour expectations are quite well satisfied, particularly with the\npresent number. The first article, \"The Unitarian Movement,\" is an\n_expos\u00e9_ of the view taken by the conductors of the influence which\nthe Unitarian movement is expected to exert upon the future destiny of\nChristendom and the civilized world. The Unitarian movement is\nsupposed to represent the generally diffused and accepted theology of\nthe mass of thinking persons in the Protestant world, especially of\nthose who give tone to literature, and are most active in promoting\nscience, art, culture, civilization, and process in general. The\nCatholic Church is a sect, because separated from the scientific and\nprogressive movement. The Unitarian denomination is a useful little\ninstitution in a small way, but is not expected to absorb other bodies\ninto itself. Rather it and they are expected to coalesce into a more\nuniversal form of organization, which will be the New Christendom or\nChurch of the Future.\n\nThe principal difficulty we find in the ingenious theories of our\nUnitarian friends is, that they assume a great deal, and prove but\nlittle. They assume to be in advance of all the world in intelligence,\nscience, liberality, etc., and quietly ignore the whole massive,\ncolossal fabric of Catholic theology. The truth is, the Unitarian\nidea, so far as it is an idea, and in the way in which any\nconsiderable class of Unitarians represent it, is not, and cannot\nbecome, the dominant idea of that portion of the scientific or\ncivilized world which has disowned allegiance to the supreme authority\nof divine revelation. Nor can it be shown that the Catholic idea will\nnot win again the control partially lost over the intellectual realm.\nEither the human race has a purely natural destiny, or a supernatural\none. If the former, a Trinitarian or Unitarian Church, a Past,\nPresent, or Future Church, is not necessary. The State and Society are\nthe highest and all-sufficient organization of the race. If the\nlatter, there must be a divinely instituted organization, possessing\ncontinuity of life and fixedness of laws, from the origin of the race.\nOur friends must admit more or give up more. They are on a road now\nwhich will infallibly bring them face to face with the Catholic\nChurch. We look with hope to see some of the boldest and most\nconsistent thinkers of the Unitarians come through into the Catholic\nChurch by this road, and interpret the genuine rationalism of\nChristian doctrine to their own people much better than we can do it.\nDr. Brownson has really demonstrated the whole problem from their own\naxioms and definitions, if they would but attend to him. But the good\nDoctor, unfortunately for them, has travelled over the road in\nseven-league boots, so fast and so far, that it will take at least\ntwenty-five years for his ancient compeers to come up with him.\n\nIn the review of \"Tischendorff's Plea for the Genuineness of the\nGospels,\" Dr. Hedge has given us an essay marked with his sound and\nsolid scholarship. It is a valuable contribution to sacred literature,\nand we would gladly see volumes of the same sort from his pen.\n\nThe sketch of that singular and gifted person, Francis Newman, the\nbrother of Dr. Newman, has great interest. It tells us something we\nare very glad to know, and could not easily have found out without the\nhelp of the writer. These are always the most interesting and valuable\narticles in reviews. The author cannot help giving a few passing cuts\nat Dr. Newman. Dr. Newman seems to annoy a great number of people very\nmuch. They seem vexed that he should be a Catholic, and yet extort\nfrom even the unwilling so much homage to his genius. The\n\"Independent\" calls him renegade and apostate, and Bishop Coxe's very\ninharmonious organ, misnamed the \"Gospel Messenger,\" calls him\n\"detected thief,\" with similar epithets. The \"Church Journal\" tries to\nmake believe that his letter to Dr. Pusey is a \"wail of despair.\" Our\nUnitarian friend is too much of a gentleman to indulge in such boorish\n{428} demeanor, but still he cannot suppress a well-bred sneer. \"What\nhas Dr. Newman ever done for God's humanity? Has the oppression of the\nEnglish masses ever weighed upon his heart? Has he ever lifted up his\nvoice in behalf of our down-trodden little ones? Has he ever thought\nof saving men from the great hell of ignorance and superstition, or\nare these the safeguards of his precious faith? We have a right to\njudge of that faith by its fairest fruit. _Ex pede Herculem_.\"\n\nDr. Newman's conversion seems, in the eyes of Protestants, to have\nsuch a tremendous moral weight, and to carry such a force of argument\nin it for the truth of the Catholic Church, that they are obliged to\ndeny in some plausible way either his intellectual or moral greatness,\nin order to escape from it. Does not the author of these sentences\nknow well, that if the Catholic Church and her clergy were taken away\nfrom the masses and the poor, they would perish in ignorance and vice\nwhile he and his companions were discussing their plans and estimates\nfor the church of the paulo-post future? Does he not know that Dr.\nNewman and a multitude of other gifted men like him are preaching and\nworking every day among the poorest of the people, while Unitarian\nclergymen are ministering to select and intelligent congregations?\nDoes he know what St. Peter Claver did for the negroes, and can he\npoint to any Protestant who has done the like? A little more of Dr.\nNewman's own conscientiousness in speech would do no harm to some of\nhis critics.\n\nThe article on \"Bushnell on Vicarious Sacrifice\" is ably and fairly\nwritten, and all the writer's positive views are compatible with\nCatholic doctrine. He commits the great _faux pas_, however, of\nignoring all the post-reformation theology of the Catholic Church, and\nspeaking as if theological science were confined to Protestants. He\nappears also to be unaware that Catholic theologians commonly teach,\nafter St. Augustine, that God was not bound by his justice to exact\ncondign satisfaction as the condition of pardoning sin, but was free\nto pardon absolutely. It was more glorious both for God and man that\nthis pardon should be accorded as the fruit of the noblest and most\nperfect act of merit possible, rather than given gratuitously.\n\n\"An American in the Cathedrals of Europe\" is an article full of the\ngenuine and pure sentiment with which Mr. Alger's writings abound, and\nwithout a word to mar the pleasure a Catholic would take in reading\nit.\n\nThe notices of Dr. Hall and of the University of Michigan have each\ntheir interest and value, and the literary criticisms are, as usual,\nin good taste.\n\n\nTHE APOSTLESHIP OF PRAYER.\nBy the Rev. H. Rami\u00e8re, of the Society of Jesus. Translated from the\nlatest French edition and revised by a Father of the Society. 12mo,\npp. 393. John Murphy & Co., Baltimore. 1866.\n\nA most excellent and thorough treatise on prayer. The spirit and\nintention of the rev. author are best gained from a perusal of the\nintroduction, which warms one's heart and gives a new and stronger\nimpulse to every hope and desire which the Christian reader may have\nfor the greater glory of God. We cannot, however, entirely agree with\nthe gloomy and discouraging view which is taken of the success of\nChristianity in the world. Christianity is not, nor has it ever been,\na failure; and it is something to which we cannot subscribe when the\nauthor attributes \"apparent barrenness\" to the incarnation, and\n\"comparative uselessness\" to the precious blood of our Lord Jesus\nChrist. Neither do we think it suffices to answer the infidel, \"Who\nhath aided the Spirit of the Lord, or who hath been his counsellor and\ntaught him?\" when he points us to the great portion of the world yet\nunchristianized. And if prayer be good, both individual and\nassociated; if it be absolutely necessary, as it is in the Christian\neconomy; if it be, as it were, the soul which gives life to every work\nof the Christian; still we do not imagine that of all the means of\ngrace this alone deserves our earnest thought or demands our undivided\nattention.\n\nWe are not called upon, in any sense, to apologize for Christianity.\nIt is not worthy of us as men of strong faith to treat of religion as\nthough it were a subject that needed to be excused in the face of the\nunbeliever, or which humbly supplicates the notice of the philosopher\nand the statesman. The truly great minds which have not professed\nChristianity have sought rather {429} to excuse the world for not\nsubmitting to the force of its arguments and to the charms of its\nbeauty. Christianity is no failure, if there be anything which\ndeserves the name of success. What other institutions can compare with\nit for actual and permanent success? The propagation of the faith, its\npreservation, and its enormous diffusion, may well put all past,\npresent, and future works of man to the blush. What else is it now,\nbut _the_ great FACT of the world's history and of the world's present\nadvanced and civilized state? We are not a petty, insignificant sect\nof thinkers, nor a despicable school of philosophers, seeking a\nmomentary acknowledgment from the great unchristian world. On the\ncontrary, Christianity rules the world; and all that is great and\nnoble in humanity, all that has sanctified the past, sustains the\npresent, and inspires hope for the future; all that is free,\ncivilized, and enlightened in society, depends now for its life, as it\nhas received its seed, from the divine power and light of the\nChristian faith. Truly, we must pray, and that \"without ceasing,\" for\nthose who are not of the fold of Christ, and for the coming of the\nkingdom of God upon earth; and any one who peruses the work before us\nwill feel the depth of this obligation; and if he has any real,\npractical desire for the salvation and sanctification of man, will not\nfail to be stimulated to constant and earnest prayer. But have we\nreflected, as well as we might, that before men will pray to God they\nmust first believe in him? The man of enlightened faith prays\nnaturally; the ignorant and the superstitious are noted for their want\nof confidence in prayer. Prayer is the union of the soul with God, and\nthe better God is known, the better is the heart of man prepared for\nthe influences of the Holy Spirit. \"Whosoever shall call upon the name\nof the Lord shall be saved. But how shall they call on him in whom\nthey have not believed? Or how shall they believe him of whom they\nhave not heard? And how shall they hear without a preacher?\" We may\nurge our faithful Christians to pray for the conversion of the world,\nand we may mourn that they do not pray for this end more than they do;\nbut whatsoever arms God has placed at our disposal for conquering the\nworld unto himself, we, like good soldiers of Jesus Christ, must use\nthem with alacrity, with zeal, and, above all, with that spirit of\nsacrifice which our holy faith alone has the power to inspire. Whilst\nwe need not neglect the apostolic manner of preaching the word of God,\nwe should also lay to heart the oft-repeated and wise admonition of\nthe Holy Father to make diligent use of the providential means of the\npress, to diffuse the knowledge of the Christian faith, and promulgate\nthe saving principles of strict Christian morality, and thus prevent\ndefection from the congregation of the just, and enlighten them that\nsit in the darkness and in the shadow of death. The people need more\nlight, more instruction. The masses among non-Catholics are very\nignorant of religion. They are living upon only the poor remnants of\nCatholic faith and tradition which have been left to them by the\nruthless hand of the despoiler. None have felt this more than the\nclergy and enlightened laity of our own country, where religion is\nthrown upon its own merits for support and progress, and where the\nhold upon the ancient Christian tradition is so slight; and it is a\nhappy augury for the conversion of the American people that these\nsentiments are beginning to have a practical and encouraging result.\nWe must make the truth known, for it is that which enlightens man. And\nChristianity is truth. There is no form of truth so broad, so\nexalting, so truly progressive, so noble and so tree. Men will accept\nit when you make it known to them--accept it with joy, and a reverent\nenthusiasm. The tone of our remarks must not be misunderstood as\nattributing to the spirit of the work before us any want of\nappreciation of the great needs of which we have spoken, or that we\nthink the rev. author displays a want of confidence in the power of\nChristian truth. On the contrary, we have seldom met with a book so\nurgent in earnestness and so fall of faith. We can only say, in\nconclusion, God send the church many more such zealous souls as the\nP\u00e8re Rami\u00e8re, now that the harvest is so full and the laborers are so\nfew.\n\n{430}\n\n\nREPORT OF THE TRIAL OF DR. W. H. STOKES, PHYSICIAN, AND MARY\nBLENKINSOP, SISTER SUPERIOR, OF MOUNT HOPE INSTITUTION, BEFORE THE\nCIRCUIT COURT FOR BALTIMORE COUNTY.\nReported by Eugene L. Didier. 8vo pamphlet, pp. 202. Baltimore: Kelly\n& Piet. 1866.\n\nThe famous Mount Hope case, which was brought to trial in February\nlast, ended in a verdict for the defendants, and we have here a full\nreport of it. We trust the projectors of this magnificent _fiasco_ are\nabundantly pleased with the fruits of their endeavors, although they\nseem to have forgotten that, failing to sustain their indictment, the\nodium they sought to fix upon others would be sure to recoil upon\nthemselves. Hence we think that popular judgment will incline to the\nbelief that the only conspiracy in the case (if there be any) was upon\nthe part of the prosecution. The fact that an attempt was made to\ndeprive the defendants of a plea secured to them by positive law would\nrather favor this opinion. We should be happy to believe that\nsectarian prejudice had nothing to do in founding this accusation; but\nthe animus which prompted it will soon be apparent to any one who will\ntake the trouble to read the charge. The estimable and pious ladies,\nwhose life of sacrifice in the interests of religion and humanity has\ncompelled the admiration of the world, are deemed unfit to undertake\ntheir office of charity because they are women! because they are\nreligious and governed by a foreign priest! This tells the whole\nstory, and simply means that ladies of the Catholic religion, who\nchoose to unite in a religious order for the purpose of relieving\nhuman suffering, are unworthy of public sympathy or confidence. We\nstrongly doubt if all the testimony sought to be introduced on the\ntrial, could it have been admitted, would have materially changed the\nresult. To say nothing of the equivocal character of that evidence, as\ncoming from persons but recently inmates of the institution, and whose\nperfect competency to testify is far from certain, we know the\nproneness of those living under the government and direction of others\nto deem themselves the objects of harsh treatment and neglect. There\nis not an establishment of such persons in the country, not even a\ncommon boarding-school, against which similar charges are not\nconstantly made. The well-known character of these admirable sisters\nand their unwearied efforts to do good--for the most part far removed\nfrom human recognition or applause--afford a strong presumption that\nthe management of their asylum will stand the test of rigorous\nscrutiny.\n\nA case not wholly unlike the present, got up in a similar spirit, in\nBoston, some years since, under the Know-Nothing regime, is doubtless\nstill fresh in public recollection. Affairs directed to the same end\nas this of Mount Hope are got up from time to time, but they serve\nonly to arouse feelings which had much better lie dormant where they\ncannot be eradicated, and invoke a spirit entirely opposed to the\nplainest dictates of Christian charity.\n\nThe report of the trial appears to be very complete, and we commend it\nto those who are at all acquainted with the circumstances of the case,\nor have felt any interest in its result.\n\n\nCHRISTIAN MISSIONS:\nTheir Agents and Their Results. By T. W. M. Marshall. 2 volumes. New\nYork: Sadliers, No. 31 Barclay street. Reprint from an English\nedition.\n\nIt is somewhat late to notice this valuable work; but, as the\npublishers have recently sent us a copy, we take the occasion to\nrecommend it to all who are desirous of knowing what has been\naccomplished both by Catholic and Protestant missionaries.\n\nMr. Marshall's work has attained a high reputation abroad, and has\nbeen translated into several European languages. It is very thorough,\nand its statements are backed up by a vast array of citations, chiefly\nfrom Protestant writers. Catholic missions form a beautiful and\nattractive page of ecclesiastical history. Their great success and\nabundant fruits are demonstrated beyond a cavil by the author, as they\nhave been many times before. The majority of Catholics are too\nindifferent to the great work of missions, and ought to take a deeper\ninterest in them than they do.\n\nThe very signal failure of Protestant missions as a whole is also\nproved, by Mr. Marshall, in such a way that their advocates cannot\nrebut his evidence. Nevertheless, we think there is an unnecessary\namount of satire levelled at the missionaries themselves, and too dark\na shade given to the picture of their labors. Many of them are {431}\ncertainly men who, if they were Catholic missionaries, would honor\ntheir calling, and who undertook their hopeless task from high and\nworthy motives. They have accomplished but little, yet their labors\nhave not been altogether without results. The same may be said of the\nRussian missions. The particular facts stated by Mr. Marshall\nconcerning the low state of a large part of the Russian clergy, the\nviolent means used for enforcing conformity to the Russian Church, and\nthe imperfect instruction given to the ostensible converts, are\nindubitable. Yet we believe there are other facts also to be taken\ninto the account, which tell on the other side, and are necessary to a\nperfectly correct view of the true state of the case. A perfectly just\nbalancing of all the accounts would prove most conclusively that the\nCatholic Church alone is adequate to the task of successfully\npropagating Christianity. Mr. Marshall has gone very far toward\nsuccess in his effort to make this balance, and has written with the\nmost perfect honesty of purpose. Some of his deductions may be open to\ncriticism, and his array of facts and testimonies may admit of further\ncompletion; but the general result which he has reached cannot be\nsubstantially set aside or altered. One particular portion of his work\nis just now especially valuable, to wit, the estimate he has furnished\nfrom Protestant writers of the vast superiority of Oriental\n_Catholics_ over Oriental _Schismatics_ in the Levant.\n\nWe recommend this learned and excellent work to all intelligent\nreaders as the best and most complete of its kind which has yet\nappeared.\n\n\nTHE STORY OF KENNETT.\nBy Bayard Taylor. 12mo., pp. 418. New York: Hurd & Houghton. 1866.\n\nThis is an American story as truly as the Waverley novels are Scotch.\nIt has done for Pennsylvania and the Quaker traditions what Hawthorne\nhas for Massachusetts and Puritan life and tradition, and Cooper for\nWestern New York and the fading reminiscences of Indian and frontier\nlife. The book is redolent with the sweet aroma of pastoral life, and\nthat healthy temper and character which are the certain fruit of\nhonest, independent, and successful frugality and toil.\n\nWe are grateful to the masters of poetry and romance who will seize\nand perpetuate the fleeting memories of our beautiful and noble past,\nand save for our children those traditions of danger, daring, labor,\nlove, and self-sacrifice which colored with mystery and beauty the\ndreams and aspirations of our childhood. Mr. Taylor is a man of whom\nwe are proud. His experience as a traveller renders his writings more\ndistinctively American, while they are entirely free from any\nnarrowness or provincialism. He deserves the success which follows his\nliterary labors. The book is handsomely got up, as such a book ought\nto be.\n\n\n\nAGNES. A Novel. By Mrs. Oliphant. New York: Harper & Brothers.\n\nThis is an artistic, highly-finished story, intensely truthful to\nnature, yet sufficiently idealized to give the mind the enjoyment of\nappreciating a work of art. The authoress makes some very fine points.\nThe contemplation of the \"Visitation\" in the Pitti gallery by the\nlonely young wife is a beautiful touch of nature, such as only a woman\ncould have made.\n\n\nINSTRUCTION AND  CATECHISM FOR CONFESSION.\nTo be used by children preparing to receive the Sacrament of Penance.\n32mo., pp. 24. New York. D. & J. Sadlier & Co. 1866.\n\nWe are sure that this little book will prove as useful in every\nrespect as the rev. author could desire. There has been an undoubted\nwant of some such aid to the ordinary catechism, and every pastor\nunder whose notice it may come will not fail to welcome it and avail\nhimself of it. We like it because it is short, to the point, and\nwritten in good plain English.\n\n\nGOOD THOUGHTS FOR PRIEST AND PEOPLE. Translated from the German. By\nRev. Theodore Noethen. 12mo. Albany. Nos. 1 and 2.\n\nThese are the kind of books which we earnestly desire to see among the\ngood Catholic books which every family ought to have and read. The\nclergy will also find these \"Good Thoughts\" admirably adapted to their\nwants, as furnishing suggestive matter for {432} sermons and parochial\ninstructions. Its price, however, will, we fear, defeat its usefulness\nin part by confining it to a comparatively limited circulation.\n\n\nMAY CAROLS AND HYMNS AND POEMS.\nBy Aubrey de Vere. 1 vol., 32mo., pp. 232. New York: Lawrence Kehoe.\n1866.\n\nOf the two parts comprised in this welcome little volume, the longest,\nand, to our taste, by all odds the best, is that originally published\nin London under the title of \"May Carols.\" It is a serial poem,\ndevoted partly to the praises of the Blessed Virgin, and in a\nsubordinate degree to the thoughts of natural beauty suggested by the\nmost joyous and poetical month of the young year. If it reminds us\nfrequently of \"In Memoriam,\" the resemblance cannot be charged as a\nplagiarism, and at most is only superficial. There is a Tennysonian\ncurtness of phrase, a pregnant significance and neatness of expression\nin many of the lines, which are equally rare and refreshing in\ndevotional poetry. Charmingly delicate in execution, and profoundly\nreligious in sentiment, Mr. De Vere's \"Carols\" are a valuable addition\nto Catholic literature, and will add no little renown to the author's\nreputation as a poet. The \"Hymns and Sacred Poems\" have a value of\ntheir own for the thoughts which they contain, though we cannot accord\nthem the same praise which we cheerfully render to the first and\nlarger portion of Mr. Kehoe's tastefully printed little volume.\n\n\nIN MEMORIAM OF RT. REV. JOHN B. FITZPATRICK.\nBoston: Patrick Donahoe. 1866.\n\nA neatly executed pamphlet, containing an account of the funeral\nobsequies of the late distinguished and beloved bishop of Boston, and\nthree funeral discourses: one by Archbishop McCloskey at the\ninterment, another by Bishop De Goesbriand at the Month's Mind, and a\nthird by the well-known and eloquent Father Haskins of Boston,\ndelivered in one of the parish churches. The friends of the deceased\nprelate will find in it a valuable and pleasing memento of the\ndeparted.\n\n\nTHE HISTORY OF IRELAND, FROM THE EARLIEST PERIOD\nTO THE ENGLISH INVASION.\nBy the Rev. Geoffrey Keating, D.D. Translated from the original\nGaelic, and copiously annotated by John O'Mahony, with a map showing\nthe location of the ancient clans, and a Topographical Appendix. 8vo.,\npp. 746. New York: James B. Kirker. 1866.\n\nThis is a new edition of a translation of Dr. Keating's History of\nIreland, published in this city a few years ago. The original work as\nit came from the pen of Dr. Keating has met with both praise and\ncensure from Irish scholars. Some critics have thought the learned\nauthor placed too much faith in the legends of the ancient Irish. The\nwork, even if a portion of it must be classified as \"doubtful,\" is a\nvaluable record of the deeds of Ireland's chiefs when she was a\nnation. The notes of the translator are voluminous and critical, and\nhelp to throw much light upon passages which, to the ordinary reader,\nare obscure.\n\nWe regret that the publisher has seen fit to leave out the \"map\nshowing the location of the ancient clans\" of Ireland, which appeared\nin the first edition published by Mr. Haverty. From the wording of the\ntitle-page, one would expect to find it in its proper place. But it is\nnot there.\n\n\nMAXWELL DREWITT.\nA Novel. By F. G. Trafford. Harper & Brothers.\n\nThis is an Irish tale, exceedingly well written, and just and manly in\nits tone and sentiment.\n\n\nL. Kehoe announces the early publication of \"CHRISTINE, AND OTHER\nPOEMS,\" by George H. Miles, Esq. The volume will be brought out in a\nsuperior style of binding and typography, worthy of the high merit of\nthe poetry.\n\n\n\nBOOKS RECEIVED.\n\nFrom JAMES O'KANE, New York. Betsey Jane Ward, (better half to\nArtemus) her Book of Goaks with a hull Akkownt of the Coartship and\nMaridge to A 4 Said Artemus, and Mister Ward's Cutting-up with the\nMormon fare Secks with Pikturs drawed by Mrs. B. Jane Ward. 12mo,\npp. 312.\n  [Verbatim;--Transcriber.]\n\n\nFROM THE AMERICAN NEWS COMPANY.\nDoctor Kemp. The Story of a life with a Blemish. 8vo, pamphlet.\n\n\nFrom D. & J. SADLIER & CO., New York. Nos. 13,\n14, 15, 16, and 17 of D'Artaud's Lives of the Popes.\n\n\nFrom the office of the AVE MARIA, Notre Dame, Ind. Specimen sheet of\nthe Golden Wreath for the month of May, composed of daily\nconsiderations on the Triple Crown of our Blessed Lady's joys,\nsorrows, and glories. With Hymns set to Music for May devotions.\n\n--------\n\n{433}\n\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD.\n\n\nVOL. III, NO. 16-JULY, 1866.\n\n\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nTHE NEAREST PLACE TO HEAVEN.\n\n\nThere are some places in this world nearer to heaven than others. I\nknow of a place which I think is the nearest. Whether you may think so\nI do not know, but I would like you to see it and judge for yourself.\nPlease to go to France, then to Paris; then take a walk a little\ndistance outside of the Barri\u00e8re de Vaugirard, and you will come to a\nsmall village called Issy. When you have walked about five minutes\nalong its narrow and straggling street, which is the continuation of\nthe Rue de Vaurigard, you win see on your left a high, ugly stone\nwall, and if I did not ask you to pull the jangling bell at the\nporter's lodge and enter, you might pass by and think there was\nnothing worthy of your notice about the place. You say you have not\ntime to stop now, that you have an appointment to dine at the H\u00f4tel\ndes Princes, in Paris, but that some other time you will be most\nhappy, etc. Wait a moment, perhaps I may be able show you something\nquite as good as a dinner, even at the H\u00f4tel des Princes. Ring the\nbell. The sturdy oaken door seems to open itself with a click. That is\nthe way with French doors; but it is the porter's doing. When he hears\nthe bell, he pulls at a rope hanging in his lodge, which communicates\nwith the lock of the door. You are free to enter. Go in. But you\ncannot pass beyond the porter's lodge without giving an account of\nyour self. You cannot get into this heavenly place without passing\nthrough the porter's review, anymore than you can get into the real\nheaven without passing the scrutiny of St. Peter. I hope you are able\nto satisfy the \"Eh; b'en, M'sieu'?\" of good old p\u00e8re Hanicq, who is\nporter here. He is a _p\u00e8re_, you understand, by the title of affection\nand respect, and not by virtue of ordination. You may not think it\nworth your while to be over humble and deferential in your deportment\ntowards porters as a general rule; but I think you may be so now; for,\nif I do not mistake, you are speaking to a venerable old man who will\ndie in the odor of sanctity. P\u00e8re Hanicq is not paid for his services,\n{434} troublesome and arduous as you would very soon find his to be if\nyou were porter even here. He is porter for the love of God. You see\nhe does not stop making the rosary, which is yet unfinished in his\nhand, while he talks to you. He does not recompense himself by that\nbusiness either, as shoemaker porters, tailor porters, and the like\neke out their scanty salaries; but it enables him to find some\nwell-earned sous to give away to others poorer than himself. You say\nthis lodge is not a very comfortable place, with its cold brick floor.\nIt is not. Neither is that narrow roost up the step-ladder a very\nluxurious bed. Right again, it is not. But the P\u00e8re Hanicq is not over\nparticular about these things. Besides, he is not worse off in this\nrespect than the hundred other people who live in this place nearest\nto heaven. Indeed, most of them have a much narrower and drearier\napartment than his. Now that you have said a pleasant word to the good\nold soul, (for he dearly loves a kindly salutation, and it is the only\nimperfection I think he has,) you may pass the inner door, and you\nobserve that you are in a square courtyard, a three-story irregularly\nshaped building occupying two sides of it; stables and outhouses a\nthird, and the street wall the fourth. Before you go further, I would\nadvise you to look into one of those tumble-down looking outhouses. It\nlooks something like a rag and bottle shop. It is a shop, and the\nAlmoner of the poor keeps it. Here the residents of these buildings\nmay find bargains in old odds and ends of second-hand, and it may be\nseventy times seventh-hand furniture, either left or cast off by\nformer occupants. Here the Almoner,--that voluble and sweet tempered\nyoung man in a long black cassock,--disposes of these articles of\ntrade, enhancing their value by all the superlatives he can remember,\nfor the benefit of certain old crones and hobbling cripples, whom\nperhaps you saw on the right of the courtyard receiving soup and other\nfood from another young man in a long black cassock, who is the\nAlmoner's assistant. You don't know it, perhaps, but I can tell you\nthat the Almoner's assistant, as he ladles out the soup and divides\nthe bread and meat, is mentally going down on his knees and kissing\nthe ragged and worn-out clothes of these old bodies whom he helps, for\nthe sake of Him whom they represent, and who will one day say to him:\n\"Because you did it unto the least of these my brethren, you did it\nunto me.\"\n\nNow you may go into the house, after you have been struck with the\nfact how completely that high stone wall shuts out the noise of the\nstreet. You say, however, that you hear a band playing. Yes; that\ncomes from an \"Angel Guardian\" house over the way, like Father\nHaskins's house in Roxbury, Massachusetts (there ought to be angels,\nyou know, not far off from the nearest place to heaven), where the\n\"gamins,\" as the Parisians call them,--the \"mudlarks\" or \"dock rats,\"\nas we call them,--are taken care of, fed, clothed, instructed, and\ntaught an honest trade, also for the love of Him who will one day say\nto the P\u00e8re Bervanger and to Father Haskins what I have before said\nabout the Almoner's assistant.\n\nWell, here is the house. This is the first story, half underground on\none side, and consequently a little damp and dingy. Here to the right\nis the Prayer Hall. This has a wooden floor, (a rare exception,)\nwooden seats fixed to the wainscoting, and here and there a few\nbenches made of plain oak slabs, which look as if they had lately come\nout of one of our backwoods saw-mills. A large crucifix hangs on the\nwall, and a table is near the door, at which the one who reads prayers\nkneels. The ninety-nine others kneel down anywhere on the bare floor,\nwithout choosing the softest spot, if there be any such. Those\nportraits hanging around the walls represent the superiors of a\ncommunity of men who are entrusted {435} with the guardianship of this\nplace nearest to heaven. The most of those faces, as you see, are not\nvery handsome, as the world reckons handsome, but I assure you they\nmake up for that by the beauty of their souls. The morning prayers are\nsaid here at half-past five the year round, followed by a half hour's\nmeditation, and the evening prayers at half-past eight. The hundred\nresidents come here too just before dinner, to read a chapter of the\nNew Testament on their knees, devoutly kissing the Word of God before\nand after reading it; and then each one silently reviews the last\ntwenty-four hours, and enters into account with himself to see how\nmuch he has advanced in that particular Christian virtue of which his\nsoul stands the most in need. It is a good preparation for dinner, and\nI would advise you to try it, even if you cannot do it on your knees.\nIt is a perfect toilette for the soul. Here also you will find the\nafore-mentioned hundred people at half-past six o'clock, just before\nsupper, listening to a short reading on some spiritual subject,\nfollowed by a sort of conference given by the Superior, or head of the\nhouse, so full of unction and sweet counsel that it fairly lifts the\nheart above all earthly things, and seems to hallow the very place\nwhere it is spoken.\n\nTurn now to the left. That door in the corner opens into a chapel\ndedicated to St. Francis of Assisi. Here the P\u00e8re Hanicq and the few\nservants of the house hear mass every morning, and begin the day with\nthe best thought I know of, the thought of God. Keeping still to the\nleft you pass into the Recreation Hall; and if this be recreation day,\nyou will see congregated here the liveliest and happiest set of faces\nthat it has ever been your good fortune to meet in this world.\nBilliards, backgammon, chess, chequers, and other games more simple\nand amusing in their character, are here; and I can tell you that they\nare like a group of merry children playing and amusing themselves\nbefore their heavenly Father. You might pass the recreation days here\nfor many a year before you would hear an angry word, or a cutting\nretort, or witness a jealous frown or a sad countenance. Notice that\nsmiling old gentleman with a bald head capped by the black calotte.\nThat is the P\u00e8re T----. He is very fond of a game of billiards, and I\nknow he loves to be on the winning side; the principal reason of\nwhich, however, you may not divine, but I know: it gives him a chance\nto pass his cue to some one who has been beaten, and obliged to\nretire. And many learn by that good old father's example to do the\nsame kind and charitable act; and, take it all in all, I am inclined\nto think this room is not much further off from heaven than many other\nplaces about this dear old house.\n\nOf course everybody is talking here, except the chess-players, and at\nsuch a rate, that it is quite a din; but hark! a bell rings: all is\ninstantly silent, the games are stopped, the very half-finished\nsentence is clipped in two, and each one departs to some assigned\nduty. They are taught that the bell which regulates their daily\nexercises is the voice of God, and that when he calls there is nothing\nelse worthy of attention. I have no doubt they are right: have you?\n\nThere is one other place to visit on this ground floor, the Refectory.\nA long stone-floored hall with two rows of tables on either side, and\none at the upper end where sits the head of the house, a high\nold-fashioned pulpit on one side, the large crucifix on the wall, and\nthat is the Refectory. It looks dark and cold, and so it is; dark,\nbecause the windows are small and high; and cold, because there is no\nstove or other heating apparatus--a want which may also be felt in\nthe other rooms you have visited; and as the windows are left open for\nair some time before these rooms are occupied, it must be confessed\nthere is a rarity and keenness about the {436} atmosphere, and a\ndegree of temperature about the cold stones in mid-winter, which are\nnot pleasant to delicately nourished constitutions. No conversation\never takes place in the refectory except on recreation days, or on the\noccasion of a visit from the Archbishop of Paris. At all other times\nthere is reading going on from the pulpit, either from the Holy\nScripture or some religions book, which enables the listeners to free\ntheir minds from too engrossing an attention to the more sensual\nbusiness of eating and drinking: not that their plain and frugal table\never presents very strong temptations to gourmandize!\n\nAs you are American, and accustomed to your hot coffee or strong\nEnglish black tea, with toast, eggs, and beefsteak for breakfast, I\nfear the meal which these hundred young men are making off a little\ncold _vin ordinaire_, well tempered with colder water, and dry bread,\nduring the short space of twelve minutes, (except during Lent and on\nother fast days, when they do not go to the refectory at all before\ntwelve o'clock,) will appear exceedingly frugal, not to say hasty. You\nobserve, doubtless, that short as is the time allotted to breakfast,\nnearly every one is reading in a book while he is eating. Do you wish\nto know the reason? I will tell you. It is not to pass away time, but\nto make use of every moment of time that passes. None in the world are\nmore alive to the shortness and the value of time than the hundred\nyoung men before you. Every moment of the day has its own allotted\nduty; and when there is an extra moment, like this one at breakfast,\nwhen two things can be done at once, they do not fail to make use of\nit. They take turns with each other in the duty of waiting on the\ntables, except on Good Friday, when the venerable Superior, and no\nless venerable fathers, who are the teachers of these young men, don\nthe apron, and serve out the food proper in quantity and quality for\nthat day.\n\nNow that you have seen the first story, you may \"mount,\" as the French\nsay, to the second. If you have not been here before, I warn you to\nobtain a guide, or amidst the odd stairways and rambling corridors you\nmay lose your way. This is the chapel for the daily Mass. It is both\nplain and clean, and you will possibly notice nothing particular in it\nsave the painted beams of the ceiling, the only specimen of such\nornament, I think, in the whole house. It is there a long time, for\nthis is a very ancient building, having once been the country-seat of\nQueen Margaret of Anjou; and this little chapel may have been one of\nher royal reception-rooms for all you or I know.\n\nHither, as I have said, come the young Levites to assist at the daily\nsacrifice. I believe I have not told you before that this is a house\nof retreat from the world of prayer and of study for youthful\naspirants to the priesthood of the Holy Church. I do not know what\nimpression it makes upon you, but the sight of that kneeling crowd of\nyoung men in their cassocks and winged surplices, absorbed in prayer\nbefore the altar at the early dawn of day, when the ray of the rising\nsun is just tinging the tops of the trees with a golden light, and the\nopen windows of the little chapel admit the sound of warbled music of\nbirds, and the sweet perfumes from the garden just below, enamelled\nwith flowers, is to me a scene higher than earth often reveals to us\nof heaven's peace and rapt devotion in God. Mass is over now, and you\nmay go, leaving only those to pray another half hour who have this\nmorning received the Holy Communion.\n\nAll these rooms which you see here and there, to the right and to the\nleft, are the cells of the Seminarians, about eight by fifteen feet in\nsize, and large enough for their purposes, though certainly not equal\nto your cosy study at home in America, or to the grand _salon_ you\nhave engaged at the H\u00f4tel des Princes. As you are a visitor, perhaps\nyou may go in and look at one. There is {437} no visiting each other's\nrooms among the young men themselves at any time, save for charity's\nsake when one is ill. An iron bedstead, with a straw bed, a table, a\nchair, a crucifix, a vexing old clothes-press, whose drawers won't\nopen except by herculean efforts, and when open have an equally\nstubborn fashion of refusing to be closed; a broom, a few books,\npaper, pen and ink, a pious picture or statue, and you have the full\ninventory of any of these rooms. As they need no more, they have no\nmore: a rule of life that might make many a one of us far happier than\nwe are, tortured by the care of a thousand and one things which\nconsume our time, worry the mind, and are not of the slightest\npossible utility to ourselves, and the cause, it may be, of others'\nenvy and discomfort. I am aware that, as you pass along the corridors,\nyou think it is vacation time, or that every one is absent just now\nfrom their rooms, all is so silent. But wait a moment. Ah! the bell\nagain. Presto! Every door flies open, and the corridor is alive with\nnumbers of the young men going off to a class or to prayers. Now that\nthey are gone, suppose you peep into one of the rooms again; that is,\nif some newcomer, not yet having learned the rule to the contrary, has\nleft the key in his door. Ah! he was just writing as the bell rang;\nthe pen is yet wet with ink. Pardon! I do not intend that you shall\nread what he has written, but you may see that he has actually left\nhis paper not only with an unfinished sentence, but even at a half\nformed letter. That is obedience, my friend, to the voice of God,\nwhich I have already told you is recognized in the first stroke of\nthat bell. I suppose you may read the inscription he has placed at the\nfoot of his crucifix, since it is in plain sight. \"I sat down under\nthe shadow of my Well-Beloved, whom I desired, and his fruit was sweet\nto my palate.\" (Cant, ii. 3.) Yes, you are right. It is a good motto\nfor one who has sacrificed every worldly enjoyment for the sake of\nthat higher and purer joy, the love of Jesus crucified. You are\nnoticing, I perceive, that everything looks very neat and clean, that\nthe bed is nicely made, and what there is, is in order. They have tidy\nhousekeepers, you say, here. So they have, and a large number of them,\ntoo,--one to each room--the Seminarian himself.\n\nI think you may \"mount\" another stairway now--when you find it--to the\nthird story. I just wish you to step into that door on the right. It\nis the Chapel of St. Joseph; and if you happen to enter here after\nnight prayers you will see a few of the young men kneeling before the\naltar, over which is a charming little painting representing the\nBlessed Virgin and St. Joseph holding the Child Jesus by the hand.\nThey come to pay a short visit in spirit to the Holy Family before\nretiring to rest. \"Beautiful thought!\" I believe you. I see your eyes\nare a little dimmed by tears. What is the matter? \"Oh! nothing; only I\nwas thinking that by coming up a few more steps in this house, one has\nmounted a good many steps nearer heaven.\" Not ready to go  Oh! I\nunderstand, you wish to pay a little visit yourself to the Holy\nFamily. Good. Now, along this corridor, around this corner, down that\nstairway which seems to lead nowhere,--take care of your\nhead!--through those doors, and you are in a much larger chapel. All\nfinished in polished oak, as you see, with a bright waxed floor. The\nseminarians sit in those stalls which run along the whole length of\neither side of the chapel. Here, on Sundays and festivals, they come\nto celebrate the divine offices of the Church. I wish you could hear\nthem responding to each other in the solemn Gregorian chant. Listen;\nthey are singing, and only to and for the praise of God, for no\nstrangers are admitted, so there is no chance for the applause of men.\nPossibly you may be sharp-eyed enough to note those mantling cheeks\nand detect the thrill of emotion in their voices as the swelling\nchorus fills the whole building with melody. Truly, {438} I wonder not\nthat you are moved, for the song of praise rises amid the clouds of\ngrateful incense from chaste lips, and from pure hearts given in the\nflower and spring-time of life to God alone. I can tell you, that\nwhether their voices are singing the mournful cadence of the Kyrie,\nthe exultant sentences of the Gloria, the imposing chant of the Credo,\nthe awe-struck exclamations of the Sanctus, or the plaintive refrain\nof the Agnus Dei; or whether they respond in cheerful notes to the\nsalutations of the sacrificing priest at the Altar, one other song\ntheir hearts are always singing here: \"Laetatus sum in his quae dicta\nsunt mihi, in domum Domini ibimus\"--I was glad when they said unto me,\nwe will go into the house of the Lord. A heavenly joy is filling their\nardent souls, moved by the grace of the Holy Ghost, and is reflected\nfrom their countenances as the sunlight sparkles on the ripples of a\nquiet, shaded lake, when its waters are gently stirred by a passing\nzephyr wafted from the wings of God's unseen angel of the winds.\n\nNow you may go out into the garden. A charming esplanade directly\nbehind the house you have visited. Well-kept gravelled walks stretch\nhere and there through a glittering parterre of flowers of every hue\nand perfume. A pretty fountain sends its sparkling drops into the air\nin the centre of a basin stocked with gold-fish, which are very fond\nof being fed with bread-crumbs from the hand of saintly old Father\nC----. You do not know the P\u00e8re C---- you say. Then you may envy me. I\nknow him. Shall I tell you what he said to me one day?\n\n\"Tenez, mon cher, on doit prier le, Bon Dieu toujours selon le premier\nmot de l'office de None, 'Mirabilia,' et non pas selon le premier mot\nde Tierce, 'Legem pone.'\" God bless his dear old white head! it makes\nmy heart leap in my bosom to think of him. Where were you? Oh! yes,\nbeside the fountain. On each side of the garden is an avenue of trees\nand in one corner a little maze, hiding a pretty statue of the Blessed\nVirgin at whose feet that Almoner of the poor has placed a little\ncharity-box, thinking doubtless, and not without reason, that here,\nhidden by the trees and close shrubbery, some one, you for instance,\nmight like to do something with a holy secrecy which shall one day\nfind its reward from the Heavenly Father of the poor, openly. So I\nwill just turn my head while you put in a donation fitting for an\nAmerican who has a suite of rooms at the H\u00f4tel des Princes. I know you\nare loth to leave this pretty spot. I have had equal difficulty in\ndragging you away from the other places to which I directed your\nsteps; but you have not seen all. Come along. Cross the garden. Here,\nbehind the large chapel is a curious grotto all inlaid with shells,\nfloor, walls and roof. This is the place where Bossuet, F\u00e9nelon and\nMr. Tronson held some conferences about a theological subject which\nneed not take up your time now. Turn up that winding walk to the left,\nand you see a little shrine dedicated to Our Lady, to which the young\nmen go to celebrate the month of May; and it is a quiet little nook\nwhere one may drop in a moment and forget the world. The world is not\nworth remembering all the tune, you know. As you pass to the middle of\nthe garden again you notice a long archway, built under a high wall.\nBefore you enter it please first notice that fine terra-cotta statue\nof the Virgin and Child near it, and take off your hat in passing, as\nall do here. This archway passes under a road, which is screened from\nview by high walls on either side, which also prevent the grounds you\nare in from being seen from the road. I have often thought about that\nhigh-walled road running through the middle of this place nearest to\nheaven. How many of us pass along our way of life, stony, toilsome,\ndry and dusty, like this road, and are often nearer heaven and\nheavenly company than we think; and how many others there are we know\nand love, whose road runs close beside, {439} if not at times directly\nthrough the Paradise of the Church of God on earth, and know it not.\nOh! if they did but once suspect it, how quickly would they leap over\nthe wall!\n\nNow you are through the archway. Directly before you is a magnificent\navenue of trees, all trimmed and clipped as it pleases this methodical\npeople, and here is a fine place for a walk in recreation. The\nseminarians recreate themselves, as they do all other acts, as a duty\nand by rule. One hour and a quarter after dinner, ten minutes at\nhalf-past four, and an hour and a half after supper appears to\nsuffice, although I am afraid it is rather a short allowance. Silence\nis the rule during the other twenty-one hours out of the twenty-four,\nand broken only by duty or necessity. How do you like it? Be assured\nit is profitable to those who are desirous of living near to God.\nRecollect what Thomas \u00e0 Kempis says in his \"Imitation of Christ:\" \"In\nsilentio et quiete proficit anima devota\"--In silence and quiet the\ndevout soul makes great progress. You observe also that the reverend\nteachers of these young men are taking recreation with them. Yes; and\nin this as in every other duty of this life of prayer and of study\nthey subject themselves to the same rule that they impose on others.\nExample, example, my friend, is the master teacher, and succeeds where\nwords cannot. They have learned beforehand in their own school the\nlessons of chastity, obedience, poverty, patience, meekness, humility\nand charity, of silence, and every other Christian mortification of\nour wayward senses which they are called upon to teach here. They have\na novitiate adjoining this house, called the \"Solitude,\" and their\nmotto is inscribed over the little portal in the stone wall which\nseparates the two enclosures. This is it, \"O beata Solitude! O sola\nBeatitudo!\" There is a short sentence, my friend, which will serve as a\nsubject of meditation for you, for a longer time than you imagine.\nLook at the P\u00e8re M----, the reverend superior. What gentleness of soul\nbeams from that kindly countenance! It makes one think of St. Philip\nNeri. Ah! and there is the P\u00e8re P----, with a face like St. Vincent of\nPaul, and a body like nobody's but his own, all deformed as it is by\nrheumatism. I don't ask you to kiss the hem of his cassock for\nreverence sake, for that might wound his humility, and he might\nmoreover knock you down with his crooked elbow, but if you could see\nwhat place the angels are getting ready for him up in heaven, I think\nyou would wish to do so. And all the others, old or young--bowed with\nage or strong of arm and firm in step--you will find but little\ndifference in them. They are all cast in about the same mould, of a\nshape which only a life, and a purpose of life such as theirs could\nform. You would like to know what that young man is about, would you,\nrunning from one knot of talkers and walkers to another, saluting\nthem, and saying something to each? Listen; he is repeating the\npassword of the house. The password? Even so. And is it secret? Yes,\nand a secret too. It is the secret of a holy life, the holy life to be\nled here, and not to be forgotten, where it is the most likely to be,\nin the dissipation of recreation. Lay it up to heart, for it will do\nyou good. \"Messieurs, Sursum corda!\"\n\nThis building on your right as you come out of the archway is a\nball-court. If you will step into the \"cuisine,\" as a sort of wire\ncage is called, in which you can see without being in the way, and the\nirregular roof of which serves admirably to cause the ball to come\ndown crooked, and \"hard to take,\" you may see some good ball-playing;\nand if you know anything about the game, I am sure all will offer at\nonce to vacate their places and give up the pleasure of playing to\nplease you. Somehow, these seminarians are always seeking to please\nsome one else. Fraternal charity, which prefers the happiness of\nothers to its own, is cultivated here to such a degree, that I tell\nyou again you will not find a place {440} nearer heaven; where charity\nis made perfect and consummated in God.\n\nTurn down now to the left for a few steps, and look to the right.\nAnother beautiful avenue. The trees branching from the ground rise up\nand mingle together on all sides so as to form a complete arch. A\nbuilding at the end. Yes; that is the place of all places in this\nlovely enclosure the most venerated by all who come to pass a part of\ntheir lives in dear old Issy. It is the chapel of Lorette. Walk up the\navenue and examine it. It has a fa\u00e7ade, as you see, of strict\narchitectural taste. I know that you, being an American, would very\nsoon scrape the weather-beaten stones, paint up the wood-work, and put\na new and more elegant window in front, if you were in charge. Perhaps\nit might improve it, perhaps not. Standing as it does alone, out there\nin the midst of extensive grounds, it makes you think of the Holy\nHouse of Loretto in Italy, of which you know something, I suppose, and\nof which, indeed, the little chapel inside is an exact copy, and hence\nhas obtained its name. Let me say a word about it before you go in,\nfor no one is expected to break the religious silence which the young\nlevites here are taught should reign about the tabernacle where\nreposes the sacred and hidden presence of Jesus Christ in the Holy\nEucharist. It is this chapel, especially dedicated to his own dear and\nblessed mother, that they have chosen for his dwelling-place among\nthem, as her home at Nazareth was also his. It is what you might\nexpect. The Mother and the Son go together. A childlike and tender\ndevotion to her whom he chose for the human source of his incarnate\nlife, through which we are elevated and born anew unto God, cannot be\nseparated from the profound act of adoration which humanity, nay, all\ncreation, must pay to him who is her Son, the first-born of all\ncreatures. His mysterious incarnate presence is with us always in the\nHoly Eucharist, and will be, as he promised, unto the consummation of\nthe world; and the priest, by the power of his own divine word, is its\nhuman source. You remember the saying of St. Augustine: \"O venerable\ndignity of the priest, in whose hands, as in the womb of the Virgin,\nthe Son of God is incarnate every day!\"\n\nEnter. On the wall to your left, just inside the outer door you see\nthis inscription:\n\n  \"Ilic Verbum caro factam est, et habitavit in nobis.\"   [Footnote 69]\n\n  [Footnote 69: \"Here the Word was made flesh,\n  and dwelt amongst us.\"]\n\nOn the wall directly opposite, this:\n\n  Sta venerabundus,\n  Qui allunde ut stares veneris,\n  Lauretanam Deiparae domum admiraturus.\n  Angusta tota est,\n  Toto tamen Christiano orbe angusto,\n  FACTUS EST HOMO.\n  Abbreviatum igitur aeterni patris verbum\n  Hocce in angulo cum angelis adora;\n  Silet hic et loquaci silentio:\n  Beatae quippe virginis matris sinus.\n  Cathedra docentis est.\n  Audi verbum absconditum, et quid sibi velit attende.\n  Venerare domum filii hominis,\n  Scholam Christi,\n  Cunabula Verbi.   [Footnote 70]\n\n  [Footnote 70: \"Stand in awe, ye who have come hither from afar to\n  admire the Lorettan house of the Mother of God. The whole is but\n  narrow and strait: however, the whole Christian world is but narrow\n  in which the God made man suffered straitness. Wherefore, adore with\n  the angels the straitened word of the Eternal Father. He is silent\n  here, but with an eloquent silence. For the bosom of the Blessed\n  Virgin Mother is the seat of Wisdom. Hear the Hidden Word, and\n  listen attentively to what he wills of thee. Venerate the house of\n  the Son of Man, the school of Christ, the cradle of the Word.\"]\n\nThe door on the right leads into the sacristy, where the priest puts\non his vestments. On the panel of this door you read:\n\n  \"Sanctificamini omnes ministri altaris.\n  Munda sint omnia.\"   [Footnote 71]\n\n  [Footnote 71: \"Be ye holy, all ye ministers of the altar. Let all\n  things be pure and clean.\"]\n\nOn the wall over the door is this inscription around a heart:\n\n  \"Quid volo nisi ut ardeat?--S. Luc. xii 49.\"   [Footnote 72]\n\n  [Footnote 72: \"What will I but that it burn?\"]\n\nOpposite the sacristy door is the door of the chapel, but I wish you\nto read the other inscriptions on these walls before you enter there.\nThere are two more in this entry-way:\n\n  \"Ilic Maria, Patris Sponsa, de Spiritu Sancto\n  concepit.\"    [Footnote 73]\n\n  [Footnote 73: \"Here Mary, the spouse of the Father, conceived of the\n  Holy Ghost.\" ]\n\n{441}\n\n  \"Sile;\n  Huc enim, dum omnia\n  silerent,\n  Omnipotens sermo\n  de regalibus\n  sedibus advenit;\n  Vel aeternum aeterni\n  Patris Verbum\n  Siluit;\n  Vel otioso Deum adorat silentio.\"   [Footnote 74]\n\n  [Footnote 74: \"Keep silence: for hither, while all things were in\n  silence, the Almighty Word leapt down from heaven from his royal\n  throne. Here the Eternal Word of the Eternal Father became silent,\n  and adores God in tranquil silence.\"]\n\nIn an adjoining room are several others, among which I think the\nfollowing are worthy of your notice:\n\n  \"Signum magnum apparuit in terra.\n  Amabile commercium, admirabile mysterium,\n  JESUS VIVENS IN MARIA.\n  VENITE, VIDETE, ADORATE.\n  VENITE\n  Ad templum Domini, ad incarnationis verbi\n  cubiculum,\n  Ad sanctuarium ad quo habitat Dominus.\n  Et de quo, ut sponsus, procedit de thalamo suo.\n  VIDETE\n  Ancillam, Patris sponsam, Virginem Dei matrem,\n  Adae fillam, Spiritus Sancti sacellum,\n  Mariam totius Trinitatis domiciliam,\n  Angelo nuntiante effectam.\n  ADORATE\n  Jesum habitantem in Matre,\n  Ut imperatorem in regno, ut pontificem in templo,\n  Ut sponsum in thalamo.\n  Ilic requies, hic gloria, hic summa laus conditoris:\n  Hic habitabo quoniam elegi eam.\"   [Footnote 75]\n\n  [Footnote 75: \"A great sign appeared on the earth, a lovely union, a\n  wondrous mystery, Jesus living in Mary. Come, see, adore. Come to\n  the temple of the Lord, to the cradle of the incarnate Word, to the\n  sanctuary in which the Lord dwelleth. From which he goeth forth as a\n  spouse from his bridal chamber. See, by the annunciation of the\n  angel, a handmaiden made spouse of the Father, a virgin the Mother\n  of God, a daughter of Adam the shrine of the Holy Ghost, Mary, the\n  resting-place of the whole Trinity. Adore Jesus dwelling in his\n  mother, as an emperor on his throne, as a priest in the temple, as a\n  spouse in his chamber. Here is the rest, here the glory, here the\n  supreme praise of the Creator. Here will I dwell, because I have\n  chosen her.\"]\n\n  \"Omnes\n  Famelici, accedite\n  ad escas:\n  Domus haec abundat\n  Punibus.\"    [Footnote 76]\n\n  [Footnote 76: \"O all ye of the family of God, draw near to the\n  banquet. This house is full of bread.\"]\n\n\n  \"Hic\n  Sapientia\n  Miscuit Vinum,\n  Posuit mensam,\n  Paravit omnia.\n  Qui bibunt,\n  Non sitlent amplius;\n  Qui edunt,\n  Nunquam esurient;\n  Qui epulantur,\n  Vivent in aeternum.\n  Bibite ergo et inebriamini,\n  Comedite et saturabimini;\n  Effundite cum gaudio animas vestras\n  In voce confessionis et epulationis\n  Sonus est epulantis.\"     [Footnote 77]\n\n  [Footnote 77: \"Here the divine wisdom mingleth her wine, spreadeth\n  her table, and maketh all things ready. They who drink shall not\n  thirst any more. They who eat shall never hunger. They who feast\n  shall live for ever. Drink, therefore, and be inebriated. Eat and be\n  filled. Pour forth your souls with joy in the songs of thanksgiving\n  and rejoicing. There is a sound as of one feasting.\"]\n\n\n  \"Omnes\n  Sitentes, venite\n  ad aquas;\n  Locus iste scaturit\n  Fontibus.\"   [Footnote 78]\n\n  [Footnote 78: \"All ye who thirst, come ye to the waters. This place\n  gushes with fountains.\"]\n\n\n  \"Hic\n  Fons fontium,\n  Et acervus tritici,\n  CHRISTUS,\n  Unde sumunt angeli,\n  Replentur sancti.\n  Satiantur universi.\n  Ilic\n  Ager fertilis\n  Et congregatio aquarum,\n  MARIA,\n  Unde, velut de quodam\n  Divinitatis oceano.\n  Omnium emanant\n  Flumina gratiarum.\"   [Footnote 79]\n\n  [Footnote 79: \"Here is the fount of fountains, and heap of wheat,\n  Christ; of which the angels partake, the saints are replenished, and\n  the whole universe is satiated. Here is the fruitful field and\n  meeting of the waters, Mary; whence, as from a kind of ocean of\n  divinity, flow out the streams of all graces.\" ]\n\n\n  \"Si\n  Tu es Christri bonus odor,\n  Accede;\n  Caminus Mariae\n  Altare thymiamatum est,\n  Caminus charitatis,\n  Cujus ostium\n  Hostes non excipit,\n  Sed hostias amoris.\n  Huc vota, huc corda, viatores.\n  Huc pectora.\"   [Footnote 80]\n\n  [Footnote 80: \"If thou art the good odor of Christ, draw near. This\n  chamber of Mary is the altar of incense, the home of charity, whose\n  door receiveth not enemies, but the victims of love. Hither, ye\n  wayfarers, bring your vows, your hearts, and your affections.\"]\n\nBefore you look at the real chapel for which this building was\nerected, just step out of that door opposite to the one by which you\nentered. A little cemetery. Here repose, in simple, humble graves, the\nbodies of the deceased superiors and directors of the congregation of\nSt. Sulpice, in whom and whose seminary you have shown so much\ninterest during this visit under the guidance of your humble servant.\nHere, in this little cemetery, beneath the shadow of the sacred chapel\nthey have loved so well, in the very home, as it were, where so many\nholy souls have lived, and learned the lessons of perfection, and\nwhere, God grant, many more such may yet live and learn the same, they\nhave laid themselves down to rest from their {442} labors, peacefully\nresigning themselves to the common fate; yet privileged in this, that\ntheir dust mingles with earth hallowed by the footsteps of saints. I\nshould like to write an inscription for the door of that cemetery. It\nis this, \"Et mors, et vita vestra absconditae sunt cum Christo in\nDeo,\" for never in the history of Christianity, do I think, have men\nrealized like them, in their lives and in their death, so fully those\nwords of St. Paul.\n\nReturn now to the entry and pass within those gilded doors. This is\nthe chapel. The walls are frescoed, as you see, and in imitation of\nthe walls, now defaced, of the original chapel at Loretto. There is a\npretty marble altar and tabernacle where reposes the Holy of Holies;\nand above the altar is a grating filling up the entire width of the\nchapel, on which are attached a large number of silver and gilt\nhearts, little remembrances left by the departing seminarians at their\nbeloved shrine of Jesus and Mary. Behind the grate you can discern the\nstatue made many hundred years ago, and sent to this chapel as a gift\nfrom the Holy House at Loretto in 1855. I know that your American\ntaste will not be gratified by the appearance of either the statue or\nits decorations; but--America is not all the world. Keep that in mind,\nand it may save you a good deal of interior discomfort, whether you\njourney in other lands, or never stir from home.\n\nNow I leave you, for I know you are tired of sight-seeing and want a\nmoment of' repose--and, may I not also add, a little time to pray\nhere? The seminarians are coming in to make their daily visit, for it\nis a quarter to five o'clock. Oh! sweetest moments of the Issian's\nday! Here he comes and kneels at the feet of Jesus and Mary, and\ndrinks in those silent lessons which reveal truths to the heart that\nno man can teach. Here the soul is ravished away for a while from\nearth and all its carking cares, anxieties, temptations, and\nafflictions, and reposes peacefully in the loving embrace of its God.\n\"Here,\" indeed, \"is the home of charity, whose door receiveth not\nenemies, but the victims of love. Hither you may bring your vows, your\nhearts, and your affections.\" Remain you, then, and pray awhile with\nthem; for of a truth you are with the congregation of the just, and\nnot far off from heaven.\n\n------\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nA MAY BREEZE.\n\n\n  As fragrant blooms by blushing orchard shed,\n    When spring's advancing season ripens fast,\n  Oh! such the blossoms which the heart has fed\n    With all the dewy sweetness of the past.\n\n  But like those winds whose stormy passage sweeps\n    The wailing trees, yet leaves fair fruit behind,\n  Life's changing scenes, which man still hourly weeps.\n    Pledge fruit, than blooms more constant and more kind.\n\n------\n\n{443}\n\n\nFrom the Lamp.\n\n\nUNCONVICTED; OR, OLD THORNELEY'S HEIRS.\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nWHICH IS ELUCIDATORY AND RETROSPECTIVE.\n\nBefore resuming the thread of my narrative I must needs go back a\nlittle, and see in what relation the different people who are to play\nthe principal parts in this true history stand to one another.\n\nI have said that Hugh Atherton and I had been friends from the time we\nwere boys at school, he being some five years my junior. He and Lister\nWilmot were nephews, on their mother's side, of old Gilbert Thorneley,\nand, as every one supposed, his nearest relatives. They were both\norphans; both brought up and educated by their uncle, and both were\ngiven to understand that they would equally inherit his immense\nfortune at his death. But Thorneley had made his money by the sweat of\nhis brow,--beginning by sweeping his master's office, and ending by\nbeing the possessor of some million of money,--and he did not choose,\nas he said, to leave it to two idle dogs. He had worked, and so should\nthey: they might choose their own profession or business, and he would\ndo all that was requisite to forward them in life; but work in one way\nor another they should. Hugh, guided very much by my advice, went to\ncollege, and then read for the bar. His career at Oxford had not been\na brilliant one, but he had passed his \"great go\" very creditably, and\ntaken his bachelor's degree with fair honor to himself. Then he came\nto London, took chambers in the Temple, and set himself down to read\nwith steady earnestness of purpose; after a while he was called to the\nbar and his first brief was held for a client of mine. It was a\nrighteous cause, and he gained it by his straightforward grappling\nwith the evidence, his simple yet manly eloquence. At the time when\nthe events happened which are now recorded, and cast one great lasting\nshadow over his life and mine, he was in very fair practice. But one\nthing I ever noticed about him, and it was that he was almost\ninvariably retained for the defense. I don't think he could have\nconducted a case for prosecution; I don't think he could have stood up\nand pleaded for the conviction of any poor wretched miserable criminal\nshivering at the bar, brought thither by what crushing amount of\ndegradation, want, or luring temptation to sin God only knew,--God\nonly, in His infinite mercy, would remember. Do you recollect that\nportrait in one of Mr. Dickens's works of the barrister, who was\nalways retained at the Old Bailey by great criminals, and who never\nrefused to defend them, guilty or not guilty--that man, with the\nunpoetical name of Jaggers, who used to wash his hands after coming\nfrom the court or dismissing a client? Well, that man always reminded\nme of Hugh Atherton; and when I read the book, I did homage to my\nfriend in his person. You don't see at first what Mr. Dickens is\ndriving at, nor the whole of his conception in the character of\nJaggers; but after a while it bursts upon you what a raft he must have\nbeen for the poor drowning wretches going to their trial to catch at.\n\nWith a fund of good common-sense, a dear head, and sound judgment,\nAtherton possessed what gave such a charm to him and won so many\nhearts,--the boyish lightheartedness which clung to him; with his\ngenial manner, his kindly words and deeds. He had his faults--he was\npassionate and hot-headed, obstinate in his likes and dislikes; but he\n{444} had what few young men of his age could boast, a freedom from\nvice, a guilelessness of soul, which in the midst of all the\ncorruption, the temptations, and snares of London life, carried him\nthrough unscathed. I never knew but one other who was like him in that\nrespect,--though indeed I have heard that such have been, but are now\ngone to their grave,--who, with the brave undaunted heart of a\nthoroughly English youth, carried within him the mark of innocence,\nand wore it stamped upon his open brow. He is thousands of miles away\nnow, and these lines may never reach him; but those who love him and\nlong for his return will recognize the son and brother whose worth,\nperchance, we never fully knew until the parting came.\n\nOf Lister Wilmot I had seen comparatively but very little. He was a\nweak puny lad, unfit for roughing it in a public school, and had\ntherefore received his education from private tutors and governors.\nThrough his uncle's interest he obtained a civil appointment in one of\nthe government-offices, and though fond of dress and amusements, I\nnever heard much harm of him, beyond an inclination to extravagance,\nwhich I imagined old Thorneley knew well how to keep in check. Yet, I\ndon't know how it was, I never liked Wilmot. Hugh was fond of him, and\nvery anxious that he and I should be friends; certainly it was not\nWilmot's fault that a greater amount of cordiality did not exist\nbetween us. He was very agreeable, very civil, very amiable, very\nattentive to me; but I could not bear him. I often took myself\nseverely to task for this unreasonable antipathy; and I decided it\ncould only be because he was such a contrast to Hugh in everything\nthat I did not take to him. Not that I pitched their relative\ngoodness, and drew conclusions against him; as I said before, I knew\nno harm of him, but simply I did not like him. A story went about that\nhis mother (Thorneley's sister) had made a very unhappy marriage, and\ndied soon after her son's birth. What had become of his father no one\never seemed to know; and if Wilmot did, he never named him.\n\nAbout a year before the story opens Hugh Atherton was engaged to be\nmarried. Let me relate all this very clearly, very calmly; it is\nneedful I should; and while I write, let me think only, as before\nheaven I have ever tried to think, of the interests of two beings who\nalways were and always will be dearest to me on earth.\n\nA client of mine left me at his death the joint guardianship with his\nwife of an only daughter. She was heiress to a considerable fortune;\nblest with a mother who was none of the wisest of guides for a young\ngirl who was beautiful, high-spirited, and gifted with no ordinary\nintellect. I fulfilled my dead friend's trust with all the care,\nvigilance, and tenderness in my power. I watched Ada Leslie grow up\ninto girlhood, and from girlhood into womanhood,--for I was a young\nman in years when that charge was committed to me, though old in\ncharacter, and old and grim in looks,--I saw her beauty of face and\nform unfold, her winning gracefulness become more graceful and more\nwinsome; I marked the powers of her mind and intellect develop, and\nall the noble qualities of her heart reveal themselves in a thousand\nways. I watched her with the solicitude of a father, with the\naffection of a brother; I never thought of myself in any other light\nwith regard to her; but her confidence in me became very precious, her\ncompanionship very sweet.\n\nOne day I took Hugh Atherton with me to Mrs. Leslie's, and in that\nfirst visit I foresaw how all would end; it was but the precursor of\nmany more visits, and after a while they both told me how things stood\nbetween them. There was no difficulty. Money, in the mother's eye, was\nall that was needed to make a good match, and Hugh was well enough off\nnow, and likely to be a rich man in the future; money was all that\nGilbert Thorneley required for his nephew's future bride, and Ada\nLeslie's fortune was ample, even to his sordid mind. I knew _she_\ncould have {445} no worthier man for husband than Hugh Atherton. I\nknew--ah, who should know better?--that _he_ could find no woman\nworthier of his tenderest love and honor than my ward; and so I bade\nGod to bless them and sanctify their union. If for a while my life was\nsomewhat more lonely than it had seemed before; if a few years were\nadded to thought and feeling, and I began then more solemnly to\nrealize what a gray old bachelor I should appear to Hugh's little\nchildren when they climbed about my knee,--well, it was but a\nfoolishness that was quickly buried down deep in my heart and would\nnever more rise to the surface. And Hugh's full tide of happiness and\n_her_ deep but tender joy soon kindled bright again in the chambers of\nmy soul a light that for a time had been very dim; and I learnt the\nbest lesson life can teach us, and which in more ways than one is\nintimated to us by the words, \"It is more blessed to give than to\nreceive.\" They would have been married before this, but Ada's father\nbad specified his wish that she should not marry until she was\ntwenty-one, unless her guardians judged it otherwise expedient, and\nshe was desirous of abiding by that decision. She would be of age the\nthird of this coming December, and after Christmas the wedding was to\ntake place.\n\nI noticed there was something peculiar in their manner of mentioning\nto me the day they had fixed on for their marriage. It was the day\nbefore I started on this last trip to my favorite Swiss mountains; we\nhad all gone down to Kew by water, and we were strolling about the\ngardens enjoying the cool of the evening air after a day of unusual\nsultriness. Mrs. Leslie, Wilmot, and I, were walking together, whilst\nthe other two went away by themselves. We had not spoken very much--at\nleast I had not, for many thoughts were busy within me. Presently Ada\ncame back alone, and putting her arm in mine she drew me aside into a\nlittle shady walk where the trees met overhead and the air was laden\nwith the perfume of the lime-blossom. In the last summer of my life,\nat eventide I shall see that narrow pathway with its leafy covering,\nand smell those fragrant trees; I shall hear the nightingale's note as\nit sang to me (so I thought) the refrain of a simple ballad I had\noften heard my mother sing in early childhood.\n\n  \"Loyal je serai durant la vie.\"\n\n\"Dear friend,\" said Ada, looking up into my face with her soft, kind,\nbrown eyes, so truthful and sincere, \"Hugh and I have been speaking of\nthe future;\" and the bright warm color came into her cheek, and the\nlong golden lashes fell as she spoke.\n\n\"Yes, Ada, that is right. What says Hugh?\"\n\n\"He says we had better settle when it is to be. You know I am of age\nin December, and he thinks of after Christmas; and do you know he\nwants it to be on the day but one after the Epiphany? because he\nsays--that funny old Hugh!--that it is _your_ birthday; or if it\nisn't, that it ought to be; and insists on it. However, he has set his\nmind on it. He wanted to come and ask you, for I said I would not have\nit fixed until you had been asked. And then I thought I would rather\ncome myself.\"\n\nThe kind eyes were looking at me again, just a little anxiously, I\nthought. For a moment there seemed to be a choking sensation in my\nthroat. I turned my head away, and the evening bird sang out once\nmore, clear and silvery in the calm still air,\n\n  \"Loyal je serai durant la vie.\"\n\n\"Listen, Ada; do you hear what the nightingale is singing? She is\nbidding me say 'God bless you both!' Let it be when Hugh thinks best.\nGo and tell him so.\"\n\nShe took my hand and pressed it to her lips; there was a warm tear on\nit when she let it go. I turned aside and walked away for a little\nwhile by myself. Then I went back to them, and we left the gardens.\n\n{446}\n\nHugh and I walked home together that night; and as we parted at his\ndoor he told me all was settled between him and Ada, very gently, very\nsoftly, as if he were breaking some news to me. There was no need. I\nbade him God speed with my cheeriest voice, and told him the heartfelt\ntruth--that to no other man would I have trusted her with such\nperfect trust.\n\nI had happy letters from them both whilst I was abroad. Hugh had taken\na very pretty house some ten miles from town; workmen were busily\nengaged in alterations, fittings-up, and decorations, whilst he and\nAda were full of the furniture and all those numerous etceteras which\nhelp to make the home such a one as should be prepared to receive a\nfair young bride. Mr. Thorneley had behaved very liberally to his\nnephew, and given him _carte blanche_ in the matter of the\nexpenditure; if his nature were capable of loving any human being, I\nthink he was fond of Hugh Atherton, and I am quite sure that Hugh, in\nhis generous oversight of all that must have jarred upon and shocked\nhis mind, was sincerely and gratefully attached to his uncle, who, he\noften said to me, had acted a father's part by him. Thus, amidst much\nsunshine and little shade, all was hastening on toward the\nconsummation of their union, and as the new year tided round it was to\nfind them man and wife.\n\nAnd now I must relate a circumstance which happened about a fortnight\nbefore I started for the Continent. I had been dining at the house of\nmy married sister, who lived at Highgate. She was one of those ladies\nwho are very fond of collecting about them the heterogeneous society\nof all the nondescripts, hangers-on, and adventurers who are only too\nwilling to frequent the houses of those gifted with a taste for such\ncompanionship. With good-nature verging, I often told her, on absolute\nidiotcy, she could not be made to see how eccentricity of manner,\nperson, or conversation was often but the veil thrown over a character\ntoo stained or doubtful to be revealed in its proper light. It is true\nthat in many cases her hospitality was rewarded; equally true that in\nthe majority it was abused; and my brother-in-law, good man, suffered\nseverely for it in the matter of his pocket.\n\nTo return: amongst the various guests I met at dinner that evening was\none man who strangely riveted my attention, aided by the feeling so\nwell known to most people, that I had somewhere or other seen him\nbefore, but in other guise, and when a much younger man. His manner\nwas quiet and reserved, but scarcely gentlemanlike; and I noticed that\nin many of the little _convenances_ of society he was quite at a loss.\nI judged him to be about fifty or fifty-five years of age, his hair\nwas grey, and he wore a thick beard and moustache; at first I took him\nfor a foreigner until I heard him speak, and then I perceived the\nbroad Irish accent betraying his nationality in a most unmistakable\nmanner.\n\n\"Who's your Irish friend, Elinor?\" I asked of my sister when I got her\nquietly in the drawing-room after dinner.\n\n\"Which one do you mean, John? There's the O'Callaghan of Callaghan,\nwho sat by me at dinner; and there's Mr. Burke, who writes those\nspirited patriotic articles in the _Emerald-Green Gazette;_ and\nthere's Phelim O'Mara, the author of _Gems_---\"\n\n\"I know them all, my dear.\"\n\n\"Then who can you mean, for there isn't another Irishman here? These\nthree wouldn't have been asked together--for they are all of different\npolitics, and I have been on thorns all the evening lest they should\nget into a discussion--but I couldn't well avoid it; for you know--\"\n\nAgain I was obliged to use a brother's delightful privilege and be\nrude, for Elinor, though an excellent woman and a pattern wife, was\ndiscursive in conversation, and I saw her husband trying to catch her\neye for some purpose; so I said:\n\n{447}\n\n\"Yes, I know all about it--there's Henry looking for you. The man I\nmean sat opposite to me; grey beard--there he is, standing by\nMontague.\"\n\n\"Oh! _he?_ he is my last treasure-trove: he's not Irish, my dear; he's\nhalf French and half English. An author, but very rich; has travelled\nall over the world. Here,\" beckoning to him, \"Mr. de Vos, allow me to\nintroduce you to my brother, Mr. Kavanagh.\"\n\nO Elinor, you good blind soul, your Frenchman was no more French and\nno more English than the man in the moon, though certainly I am not\nacquainted with the nationality of that gentleman. I saw it in two\nminutes. We talked commonplaces for a little, till some one came up\nand asked me if it were true that Atherton was engaged to my ward,\nMiss Leslie. I answered in the affirmative.\n\n\"You know Mr. Atherton very well then, I conclude,\" said De Vos.\n\n\"I have known him from a boy; no one knows him better than I.\"\n\n\"How very interesting!\" he said; and I could not make out whether his\ntone was earnest or satirical, for his face betrayed nothing. \"I have\nheard of Mr. Atherton from a friend of mine in Paris.\"\n\n\"Ah! that little enthusiastic Gireaud, I dare say,\" replied I; for I\nknew all Hugh's friends, and he was the only one I could think of as\nbeing in Paris.\n\n\"Yes, from Gireaud;\" and he was turning away.\n\n\"How is he?\" I asked, meaning Gireaud; \"have you seen him lately?\"\n\n\"No, not lately--that is, three or four months back.\"\n\nThis was strange; it was only a month since the Frenchman had left\nEngland, only three months since we had first made his acquaintance,\nand he had been in England all the time. I felt suspicious; I often\ndid towards my sister's friends, by reason of divers small sums\nborrowed in past times by them from me, and kept _in memoriam_ I\nsuppose. I thought I would pursue the inquiry.\n\n\"Did you know M. Gireaud when he was in England?\"\n\n\"No abroad--in Paris;\" and he changed color and shifted uneasily on\nhis feet.\n\n\"Did he succeed in tracing out the evidence in that celebrated cause\nhe was conducting?\" I continued pertinaciously.\n\n\"I really don't know; excuse me--how very warm this room is! I will\ngo into the balcony and see if it is possible to get a little air;\"\nand he turned on his heel and left me.\n\n\"So so,\" thought I, \"you wanted to fasten yourself upon me with the\ndodge of knowing my friends, did you? It won't do, my fine fellow;\"\nand I determined to give my brother-in-law a hint that his wife's\n\"last treasure-trove\" would need watching. But I found no opportunity;\nand when I inquired for Mr. de Vos later in the evening, I heard he\nhad gone away, feeling very unwell. Said I to myself, \"He'll be worse\nwhen he meets me again.\" I little recked the words then, or what they\nmight import.\n\nIt was a beautiful August night when our party broke up; and resisting\nmy sister's wish that I should sleep there, I determined to enjoy a\nmoonlight walk home, smoke a cigar, and think over a difficult case I\nhad just then in hand. My nearest way into town from Elinor's house\nwas down Swain's Lane and round by the cemetery; it was a lonely,\nghostly kind of walk, not tempting on a dark winter's night; but with\na brilliant harvest-moon overhead, a stout stick, and myself standing\nsix feet without shoes, I feared neither man nor ghost. The tombstones\nlooked white and ghastly enough in the bright moonlight, and the trees\ncast their heavy shadows across my path, whilst their tops were\nstirred by a gentle soughing breeze. I had passed the cemetery, and\nwas rapidly nearing the end of the lane, which turns into the\nhigh-road by the Duke of St. Alban's public-house, of omnibus\nnotoriety, when I fancied I heard the sound of voices pitched high, as\nif {448} in some angry dispute. I took out my watch; it was just upon\ntwelve o'clock. Drunken revellers, I thought, turned out of the inn.\nSwain's Lane winds about until you are close upon the road, and then\nthere is a straight piece with fields upon either side. I looked ahead\nas I came to this latter bit, but there was no one to be seen,\nalthough the voices sounded closer and closer. I was walking on the\nturf beside the road, so that my footsteps falling upon the soft grass\nwere inaudible. I passed a gate leading into a field, and then I\nbecame aware that the voices were close to me on the other side of the\nhedge. Not caring to be seen lest I should get drawn into some drunken\nrow, I stooped my head and shoulders, inconveniently high just then,\nand was in the act of passing swiftly on when a name arrested me. \"I\ntell you Hugh Atherton never _shall_ marry that girl!\"\n\n\"And I tell you he _will_! You let every chance slip by you, you poor\nspiritless fool. He'll marry her, and come in for the best share, if\nnot the whole of Gil Thorneley's money.\"\n\nThere was no mistaking the brogue of my Irish Anglo-French\nacquaintance of this evening--my sister's \"last treasure-trove, the\ntalented author, the rich man.\" But the other voice, whose was it? It\nsounded strange at first; then light began to dawn upon me. I knew\nit--yes, surely I knew it. Ha, by Jove! Lister Wilmot!--it must be\nLister Wilmot's.\n\nThey were speaking again, quite unconscious of their auditor on the\nother side of the hedge.\n\n\"You are the biggest fool, and a scoundrel too, coming here, dogging\nmy footsteps, and following me about just to bring ruin upon me with\nyour confounded interference; going _there_ too, and meeting the very\nman you ought to avoid, that lawyer fellow, Kavanagh; why, he'll scent\nyou out in less than no time.\" (Much obliged to you, Mr. Wilmot,\nthought I, for your involuntary tribute to my shrewdness: it has been\ndeserved this time at any rate.) \"You must leave London at\nonce--to-morrow, do you hear?--or I'll whisper a certain affair\nabout, which may make this quarter of the world unpleasant to you.\"\n\n\"I'll not stir without that fifty pounds. You blow upon me, and I'll\nblow upon you in a quarter you wouldn't care to have those small bits\nof paper shown that I've got in my pocket-book here.\"\n\nThe remark seemed to have been untimely.\n\n\"Scoundrel!\" shouted the other voice I believed to be Wilmot's, and I\nheard them close together and struggle.\n\nAt the same moment I leaped the gate, determined to make sure of their\nidentity; but with singular ill-luck I caught my foot against the\ntopmost bar, and fell with no small force my whole length on the other\nside. The noise and sight of me disturbed the combatants, and before I\ncould rise or recover myself, they had separated, and fled in opposite\ndirections across the field. Pursuit was a vain thought. I had twisted\nmy ankle in the fall, and for a few moments the pain was unbearable;\nwhen I could put my foot to the ground both fugitives were out of\nsight. There was nothing left for me but to hobble back, gain the\nroad, and seize upon the first empty cab returning to London to convey\nme to my chambers.\n\nI mentioned the adventure to Atherton on the following morning, and my\nconviction that Lister Wilmot was one of the two men.\n\n\"It is impossible,\" replied Hugh; \"Lister was with me last evening\ntill eleven o'clock, and then he went home to bed.\"\n\n\"Did you see him home?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes, and went in with him; saw him undressed, and ready to get into\nbed. He was not well, poor fellow. One of his bad colds seemed to be\nthreatening him, and he was very out of spirits. I am afraid he's\nexceeding his allowance, and getting into debt. He asked me to lend,\nhim twenty pounds for a month.\"\n\n{449}\n\n\"Which of course you didn't do?\"\n\n\"Which of course I did, and told him he was heartily welcome to it;\nbut I wished he'd draw in his expenses, for I was certain if Uncle\nGilbert heard of his being in difficulty, there would be no end to\npay. I'll get him to make a clean breast of it some day soon to me,\nand see what I can do to help him and set him right.\"\n\nSo like Hugh, with his generous impulses ever ready to do a kindness.\n\n\"Well, but it is very odd. I could have sworn it was Lister in the\nfield; as for the other fellow, why there is not the smallest shadow\nof a doubt about him. If I hadn't recognized his brogue, why, the\nwords of his companion pointed him out as the De Vos of the\ndinner-party. Do you know such a man, Hugh?\" and I gave a graphic\ndescription of him.\n\nHugh shook his head.\n\n\"Don't know such a bird as that, Jack. Can't think who it can be, nor\nwhat they both meant. The 'girl,' indeed! Did they mean Ada, forsooth?\nI'd like to punch their skulls for daring to name her. I say, let's go\nto Lister's at once and ask him if he knows a man answering to the\nname De Vos.\"\n\nWe drove to Wilmot's lodgings in the Albany--he affected\naristocratic-bachelor neighborhoods--and found him over a late\nbreakfast, looking very pale and haggard. Hugh attacked him in his\nstraightforward blunt manner.\n\n\"What did you go up to Highgate for, last night. Lister, when I\nthought you were going to bed?\"\n\nWilmot's fork fell on the floor and he stooped to pick it up before\nanswering. Then he looked up with an air of the greatest astonishment.\n\n\"Go up to Highgate last night! I! Are you mad, Hugh?\"\n\n\"I heard your voice last night in a field close by the Highgate Road,\nor I never was more mistaken in my life,\" I said.\n\nHe turned his face to me: there was the most unaffected surprise and\nbewilderment written on it as he stared at me.\n\n\"Are you out of your senses too?\" he asked at last with a loud laugh.\n\"Why, Hugh saw me into bed almost. You must have been wandering, or\nMr. Craven's\" (my brother-in-law) \"wines were too potent for your\nsober brain.\"\n\nI was completely at a nonplus. \"Do you know that Mr. de Vos is in\nEngland?\" I said, resolved to try another \"dodge.\"\n\n\"Who is Mr. de Vos?\" was the answer, given in the most unconcerned\ntone.\n\nHugh broke in: \"Tell him all about it, John.\"\n\nI did so, relating word for word what I had heard, with my eye fixed\nupon his face. He never flinched once, and there was not the smallest\nembarrassment in his look or manner.\n\n\"You were of course entirely mistaken,\" he said; \"I never left my room\nlast night after Hugh went away. Of this Mr. de Vos I know\nnothing--not even by name.\"\n\nThere was nothing for it but to be satisfied, and yet somehow I was\nnot. I suppose my old dislike of Wilmot got the better of me and made\nme distrustful. Then such dear--such precious interests had been\ncalled in question--were perhaps in danger; and I could not rid myself\nof the great anxiety which oppressed me.\n\nThe next move was after De Vos. He had utterly and totally disappeared\nby the time I had obtained his address from my sister and hunted out\nthe wretched doubtful sort of lodgings he had inhabited near Leicester\nSquare. So the affair died a natural death, and I left England for the\nContinent. Could I but have foreseen what my return would bring forth!\n\n\n{450}\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nTHE DAY AFTER THE WEDDING.\n\nIt was all true--dreadfully, awfully true--and no hideous dream.\nGilbert Thorneley was dead--poisoned, murdered; and Hugh Atherton was\nin the hands of justice, suspected, if not actually accused, of the\nmurder. When I came back, sick and giddy, to consciousness, there was\nold Hardy bending over me with a face blanched almost as white as my\nown must have been, and Jones the detective standing by, the deepest\nconcern written on his countenance. Do you know what it is, that\n\"coming to,\" as women express it, after a sudden mental blow has\nprostrated you and hurled you into the dark oblivion of insensibility?\nI daresay you do. You know what the return to life is; what the\nrealization of the stunning evil which has befallen you. But God help\nyou if you remember that your last words when conscious criminated the\nfriend you would willingly die to save. God help you if you know you\nmust be forced into admitting what you had rather cut out your tongue\nthan utter, and which in your inadvertence or brainless stupidity you\nlet pass your lips. I say again, heaven help you, for it is one of the\nbitterest moments of your life.\n\nAs the physical indisposition wore off, and the whole situation of\naffairs became clearer to my scattered senses, the remembrance of what\nI had done was maddening.\n\n\"Oh, blind fool,\" I cried, \"not to see, not to know what I was doing!\nJones and Hardy, I call you both to witness most solemnly that I\nbelieve as firmly, as entirely in Mr. Atherton's innocence as I do in\nan eternal life to come. I charge you both, that, whatever testimony\nyou may be forced to give, whatever miserable words have been wrung\nfrom me--I charge you both, by all you hold most sacred, to give\nevidence likewise that I believe him innocent.\"\n\n\"We will, sir,\" said the two men gravely.\n\nThen a desperate idea seized me, and I motioned Hardy to leave the\nroom.\n\n\"Jones,\" I said, when the clerk was gone, \"you are a poor man, I know,\nand have many children to provide for. Get me off attending the\ninquest, and I will write you a cheque on the spot for any sum in\nreason you like to name.\"\n\n\"Bless your heart, sir, it an't in my power. Inspector Jackson has\nbeen in Wimpole street investigating it all; and I know your name's\nbooked as one of the principal witnesses. You'll have your summons\nthis evening for to-morrow, as safe as I'm here.\"\n\n\"Where is Mr. Atherton?\" I asked.\n\n\"Inspector Jackson took him to Marylebone street, sir. He'll go before\nthe magistrate at two o'clock. They won't get his committal, though, I\nexpect until after the inquest; there is not sufficient evidence; but\nwe're getting it as fast as we can.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said in the bitterness of my heart; \"and if I had known your\nerrand _here_, I'd have flung you down the stairs before you should\nhave had access to my rooms.\"\n\n\"You can't be sorrier than I am, Mr. Kavanagh. I believe, like you,\nthat he's an innocent man: but everything looks against him at\npresent. The housekeeper's evidence is enough to hang him.\"\n\n\"The housekeeper! What, Mrs. Haag?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, that's her name, I believe. She's only half English, or\nmarried a foreigner, or something of the sort. But I think she must be\nforeign, for she has a mighty broad accent. Yes, indeed, sir; and if I\nmay make bold to say it,--I don't know what your friendship for Mr.\nAtherton may lead you to do,--but it's of no use your not saying where\nyou saw him last night, for _she_ saw him go in and come out of _that\nshop_, and she heard him address you, sir, by name.\"\n\nA light flashed across me. That was _the woman_ I had met in Vere\nStreet. I didn't know the housekeeper by sight, but I had often heard\nboth Atherton and Wilmot speak of her. Wilmot!--another light.\n\n{451}\n\n\"Did you know that Mr. Thorneley's other nephew was with him last\nnight? He met Mr. Atherton in Wimpole Street.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, and left nearly an hour before Mr. Atherton went away.\"\n\n\"Still, why is he not suspected as much as the other?\"\n\n\"_He_ had not been traced in and out of a chemist's shop; _he_ had no\ndispute with his uncle; _he_ was not heard to make use of _threatening\nwords_. I can't tell you more, sir; and I must be going. I have done\nwhat need be done here. Mr. Kavanagh, believe me I am acting only in\nmy official capacity; and I'd rather, sir, have been at the bottom of\nthe sea than engaged in this affair. But I mustn't forget the message,\nsir.\"\n\n\"What message?\"\n\n\"From Mr. Atherton. He wanted to write or to send for you to come; but\nthey wouldn't let him. You see, sir, we know you are an important\nwitness against him, and Jackson--he's a sharp one--wouldn't have him\ncommunicating with you. Poor gentleman! he was stunned-like at first\nwhen he was told. Then when he saw me, 'Jones,' said he, 'you go to\nMr. Kavanagh; tell him what has happened. Tell him I'm an innocent\nman, so help me God! I wouldn't have hurt a gray hair of the old man's\nhead. But I was angry with him, I confess.' Then we warned him not to\nsay anything which might criminate himself, so he only bent his head\nreverently, and said again, 'My God, Thou knowest I am innocent.' Then\nhe turned to me suddenly and caught my arm. 'Tell Mr. Kavanagh to go\nat once to Mrs. Leslie's, and see that the news doesn't come upon them\ntoo suddenly. Tell him I _trust to him_.' Those were his words, sir,\ntwo or three times,--'Tell him I trust to him.'\"\n\nO Hugh! my poor Hugh; you might trust me then; you might have trusted\nme always. But you didn't. A world of damning doubt and evidence rose\nup between us, and it seemed to point at me as your worst enemy, and\nnever more again would you place confidence in me; never more would\nthe perfect trust of friendship draw us together, and make our\ninterests one.\n\nAy, and that too had been one of the despairing thoughts which rushed\nacross my mind as the truth of what had happened forced itself upon\nme. Ada! What if such news were carried suddenly, inconsiderately to\nher ears? What if such an awful, unlooked-for blow fell, crushing the\nbright hopes and darkening the radiant happiness of her young life? I\ntell all this in a bewildered way now; I was far more bewildered then.\nI was mad. There was the remembrance of the last evening,--my\ninterview with Thorneley, the strange secret still ringing in my ears,\nthe chance meeting with Hugh, and what was to come of it; and the\npresent tidings,--the old man dead, Hugh arrested and accused of\nmurdering him; and I in my blindness had helped to corroborate the\nworst testimony against him. All this was rushing through my brain;\nand then, above all, the thought of Ada Leslie--and the last thought\nroused me to action.\n\n\"Go back, Jones, to Mr. Atherton; tell him I am going off immediately\nto Mrs. Leslie's, and that he may trust to me in _that_. And stay, has\nhe got legal assistance?\"\n\n\"No, sir; I fancy he thought you'd see to all that. He didn't seem to\nthink how it might be with your having to give evidence.\"\n\n\"You'd better go to Smith and Walker's, and see one of the partners.\nThey must watch proceedings for him to-day.\"\n\n\"They can't, sir; they are to watch on the part of the Crown.\"\n\n\"On the part of the Crown!--whose management is that?\"\n\n\"I believe they offered and wished it. They feel bound to discover the\nmurderer of their late client; they couldn't act _for_ the man accused\nof murdering him.\"\n\n\"True--too true. I'll send Hardy to Mr. Merrivale; he is a great\nfriend {452} of his--I can trust him. Tell Mr. Atherton what I say,\nand what has been done.\"\n\n\"Very good, sir;\" and Jones withdrew.\n\nIt took me less than an hour to reach Hyde-Park Gardens, where Mrs.\nLeslie and my ward dwelt; and on the road I resolved as well as I\ncould how to break the news. Pray Heaven only to give her strength to\nbear it! I was shown into the dining-room, for I had asked to see Miss\nLeslie alone. There were the sounds of music up-stairs, and I heard\nAda's clear thrilling voice singing one of the beautiful German songs\nI knew, and that _he_ loved so well. Presently her light step was on\nthe threshold, and she burst gaily into the room.\n\n\"Oh, Hugh, how late you are!\" and then she stopped suddenly, seeing it\nwas I--only I. But she came forward in a moment with a kind eager\nwelcome, a welcome back to England, laughing and blushing at her\nmistake. \"I heard the street-door open, and ran down at once; for Hugh\nsaid he would come early to take me out this morning, and I thought it\nwas he. Oh, but I am so glad to see you, dear Mr. Kavanagh. But how\ndreadfully ill you are looking--what is the matter?\"\n\nPerhaps she saw my own misery, and the unutterable pity and tenderness\nfor her which filled my heart, written in my face; but a change passed\nover her countenance.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" she repeated in a breathless sort of manner.\n\n\"Hugh sends his love,\" I said; hardly knowing, indeed, what words were\npassing my lips, or that I was really \"breaking it\" to her;--\"his dear\nlove; he is quite well, but something prevents him from coming to you\nto-day.\"\n\n\"To-day!\" She repeated the same word after me, still in a breathless\nway; and her large eyes were fixed on me as in mute agonized appeal\nagainst what was coming.\n\n\"Something very important--very painful--has happened to detain him.\nMr. Thorneley died very suddenly last night.\"\n\nI stopped, and turned away. Heaven help me! I could not go on, with\nthose eyes upon me. There was one deep-drawn sigh of relief.\n\n\"Is that _all!_\"\n\nWas it not better to tell the truth to her at once? After all, he was\ninnocent. I acknowledged that with all the loyalty of my soul--so\nwould she; and that thought would bear her up. Yes, it would be best\nto tell her. I took her hand, and led her to a chair.\n\n\"Ada, it is not all; can you bear the rest?\" Her white trembling lips\nmoved as if assenting, but I could not hear the words. \"Thorneley died\nvery suddenly--was found dead. It is thought he has been poisoned. I\ndon't know the particulars--I have only just heard of it. Hugh was\nwith him late last night; it is necessary he should be examined to-day\nby a magistrate.\"\n\nAgain I paused, praying that the truth might dawn upon her--that I\nmight not have to stab her with the terrible revelation.\nBut--dreading, fearing, as I could see she was--no shadow of the\nreality seemed to cross her mind.\n\n\"Where is Hugh now?\" at last she asked with startling suddenness.\n\n\"O Ada, my poor child! try to bear it. Hugh is as innocent as you are\nof this fearful crime; but he has been arrested.\"\n\nThe words were said--she knew all now. To my dying day I shall never\nforget the awful change which passed over her face. She did not faint\nor scream, but she sat there motionless, rigid, white as a marble\nstatue. I took her hand; it was icy cold, and lay passive in mine.\n\n\"Ada, for God's sake speak to me! Shall I call your mother to you?\"\n\nHer stillness was frightful. There was some water on the sideboard,\nand I poured out some and brought it to her, almost forcing the glass\nbetween her set teeth. At last she swallowed {453} some, and then\nheavy sighs seemed to relieve both heart and brain.\n\n\"I must go to him,\" she said at last in a hoarse whisper.\n\n\"You cannot, Ada,--at least not today; they would not suffer it.\nBesides, my dearest child, he has need of all his firmness and\npresence of mind, and the sight of you would only unnerve him. Let him\nhear how bravely you are bearing it; let him think of you as believing\nthat our Father who is in heaven will defend the innocent.\"\n\n\"I do, I do,\" she said, the hot tears slowly welling from her eyes,\nand falling in burning drops upon my hand--and upon my heart. They\nwere blessed tears of relief. \"But you too will do your utmost for\nhim. You are his dearest friend, and he would have full confidence in\nwhatever you did. Go to him at once!--why do you stay here?\" she\ncontinued more vehemently; \"why are _you_ not with him, helping and\ndefending him?\"\n\nCould I tell her the truth now? Could I undeceive her and say I have\ndone as much and perhaps more to condemn him than any one--that I\nshould have to bear witness against him? Could I tell her this, with\nher eyes looking into mine in such unutterable anguish, with her\nlittle hand placed in mine so confidingly, and with the thought of him\nbefore me? I could not. I said all should be done for him that was in\nthe power of mortal man to do, and I promised to send messengers\nconstantly to keep her fully informed during the day of all that\npassed; Before going I asked her if I should tell her mother; but she\nrefused--she would rather do it herself.\n\n\"Tell him,\" were her last words, \"that my heart is with him, and my\nlove--oh I my dearest love!\"\n\n\"Write it, Ada,\" I said, \"it is better he should have that message\ndirect from you.\"\n\nSo I left her, bearing her little note to him, poor fellow. How\nprecious it would be, that tiny missive, coming from her loving hand\nand faithful heart.\n\nIt was just upon one o'clock when I arrived at my chambers, and at two\nAtherton was to be taken before the magistrate. There was no fresh\nnews; so I decided upon going at once to Merrivale's office, and\nseeing him if possible before he went to the police-court. I met him\non the stairs returning to his office.\n\n\"I have just been with poor Atherton,\" he said; and he looked very\ngrave. \"Come in here; I was going to send for you. By the bye, have\nyou been to the Leslies? he is most anxious about that. I don't think\nhe'll be calm enough to think for himself until he knows all is right\nin that quarter.\"\n\n\"I have a note from Miss Leslie for him,\"\n\n\"All right. Give it to me; I'll enclose it, and send it at once.\"\n\nMerrivale despatched the messenger, and then locked his room door.\n\"The case is dead against him,\" he said as he sat down, \"and he knows\nit now, poor fellow,--he knows it.\"\n\n\"He is innocent,\" I said; \"I could swear he is innocent!\"\n\n\"Yes, so I think, and so do others; but the evidence against him is\nfrightfully strong. That woman, Mrs. Haag, will make a most\ncriminating statement of what occurred last night.\"\n\n\"I don't know the particulars,--tell me what they are?\"\n\n\"_You_ ought to be able to throw considerable light upon it,\" said\nMerrivale, unheeding my question. \"You were with poor old Thorneley\nlast night, it seems. Just tell me all that passed. In fact, I ought\nto know _every thing_. I hear too that you are to be summoned as\nwitness against Atherton. How is that?\"\n\nI then related to him how I had gone to Wimpole street at Mr.\nThorneley's request about a matter of business; the hour I had left\nhim; my meeting with Hugh; his wish to come home with me, and my\nrefusal; the meeting also with the woman, and the conclusions which I\nhad drawn from it.\n\n{454}\n\n\"What was the nature of the business with Mr. Thorneley?\"\n\nI replied that my word of honor was passed to keep it secret.\n\n\"Had it any bearing upon the unhappy catastrophe, either directly or\nindirectly?\"\n\n\"No; none that I could see.\"\n\n\"Would it affect Atherton or his prospects?\"\n\nI could not answer further, I replied; but in no way could it touch\nhim either for good or evil in the present unfortunate affair.\nMerrivale was fairly at a nonplus.\n\n\"Now,\" said Mr. Merrivale, \"I will tell you what passed after you went\naway, as I learnt it from Atherton; and whatever further light you can\nthrow upon the mystery, which is my business now to sift to the\nbottom, well, I think, Kavanagh, you are bound, by all the ties of\nyour long friendship with that poor fellow now under arrest, to speak\nout openly to me.\"\n\nI felt Merrivale's sharp searching eyes upon me; but the time to speak\nhad not come, and I could in no way serve Hugh by breaking silence--at\nleast I did not see that I could. After a short pause, Merrivale\ncontinued:\n\n\"Atherton tells me that when he reached his uncle's house, he found\nhis cousin, Lister Wilmot, had just arrived; and they both went to\nThorneley's room together, Wilmot said to him on the way, 'I must get\nsome money to-night out of the governor, if possible, for I'm\ndreadfully hard-up. I've had to dodge three duns to-day; and there'll\nbe a writ out against me to-morrow as sure as I'm alive, if he doesn't\nfork out handsomely.' Atherton asked him what he called handsomely,\nwith a view, I imagine, to helping him himself if he could; but Wilmot\nmentioned a sum so large that there could be no further thought of his\ndoing so. They found the old man unusually preoccupied and taciturn.\nNevertheless, in spite of unfavorable circumstances, Wilmot broached\nthe subject of his difficulties to him, and abruptly asked for 500_l_.\nThorneley was furious; and it seems, curiously enough, that he turned\nhis fury upon Atherton; accused him of leading Wilmot astray, of\nteaching him to be extravagant; of making a tool of him for purposes\nof his own; in short, making the most unheard-of accusations against\npoor Atherton, and throwing the entire blame on him. Atherton says he\nfelt convinced that some one must have been carrying false stories to\nhis uncle, or in some way poisoning his mind against himself; but\nknowing how broken in health he was, he tried at first to soothe him,\nand quietly contradict his assertions, and Wilmot _indorsed all he\nsaid_, distinctly stating that his cousin was entirely free from all\nblame in the matter, and that it was his own extravagance which had\nbrought him into difficulties; and much more to the same effect. And\nnow comes the terrible part. Thorneley only waxed wrother and more\nwroth; swore at Atherton, and told him he might pay his cousin's debts\nfor him; and if he couldn't out of his own money, he might get his\nfuture wife's guardian to advance him some of hers; and that if Wilmot\nhad looked half-sharp he might have married the girl himself. As it\nwas, he dared say she would marry Kavanagh in the end. You may suppose\nthis vexed Atherton not a little; his blood was up, and he spoke out\nhot and angrily to his uncle, telling him amongst other things that he\nwould _bitterly repent on the morrow what he had said last night_. He\ntells me he distinctly remembers the words he used. In the heat of the\ndispute--he thinks it must have been just at the moment he said\nthis--the housekeeper came in with the tray. It seems that Thorneley\nalways took bitter-ale the last thing at night, with hard biscuits.\nAlmost directly after he had spoken Atherton repented having got angry\nwith the old man, remembering what his temperament was; and as a sort\nof propitiatory action, went and fetched him his glass of ale from the\ntable. Gilbert Thorneley took it from Atherton's hand, and--drank it.\n_There was poison in that glass of ale!_\"\n\n{455}\n\nI sat confronting Merrivale, dazed, sickened, dumbfounded. _Now_ I\nknew the full weight of the evidence I should be forced to give. Now I\nknew, when everything was revealed, the cry that would go up from\nHugh's heart against me. But I never swerved from my allegiance to\nhim; I never thought him guilty--no, not for the brief shadow of an\ninstant.\n\nAfter a while Merrivale continued, \"Whoever put in that fatal drug,\nand whatever it was, the effects must have taken place subsequent to\nAtherton's leaving Wimpole Street. He says that Wilmot went away very\nshortly after his uncle drank the ale, receiving a very cold\ngood-night from the latter; and that after in vain trying to reason\nwith Mr. Thorneley, and bring him into good-humor again, he also left\nhim,--the old man utterly refusing to shake hands or to part friends.\nThe poor fellow seems to feel that bitterly; he is terribly cut up at\nremembering that the last intercourse with his uncle should have been\nunfriendly. No; I could venture my oath he is innocent; his sorrow at\nThorneley's death _cannot_ by put on. However, the end of it all is,\nthat Mr. Thorneley went to bed last night directly after Atherton went\naway; and this morning when the servant went into his room as usual at\nhalf-past six, to call him, and see whether he wanted anything before\ngetting up--he kept to his old early hours as much as possible, I\nfancy--the man found him dead in his bed. The housekeeper was roused,\nand they sent off directly for a doctor. When he came, he declared his\nsuspicion that he had died from the effects of poison, and demanded\nwhat he had taken last. He had touched nothing since the bitter-ale;\nthe glass had not been washed, and traces of strychnine were found in\nthe few drops left in the tumbler. Smith and Walker have called in Dr.\nRobinson since then; and he with this doctor who first saw the corpse\nare making a _post-mortem_ examination now. The contents of the\nstomach, to make sure of everything, are to be sent to Professor T----\nfor analysis. When the inspectors arrived from Scotland Yard, the\nhousekeeper immediately volunteered her evidence of what I have\nrelated to you. Putting all these facts together,\" continued\nMerrivale, looking over his notes, \"coupled with the evidence you will\nbe forced to give of where you met him, I apprehend the whole case to\nbe dead against poor Atherton. Yes, the entire thing will turn upon\nthat visit to the chemist in Vere street; if we can dispose of that\nsatisfactorily, I shan't despair. At present it is the most\ncriminating to my mind, and will just damn him with the jury at the\ninquest.\"\n\n\"What account does he give himself of going to the chemist's?\"\n\n\"Simple enough, to any one who knows him as you and I do, and who\nwould believe a man who never yet lied,--who is, I think, incapable of\na lie to save his own life. He says he went in to purchase some\ncamphor; he has been taking it lately for headaches; the bottle was\nfound in his coat-pocket; but there was also found a small empty paper\nlabelled 'Strychnine,' _with the Vere-street chemist's name upon it_.\nOf that paper he most solemnly denies all knowledge, and I believe\nhim; but how will the jury dispose of such circumstantial evidence?\"\n\n\"No expense must be spared in defending him, Merrivale,\" I said; \"draw\non me to the last farthing for whatever is wanted.\"\n\n\"None shall be spared. I have written to Sir Richard Mayne, whom I\nknow very well, asking for a certain detective officer whoso\nexperience I can rely on from past dealings; and if the dastardly\nwretch lives who has done this deed, and thrown the brunt of it on\nAtherton, he or she shall be hunted down and brought to justice. I\nmust be off now. The proceedings to-day will be but nominal. I will\ncome round by your office on my way back. What we have to do at\npresent is to gain time. For this we must {456} prepare all the\ncontrary evidence in our power against to-morrow. By the way, see\nWilmot as soon as you can, and bring him back with you.\"\n\nI returned home; wrote a few words, as comforting and encouraging as I\ncould, to Ada, and despatched a messenger with the note; then I went\nto the Albany and asked for Lister Wilmot. He was out; had been\nsummoned to the police-court to be present at the inquiry. I left my\ncard, with a pencilled injunction to come on to me the moment he\nreturned; and then, impelled by a horrible fascination, I took my way\ntoward Marylebone street, longing, yet dreading, to see and hear--my\nheart aching for a sight of the manly form and noble face of him to\nwhom my soul had cleaved as to a brother.\n\nThere was a dense crowd outside the gates of the courtyard and round\nthe private door through which the magistrates enter, when I arrived\nthere. With my hat slouched over my brows, I made my way through with\ndifficulty to the door of the court where the proceedings were going\non,--the noise and din of the crowd buzzing about me, and scraps of\ntalk which goes on in such places and among such people as collect\nthere, reaching me in broken snatches.\n\n\"Who'd ha' thought he'd a done it? such a nice-looking chap as er is.\"\n\n\"Yer see, it's the money as he wanted. The old man was mortal rich;\nthey say the Bank of England couldn't 'old 'is money. Yes, the gowld\ndid it.\"\n\n\"Pisen! Ah, he'd be glad of pisen hisself now. What's that feller\nsayin'? Oh, that's the lawyer wot's defending him. He'll have tough\nwork, he will.\"\n\n\"Remanded!--that's the way; why can't they commit him at once? Givin'\nfolks all the trouble to come twice afore they knows what to do with\nun.\"\n\n\"'Ere he comes. Now, six-footer, who pisened the old man?\"\n\nAnd then came groans and hisses as the mob were made to open and\ndivide themselves, whilst policemen cleared the way for the\nprisoner--yes, it had come to that--the prisoner!--to pass to the van\nwaiting for him. I looked up as he advanced,--we were almost of the\nsame height, he and I; taller perhaps by some inches than the majority\naround, who were mostly women,--and our eyes met. O God! shall I ever\nforget the look he gave me? Pale and calm and firm, he passed on--his\nnoble brow erect, his clear eyes shining with the light of conscious\ninnocence; with the whole expression of his countenance\nsubdued--hallowed, I might say--with the sorrow and trouble which had\nbefallen him. On he came, heedless of the hisses and jeers of the\nfallen degraded herd who pressed round; heedless of the jibes and\ngroans uttered by the companions of those for whom, more then likely,\nhis genial voice had been raised in defence, in pleading against the\njustice they deserved, but which he had never merited. On he came,\nunmindful of everything that was going on about him, as if his spirit\nwere faraway, communing with that unseen Presence that was never\nabsent from his mind. I lifted my hat and stood bareheaded as he\npassed into that dark dismal van that was polluted with the breath,\ncontaminated by the touch, of men whose hands were dyed by the\nblackest crimes.\n\nWhen it had driven off I turned away and hailed a passing cab. Just as\nI was stepping into it I was arrested by the sound of a voice near me.\n\n\"He's safe to be condemned, as shure as yer name's Mike.\"\n\nIt was an Irish voice. I bounded back. Disappearing rapidly, threading\nin and out of the now-dispersing crowd, were the high square\nshoulders, the gray locks and beard, the swaggering air of Mr. de Vos,\nthe \"treasure-trove,\" the hero of Swain's Lane. He was gone before I\nwas fully aware of his identity.\n\n{457}\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\n\nA GLIMMER OF LIGHT.\n\n\nA popular writer of the day says there is this to be observed in the\nphysiology of every murder, \"that before the coroner's inquest the\nsole object of public curiosity is the murdered man; while immediately\nafter that judicial investigation the tide of feeling turns; the dead\nman is hurried and forgotten, and the suspected murderer becomes the\nhero of men's morbid imaginations.\" If this be true--as it is--in the\ngenerality of cases, there are also exceptions in which just the\ncontrary takes place. So was it now. Amidst the hue and cry which\narose against Hugh Atherton, the suspected murderer of his uncle,\nGilbert Thorneley, the murdered man, was almost forgotten. The\nannouncement in the morning papers of the inquest to be held that same\nday following the discovery of the murder was hailed but as an\nacceleration of the justice which was to hunt him down to a felon's\ndeath. Three executions had taken place during that summer in London,\nand they had but whetted the public appetite. Like a wild beast that\nhad tasted blood, it ravened and hungered for more; it _could not_\nsicken at the sight of a human creature, a fellow-man, strung up like\na dog, strangled like an animal; it _could not_ shudder to behold the\nquivering limbs, the covered face, the convulsed form, as it swung\nfrom the gibbet. They had become used to the sight, familiar with the\nwhole scene in its awful solemnity; but they were far from satiated;\nand eagerly did the public voice clamor for another victim on whom to\ngloat their inhuman eyes. Ah! that is a fearful responsibility which\nEngland has taken upon herself in these public executions--in baring\nto such a gaze as that which is fastened upon the small black-draped\nplatform outside the walls of Newgate the solemn, awful spectacle of a\ncreature going to meet his Creator, of an immortal soul passing into\nthe dread presence of its God! Much has been said for, much against,\nthose exhibitions of public justice; I doubt if a true view will ever\nbe arrived at until the question has been considered as one vitally\naffecting England as a _Christian_ nation.\n\nHugh Atherton was a suspected man, and the press did its work well\nthat morning in trying to criminate him. Already in those brief\nfour-and-twenty hours his name--the name of one incapable of hurting\nthe tiniest insect that lay across his path--had become a byword and a\nreproach in the mouths, not of many, but of multitudes, throughout the\nlength and breadth of the land.\n\nGilbert Thorneley had been a rich man--a notedly rich man--a\nmillionaire; and we may not touch the rich with impunity. He had not\nbeen a good man nor a useful man, nor philanthropic; none had loved\nhim, not a few had hated him, many had disliked and dreaded him; but\nhe was rich--he had wealth untold, and it did wonders for him in the\neyes of the world after his death. Yet withal he was forgotten,\ncomparatively speaking, whilst the interest of the public was riveted\nupon his supposed-to-be-criminal nephew. The scanty evidence elicited\nat the police-court was twisted and turned against him by ingenious\ncompilers of leading-articles, and only one journal ventured to raise\na dissenting voice in his favor. It was a paper that had vindicated\nmany a man before; that had done for accused persons what perhaps\ntheir poverty would not permit them to do for themselves,--in\nventilating facts and clearing up evidence with the care and eloquence\nof a paid counsel. It was a paper hated by many in authority, by big\nwigs and potentates, and was to many country magistrates a perfect\nnightmare; nevertheless its influence told largely upon the public\nmind and led to the rooting out of many an evil.\n\n{458}\n\nThe inquest on Gilbert Thorneley was appointed for two o'clock, and I\nwas cited to appear as one of the witnesses. I had gone late the\nevening before to Hyde-Park Gardens with all the tidings that could be\ngathered, and left poor Ada more calm and composed than could almost\nhave been hoped for. Still, what her fearful grief and anxiety was,\nheaven only knew; for her only thought seemed to be that Hugh should\nhear she was keeping up bravely for his sake. After the inquest, I\npromised to try and obtain that she should see him: But I went away,\nhaunted by her poor pale face, her heavy sleepless eyes, her look of\nsuppressed anguish; haunted by an overwhelming dread of the morrow;\nhaunted by the vision of a future laden with sorrow and suffering for\nus all. And at last the morning dawned of the day which would bring\nforth such important results, and affect the fate of Hugh Atherton so\nvery gravely. I went early to Merrivale's office, and found him full\nof business and very anxious. Lister Wilmot had never appeared; and\nrepeated messengers sent to the Albany only brought back word that he\nhad not been home since he went to the police-court the preceding day.\nHe had neither dined nor slept at home.\n\nSmith and Walker were savage and taciturn, refusing all information,\nalthough their clerk let out that Wilmot had been there several times;\nand Merrivale's hopes were all centred in the detective he was\nemploying, but who had not been seen since he had received his\ninstructions.\n\nThe hours wore round, and at twelve o'clock I was to be at the\nLeslies'. As I left Mr. Merrivale's office in Lincoln's-Inn Square, a\nman bowed to me in passing. It was Jones the detective. A sudden\nthought struck me, and I turned back after him.\n\n\"Jones,\" I said, \"do you happen to know a Mr. de Vos, who lodged some\ntwo months ago at No. 13 Charles street, Leicester Square?\"\n\n\"No, sir; not by that name. What is he like?\"\n\nI described him; but he shook his head.\n\n\"I don't recognize him, sir; but, if you'll allow me, I'll make a note\nof it. Have you any particular reason for wishing to hear about him?\"\n\n\"Yes; and I should be glad to know _anything_ you can gather\nconcerning the man.\"\n\n\"I'll be on the look-out, sir.\" And Jones touched his hat and went\noff.\n\nThe old butler came to the door in Hyde-Park Gardens, and in answer to\nmy inquiries informed me that Miss Leslie was \"very middling indeed,\nand that Mr. Wilmot had just been there.\"\n\n\"Mr. Wilmot!\"\n\n\"Yes, sir; he wished partiklar to see Miss Ada--which he did, sir, and\nher ma too: very nice gentleman he seems, and terrible cut up about\nhis poor uncle and his cousin. A shocking thing, sir, for you to have\nto witness _against_ Mr. Atherton.\"\n\nAgainst Mr. Atherton! Then it had reached here--this news, these\ntidings--that I was to help to condemn the man I loved best on earth!\nWhat was known in the servants'-hall had no doubt been discussed in\nthe drawing-room, and Ada must now fully be aware of what I had found\nno courage to tell her yesterday. How had she received the\nintelligence? what was she thinking of it--of me? Reflecting thus, I\nfollowed Kings into the library, and found Mrs. Leslie alone. Now that\nlady and I never got on as amicably as we might have done; joint\nguardians seldom do, especially when they are of opposite genders; and\nthis I say with no sort of reflection upon the fairer sex, simply\nmentioning it as a fact which, during a long legal course of\nexperience, has come before me. _I_ considered Mrs. Leslie frivolous,\nweak, and extravagant, very unlike her child, very far from fit to be\ninstrusted with the sole guidance of a mind such as Ada's. But I kept\nmy own counsel {459} on the subject, and tried by action rather than\nwords to counteract and shield Ada from evils arising from her\nmother's foolish conduct. She thought _me_ very uncompromising, very\nparticular and rigid in my notions, often perhaps very crusty and\ndisagreeable, nor spared she any pains to conceal her thought. That I\ndid not mind; for Ada trusted me implicitly in all things, and it was\nall I cared for. This morning there was a stiffness and less of\ncordiality than ever in Mrs. Leslie's manner of receiving me.\n\n\"How is Ada?\" I asked.\n\n\"She passed a very restless night, poor dear, very restless; and is\nfit for nothing this morning. Indeed, I am almost in the same state\nmyself, I have been so terribly upset by this affair, and my nerves\nare very delicate. Most trying too! I have had to put off our _r\u00e9union\nmusicale_ for next Thursday, and the Denison's dinner-party for\nto-morrow. I can't think how Hugh came to do it--for of course he\n_must_ have done it, though Ada won't hear a word against him.\"\n\n\"He did _not_ do it, Mrs. Leslie! Ada is right, as she always is.\"\n\n\"Ah! well, so Lister Wilmot tried to make me believe; but then he says\neverything is against poor Hugh, and that even you feel obliged to\ngive evidence against him. I must say, John Kavanagh, that I think it\nvery strange of you to have volunteered to give evidence. Wilmot was\nexplaining it all to us, and said you couldn't help yourself; for the\nfirst words you had said to the policeman when he came to you\ncriminated your friend.\"\n\nA glimmer of light was beginning to dawn in my mind; but its ray was\nvery faint and dim as yet; and after all it might only prove a\nwill-o'-the-wisp. Still I would not lose it if possible.\n\n\"Wilmot told you that, did he? Does Ada know?\"\n\n\"Yes; she was here when he came. He told us everything that had passed\nall that had been said by his uncle the last evening he saw him alive.\nHe mentioned a great deal which had been kept back--purposely I\nsuppose, and for some motive we don't understand now, but which will\ncome out by and by, no doubt,\" said Mrs. Leslie with a burst of spite\nin her voice.\n\n\"Would you have the goodness to send word to Ada that I am here?\" I\nsaid very stiffly.\n\n\"Oh! I forgot. She desired her kindest regards when you called, but\nshe could not see you this morning. She will write.\"\n\nI looked at her, and something convinced me she was telling a lie. I\ngot up very quietly and rang the bell.\n\n\"Let Miss Leslie know I am here, Kings.\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\nThen Mrs. Leslie's anger broke forth. How dared I presume so far--\ntake such a liberty in her house! I forgot myself; I was no gentleman,\nbut a meddling, interfering man, disappointed and soured because I had\nnot secured Ada and her fortune for myself. _She had seen it all\nalong_. So she raved on--so I let her rave; and when she ceased I\nanswered her:\n\n\"If I have taken a liberty in giving an order under your roof and to\nyour servant, I beg your pardon. But this is no time to stop at\ntrifles or considerations of mere etiquette involving no real breach\nof good breeding. So long as your daughter is a minor I shall hold\nmyself responsible for the trust her dead father confided to me\nconjointly with yourself; and, so help me God, I will perform the\nsacred duty to its utmost limits and regardless of human respect!\nThere is foul play going on around us, and some influence--I know not\nyet whose--is at work to undermine the happiness of us all. There is\nbitter need that no fatal misunderstanding should arise between my\nward and myself; that no subtle representations of interested persons\nshould shake the reliance upon my integrity and honor, which hitherto\nAda has placed in her father's friend. A life more precious to her\nthan her own, and {460} dear to me as a brother's, is at stake; and I\nforesee, though dimly and darkly, that it imports far more than\nperhaps we dream of now to keep everything clear between us in our\nseveral relations with each other. At any rate I will allow no foolish\nfancies, no weak pride, to stand between your daughter and myself, her\nlegal guardian and _sole trustee_.\"\n\nI spoke very sternly, and purposely laid a stress upon my last words,\nknowing the woman with whom I was dealing, and the full weight they\nwould have with her. Nor was I mistaken. She burst into a feeble\nquerulous fit of crying; and the servant returning at that moment with\na message from Ada asking me to go up-stairs, I left Mrs. Leslie to\nher reflections.\n\nMy ward was in her little morning-room. She was writing at the table,\nand the room was partially darkened, as if she could not bear the full\nsunlight of that bright autumn day. There were birds and flowers and\nmusic around her; but the birds had hushed their song, the flowers\ndrooped their heads, as if missing the careful hand that tended them;\nand the music that generally greeted one there was silent. Oh! when\nwould she sing again? I felt something about my feet as I advanced\ntowards her, and heard a piteous whine I looked down; it was a little\nrough shaggy terrier,--Hugh's dog. Poor Dandie! He recognized me, and\nlooked for one with whom he was so accustomed to see me.\n\n\"I sent for him,\" said Ada, lifting her weary wan face as I stood\nbeside her. \"I fancied he would be happier here--less lonely; but he\nis not--he wants _him_.\"\n\nThe dog seemed to understand her; for he came and, putting his\nforepaws upon her knee, laid his head upon them, and looking toward me\nwhined again. She laid her cheek down upon his rough head and caressed\nhim.\n\n\"Not yet, Dandie,--not yet. We must be patient, doggie, and he will\ncome to us again.\"\n\nIt was a few moments before I could speak; but time was hastening on\napace. Whilst I stood by the fire thinking how best to begin the\nsubject I had at heart, Ada came and laid her hand on my arm.\n\n\"I have been wishing for you; I thought you would never come.\"\n\nThen her mother had told a lie; but I said nothing.\n\n\"Lister Wilmot has been here this morning, talking a good deal.\" She\nstopped and hesitated.\n\nTo help her, I said, \"Yes; so your mother tells me.\"\n\nShe looked at me inquiringly. \"Has she told all that passed--all that\nhe said?\"\n\n\"She told me a great deal; but I would rather hear everything from\n_you_. My child, don't hesitate to confide in me. You don't know how\nit may help to clear matters up, which seem to be so fearfully\ncomplicated now.\"\n\nI think she understood me, for she sighed wearily, and I heard her\nmurmur to herself, \"Poor mamma!\"\n\n\"Lister was very kind this morning, and was in dreadful trouble about\n--_him_. He said he had thought of me more than any one, and would\nhave come yesterday, but had so much to arrange and see to.\"\n\nAnd then Ada went on to relate what passed, a great deal of which I\nhad gathered from Mrs. Leslie.\n\n\"There is one thing,\" she concluded, \"which I did not and would not\nbelieve. He says you have volunteered to give evidence against _him_,\"\n(it seemed as if she could not bring herself to mention Hugh by name;)\n\"but I said it could not be,--that there must have been a mistake.\nWhat is the worst of all is, that since Lister was here, mamma\npersists in saying _he_ is guilty; somehow, though his words defended,\nhis tone and manner implied he thought his cousin guilty.\"\n\n\"Ada, it is true I shall have to give evidence which may help to\ncriminate Hugh; but it is more than equally false that I ever\nvolunteered to bear {461} witness against him. You were right; _never\nbelieve it_.\"\n\nThen I told her how it was, and how I had shrunk from letting her know\nit before.\n\n\"And now, my child, I must go. You know the inquest is to take place\nthis afternoon, and I have to be there; but first I must return to\nMerrivale's, and settle many things with him.\"\n\n\"You will come back to me afterward.\"\n\n\"Surely; as soon as it is over.\"\n\n\"Do you think _he_ will be present?\"\n\n\"I trust not, oh! I trust not! But perhaps he will wish to watch the\nproceedings himself, as well as Merrivale. God be with you, Ada, and\ngood-bye!\"\n\nI was on the threshold of the door when she called me back.\n\n\"I am very foolish, guardian, not to have said it before; but I could\nnot--and yet I ought and must.\"\n\nHer hand was resting on a well-worn morocco case. I knew it well--it\nwas Hugh's likeness, and a faint color tinged her white cheeks; but\nshe mastered the shy feeling, whatever it was, and looked clearly and\nearnestly at me.\n\n\"Something was said by Lister Wilmot of what had dropped from poor Mr.\nThorneley the last night of his life about you and me. I don't know\nwhy he should have repeated it; but as it is, I wanted to ask you not\nto mind it; at least, not to notice what may be said by others--by my\nmother. I only fear lest anything of the kind being said should come\nbetween us, and destroy our confidence in one another, because we\nunderstand each other so well--you and I and Hugh,\"--how lingeringly\nshe spoke his name!--\"and we have no secrets between us that all\nthree may not share. And I have feared lest this worse than\nfoolishness, dragged out publicly, should change anything in our\nintercourse, or prevent you from acting, as hitherto, a parent's part\ntoward a fatherless girl.\"\n\n\"_Nothing_, Ada, can change me toward you; and when people think of\nyou and then of me, they will not heed the childish babble that may go\nabout.\"\n\n\"Thanks, guardian.\"\n\n\"Worse than foolishness!\"--I said the words over to myself many times\nas I drove back to Lincoln's Inn; and in the hazy distant future I saw\na weary wayworn pilgrim slowly toiling along life's lonely road, who,\nlooking back to this past year come and gone, would still repeat,\n\"Worse than foolishness!\"\n\nI found Merrivale in deep conference with a mean-looking little man\nwith a short stubbly head of hair that bristled up like a\nscrubbing-brush, and of a melancholy cast of countenance, as if\naccustomed to view life darkly, through the medium of duns and\nsuch-like evils to which man is heir. His eyes were the only redeeming\npoint about him, and they really were two of the sharpest, most\nintelligent orbs I ever saw in my life. They lighted upon me the\nmoment I entered the room, and seemed to take in my whole exterior and\ninterior person with a knowingness that was perfectly alarming.\n\n\"This is the gentleman, I suppose, sir, who was with the defunct party\nthe night of the murder,\" said a wonderfully soft voice.\n\n\"Yes; Mr. Kavanagh.--This is Inspector Keene, the very clever officer\nI mentioned to you, Kavanagh.\"\n\nI acknowledged Mr. Keene's salute with becoming deference.\n\n\"Have you any news?\" I asked.\n\n\"Well, sir,\" with a quick cautious glance at Merrivale, \"I have and I\nhave not. Before I say anything further, I should be glad to ask the\ngentleman a few questions, Mr. Merrivale, if agreeable.\"\n\n\"By all means,\" I answered.\n\nHe put me through a sharp cross-questioning on every point with which\nthe reader is acquainted, making rapid notes of all my answers and\nremarks. Then he sat silently scraping his chin and gnawing his nails\nfor some minutes. At last he looked up suddenly.\n\n\"The funeral, I understand, is fixed {462} for next Tuesday, and after\nthat is over _the Will is to be read_. Perhaps that may throw some\nlight on the subject.\"\n\nI could not for the life of me repress a start, and Inspector Keene\nmade a mental note of it, I knew.\n\n\"Good-day, gentlemen. I will call on you, Mr. Merrivale, to-morrow. _I\nthink I am on the scent_.\"\n\n\"Come,\" said Merrivale, \"we must be off, or we shall be late.\"\n\n\nTO BE CONTINUED.\n\n------\n\n[ ORIGINAL. ]\n\n\nOUR MOTHER'S CALL.\n\n\n  Come home, O weary wanderers, from error's tangled maze,\n  My mother-heart yearns sore for you in all your troubled ways.\n  I've rest, and food, and shelter, for all the earth can hold--\n  Then hasten, weary wanderers, home to the single fold.\n\n  I am the Master's gamer, which ever yieldeth more,\n  The more the needy millions receiving from my store;\n  No number's can exhaust me; no beggar at my gate\n  For rest and food and shelter, shall ever have to wait.\n\n  If in mine inner chamber the Master seems to sleep,\n  While fearful storm and peril are out upon the deep.\n  My lightest tone will call him to rescue of his own\n  For his dear children's haven I am, _and I alone_.\n\n  Almighty wisdom made me the home upon the rock--\n  The Saviour's fold of safety to all his ransomed flock.\n  My door is ever open, and they who enter in.\n  Find rest from all their wanderings, and cleansing from their sin.\n\n  One thing, and but one only, the Master doth demand.\n  That they who seek shall find him as he himself hath planned;\n  Beneath my lowly portal shall bow each haughty head,\n  And to my narrow pathway return each wandering tread.\n\n _I cannot lift the lintel, nor widen out the posts,\n   For every stone was fashioned by him, the Lord of hosts_.\n  _My Master_, and thy Master if thou wilt hear his voice\n  And in his pleasant pastures for evermore rejoice.\n\n  Can human handcraft ever compete in skill with him,\n  Whose throne is in the heavens amid the cherubim?\n  Then cease your idle toiling another home to raise;\n  He on my fair proportions toiled all his mortal days.\n\n{463}\n\n  When out of depths of darkness he called the glorious sun\n  In all its dazzling splendor, _he spoke_ and it was done;\n  His sweat and blood were both poured out that he might fashion me\n  His sun to souls in darkness till time no more shall be.\n\n  Hold it no light offending that you can turn aside,\n  And scorn in wilful blindness the Saviour's spotless bride.\n  He who hath full dominion unchecked o'er all the earth,\n  Made me the mighty mother of the blest second-birth.\n\n  Come, weigh ye well the value of his three and thirty years,\n  And number o'er the treasure of all his prayers and tears.\n  And count ye out the life-drops that flowed from his cleft side.\n  And learn the wondrous bounty with which he dowered his bride.\n\n  Rich-dowered for your salvation, ye dearly bought of earth!\n  By his dying, and my living, oh! weigh salvation's worth,\n  And in the single shelter his mighty love hath given.\n  Learn the dear will that maketh the blessedness of heaven.\n\nGENEVIEVE SALES.\n\nEASTERTIDE, 1866.\n\n------\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nUSE AND ABUSE OF READING.  [Footnote 81]\n\n  [Footnote 81: \"Appel aux Consciences Chr\u00e9tiennes contre les abus et\n  les dangers de la lecture.\"' P. Toulemont. Etudes Religieuses,\n  Historiques et Literaires. Tome 8, N. S.]\n\nWe have been much interested in the grave and earnest essay on the\nabuses and dangers of reading, by P. Toulemont, in that excellent\nperiodical, the \"Etudes,\" so ably conducted by fathers of the Society\nof Jesus, and we would translate and present it to the readers of the\nCatholic World in its integrity, if some portions of it were not\nbetter adapted to France than to the United States; yet much which we\nshall advance in this article is inspired by it, and we shall make\nfree use of its ideas, facts, authorities, and arguments.\n\nThis is a reading age, and ours is to a great extent a reading\ncountry. The public mind, taste, and morals are with us chiefly formed\nby books, pamphlets, periodicals, and journals. The American people\nsustain more journals or newspaper than all the world beside, and\nprobably devour more light literature, or fiction, or trashy novels\nthan any other nation. Reading of some sort is all but universal, and\nthe press is by far the most efficient government of the country. The\ngovernment itself practically is little else with us than public\nsentiment, and public sentiment is both formed and echoed by the\npress. Indeed, the press is not merely \"a fourth estate,\" as it has\nbeen called, but an estate which has well-nigh usurped the functions\nof all the others, and taken the sole direction of the intellectual\nand moral destinies of the civilized world.\n\nThe press, taken in its largest sense, is, after speech--which it\nrepeats, extends and perpetuates--the most powerful influence, whether\nfor good or for evil, that man wields or can wield; and however great\nthe evils which flow from its perversion, it could not be annihilated\nor its freedom suppressed without the loss of a still greater good,\n{464} that is, restrained by the public authorities. In this country\nwe have established the _r\u00e9gime_ of liberty, and that _r\u00e9gime_, with\nits attendant good and evil, must be accepted in its principle, and in\nall its logical consequences. If a free press becomes a fearful\ninstrument for evil in the hands of the heedless or ill-disposed, it\nis no less an instrument for good in the hands of the enlightened,\nhonest, and capable. The free press in the modern world is needed to\ndefend the right, to advance the true, to maintain order, morality,\nintelligence, civilization, and cannot be given up for the sake of\nescaping the evils which flow from its abuse.\n\nYet these evils are neither few nor light, and are such as tend to\nenlarge and perpetuate themselves. Not the least of the evils of\njournalism, for instance, is the necessity it is under in order to\nlive, to get readers, and to get readers it must echo public opinion\nor party feeling, defend causes that need no defence, and flatter\npassions already too strong. Instead of correcting public sentiment\nand laboring to form a sound public opinion or a correct moral\njudgment, its conductors are constantly tempted to feel the public\npulse to discover what is for the moment popular, and then to echo it,\nand to denounce all who dissent from it or fall not down and worship\nit; forgetting if what is popular is erroneous or unjust, it is wrong\nto echo it, and if true and just, it needs no special defence, for it\nis already in the ascendant; and forgetting, also, that it is the\nunpopular truth, the unpopular cause, the cause of the wronged and\noppressed, the poor and friendless, too feeble to make its own voice\nheard, and which has no one to speak for it, that needs the support of\nthe journal. When John the Baptist sent two of his disciples to our\nLord to ask him, \"Art thou he that is to come, or are we to look for\nanother?\" our Lord said: \"Go and tell John . . . that the blind see,\nthe lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead rise\nagain, the poor have the gospel preached to them.\" Here was the\nevidence of his messiahship. \"They that are whole need not a\nphysician, but they that are sick.\"\n\nThis is not all: needing to be always on the popular side, the press\nnot only plants itself on the lowest general average of intelligence\nand virtue, but it tends constantly to lower that general average, and\nhence becomes low and debasing in its influence. It grows ever more\nand more corrupt and corrupting, till the public mind becomes so\nvitiated and weakened that it will neither relish nor profit by the\nsounder works needed as remedies.\n\nIn the moral and intellectual sciences we write introductions where we\nonce wrote treatises, because the publisher knows that the\nintroductions will sell, while the elaborate treatise will only\nencumber his shelves, or go to the pastry-cook or the paper-maker. Not\nonly do the journals flatter popular passions, appeal to vitiated\ntastes, or a low standard of morals, but books do the same, and often\nin a far greater degree. The great mass of books written and published\nin the more enlightened and advanced modern nations are immoral and\nhostile not only to the soul hereafter, but to all the serious\ninterests of this life. A few years since the French government\nappointed a commission to investigate the subject of colportage in\nFrance and the commission reported after a conscientious examination\nthat of nine millions of works colported eight millions were more or\nless immoral. Of the novels which circulate in the English-speaking\nworld, original or translated, one not immoral and possible to be read\nwithout tainting the imagination or the heart is the rare exception.\nUnder pretence of _realism_ nature is oftener exhibited in her\nunseemly than in her seemly moods, and the imagination of the young is\ncompelled to dwell on the grossest vices and corruptions of a moribund\nsociety. Chastity of {465} thought, innocence of heart, purity of\nimagination, cannot be preserved by a diligent reader even of the\nbetter class of the light literature of the day. This literature so\nvitiates the taste, so corrupts the imagination, and so sullies the\nheart, that its readers can see no merit and find no relish in works\nnot highly spiced with vice, crime, or disorderly passion. The\nliterary stomach has been so weakened by vile stimulants that it\ncannot bear a sound or a wholesome literature, and such works as a\nChristian would write, and a Christian read, would find scarcely a\nmarket, or readers sufficiently numerous to pay for its publication.\n\nIt is boasted that popular literature describes nature as it is, or\nsociety as it is, and is therefore true, and truth is never immoral.\nTruth truthfully told, and truthfully received, is indeed never\nimmoral, but even truth may be so told as to have the effect of a lie.\nBut these highly spiced novels--which one can hardly read without\nfeeling when he has finished them as if he had been spending a night\nin dissipation or debauchery, and with which our English-speaking\nworld is inundated--are neither true to nature nor to society. They\ngive certain features of society, but really paint neither high life\nnor low life, nor yet middle life as it is. They rarely give a real\ntouch of nature, and seldom come near enough to truth to caricature\nit. They give us sometimes the sentiment, sometimes the affection of\nlove with a touch of truth--but, after all, only truth's surface or a\ndistant and distorted view of it. They paint better the vices of\nnature, man's abuse or perversion of nature, than the virtues. Their\nvirtuous characters are usually insipid or unnatural; nature has\ndepths their plummets sound not, and heights to which they rise not.\nThere they forget that in the actual providence of God nature never\nexists and operates alone, but either through demoniacal influence\ndescends below, or through divine grace rises above itself. They\neither make nature viler than she is or nobler than she is. They never\nhit the just medium, and the views of nature, society, and life the\nyoung reader gets from them, are exaggerated, distorted, or totally\nfalse. The constant reading of them renders the heart and soul morbid,\nthe mind weak and sickly, the affections capricious and fickle, the\nwhole man ill at ease, sighing for what he has not, and incapable of\nbeing contented with any possible lot or state of life, or with any\nreal person or thing.\n\nBeside books which the conscience of a pagan would pronounce immoral,\nand which cannot be touched without defilement, there are others that\nby their false and heretical doctrines tend to undermine faith and to\nsap those moral convictions without which society cannot subsist, and\nreligion is an empty name or idle form. The country is flooded with a\nliterature which not only denies this or that Christian mystery, this\nor that Catholic dogma, that not only rejects supernatural revelation,\nbut even natural reason itself. The tendency of what is regarded as\nthe advanced thought of the age is not only to eliminate Christian\nfaith from the intellect, Christian morality from the heart, Christian\nlove from the soul, but Christian civilization from society. The most\npopular literature of the day recognizes no God, no Satan, no heaven,\nno hell, and either preaches the worship of the soul, or of humanity.\nChristian charity is resolved into the watery sentiment of\nphilanthropy, and the Catholic veneration of the Blessed Virgin\nlapses, outside of the church, into an idolatrous worship of\nfemininity. The idea of duty is discarded, and we are gravely told\nthere is no merit in doing a thing because it is our duty; the merit\nis only in doing it from love, and love, which, in the Christian\nsense, is the fulfilling of the law, is defined to be a sentiment\nwithout any relation to the understanding or the conscience. Not only\nthe authority of the church is rejected in the name of humanity {466}\nby the graver part of popular literature, but the authority of the\nstate, the sacredness of law, the inviolability of marriage, and the\nduty of obedience of children to their parents, are discarded as\nremnants of social despotism now passing away. The tendency is in the\nname of humanity to eliminate the church, the state, and the family,\nand to make man a bigger word than God. In view of the anti-religious,\nanti-moral, and anti-social doctrines which in some form or in some\nguise or other permeate the greater part of what is looked upon as the\nliving literature of the age, and which seem to fetch an echo from the\nheart of humanity, well might Pope Gregory XVI., of immortal memory,\nin the grief of his paternal heart exclaim, \"We are struck with horror\nin seeing with what monstrous doctrines, or rather with what prodigies\nof error we are inundated by this deluge of books, pamphlets, and\nwritings of every sort whose lamentable irruption has covered the\nearth with maledictions!\"\n\n\"There doubtless are men,\" as P\u00e8re Toulemont says, \"who have very\nlittle to fear from the most perfidious artifices of impiety, as,\nprepared by a strong and masculine intellectual discipline, they are\nable to easily detect the most subtle sophisms. No subtlety, no _tour\nde metier_, if I may so speak, can escape them. At the first glance of\nthe eye they seize the false shade, the confusion of ideas or of\nwords; they redress at once the illusive perspective created by the\nmirage of a lying style. The fascinations of error excite in them only\na smile of pity or of contempt.\n\n\"Yes, there are such men, but they are rare. Take even men of solid\ncharacter, with more than ordinary instruction, and deeply attached to\ntheir faith, think you, that even they will be able always to rise\nfrom the reading of this literature perfectly unaffected? I appeal to\nthe experience of more than one reader, if it is not true after having\nrun over certain pages written with perfidious art, that we find\nourselves troubled with an indescribable uneasiness, an incipient\nvertigo or bewilderment? We need then, as it were, to give a shake to\nthe soul, to force it to throw off the impression it has received, and\nif we neglect to assist it more or less vigorously, it soon deepens\nand assumes alarming proportions. No doubt, unless in exceptional\ncircumstances, strong convictions are not sapped to their foundation\nby a single blow, but one needs no long experience to be aware that\nthis sad result is likely to follow in the long run, and much more\nrapidly than is commonly believed, even with persons who belong to the\naristocracy of intelligence.\n\n\"This will be still more the case if we descend to a lower social\nstratum, to the middle classes who embody the great majority of\nChristian readers. With these mental culture is very defective, and\nsometimes we find in them an ignorance of the most elementary Catholic\ninstruction that is really astounding. What, at any rate, is\nundeniable, is that their faith is not truly enlightened either in\nrelation to its object or its grounds. It ordinarily rests on\nsentiment far more than on reason. They have not taken the trouble to\nrender to themselves an account of the arguments which sustain it;\nmuch less still are they able to solve the difficulties which\nunbelievers suggest against it. Add to this general absence of serious\nintellectual instruction, the absence not less general of force and\nindependence of character, and the position becomes frightful. In our\ndays it must be confessed the energy of the moral temperament is\nsingularly enfeebled, and never perhaps was the assertion of the\nprophet, _omne caput languidum_, the whole head is sick, more true\nthan now. Robust and masculine habits seem to have given place to a\nsort of sybaritism of soul, which renders the soul adverse to all\npersonal effort, or individual labor. See, for example, that multitude\nwhich devours so greedily the first books that come to hand. Takes it\nany care to control the things which pass before its eyes, or to {467}\nrender to itself any account of them by serious reflection? Not at\nall. The attention it gives to what it reads is very nearly null, or,\nat best, it is engrossed far more with the form, the style, or the\nterm of the phrase, than with the substance, or ground of the ideas\nexpressed. The mind is rendered, so to say, wholly passive, ready to\nreceive without reflection any impression or submit to any influence.\"\n\nThe great body of the faithful in no country can read the immoral,\nheretical, infidel, humanitarian, and socialistic literature of the\nage without more or less injury to their moral and spiritual life, or\nwithout some lesion even to their faith itself; although it be not\nwholly subverted. Can a man touch pitch and not be defiled? It is\nprecisely the devouring of this literature as its daily intellectual\nfood, or as its literary pabulum, that produces that sybaritism of\nsoul, that feebleness of character, that aversion to all manly effort\nor individual exertion without which robust and masculine virtue is\nimpossible.\n\nThere is certainly much strong faith in the Catholic population of the\nUnited States, perhaps more in proportion to their numbers than in any\nof the old Catholic nations of Europe; but this strong faith is found\nchiefly amongst those who have read very little of the enervating\nliterature of the day. In the younger class in whom a taste for\nreading has been cultivated, and who are great consumers of \"yellow\ncovered literature,\" and the men who read only the secula and partisan\njournals, we witness the same weakness of moral and religious\ncharacter, and the same feeble grasp of the great truths of the gospel\ncomplained of by P\u00e8re Toulemont. To a great extent the reading of\nnon-Catholic literature, non-Catholic books, periodicals, novels and\njournals, neutralizes in our sons and daughters the influence of\nCatholic schools, academies, and colleges, and often effaces the good\nimpression received in them.\n\nThe prevalence of such a literature, so erroneous in doctrine, so\nfalse in principle, and so debasing in tendency, must be deplored by\nCatholics, not only as injurious to morals, and too often fatal to the\nlife of the soul, but as ruinous to modern civilization, which is\nfounded on the great principles of the Catholic religion, and has been\nin great part created by the Catholic Church, chiefly by her supreme\npontiffs, and her bishops and clergy, regular and secular. The\ntendency of modern literature, especially of journalism, a very modern\ncreation, is to reduce our civilization far below that of ancient\ngentilism, and it seems hard that we who under God have civilized the\nbarbarians once should have to begin our work anew, and go through the\nlabor of civilizing them again. Our non-Catholic countrymen cannot\nlose Christian civilization without our being compelled to suffer with\nthem. They drag us, as they sink down, after them. This country is our\nhome and is to be the home of our children and our children's\nchildren, and we more than any other class of American citizens are\ninterested in its future. It is not, then, solely the injury we as\nCatholics may receive from an irreligious and immoral literature that\nmoves us;  but also the injury it does to those who are not as yet\nwithin the pale of the church, but between whom and us there is a real\nsolidarity as men and citizens, and who cannot suffer without our\nsuffering, and civilization itself suffering, with them.\n\nAs men, as citizens, as Christians, and as Catholics, it becomes to us\na most grave question--What can be done to guard against the dangers\nwhich threaten religion and civilization from an irreligious and\nimmoral literature? This question is, no doubt, primarily a question\nfor the pastors of the church, but it is, in submission to them, also\na question for the Catholic laity, for they have their part, and an\nimportant part, in the work necessary to be done. There can be no\ndoubt that bad books and irreligious journals are dangerous\ncompanions, and the {468} most dangerous of all companions, for their\nevil influence is more genial and more lasting. Plato and most of the\npagan philosophers and legislators required the magistrates to\nintervene and suppress all books judged to be immoral and dangerous\neither to the individual or to society, and in all modern civilized\nstates the law professes either to prevent or to punish their\npublication. Even John Milton, in his \"Areopagitica,\" or plea for\nunlicensed printing, says he denies not to magistrates the right to\ntake note how books demean themselves, and if they offend to punish\nthem as any other class of offenders. English and American law leaves\nevery one free to publish what he pleases, but holds the author and\npublisher responsible for the abuse they may make of the liberty of\nthe press. In all European states there was formerly, and in some\ncontinental states there is still, a preventive censorship, more or\nless rigid, and more or less effective. Formerly the civil law\nenforced the censures pronounced by the church, but there is hardly a\nstate in which this is the case now.\n\nWhatever our views of the civil freedom of the press may be,\necclesiastical censorship, or censorship addressed to the conscience\nby the spiritual authority, is still possible, and both proper and\nnecessary. The act of writing and publishing a book or pamphlet, or\nediting and publishing a periodical or journal, is an act of which the\nlaw of God takes account as much as any other act a man can perform,\nand is therefore as fully within the jurisdiction of the spiritual\nauthority. So also is the act of reading, and the spiritual director\nhas the same right to look after what books his penitent reads, as\nafter what company he keeps. The whole subject of writing, editing,\npublishing, and reading books, pamphlets, tractates, periodicals, and\njournals, comes within the scope of the spiritual authority, and is\nrightly subjected to ecclesiastical discipline. In point of fact, it\nis so treated in principle by heterodox communions, as well as by the\nchurch. The Presbyterians are even more rigid in their discipline as\nto writing and reading than Catholics are, though they may not always\navow it. The Methodists claim the right for their conferences to\nprescribe to Methodist communicants what books they ought not to read,\nand seldom will you find a strict Methodist or Presbyterian reading a\nCatholic book. It is much the same with all Protestants who belong to\nwhat they call the church as distinguished from the congregation--a\ndistinction which does not obtain among Catholics, for with us all\nbaptized persons, not excommunicated, belong to the church. There is\nno reason why the church should not direct me in my reading as well as\nin my associations, or discipline me for writing or publishing a lie\nin a book or a newspaper as well as for telling a lie orally to my\nneighbor or swearing to a falsehood in a court of justice.\n\nBut when the church, as with us, is not backed in her censures by the\ncivil law, when her canons and decrees have no civil effect, the\necclesiastical authority becomes practically only an appeal to the\nCatholic conscience, and while her censures indicate the law of\nconscience in regard to the matters censured, they depend on our\nconscience alone for their effectiveness. Hence our remedy, in the\nlast analysis, as P\u00e8re Toulemont implies, is in the appeal to\nChristian consciences against the dangerous literature of the day; and\nhappily Catholics have a Christian conscience,--though sometimes in\nnow and then one it may be a little drowsy--that can be appealed to\nwith effect, for they have faith, do believe in the reality of the\ninvisible and the eternal, and know that it profiteth a man nothing to\ngain the whole world and lose his own soil. The church declares by\ndivine constitution and assistance the law of God which governs\nconscience, and when properly instructed by her, the Catholic has not\nonly a conscience, but an enlightened {469} conscience, and knows what\nis right and what is wrong, what is useful and what is dangerous\nreading, and can always act intelligently as well as conscientiously.\n\nP\u00e8re Toulemont shows in his essay that it is not reading or literature\nthat the church discourages or condemns, but the abuse of literature\nand its employment for purposes contrary to the law of God, or the\nreading of vile, debasing, and corrupting books, periodicals, and\njournals which can only taint the imagination, sully the purity of the\nheart, weaken or disturb faith, and stunt the growth of the Christian\nvirtues. The conscience of every Christian tells him that to read\nimmoral books, to familiarize himself with a low, vile, corrupt and\ncorrupting literature, whatever may be the beauty of its form, the\nseductions of its style, or the charms of its dictation, is morally\nand religiously wrong.\n\nP\u00e8re Toulemont shows by numerous references to their bulls and briefs\nthat the supreme pontiff have never from the earliest ages ceased to\nwarn the faithful against the writings of heretics and infidels, or to\nprohibit the reading, writing, publishing, buying, selling, or even\nkeeping impure, immodest, or immoral books or publications of any sort\nor form, as the civil law even with us prohibits obscene pictures and\nspectacles. It was to guard the faithful against improper and\ndangerous reading that St. Pius the Fifth established at Rome the\ncongregation of the Index; and that publications by whomsoever written\njudged by the congregation to be unsafe, likely to corrupt faith or\nmorals, are still placed on the Index. Nothing is more evident than\nthat the church, while encouraging in all ages and countries\nliterature, science, and art, has never allowed her children the\nindiscriminate reading of all manner of books, pamphlets, tractates,\nand journals. There are writings the reading of which she prohibits as\nthe careful mother would prevent her innocent, thoughtless child from\nswallowing poison. Her discipline in this respect is accepted and felt\nto be wise and just by every man and woman in whom conscience is not\nextinct or fast asleep. Even the pagan world felt its necessity as\ndoes the modern Protestant world. The natural reason of every man\naccepts the principle of this discipline, and asserts that there are\nsorts of reading which no man, learned or unlearned, should permit\nhimself. The Christian conscience once awakened recoils with\ninstinctive horror from immoral books and publications, and no one who\nreally loves our Lord Jesus Christ can take pleasure in reading books,\nperiodicals, or journals that tend to weaken Christian faith and\ncorrupt Christian morals, any more than the pious son can take\npleasure in hearing his own father or mother traduced or calumniated;\nand what such publications are, the Catholic, if his own instincts\nfail to inform him, can always learn from the pastors of his church.\n\nThe first steps toward remedying the evils of the prevailing immoral\nliterature must be in an earnest appeal to all sincere Christians to\nset their faces resolutely against all reading, whatever its form,\nthat tends to sap the great principles of revealed truths, to destroy\nfaith in the great mysteries of the Gospel, to subvert morality, to\nsubstitute sentiment for reason, or feeling for rational conviction,\nto ruin the family and the state, and thus undermine the foundations\nof civilized society. This, if done, would erect the Christian\nconscience into a real censorship of the press, and operate as a\ncorrective of its licentiousness, without in the least infringing on\nits freedom. It would diminish the supply of bad literature by\nlessening the demand. This would be much, and would create a Christian\nliterary public opinion, if I may so speak, which would become each\nday stronger, more general, more effective, and which writers,\neditors, publishers, and booksellers, would find themselves obliged to\nrespect, as politicians find themselves obliged to treat {470} the\nCatholic religion with respect, whenever they wish to secure the votes\nof Catholic citizens. Fidelity to conscience in those who have not yet\nlost the faith, and in whom the spiritual life is not yet wholly\nextinct, will go far toward remedying the evil, for the movement begun\nwill gather volume and momentum as it goes on.\n\nThe next step is for Catholics to regard it as a matter of conscience\nto demand and sustain a pure and high-toned literature, or ample,\nsavory, and wholesome literary diet, for the public. Reading, in\nmodern civilized communities, has become in some sort a necessary of\nlife, a necessity, not a luxury, and when we take into consideration\nthe number of youth of both sexes which we send forth yearly from our\ncolleges, academies, private, parochial, conventual, and public\nschools, we cannot fail to perceive that it is, and must be a growing\nnecessity in our Catholic community; and we may set this down as\ncertain, that when wholesome food is not to be had, people will feed\non unwholesome food, and die of that which they have taken to sustain\nlife. But if people, through indifference or negligence take no heed\nwhether the food be wholesome or unwholesome, or through a depraved\nappetite prefer the unwholesome because more highly spiced, very\nlittle wholesome food will be offered in the market. Many complaints\nare heard from time to time of our Catholic press, because it does not\ngive us journals of a higher order, more really Catholic in principle,\nof higher moral tone, and greater intellectual and literary merit.\nEven supposing the facts to be as these complaints assume, the\ncomplaints themselves are unjust. The editors and publishers of\nCatholic journals edit and publish them as a lawful business, and very\nnaturally seek the widest circulation possible. To secure that, they\nnecessarily appeal to the broadest, and therefore the lowest average\nof intelligence and virtue of the public they address. They who depend\non public sentiment or public opinion must study to conform to it, not\nto redress or reform it. The journals of every country represent the\nlowest average intelligence and virtue of the public for which they\nare designed. The first condition of their existence is that they be\npopular with their own public, party, sect, or denomination.\nComplaints are also frequently heard of our Catholic publishers and\nbooksellers, for not supplying a general literature, scientific and\nphilosophical works, such as general readers, who though good\nCatholics, are not particularly ascetic, and wish to have now and then\nother than purely spiritual reading, and also such as scholars and\nscientific men seek, in which the erudition and science proper are not\nmarred by theories and hypotheses, speculations and conjectures which\nserve only to disturb faith and stunt the growth of the spiritual\nlife. But these complaints are also unjust. The publishers issue the\nbest books that the market will take up. There is no demand for other\nor better books than they publish; and such books as are really\nneeded, aside from bibles, prayer-books, and books for spiritual\nreading, they can publish only at their own expense. They are governed\nby the same law that governs editors and publishers of newspapers or\njournals, and naturally seek the broadest, and therefore in most\nrespects the lowest average, and issue works which tend constantly to\nlower the standard instead of elevating it. The evil tendency, like\nrumor, _crescit eundo_.\n\nThere is no redress but in the appeal to Christian consciences, since\nthe public now fills the place of patrons which was formerly filled by\nprinces and nobles, bishops and monastic or religious houses. The\nmatter cannot be left to regulate itself, for the public taste has not\nbeen cultivated and formed to support the sort of reading demanded,\nand will not do it from taste and inclination, or at all except from a\nsense of duty. The great majority of the people of France are\nCatholics, yet a few years ago there {471} were Parisian journals\nhostile to Catholics, that circulated each from 40,000 to 60,000\ncopies daily, while the daily circulation of all the Catholic journals\nand periodicals in all France did not exceed 25,000. It should be as\nmuch a matter of conscience with Catholics to open a market for a\nsound and healthy literature as to refrain from encouraging and\nreading immoral and dangerous publications. We gain heaven not merely\nby refraining from evil, but by doing good. The servant that wrapped\nhis talent in a clean napkin and hid it in the earth was condemned not\nbecause he had lost or abused his talent, but because he had not used\nit and put it out to usury. The church attaches indulgences to doing\ngood works, not to abstaining from bad works.\n\nThe taste of the age runs less to books than to reviews, magazines,\nand especially to newspapers or the daily journals. People are too\nbusy, in too great a hurry, for works of long breath. Folios and\noctavos frighten them, and they can hardly abide a duodecimo. Their\nstaple reading is the telegraphic despatches in the daily press. Long\nelaborate articles in reviews are commended or censured by many more\npersons than read them, and many more read than understand them, for\npeople nowadays think very little except about their business, their\npleasures, or the management of their party. Still the review or\nmagazine is the best compromise that can be made between the elaborate\ntreatise and the clever leader of the journal. It is the best literary\nmedium now within reach of the Catholic public, and can meet better\nthan any other form of publication our present literary wants, and\nmore effectively stimulate thought, cultivate the understanding and\nthe taste, and enable us to take our proper place in the literature\nand science of the country. But here again conscience must be appealed\nto, the principle of duty must come in. Few men can write and publish\nat their own expense a magazine of high character, of pure literary\ntaste, sound morals, and sound theology, able in literary and\nscientific merit, in genius, instruction, and amusement, to compete\nsuccessfully with the best magazines going, and there is at this\nmoment no public formed to hand large enough to sustain such\nperiodical, and even the men to write it have in some sort to be\ncreated, or at least to be drawn out. It must be for a time supported\nby men who do not want it as a luxury or to meet their own literary\ntastes, but who appreciate its merits, are aware of the service it may\nrender in creating a taste for wholesome instead of unwholesome\nreading. That is, it most be sustained by persons who, in purchasing\nit, act not so much from inclination as from a sense of duty, which is\nalways a nobler, and in the long run, a stronger motive of action,\nthan devotion to interest or pleasure; for it is in harmony with all\nthat is true and good, and has on it the blessing of heaven. It is\nprecisely because Catholics can act from a sense of duty that we can\novercome the evil that is ruining society.\n\nNo doubt we are here pleading, to a certain extent, our own cause, but\nwe only ask others to act on the principle on which we ourselves are\nacting. THE CATHOLIC WORLD is not published as a private speculation,\nnor with the expectation of personal gain. Our cause is what we hold\nto be here and now the Catholic cause, and it is from a sense of duty\nthat we devote ourselves to it. We are deeply conscious of the need\nfor us Catholics in the United States of a purer and more wholesome\nliterature than any which is accessible to the great majority, and\nthan any which can be produced outside of the Catholic community, or\nby other than Catholics. We need it for ourselves as Catholics, we\nneed it for our country as a means of arresting the downward tendency\nof popular literature, and of influencing for good those who are our\ncountrymen, though unhappily not within our communion. There is\nnothing personal to us in the cause {472} we serve, and it is no more\n_ours_ than it is that of every Catholic who has the ability to serve\nit. If we plead for our magazine, it is only as it is identified with\nthe Catholic cause in our country, and we can be as disinterested in\nso soliciting support for it as if it was in other hands, and we\nsolicit support for it no farther than it appeals to the Catholic\nconscience. We have seen the danger to the country, and the\ndestruction to souls threatened by the popular literature of the day,\nand we are doing what we can in our unpretending way to commence a\nreaction against it, and give to our American public a taste for\nsomething better than they now feed on. We cannot prevent our\nCatholic youth who have a taste for reading from reading the vile and\ndebasing popular literature of the day, unless we give them something\nas attractive and more wholesome in its place, and this cannot be done\nwithout the hearty and conscientious cooperation of the Catholic\ncommunity with us.\n\nCatholics are not a feeble and helpless colony in the United States.\nWe are a numerous body, the largest religious denomination in the\ncountry. There are but two cities in the world that have a larger\nCatholic population than this very city of New York, and there are\nseveral Catholic nations holding a very respectable rank in the\nCatholic world, that have not so large, and upon the whole so wealthy\na Catholic population as the United States. We are numerous enough,\nand have means enough to found and sustain all the institutions,\nreligious, charitable, educational, literary, scientific, and artistic\nneeded by a Catholic nation, and there is no Catholic nation where\nCatholic activity finds fewer \"lets and hindrances\" from the civil\ngovernment. We are free, and we have in proportion to our numbers our\nfull share of influence in public affairs, municipal, state, and\nnational; no part of the population partakes more largely of the\ngeneral prosperity of the country, and no part has suffered less from\nthe late lamentable civil war. We have our Church organized under a\nregular hierarchy, with priests rapidly increasing in numbers,\nchurches springing up all over the land, and Catholic emigrants from\nthe old world pouring in by thousands and hundreds of thousands. We\nare numerous enough and strong enough in all religious, literary, and\nscientific matters, to suffice for ourselves. There is no reason in\nthe world, but our own spiritual indolence and the torpidity of our\nconsciences, why we should continue to feed on the unwholesome\nliterary garbage provided for us by the humanitarianism and pruriency\nof the age. We are able to have a general literature of our own, the\nproduction of genuine Catholic taste and genius, if we will it, and at\npresent are better able than the Catholics of any other nation; for\nour means are ample, and the government and civil institutions place\nno obstacles in our way, which can be said of Catholics nowhere else.\n\nOur Catholic community is large enough, and contains readers enough,\nto sustain as many periodicals as are needed, and to absorb large\neditions enough of literary and scientific works of the highest\ncharacter to make it an object with the trade to publish them, as well\nas with authors to write them. Works of imagination, what is called\nlight literature, if conceived in a true spirit, if they tend to give\nnature a normal development, and to amuse without corrupting the\nreader, ought to find with us a large public to welcome and profit by\nthem. What the people of any Catholic nation can do to provide for the\nintellectual and aesthetic wants of a Catholic people, we Catholics in\nthe United States can do. If we are disposed to set ourselves\nearnestly about it with the feeling that it is a matter of conscience.\n\nAnd we must do it, if we mean to preserve our youth to the church, and\nhave them grow up with a robust faith, and strong and masculine\nvirtues, to keep them clear from the humanitarian sentimentality which\nmarks the {473} age and the country. Universal education, whether a\ngood or an evil, is the passion of modern society, and must be\naccepted. Indeed, we are doing our best to educate all our children,\nand the great mass of them are destined to grow up readers, and will\nhave reading of some sort. Education will prove no blessing to them,\nhowever carefully or religiously trained while at school, if as soon\nas they leave the school, they seek their mental nutriment in the\npoisonous literature now so rife. No base companions or vicious\ncompany could do so much to corrupt as the sensation novels, the\nhumanitarian, rationalistic, and immoral books, magazines, and\njournals, which, as thick as the frogs of Egypt, now infest the\ncountry. Our children and youth leave school at the most critical age,\nand a single popular novel, or a single sophistical essay, may undo\nthe work of years of pious training in our colleges and conventual\nschools. Parents have more to apprehend for their children when they\nhave finished their school terms than ever before, and it is precisely\nwhen they have left school, when they come home and go out into\nsociety, that the greatest dangers and temptations assail them. From\ntheir leaving school to their settlement in life is the period for\nwhich they most need ample intellectual and moral provision in\nliterature, and it is precisely for this period that little or no such\nprovision is made.\n\nHence the urgency of the appeal to Catholic consciences first to avoid\nas much as possible the pernicious literature of the age, and second\nto create and provide to the utmost of our ability, good and wholesome\nliterature for the mass of our people, such a literature as only they\nwho live in the communion with the saints, drink in the lessons of\ndivine wisdom, and feast their souls on celestial beauty, can\nproduce--a secular literature indeed, but a literature that embodies\nall that is pure, free, beautiful and charming in nature, and is\ninformed with the spirit of Catholic love and truth--a robust and\nmanly literature, that cherishes all God's works, loves all things,\ngentle and pure, noble and elevated, strong and enduring, and is not\nashamed to draw inspiration from the cross of Christ. It will require\nmuch labor, many painful sacrifices to work our way up from the depths\nto which we have descended, and our progress will be slow and for a\nlong time hardly perceptible, but Catholic faith, Catholic love,\nCatholic conscience, has once succeeded when things were more\ndesperate, transformed the world, and can do so again. Nothing is\nimpossible to it. It is your faith that overcomes the world. Leo X.\nsaid when the press was first made known, \"The art of printing was\ninvented for the glory of God, for the propagation of our holy faith,\nand the advancement of knowledge.\"  [Footnote 82]\n\n  [Footnote 82: Decree of Leo X.  Session 10 of the Council of\n  Latern.]\n\n------\n\n{474}\n\n\nTranslated from the French.\n\nEUG\u00c9NIE DE GU\u00c9RIN'S LETTERS FROM PARIS.\n\n\nIn the following paper we propose to fill as far as possible the\nhiatus which occurs between the seventh and eighth books of Mlle. de\nGu\u00e9rin's journal, giving such details from her letters as will satisfy\nthe curiosity that many of her readers must have felt concerning the\nvisit she made to Paris at the time of her brother's wedding.\n\nIn a letter to M. Paul Juemper, dated March 15, 1838, Gu\u00e9rin describes\nhis fianc\u00e9e, with more accuracy perhaps than ardor, and yet there can\nbe no doubt that the marriage was one of love and congeniality. In the\nlatter part of his life Maurice appears to have concealed his deepest\nemotions as successfully as he had revealed them in earlier years.\n\n\"I find myself on my return better in health, and full of hope for the\nfuture. What does that mean? What novelty is this? Nothing but the\nmost common event in the world, one which takes place every day in\nevery country--namely marriage, here, in Paris, to a child who was\nborn for me, eighteen years ago, six thousand leagues from Paris, in\nBatavia! She is named Caroline de Gervain, has great blue eyes that\nlight up her delicate face, a very slender figure, a foot of oriental\nminuteness--in short (without any lover-like vanity), an exquisite and\nrefined _ensemble_, that will suit you very well. Her fortune is in\nIndian trade: not large now, but with every prospect of development.\nThe contracts are drawn up and everything is in order; we are only\nawaiting the arrival of some documents from Calcutta, indispensable to\nthe celebration of a marriage, to tie the last knot. If you leave in\nMay, you will be here in time to stand by the death-bed of my\nbachelorhood, and to see me cross the Rubicon.\"\n\nMlle. de Gervain lived with her aunt, Mlle. Martin-Lafor\u00eat, in a\n_pavillion_ in the Rue Cherche-Midi, and it is from this charming\nIndian house that Eug\u00e9nie's first Parisian letter is dated.\n\n\n\n  TO M. DE GU\u00c9RIN.\n\n  Paris, Oct. 8, 1838.\n\n  Oh! how I slept in the little pink bed beside Caroline! I wished to\n  write to you, dear papa, before going to bed, but they would not let\n  me, and they said too that the mail would not go out before this\n  morning, so that you would get the letter no sooner. I should have\n  written to you at each relay if it had been possible, for I said to\n  myself: \"Now papa and Euphrasie, Mimi and Eran, are thinking of the\n  traveller.\" How I thought of you all! you followed me the whole way.\n  At last I am here, out of the way of dust, diligences and the\n  annoyances of travelling, and welcomed and cosseted enough to\n  compensate a thousand times over for the four long days of fatigue.\n  I should like to tell you everything, but there are so many, many\n  things;--how I left you, and bowled away towards Paris, and met them\n  all and fell into a dozen arms. Why weren't you on the Place Notre\n  Dame des Victoires when, just as I was driving off in a carriage\n  with Charles, I saw Maurice and Caro and Aunt running and calling\n  me, and kissing me, one through one window and another through the\n  other? Oh! it was so nice!\n\n  No one ever entered Paris more pleasantly. We went as fast as we\n  could to Rue du Cherche-Midi, talking, laughing and questioning.\n  \"How is papa? and his leg? is he as well as he was last year?\"\n  Maurice, poor fellow, cried as he looked at me, and talked of you\n  all, Mimi, Eran, everybody, they all love you and ask after you.\n  When I came down stairs, I distributed your letters, and then came\n  breakfast, which was very welcome to me. Half through breakfast,\n  Auguste entered, a little surprised that I had arrived so early, and\n  full of kind inquiries for you all . . .\n\n{475}\n\n  I thought I should reach Paris ground to powder, and here I am as\n  fresh as if I had just stepped out of a bandbox. The dust was\n  suffocating during the thirty leagues of that tiresome Sologne, and\n  the rumbling was like thunder on the paved road from Orleans to\n  Paris. It was impossible to sleep that night, but during the others\n  I took naps, and even slept several hours--but oh! the difference of\n  sleeping in a rose-colored bed, and in a diligence, tossed and\n  jerked about! It was dreadful in the Sologne, where we went at a\n  snail's pace, but fortunately it did not rain--then the passengers\n  have to get out sometimes and push the wheels.\n\n  After breakfast I went to mass at St. Sulpice, and then to the\n  Tuileries when the king was absent. It was very grand and regal; the\n  throne is superb, and with \"my mind's eye\" I saw Louis XIV. and\n  Napoleon. There were a great many visitors, English people, and some\n  brothers from the Christian schools. A friend of Maurice's had got\n  us entrance tickets for yesterday, and as I don't often have a\n  chance to see palaces, I was glad to get the opportunity.\n\n  Good-by, dear papa; to-day I say only two words of greeting. Maurice\n  embraces you all as he embraced me yesterday. This is for Mimi and\n  Eran. I send much love to Euphrasie from myself and from Maurice,\n  who is delighted to know she is at Le Cayla. All sorts of kind\n  messages to the parsonage and above all to the gimblette\n  maker,--they were very welcome and every one liked them. They asked\n  me if Augustine had grown tall and if she was mischievous, and I\n  said yes and no;--yes for the height, you understand,--she is all\n  virtue since her first communion.\n\n  M. Angler came to bid me welcome, and we are already acquainted; he\n  looks good and is good. M. d'A. is coming this evening. I must leave\n  you, dear papa. Keep well,--take care of yourself; and don't be\n  uneasy you your traveller, who has but one trial, that she cannot\n  see you, and knows you are two hundred leagues away. Two hundred\n  leagues! but my thoughts ran every instant to Le Cayla. We are in\n  such a quiet place that I think myself in the country, and I slept\n  without waking once until six o'clock. Tell Jeanne-Marie and Miou\n  that everyone asks after them. My compliments to the whole household\n  and to all who are interested in me.\n\nBut this charming picture had its _wrong side_, only revealed by\nEug\u00e9nie to Mlle. Louise de Bayne, and to the cousin with whom she\nlived during part of her stay at Paris, Professor Auguste Raynaud.\nThere was a worm at the heart of the bud, and she knew too well that\nit must wither without blooming. At the very meeting in the Place\nNotre Dame des Victoires, which she described so gaily in the letter\nto Le Cayla, the sight of Maurice's pallor aroused her anxiety, an\nanxiety that increased daily and marred the pleasure to which she had\nlooked forward for months with ardent longing. \"At the time of his\nmarriage,\" says M. Barbey d'Aurevilly, an intimate friend of both\nbrother and sister, \"Maurice was already attacked with the disease of\nwhich he died a short time after. He already felt its first\nsufferings, its first illusions and early symptoms, which made his\nstyle of beauty more than ever touching; for among imaginary heads he\nhad that beauty which we may attribute to the last of the\nAbencerrages. Now what others did not see in the joy and excitement of\nthat day, she saw, with those sad, prophetic eyes that see everything\nwhen they love!\"\n\n  \"I want for nothing, my friend,\" she wrote to Louise de Bayne; \"they\n  love me and treat me most cordially at my future sister-in-law's,\n  and here my kind cousin and his wife vie with each other in friendly\n  attention. My sister-in-law gets my dresses, gives me a pink bed,\n  and a jewel of an oratory next my room, where one would pray for\n  mere pleasure. Oh! there is enough to make me happy, and yet I am\n  beginning to weary of it, and to say that happiness is nowhere.\n  Write to me; tell me what you are doing in the mountains. I am\n  waiting impatiently for news from Le Cayla. I long to hear about\n  them all, and to see them in thought. Write to Marie sometime, it\n  will please her, and papa too, who loves you, you know, but do not\n  speak of Maurice's health, for I say nothing to them on the subject,\n  thinking it useless to alarm them when the trouble may pass off.\"\n\n{476}\n\nThis was the one uneasiness that disturbed her enjoyment in Paris,\n\"the drop of wormwood with which God wets the lips of his elect, that\nthey be robust in virtue and suffering,\" as d'Aurevilly said.\n\n\n  TO MME. DE MAISTRE.\n  Oct. 23.\n\n  I have seen many churches, new and old, and I prefer the old. Notre\n  Dame, Saint Eustache, Saint Roch, and others whose names I forget,\n  please me more than the Madeline with its pagan form, without belfry\n  or confessionals, expressive of an unbelieving age; and Notre Dame\n  de Lorette, pretty as a boudoir. I like churches that make one think\n  of God, with _vaulted roofs leading to contemplation_, where one\n  neither sees nor hears people. I am perfectly contented in\n  l'Abbaye-aux-Bois, a simple little church that reminds me of the one\n  at Andillac. I go there because it is in our parish, and then, too,\n  I've found an excellent priest there, gentle, devout, and\n  enlightened, a disciple of M. Dupanloup. I should have liked to go\n  to him, but they told me that he lived at a distance, and I must\n  have everything within my reach, for I am still like a bird just let\n  out of a cage, hardly daring to stir; I should have lost myself a\n  hundred times in one quarter if I had not always had a companion.\n  However, I have scoured Paris thoroughly in every direction; first\n  mounting the towers of Notre Dame, whence the eye reaches over the\n  immense city and takes in its general plan, after which they took me\n  to the Invalides, the Louvre, and the Bois de Boulogne. The dome of\n  the Invalides, Notre Dame, and the picture galleries, struck me\n  most. You ask for my impressions of Paris--it is all admirable, but\n  nothing astonishes me. At every step the eye and mind are arrested,\n  but in the country, too, I paused over flowers, grass, and wonderful\n  little creatures. Every place has its wonders--here those of man,\n  there those of God, which are very beautiful, and will not pass\n  away. Kings may see their palaces decay, but the ants will always\n  have their dwelling places. Having made these reflections I will\n  leave you, and work on a dress. . . .\n\n\n  TO MLLE. LOUISE DE BAYNE.\n  All Saints' Day, 1838.\n\n  . . . . I do not send you news. I ought to write to you of what goes\n  on within and around me, that you might know my life, and it would be\n  charming to write so, but time flies like a bird and carries me off\n  on its wings. In the morning: church, breakfast, a little work; in\n  the afternoon: a walk or drive, dinner at five o'clock,\n  conversation, music--the day is gone, and nine and ten o'clock come\n  to make us wonder where it went. We go to bed at ten, just like good\n  country folk. In that and many other things I follow my usual\n  habits, and live in Paris as if I were not there. Good by, the bell\n  is ringing.\n\n  Seven o'clock. Here I am, pen in hand, sitting by the fire, with the\n  piano sounding, people reading, Pitt (our Criquet) asleep, and\n  memories of you mingling with all these things in this Paris\n  _salon_. .  .  . It is not apropos, but I take my recollections of\n  things as they come, and I must not fail to tell you what pleasure\n  you gave me at the Spanish museum of painting where I met you. It\n  was you, Louise: a head full of life, oval face, arch expression,\n  and your eyes looking at me, your cheeks that I longed to kiss. I\n  was so charmed with the likeness that I passed by again to see my\n  dear Spanish maiden. Certainly there must be something Spanish about\n  you, for I see you in St. Theresa, and in this noble and beautiful\n  unknown.\n\n  The museum amused, or rather interested me extremely, for one does\n  not get amusement from beautiful things, or among wonderful works\n  with ascetic faces such as compose this museum of painting. And what\n  shall I tell you of the mummies, the thousand fantastic and\n  grotesque Egyptian gods--cats and crocodiles--a paradise of idolatry\n  that no one would care to enter? I looked long at some cloth four or\n  five thousand years old, and at a piece of muslin and a little skein\n  of thread, all framed under glass--how many ages have they been in\n  existence? I should never end if I were learned and could describe\n  these curiosities and antiquities by the thousand--Etruscan vases,\n  exquisite in form and color, that look as if they were made\n  yesterday. The ancients certainly possessed the secret of eternal\n  works.\n\n  This is my life, seeing and admiring, and then entering into myself,\n  or going in search of those I love to tell them all that I see and\n  feel. If I could I would write to you forever, which means very\n  often, and what should I not scribble? what do I not scribble? Know\n  that I am writing in the midst of musicians, under Maurice's eye as\n  he sits laughing over my journal, and adds for its embellishment the\n  expression of his homage to the ladies of Rayssac. It was he who\n  noticed that picture first and pointed it out to me. He knows what\n  gives me pleasure and leads me to it.\n\n{477}\n\n  We always go out together when the weather is good, sometimes to the\n  Tuileries, sometimes to the Luxembourg; but I like the Tuileries\n  best with its pretty things-sculpture, flowers, children playing\n  about, swans in a basin, and looking down on it all the royal\n  ch\u00e2teau illuminated by the setting sun. I begin to know my way about\n  a little in the streets and gardens, and I look upon it as a great\n  triumph to be able to go to l'Abbaye-aux-Bois alone, which is a\n  great convenience, for I can go to week-day mass without troubling\n  any one, which was a restraint upon me. One can go about here as\n  safely as in Albi or Gaillac. They had frightened me about the\n  dangers of Paris, when there are really none except for imprudent or\n  crazy people. No one speaks to any person going about his own\n  business. In the evening it is different. I would not go out alone\n  then for the world, especially on the boulevards, where they say the\n  devil leads the dance. We pass through sometimes returning from Mme.\n  Raynaud's, and nothing has ever struck me except the illumination of\n  gas in the caf\u00e9s, running along the streets like a thread of fire. I\n  annoyed a Parisian by saying that the glow-worms in our hedges were\n  quite as effective. \"Mademoiselle, what an insult to Paris!\" It made\n  us laugh, as one does laugh sometimes at nothing. Now I am going to\n  the concert; I want to know what music is, and tell you my\n  impressions.\n\n------\n\n  TO M. DE GU\u00c9RIN.\n  PARIS, NOV. 6, 1838.\n\n  Never was a day more charming, for it began with Grembert's arrival,\n  and it ends with a letter to you, my dear papa. . . The wedding day\n  is fixed for the 15th. Last Sunday the bans were published for the\n  last time at l'Abbaye-aux-Bois. . .\n\n  You ask if I have everything I need, and if I am satisfied in every\n  respect with my Parisian life. Yes, dear papa, in every sense, and\n  especially for this reason, that I admire the care and assistance\n  that Providence bestows upon us in all places. I have never been\n  struck so forcibly with the abundant aids to piety anywhere as in\n  Paris; every day there are sermons in one place or another,\n  associations and benedictions. If the devil reigns in Paris, perhaps\n  God is served there better than in other places. Good and evil find\n  here their utmost expression; it is Babylon and Jerusalem in one. In\n  the midst of all this, I lead my customary life, and find in my\n  Abbey everything I need. M. Legrand is a friend of l'Abb\u00e9 de\n  Rivi\u00e8res, holy and zealous like him, and full of kindness. He\n  provides me with books and with kind and gentle advice; it will not\n  be his fault if I don't improve very much. One can save one's soul\n  anywhere. . .\n\n  Our quarter of Cherche Midi is charming. M. d'Aurevilly calls it\n  _Trouve Bonheur_, an appropriate name so far Maurice is concerned.\n  He will be happy, as happy as he can be--at least everything looks\n  hopeful. He could not be allied to better souls. Caroline is an\n  angel; her pure, tender soul is full of piety. You will be pleased\n  with her, and with Maurice too, who only does things slowly, as his\n  fashion is; but there is much to thank God for in such conduct,\n  which is very rare among young Parisians. M. Buquet speaks very\n  highly of him; he will bless the marriage, much to our\n  gratification. The great day, which is to open a new life to our\n  Maurice, engrosses us in a thousand ways. He is the most peaceful\n  person concerned, and regards his future and all these affairs with\n  admirable _sang-froid_. M. Buquet says the fellowship is worth\n  nothing to him, and that he will find something else for him; so you\n  see he is established in the good nest Providence has provided for\n  him, without troubling yon.\n\n  Have I told you everything, and made you see thoughts, words, and\n  actions, just as you like? Eran is reading the paper and warming\n  himself. Everybody sends you kisses, and Caro her filial affection.\n  Yon would do well not to go to Rayseac when it is cold or rainy.\n  Advice given, and bulletin finished, I throw my arms around your\n  neck, and pass on to Mimi.\n\n----\n\n  You dear Mimi, I thank you more than I can express for your night\n  letter, written in defiance of sleep. Poor Mimi, plagued and busy,\n  while I play the princess in Paris! This thought comes to me often\n  in the day, disturbing my repose a little, my _gentle quietude_. I\n  say to myself that our time is differently employed, but I help you\n  in my heart. We are as well as possible here and at Auguste's. Don't\n  let Euphrasie leave you, I beg and beseech; you would be too lonely\n  without her gaiety and kindness. I put both my arms around her to\n  keep her. M. le Cur\u00e9 is very good to come and amuse papa: it is an\n  act of friendly charity that I shall not forget Remember me to him\n  and to Mariette. Also to Augustine, Jeanne-Marie, the shepherd,\n  Paul, and Gilles, and thank them all for their compliments. Good-by,\n  with a kiss from Maurice, Caro and myself.\n\n----\n\n  TO THE SAME.\n  Nov. 7, 1838\n\n  I shall write to you every day until I receive letters from home,\n  that you may see that I do not forget you, dear inhabitants of Le\n  Cayla. The whirlwind of Paris will not blow me away yet awhile. That\n  remark of papa's made me laugh, and showed me that he does not know\n  me yet. I am very sure that you, Mimi, had no such idea. I have told\n  you that I lead the same life here as at Le Cayla, and with this\n  {478} advantage, that there is nothing to worry me, for I have a\n  church within reach, and entire liberty. We are all busy with\n  spiritual matters now--our ladies with theirs and I with mine.\n  Maurice is consigned to Sunday, M. Buquet's only free day. All is\n  going on well in this respect, and Caroline is so edifying that she\n  seems to be following in Mimi's footsteps. In this too I admire the\n  workings of Providence in using this marriage as an occasion of\n  salvation.\n\n  It is beautiful to-day, one of those fine days so rare in Paris,\n  where the sky is almost always pale and cloudless. This struck me at\n  first, but now I am used to it as to other things that I see. I am\n  used to carriages, and am no more afraid of there running over me\n  than of Gilles' cart. We shall go in the sunshine to see Mme.\n  Lamarli\u00e8re Auguste, and I don't know whom besides, for there is no\n  end to visits when one is once in train. In going to see our cousin\n  at M. Laville's, Erembert and Maurice met M. Lastic, who is living\n  in Paris. It is astonishing how many acquaintances one meets in the\n  great world where one thinks one's self unknown.\n\n  Indians visit here, Indians without end. A friend of Maurice's, H.\n  Le F\u00e8vre came to spend the evening; a nice little young man, who\n  looks very gentle and refined. He asked me when I was going to see\n  my good friend De Maistre; he is a friend of M. Adrien's, who is at\n  present wandering amid the snows of Norway, so that he can not come\n  to the wedding. We shall muster pretty strong, though only the\n  _indispensable_ will be there.\n\n  . . . 13th. We have just come from the Pantheon, a church passed\n  over from God to the Devil, from St. Genevieve to the heroes of\n  July, and to Voltaire and Rousseau. It is an admirable work of art,\n  however; the interior, the dome, and the crypts, gloomy, secluded,\n  buried beneath vaults and only lighted here and there with lamps,\n  are quite effective. The imagination would easily take fright in\n  this darkness of death, or of glory if you choose, for all the dead\n  are illustrious there, as in the Elysium of which Voltaire and\n  Rousseau are the gods. In the depths of the crypt stands the statue\n  of Voltaire, smiling apparently at the glory of his tomb, which is\n  decorated with magnificent emblems. That of Rousseau is more\n  severe--a sarcophagus, from which a hand is thrust forth, bearing a\n  torch, \"that illumines and ever shall illumine the world,\" according\n  to our guide, who was a cicerone as brilliant as the lantern he\n  carried. The summit of the dome is at a prodigious elevation, twice\n  the height of the steeple of Ste. C\u00e9cile. Paris is seen beautifully\n  from there, but the picture needed sunlight and there was none.\n  Good-by; to-morrow at this time Maurice will be married at the\n  Mayoralty, and day after tomorrow in church.\n\n  16th. Yesterday was the grand and solemn day, the beautiful day for\n  Maurice, Caro and all of us. We only needed you, papa, and Mimi, to\n  complete our happiness, as we all said with sincere regret. You\n  would have been delighted to see this family festival, the most\n  beautiful I ever witnessed. Everything went smoothly, the weather\n  was soft and pleasant, and God seemed to smile on the marriage, so\n  suitably it was conducted, and in such a Christian manner. How\n  pretty Caro was in her bridal dress, and wreath of orange flowers\n  under her veil \u00e0 la Bengali! and Maurice looked well too. H. Angler\n  was so charmed that he wanted to paint them in church, kneeling on\n  their crimson Prie-Dieu. The church displayed all its grandeur, and\n  the organ playing during mass was very good. M. Buquet blessed the\n  marriage, and said mass, assisted by M. Legrand. Many of the _beau\n  monde_ were present, and a dozen carriages stood before the church\n  doors. Soeur d'Yversen was to be there. M. Laurichais, confessor to\n  our ladies, in short all the friends and relations united their\n  prayers and good wishes during the ceremony. I send M. Buquet's\n  discourse, which every one thought perfect. Why can't I add to it\n  his kindly voice, and the look of joy and emotion with which he\n  spoke to Maurice, whom he loves sincerely.\n\n  You will like to know, papa, how everything passed off on the\n  memorable day, and I like very much to describe it, for it seems as\n  if you would be able to share our pleasure, and see your children in\n  church, at dinner and at the evening party. The dinner was charming,\n  like every thing else, each course served elegantly; fish, meats,\n  dessert and wines. The turkey, dressed with our truffles was king of\n  the feast. We drank freely and merrily of Madeira and Constance, and\n  it all seemed like the marriage of Cana. I sat between Auguste and\n  M. d'Aurevilly, very charming neighbors, and we talked and laughed\n  very pleasantly, though Auguste scolded me for having no poetry,\n  which he felt disposed to read, and we had never thought of writing;\n  there's something bettor for Caro, which comes from the heart and\n  will be unfailingly hers every day. How modest she was in church,\n  and how pretty she looked in the evening! She was quite the queen of\n  the occasion. A dozen ladies came, all very elegant, and I don't\n  know how many men, friends of Maurice's. They were very gracious,\n  and asked me to dance; yes--_dance!_ _M. le Cur\u00e9_ had better take\n  holy water and exorcise me. I danced with my groomsman, Charles; it\n  was _de rigueur_, and I could not decline without being conspicuous,\n  and playing {479} the not very amusing part of wall-flower. Auguste\n  performed his paternal duties admirably. He begs me to say a word of\n  commendation for him, and I might well say a hundred in praise of\n  his friendship and devotion to us.\n\nThe friend referred to in the following letter, and with whom Mlle. de\nGu\u00e9rin left Paris early in the December of 1838, was the _Marie_ to\nwhom she wrote the two delightful letters, introduced into the sixth\nand seventh books of her journal. Mme. la Baronne Henriette Marie de\nMaistre was the sister of M. Adrien de Sainte Marie, a friend of\nGu\u00e9rin's, and her intimacy with Eug\u00e9nie had its first foundation in\nceremonious notes written about Maurice when he was ill with a fever\nat Le Cayla in 1837. Mme. de Maistre soon became endeared to Eug\u00e9nie\nby her fascinating powers of attraction, and also by her mental and\nphysical sufferings, for sufferers belonged to the \"dove of Le Cayla\"\nby natural right.\n\n\n  TO MLLE. LOUISE DE BAYNE.\n  Paris, Dec. 1, 1838.\n\n  M. de Frigeville is the most gracious, amiable, and obliging of men.\n  At length I found out his address, and sent my parcel with a little\n  note, which he answered at once, and followed in person the next\n  day. The good man had taken infinite pains to find me and ended by\n  applying to the police--a last resource that amused us a good deal.\n  We cannot profit by the acquaintance even now, or by his offers of\n  politeness \"for anything in his power,\" as he expressed himself to\n  our ladies, for I was out when he came,--the fates are against me.\n  Mlle. Lafor\u00eat thought him very agreeable and exquisitely courteous.\n  I send this little notice of him for you, dear friend, and make use\n  of the chance to write to you up to the last moment.\n\n  I am going to the country, to another Rayssac, for Les Coynes is\n  among the mountains;--shall I find another Louise there? She is a\n  little like you, I think; but, my friend, you will always be my\n  friend. I will write to you from there if you like. Whom and what\n  shall I see? Everything looks very attractive, and yet I go forward\n  with timidity to meet these unknown and known. Pity my wandering\n  life, dragged from place to place;--no, do not pity me, for it is\n  the will of heaven, and all we have to do is to follow the hand that\n  leads us without reasoning: that alone sustains and consoles us,\n  teaching us to turn all things to account for heaven. I am less\n  attracted to the world than ever; there is more calmness and\n  happiness within Sister Clementine's door than in any place in the\n  world. I went to see her yesterday, but she was to be in retreat\n  until Monday, much to my regret, for I love to see and listen to\n  these good religious, these souls set apart from the world. . . I\n  should like to send you something charming and worthy of Paris, but\n  charming things are rare everywhere; so rare that I have none to\n  spare today. However, I did see the outside of Versailles;--the king\n  was expected, so they shut the gates on us. Did I tell you of this,\n  and of our _royal_ wrath? perhaps I did in my last letter.\n\n  I should have described the concert to you this morning, if Maurice,\n  who was to have been my escort, had not been taken ill just as we\n  were going;--pain instead of pleasure, no uncommon change in life.\n  His little wife, quite crimson with emotion, began to nurse him and\n  make much of him, and all grew calm under her gentle influence. I\n  hope Maurice will be happy with her,--I do not know any woman like\n  her in disposition, heart, or face. She is a foreigner, and I study\n  her, that I may adapt myself to her, and enter into her feelings if\n  she cannot into mine. There must be mutual concessions of taste and\n  ideas among us all, to ensure affection and family peace:--that you\n  see everywhere, but we shall have no difficulty with one so amiable\n  and generous. There is not a day when I do not receive proofs of\n  affection from my charming foreign sister. They always speak of her\n  to us as the Indian. Mme. Lamarli\u00e8re thought her very\n  charming;--pretty and well dressed. Today a bulletin of the visit\n  and her _toilette_ is at Gaillac, and I am sure that it is all over\n  town by this time that the Indian wore a dress of _soie antique_, a\n  black satin shawl, trimmed with blond and lined with blue, a lace\n  collar, and a black velvet hat with ostrich plume, \"overwhelming\n  heaven and earth,\" as Mme. Lamarli\u00e8re says\n\n  Good-by, my dear. I kiss you and say love me, think of me, believe\n  me, write to me, talk of me. Love to you all.\n\n  One word more; I like to talk to you best because we seem to\n  understand each other. I will say good-by soon, for two o'clock is\n  striking and I have an appointment in my chapel at\n  l'Abbaye-aux-Bois, for I wish to put my conscience in order before\n  going away. I do not know to whom I shall have recourse in the\n  country, so far from any church. Fortunately, we {480} are to spend\n  Christmas at Nevers, and I shall try to grow calm, for I am not so\n  today. I tell you this because you are alone with Pulch\u00e9ri\u00e9, whom\n  nothing surprises. Pray in the chapel at Rayssac for your poor\n  friend, the Parisian, who will repay you as well as she can.\n  Good-by, good-by; till when? . . .\n\n  TO MLLE. DE BAYNE.\n  CHRISTMAS EVE, NEVERS, 1888.\n\n  I have only time to date my letter, dear friend, for the bells are\n  calling me to midnight mass. I listen to their clashing peals, and\n  think of the pretty little tinkle of the Andillac bell. Who would\n  have said last year that I should be so far away? but so God leads\n  us to things unforeseen. I'm going to the cathedral to pray for all\n  whom I love, and so for you.\n\n\n  Two days since those lines--two days of festival, prayer, offices,\n  and letters written and received, without preventing me from being\n  with you, my dearest. Our hearts can always be together before God,\n  and we cannot meet in a better way or in any other way for a long\n  time. I shall not be at Le Cayla before the fine weather comes, and\n  we can have flowers and sunshine to show our Indian; far enough we\n  are from that season, as I see by the white earth and pallid sky,\n  all snowy and cold.\n\n  How you would love my friend, dear Louise! She is so good, so\n  charming and attractive, and of such a high order of mind, that I\n  keep congratulating myself upon possessing her friendship and\n  affection. . .\n\n  Her father takes the best of care of me, and even comes to my room\n  to see if I have a good fire when I say my prayers. He is afraid\n  this cold climate may hurt me, and said laughing one very cold day,\n  \"The southern flower will be frozen.\" Good, holy man! I love him\n  very much, and he makes me think of your father in his mode of\n  thought and culture. He has read everything, and he writes too; some\n  selections from his works, that he was kind enough to read to me,\n  might have been written by a Benedictine. He knows Carmelites,\n  Trappists, charitable orders, every one in short who is learned or\n  religious. Charles the Tenth loved him and saw him often; if he had\n  only listened to him!\n\n  Travellers from Goritz come here, among others a M. de Ch----, who\n  comes and goes for the exiles, from St. Petersburg to Vienna and\n  sometimes to Spain, from one court to another. He charms us with\n  stories of his adventures, and I never saw a man more agreeable,\n  handsome, witty or cultivated. He is a learned geologist, and\n  collects specimens, goes down into volcanoes and domesticates\n  himself among ruins.\n\n  He lived a week in Sallust's room at Pompeii, drove about the\n  streets in his carriage, entered the theatre, made excavations under\n  the very eyes of the Duchess of Berry, and saw a thief whom the lava\n  had caught while he was stealing a purse, at which we laughed, and\n  remarked that iniquity is sooner or later discovered. I have seen\n  his cabinets of natural history, mineralogy, and antiques, and also\n  the borders of Cicero's dining-hall exquisitely painted with a\n  delicacy inimitable or unimitated. To all these gifts, M. Ch----\n  unites those of a good Christian; he turns all his studies and\n  discoveries to advantage for the faith, and proves that science and\n  faith, geology and Genesis, are of one accord. If you think me very\n  learned, remember that I've seen Paris, and that Paris sharpens\n  one's wits; however, most of this I have acquired in the\n  neighborhood of Les Coques.\n\n\n  TO MLLE. MARIE DE GU\u00c9RIN.\n  NEVERS JANUARY 12.\n\n  We return to Paris early in January, and shall be introduced to the\n  grandeurs of the world. Hitherto I have known only amiable, pretty\n  simplicity; now come baronesses, duchesses, princesses, and as many\n  clever people as I choose. It will amuse me like a picture-gallery,\n  for the heart finds no place among such scenes, far less the soul.\n  God and the world do not agree. Ah me! how little they think of\n  heaven amid all this rush and sparkle! So says my friend, who knows\n  the world and is detached from it.\n\n  M. d'Aurevilly, in his unpublished reminiscences of Mlle. de Gu\u00e9rin,\n  gives a graphic description of her as she appeared in the Parisian\n  world, where no doubt she was subjected to a close scrutiny as the\n  sister of the elegant and gifted Maurice de Gu\u00e9rin.\n\n  \"We can affirm,\" he says, \"that never did creature of worldly\n  attractions appear to us so sweet and lovely as this charming fawn,\n  reared like St. Genevieve among _pastours_. . . .\n\n  \"Drawn from her country home, brought in state like a princess into\n  the intimidating light of lustres, she came without embarrassment or\n  awkwardness, with a chaste, patrician self-possession, that showed\n  in spite of fortune's wrongs for what class in society she was born.\n  Without ever having been there, she was _Faubourg Saint Germain_,\n  Byron tells us in his {481} memoir that he witnessed the\n  introduction of Miss Edgeworth into London society, and that she\n  made him think of Jeanie Deans. But the country girl of La Cayla was\n  the descendant of the fairest falcon-bearers who appear in the\n  mediaeval chronicles, gloved with buckskin, corseleted with ermine,\n  and wearing a train. . . . This was what we admired, this was what\n  impressed the world, astonished at her who did not wonder at them.\n  If, in speaking of such a woman, I dared to use an expression\n  debased to theatrical uses in our times, I should say that she had a\n  great success wherever she went. Women whispered together about her\n  genius for expression and the feeling revealed in her letters; but\n  no one offered her the prying importunities so coarsely mistaken\n  sometimes for homage. They did not call her interesting or amusing,\n  as the world says, patting a proud cheek with its awkward, familiar\n  hand. They respected her. The world treated her as a woman of the\n  world, for that is what it holds in highest esteem; but she knew\n  that she was not so. She knew that there was a second meaning in the\n  world's language that escaped her, as she said once _with her\n  accent_ in a letter, but what observer would have guessed it in\n  seeing her? Excepting now and then a charming swallow-glance,\n  piercing the tapestry and seeking the wall at Le Cayla covered with\n  honeysuckle and wall-wort, who would have doubted that this tranquil\n  maiden was a woman of the world, capable of pleasing it, and of\n  ruling it too, had she thought it worth her while?\n\nMlle. de Gu\u00e9rin had one of those imaginations that are easy to live\nwith. She did not offend common people, those sensitive, coarse souls\nto whom the least distinction causes terrible pain, and who push their\nway everywhere, even in the country. They handled with their rough\ntouch this divine opal with its vaporous shades, as indifferently as\nthe mock ivory counters on their card-tables. Though she did not\nresemble a sphinx, this lovely maiden with her lingering smile, there\nwas perhaps in her placid regularity the immovability of the sphinx,\nand immobility suits all things. It lends a mystery to nature, and\ntakes from human beings the puppet-like gesticulation that ever mars\nthe lofty _Sidera Vultum_.\n\n\n\nAnd now we will return to Eug\u00e9nie's letters, dated once more from\nParis, where she was staying with the Baroness de Maistre, and seeing\nthe world in a more brilliant light than in her visits to the Rue\nCherche-Midi, and at the house of \"Auguste and F\u00e9licit\u00e9;\" but it never\ndazzled her eyes, no matter how brightly it shone and glittered.\n\n\n  TO M. DE GU\u00c9RIN.\n  Paris, Jan. 20, 1839.\n\n  You have had a line from me almost every day, dear papa, but I will\n  write more at length to-day.\n\n  The good General called here as soon as he heard of my return from\n  Nevers; but to tell the truth his visits are not entirely for me,\n  for he finds Caroline so pleasing, that I think our Indian has her\n  full share of the kind old gentleman's friendship. One day he came\n  when she was dressing a doll in Indian fashion, for the little De\n  Maistres, and he was so delighted that he insisted on working\n  himself, and wished to stay till the end of the toilette, which was\n  unluckily interrupted by visitors. The Marquis left us, but Caro\n  wrote to him the next day that the Indian lady was ready, and would\n  be charmed to be presented to him, so the good man came, passed the\n  afternoon with us, and offered to take us today to M. Aquado's\n  museum of painting. We shall go, for it is said to be very\n  beautiful, and afterward we are to see the interior of the Palais\n  Royal. There is nothing we may not expect of the good Marquis, and\n  we owe a great deal of pleasure to Palch\u00e9rie, who has already\n  received my acknowledgments. I send a package to Rayssac with this\n  one.\n\n  We have no want of friends in Paris, dear papa. How can I say enough\n  of the perfect family I have just left, who are untiring in their\n  friendships and kindness! I am engaged, to go to-morrow, Saturday,\n  to a large and elegant party at M. de Neuville's, [Footnote 83] but\n  I shall give up my place to Eran, who will go with Mme. de Maistre.\n  There will be a sort of reunion of beauties of every\n  country--English, German, {482} Spanish, and the lovely ambassadress\n  from the United States.\n\n    [Footnote 83: Ex-Minister to Charles X.]\n\n  'Twill be a pretty sight for anyone who likes society, but I refuse\n  as often as possible. However, I cannot help going to M. de\n  Neuville's, for he has been so gracious to Erembert. I have seen the\n  Baroness de Vaux, Henry Vth's Joan of Arc, who, in 1830, asked an\n  officer of the Royal Guard to rout Philip, herself and her sword at\n  their head. She is a man-woman in figure and energy. Now she is\n  devoted to God, visiting prisons and exhorting those who are\n  condemned to death. With all this she has a charming simplicity. I\n  am to make other acquaintances, whom I shall describe to you. All\n  this does not prevent my thinking of Le Cayla very, very often, and\n  longing impatiently for the month of May,--I shall go with Erembert\n  at the beginning of Lent if I can. Mmes. de Maistre and de St. Marie\n  beg to be remembered to you. \"They think Caro charming, as\n  fascinating as possible,\" said Henriette, and indeed she was radiant\n  the evening they saw her. She is prettier than before her marriage,\n  and she is an excellent little wife, as devoted to Maurice as he is\n  to her. They are happy, and Maurice is most exemplary; a hundred\n  times better than last year, as he says himself. His confidence in\n  me is unchanged and we talk very intimately;--he longs to see you,\n  and thinks very often of Mimi;--we shall all be glad to meet at Le\n  Cayla. Saturday I shall think of you, Mimi, at St. Thomas Aquinas',\n  where we are to hear l'Abb\u00e9 Dupanloup,   [Footnote 84] who is also\n  to give the Lenten instructions. There is no lack of teaching in\n  Paris, but the well taught are very rare;--the more one sees of the\n  world, the more glaring appears the ignorance of essential things.\n  Soeur d'Yversen comes now and then to see us; she has mentioned to\n  me Mme. L----, who would like to know us, but we know, so many\n  people already, that I've lost all desire for new acquaintances. Our\n  whole time slips away in dressing and receiving or making visits, so\n  that one can hardly read or work at all. The Lastics have been here,\n  Mme. Resaudi\u00e8re, the Barrys, an English family who like Maurice very\n  much, and an infinity of other people whom I do not know even by\n  name. Then the De Maistres and the acquaintances they make for\n  me;--you see I have more than I need.\n\n  [Footnote 84: Now Mgr. Dupanloup, Bishop of Orleans.]\n\n  Oh! how I shall rest at Le Cayla. I shall feel the contrast so much,\n  passing from the whirlwind of Paris to the calm of the fields, from\n  the rolling of carriages to the little rumble of carts, from Paris\n  noises to the cackling of our hens;--it all seems to me very\n  charming without thinking of you and Mimi;--how I long to kiss you!\n  They treat me very well here, and I am spoiled by everybody. My\n  health is good, so don't be anxious about me. How does Winter treat\n  you in the new parlor? Better no doubt than it did in the hall. \"Is\n  Wolff banished from the parquet?\" Maurice asks. Passing from parlor\n  to kitchen, tell me how all our people are. I'm sorry about the\n  partridge.\n\n  May 9th.--We heard M. de Ravignan Sunday at Notre Dame. It is\n  curious to see this assemblage of men, a sea of people overflowing\n  the immense cathedral to listen to one voice--but such a voice! From\n  time to time some stricken soul, some young man in doubt or\n  conviction, seeks the orator as a confessor. Then too they rush to\n  see plays, and Mlle. Rachel draws at least as great a crowd to the\n  theatre as M. de R. does to the cathedral. I'm not surprised at the\n  enthusiasm of the Castrais about this young marvel. She is ugly,\n  though, at least so I am told by those who have seen her off the\n  stage. Alas! the profanity of my words in Lent!\n\n  TO H. DE GU\u00c9RIN.\n\n  Paris; March and April, 1839.\n  This bit of a letter, will tell you, dear papa, that I am with my\n  poor invalid friend, waiting for M. Dupanloup, and that catching\n  sight of an ink-stand, I am going on with my writing at the expense\n  of the sacristy. But I will put a sous in the box for my ink, and my\n  paper too, as I mean to steal a sheet to go with these; if we are\n  left alone long enough. Now and then a peaceable abb\u00e9 or sacristan\n  passes through, glancing at us, and looking rather astonished at my\n  office improvised in the sacristy. But M. D.'s name protects us, and\n  we need only mention him to get a safe-conduct. . . .\n\n  Never was there such a holy week--continual agitation and running\n  about. Andillac is better than Paris for recollection; but God is\n  everywhere and in all things, if we know how to find Him. Poor dear\n  papa, I have prayed well for you in these beautiful monuments of\n  Notre Dame, St. Roch, and others that we have visited. I thought of\n  yon in the simple little chapel of Andillac. I suppose they used the\n  new chapel for the tomb, or Paradise, as they call it here.\n\n  Was there ever such a piece of scribbling as this letter--begun,\n  left, begun again, in so many places? Now I am at Maurice's, after\n  sitting five hours for my portrait, which M. Angier kindly insists\n  on painting for you, and for your sake, I have submitted. Dear papa,\n  my painted self will go with Eran, who has had his likeness taken\n  too, and, happier than I am. {483} is to see you and kiss you, and\n  talk to you of Paris, and many, many other things.\n\n  My absence is to be prolonged more than I supposed, but how could I\n  refuse these good friends a request they had such a right to ask?\n  They will be grateful to you, I assure you.\n\n  I shall bring you the little book of poetry that you care for so\n  much;--it is now in the hands of Count Xavier, which will be its\n  greatest glory, I have been presented to this celebrated and\n  charming man, who was very kind and gracious; he loves his cousin,\n  and under her patronage I could not but be well received. We found\n  him alone in his room, reading the office of Holy Week;--he must be\n  religious, being a worthy brother of his Brother Joseph. Thus he is\n  consoled for his great griefs, for the death of his three children\n  at eighteen or twenty years of age.\n\n  The same evening, they took me to the great Valentino concert of\n  eighty musicians. I had been there once before. There is much more\n  to be seen here, but one might spend a thousand years in Paris, and\n  leave many things unseen. I value more the knowledge of persons than\n  of things.\n\n  I am uneasy about your health, however well Mimi may take care of\n  you; be very careful of yourself.\n\n  Good-by, dear papa, good-by, dear Mimi.\n  I have no time to write to you. Maurice sends to papa M. de Luzerne's\n  _reflections_ upon the Gospels. Good-by to all.\n\n  I send a waistcoat to Pierril and an apron to Jeanie; to you and all\n  everything that can reach your hearts. Thank M. Angler for his\n  kindness, when you write to Maurice. My portrait must be finished at\n  Le Cayla, for I found it impossible to have a sitting to-day. I do\n  not want to leave you, and yet good-by. I will write to you from\n  Nevers. Erembert will be much pleased to see you again; I see\n  already the happy day of arrival.\n\n  April 2d, in the evening.\n\nAnd here we must leave Eug\u00e9nie. Eight days later she resumed the\njournal at Nevers and wrote that wonderful eighth book, so\npathetically expressive of the pain of waiting--fit prelude of the\ncoming tragedy.\n\n------\n\nFrom Once a Week.\n\n\nDAY-DREAMS\n\n\n  Call them not vain and false day-dreams we see\n  With spirit-vision of our quicker youth;\n  Thoughts wiser in the world's esteem may be\n            Less near the truth.\n\n  When against some hard creed of life we raise\n  Our single cry for what more pure we deem,\n  'Tis oft the working out in later days\n            Of some old dream!\n\n  Dream of a world more pure than that we find\n  Sad is the wak'ning, but not dull despair,\n  While we can feel that we may leave behind\n            One bright ray there.\n\n  Let us work up then to our young ideal,\n  Nor weep the present nor regret the past,\n  Till the soul, struggling 'twixt earth's false and real,\n            Reach heaven at last.\n\n------\n\n{484}\n\n\nFrom The Dublin Review.\n\nTHE CHRISTIAN SCHOOLS OF ALEXANDRIA--ORIGEN.\n\n\nThe scholar next comes to the more strictly ethical part of Origen's\nteaching. The preliminary dialectics had cleared the ground, and to a\ncertain extent replanted it; physics made the process more easy,\npleasant, and complete; but the great end of a philosophic life was\nethics, that is, the making a man good. The making of a man good and\nvirtuous seems now-a-days a simple matter, as far as theory is\nconcerned, and so perhaps it is, if only theory and principles be\nconsidered; though morality is an extensive science, and one that is\nnot mastered in an hour or a day. But in Origen's day a science of\nChristian ethics did not exist. The teaching of the Scripture and the\nvoice of the pastors was sufficient, doubtless, for the guidance of\nthe faithful; but science is a different thing. Such a science is\nshadowed out to us by the scholar in the record we are noticing. St.\nThomas, the great finisher of scientific Christian ethics, embraces\nall virtues under two great classes, viz., the theological and the\ncardinal. The whole science of morality treats only of the seven\nvirtues included under these two divisions. The master's teaching\ncomprehended, of course, faith, and hope, and charity; indeed, it\nwould be more correct to say that these three virtues were his whole\nultimate object; but the scholar says little of them in particular\njust because of this very reason, and also because they were bound up\nin that _piety_ which he mentions so often. But it is a most\ninteresting fact that the virtues, and the only virtues, mentioned in\nthe summary of Origen's moral teaching given by St. Gregory, are\nprecisely the four cardinal virtues, prudence, justice, fortitude, and\ntemperance. The classification dates, of course, from the Stoics, but\nthe circumstance that the framework laid down by a father in the\nbeginning of the third century was used and completed by another\nfather in the thirteenth, gives the early father an undoubted claim to\nbe considered the founder of Christian ethics. And here we lay our\nhands on one of the earliest instances of heathen philosophy being\nmade to hew wood and carry water for Christian theology. The division\nof virtues was a good one; all the schools pretended to teach it; but\nthe distinctive boast and triumph of the Christian teacher was that he\ntaught _true_ prudence, true justice, fortitude, and temperance, \"not\nsuch,\" says the scholar, \"as the other philosophers teach, and\nespecially the moderns, who are strong and great in words; he not only\ntalked about the virtues, but exhorted us to practise them; and he\nexhorted us by what he did far more than by what he said.\" And here\nthe scholar takes the opportunity of recording his opinion about \"the\nother\" philosophers, now that he has had a course of Origen's\ntraining. He first apologizes to them for hurting their feelings. He\nsays that, personally, he has no ill-will against them, but he plainly\ntells them that things have come to such a pass, through their\nconduct, that the very name of philosophy is laughed at. And he goes\non to develop what appeared to him the very essence of their faults,\nviz., too much talk, and nothing but talk. Their teaching is like a\nwidely-extended morass; once set foot in it, and you can neither get\nout nor go on, but stick fast till you perish. Or it is like a thick\nforest; the traveller who once finds himself {485} in it has no chance\nof ever getting back to the open fields and the light of day, but\ngropes about backward and forward, first trying one path, then\nanother, and finding they all lead farther in, until at last, wearied\nand desperate, he sits down and dwells in the forest, resolving that\nthe forest shall be his world, since all the world seems to be a\nforest. This is, perhaps, one of the most graphic pictures ever given\nof the state of mind, so artificial, so unsatisfied, and yet so\nself-sufficient, brought about by a specious heathen philosophy, and\nthe effect of enlightened reason destitute of revelation. The scholar\ncannot heighten the strength of his description by going on to compare\nit, in the third place, to a labyrinth, but the comparison brings out\ntwo striking features well worthy of notice. The first is, the\ninnocent and guileless look of the whole concern from the outside;\n\"the traveller sees the open door, and in he goes, suspecting\nnothing.\" Once in, he sees a great deal to admire, (and this is the\nsecond point in the labyrinth-simile;) he sees the very perfection of\nart and arrangement, doors after doors, rooms within rooms, passages\nleading most ingeniously and conveniently into other passages; he sees\nall this art, admires the architect, and--thinks of going out. But\nthere is no going out for him; he is fast. All the artifice and\ningenuity he has been admiring have been expended for the express\npurpose of keeping in for ever those foolish people who have been so\nunwary as to come in at the open door. \"For there is no labyrinth so\nhard to thread,\" sums up the scholar, \"no wood so deep and thick, no\nbog so false and hopeless, as the language of some of these\nphilosophers.\" In this language we recognize another of of the\ncharacteristic feelings of the day--the feeling of profound disgust\nfor the highest teachings of heathenism from the moment the soul\ncatches a ray of the light of the Gospel In Origen's school the\nconfines of the receding darkness skirted the advancing kingdom of\nlight, and those that sat in the darkness to-day saw it leaving them\nto-morrow, and far behind them the morrow after that; and all the time\nthe great master had to be peering anxiously into the darkness to see\nwhat souls were nearest the light, and to hold out his hand to win\nthem too into the company of those that were already sitting at his\nfeet. In such days as those, sharp comparisons between heathen wisdom\nand the light of Christ must have been part of the atmosphere in which\nthe catechumens of the great school lived and breathed; there was a\nreality and interest in them such as can never be again. And yet the\nmaster was no bigot in his dealings with the Greek philosophies. \"He\nwas the first and the only one,\" says his scholar, \"that made me study\nthe philosophy of Greece.\" The scholar was to reject nothing, to\ndespise nothing, but make himself thoroughly acquainted with the whole\nrange of Greek philosophy and poetry; there was only one class of\nwriters he was to have nothing to do with, and those were the atheists\nwho denied God and God's providence; their books could only sully a\nmind that was striving after piety. But his pupils were to attach\nthemselves to no school or party, as did the mob of those who\npretended to study philosophy. Under his guidance they were to take\nwhat was true and good, and leave what was false and bad. He walked\nbeside them and in front of them through the labyrinth; he had studied\nits windings and knew its turns; in his company, and with their eyes\non his \"lofty and safe\" teaching, his scholars need fear no danger.\n\nThis brief analysis of part of St. Gregory's remarkable oration will\nserve to give us some idea of Origen's method of treating his more\nlearned and cultivated converts, of whom we know he had a very great\nmany. It will also have admitted us, in some sort, into the interior\nof his school, {486} and let as hear the question in debate and the\nmatters that were of greatest interest in that most influential centre\nof Christian teaching. It does not, of course, deal directly with\ntheology, or with those great controversies which Origen, in a manner,\nrendered possible for his pupils and successors of the next century.\nThe scholar, indeed, does go on now to speak of his theological\nteachings; but he describes rather his manner than his matter, and\nrather the salient points of characteristic gifts than the details of\nhis dogmatic system. As this is precisely our own object in these\nnotes, we need only say that St. Gregory, in the concluding pages of\nhis farewell discourse, sufficiently proves that the great end and\nobject of all philosophic teaching and intellectual discipline in the\nschool of his master was faith and practical piety. To teach his\nhearers the great first cause was his most careful and earnest task.\nHis instructions about God were so full of knowledge and so carefully\nprepared that the scholar is at a loss how to describe them. His\nexplanations of the prophets, and of Holy Scripture generally, were so\nwonderful that he seemed to be the friend and interpreter of the Word.\nThe soul that thirsted for knowledge went away from him refreshed, and\nthe hard of heart and the unbelieving could not listen to him without\nboth understanding, and believing, and making submission to God. \"It\nwas no otherwise than by the communication of the Holy Ghost that he\nspoke thus,\" says his disciple, \"for the prophets and the interpreters\nof the prophets have necessarily the same help from above, and none\ncan understand a prophet unless by the same spirit wherein the prophet\nspoke. This greatest of gifts and this splendid destiny he seemed to\nhave received from God, that he should be the interpreter of God's\nwords to men, that he should understand the things of God, as though\nhe heard them from God's own mouth, and that through him men should be\nbrought to listen and obey.\" Two little indications of what we may\ncall the spirit of Origen are to be found in this address of his\npupil. The first is the great value he sets upon purity as the only\nmeans of arriving at the knowledge and communion of God. We know what\na watchword this \"union with God\" was among the popular philosophers\nof the day. To attain to it was the end of all the Neo-Platonic\nasceticism. It was Origen's great end as well; but he taught that\npurity alone and the subjugation of the passions by the grace of God\nwill avail to lead the soul thither, and that no amount of external\nrefinement or abstinence from gross sin will suffice to make the soul\npure in the sight of God. The second is, his devotion to the person of\nthe Son, the ever-blessed Word of God. The whole oration of the\nscholar takes the form of a thanksgiving to \"the Master and Saviour of\nour souls, the firstborn Word, the maker and ruler of all things.\" He\nnever misses an opportunity all through it of bursting into eloquent\nlove to that \"Prince of the universe;\" he cannot praise his master\nwithout first praising him, or ascribe anything to the powers of the\nearthly teacher without referring it first of all to the heavenly\nGiver. He had learned this from Origen, the predecessor, unconsciously\ncertainly, but in will and in spirit, of another Alexandrian, the\ngreat Athanasius. And here again error was bringing out the truth, for\nunless the Gnostics and the Neo-Platonists had been at that very time\ntheorizing about their demiurge and their emanations, we should\nprobably have missed the tender devotion and repeated homage to the\neternal Word which we find in the words of Origen and his disciple.\n\nTheodore, or Gregory, as he had been named in baptism, had to thank\nhis master and to praise him, and he had, Moreover, to say how sorry\nhe was to leave him. He concludes his speech with the expression of\nhis regrets. He is afraid that all the grand teaching he has received\nhas been to {487} a great extent thrown away upon him. He is not yet\nprudent, he is not just, he is not temperate, he has no fortitude,\nalas, for his own native imbecility! But one gift the master has given\nhim he has made him love all these virtues with a love that knows no\nbounds; and he has made him love, over and above them all, that virtue\nwhich is alike their beginning and their consummation--the blessed\nvirtue of piety, the service and love of God. And now, in leaving him,\nhe seems to be leaving a garden full of useful trees and pleasant\nfruits, full of green grass and cheering sunshine. And he thereupon\ncompares himself, at considerable length, to our first parents\nbanished from Paradise. \"I am leaving the face of God and going back\nto the earth from whence I came; and I shall eat earth all my days,\nand till earth--an earth that will produce me nothing but thorn and\nbriers now that it is deprived of its good and excellent tending.\" He\ngoes on to liken himself to the prodigal son; and yet he finds himself\nworse than he, for he is going away without receiving the \"due portion\nof substance,\" and leaving behind everything he loves and cares for.\nAgain, he seems to be one of that band of Jewish captives that hang up\ntheir harps on the willows and wept beside the rivers of Babylon. \"I\nam going out from my Jerusalem,\" he says, \"my holy city, where day and\nnight the holy law is being announced, where are hymns and canticles\nand mystic speech; where a light brighter than the sun shines upon us\nas we discuss the mysteries of God, and where our fancy brings back in\nthe night visions of what has occupied us in the day; I am leaving\nthis holy city, wherein God seems to breathe everywhere, and going\ninto a land of exile: there will be no singing for me; even the\nmournful flute will not be my solace when my harp is hung on the\nwillows; but I shall be working by river-sides and making bricks; the\nhymns I remember I shall not be allowed to sing; nay, it may be that\nmy very memory will play me false, and my hard work will make me\nforget them.\" The youthful heart, that has left a cloistered retreat\nof learning and piety, where masters have been loved, studies enjoyed,\nand God tenderly served, will test these words by itself, and read in\ntheir eloquent painting another proof that nature is the same to-day\nas yesterday. Gregory the wonder-worker was truly a scholar to be\nproud of, but the master's pride must have been obliterated in his\nemotion when he listened to such a description of his school as this.\n\nBut the scholar, after all, will leave with a good heart. \"There is\nthe Word, the sleepless guardian of all men.\" He puts his trust in\nhim, and in the good seed that his master has sown; perhaps he may\ncome back again and see him yet once more, when the seed shall have\nsprung up and produced such fruits as can be expected from a nature\nwhich is barren and evil, but which he prays God may never become\nworse by his own fault. \"And do thou, O my beloved master ([Greek\ntext]), arise and send us forth with thy prayer; thou hast been our\nsaviour by thy holy teachings whilst we were with thee; save us still\nby thy prayers when we depart. Give us back, master, give us up into\nthe hands of him that sent us to thee, God; thank him for what has\nbefallen us; pray him that in the future he may ever be with us to\ndirect us, that he may keep his laws before our eyes and set in our\nheart that best of teachers his divine fear. Away from thee, we shall\nnot obey him as freely as we obeyed him here. Keep praying that we may\nfind consolation in him for our loss of thee, that he may send us his\nangel to go with us; and ask him to bring us back to thee once more;\nno other consolation could be half so great.\" And so they depart, the\ntwo brothers, never again to see their master more. They both became\ngreat bishops, Gregory the greatest; we find Origen writing to him,\nsoon after his departure, a letter full of affection and good counsel;\nand who can tell how much the teaching of the catechist of Alexandria\nhad to do with that wonderful life and never-dying reputation that\ndistinguish Gregory Thaumaturgus among all the saints of the church?\n\n{488}\n\nOrigen presided at Alexandria for twenty years--that is to say, from\n211 to 231. In the latter year he left it for ever. During this period\nhe had been temporarily absent more than once. The governor of the\nRoman Arabia, or Arabia Petraea, had sent a special messenger to the\nprefect of Alexandria and the patriarch, to beg that the catechist\nmight pay him a visit. What he wanted him for is not recorded; but\nPetra, the capital of the Roman province, was not so far from the\ngreat road between Alexandria and Palestine as to be out of the way of\nGreek thought and civilization, and its interesting remains of art,\nbelonging to this very period, which startled modern travellers only a\nshort time past, prove that it was itself no inconsiderable centre of\nintellectual cultivation. We may, therefore, conjecture that his\nerrand was philosophical, or, in other words, religious.\n\nThe second time that Origen was absent from Alexandria was for a\nsomewhat longer space. The emperor Caracalla, after murdering his\nbrother and indulging in indiscriminate slaughter, in all parts of the\nworld from Rome to Syria, had at last arrived, with his troubled\nconscience and his well-bribed legions, at Alexandria. The\nAlexandrians, it is well known, had an irresistible tendency to give\nnicknames. Caracalla's career was open to a few epithets, and the\nunfortunate \"men of Macedon\" made merry on some salient points in the\ncharacter of the emperor and his mother. They had better have held\ntheir tongues, or plucked them out; for in a fury of vengeance he let\nloose his bloodthirsty bands on the city. How many were slain in that\nawful visitation no one ever knew; the dead were thrown into trenches,\nand hastily covered up, uncounted and unrecorded. The spectre-haunted\nemperor took special vengeance on the institutions and professors of\nlearning. It would seem that he destroyed a great part of the\nbuildings of the Museum, and put to death or banished the teachers. As\nfor the students, he had the whole youth of the city driven together\ninto the gymnasium, and ordered them to be formed into a \"Macedonian\nphalanx\" for his army--a grim retort, in kind, for their pleasantries\nat his expense. Origen fled before this storm. Had he remained, he was\nfar too well known now to have been safe for an hour. Doubtless\nobedience made him conceal himself and escape. He took refuge in\nCaesarea of Palestine, where the bishop, St. Theoctistus, received him\nwith the utmost honor; and, though he was yet only a layman, made him\npreach in the church, which he had never done at Alexandria. When the\ntempest in Egypt had gone by, Demetrius wrote for him to come back. He\nreturned, and resumed the duties of his post.\n\nAfter this he took either one or two other journeys. He was sent into\nGreece, and visited Athens, with letters from his bishop, to refute\nheresy and confirm the Christian religion. He also stayed awhile at\nthe great central see of Antioch.\n\nOn his journey to Greece, he had been ordained priest at Caesarea, by\nhis friend St. Theoctistus. When he returned to Alexandria, about the\nyear 231, Demetrius, the patriarch, was pleased to be exceedingly\nindignant at his ordination. We cannot go into the controversy here;\nwe need only say that a synod of bishops, summoned by the patriarch,\ndecreed that he must leave Alexandria, but retain his priesthood;\nwhich seems to show that they thought he had better leave for the sake\nof peace, though they could not recognize any canonical fault; for if\nthey had, they would have suspended or degraded him. Demetrius,\nindeed, assembled another synod some time later, and did degrade and\nexcommunicate him. But by this time Origen had left Alexandria, never\nto return {489} and was quietly living at Caesarea. We dare not\npronounce sentence in a cause that has occupied so many learned pens;\nbut we dare confidently say this, that it is impossible to prove\nOrigen to have been knowingly in the wrong. We must now follow him to\nCaesarea.\n\nIf some Levantine merchantman, manned by swarthy Greeks or Syrians, in\ntrying to make Beyrout, should be driven by a north wind some fifty\nmiles further along the coast to the southwest, she might possibly\nfind herself, at break of day, in sight of a strange-looking harbor.\nThere would be a wide semi-circular sweep of buildings, or what had\nonce been buildings; there would be a southern promontory, crowned\nwith a tower in ruins; there would be the vestiges of a splendid pier;\nand there would be rows of granite pillars lying as if a hurricane had\ncome off the land, and blown them bodily into the sea. An Arab or two,\nin their white cotton clothes, would be grimly looking about them, on\nsome prostrate columns; and a stray jackal, caught by the rising sun,\nwould be scampering into some hole in the ruins. Our merchantman would\nhave come upon all that is left of Caesarea of Palestine. If she did\nnot immediately make all sail to Jaffa, or back to Beyrout, it would\nnot be because the place does not look ghostly and dismal enough. And\nyet it was once the greatest port on that Mediterranean coast, and far\nmore important than either Jaffa, Acre, Sidon, or even Beyrout now. It\nowed its celebrity to Herod the Great. Twelve years of labor, and the\nexpenditure of vast sums of money, made the ancient Turris Stratonis\nworthy to be rechristened Caesarea, in honor of Caesar Augustus. Its\ngreat pier, constructed of granite blocks of incredible size, afforded\nat once dwelling-places and hostelries for the sailors and a splendid\ncolumned promenade for the wealthy citizens. The half-circle of\nbuildings, all of polished granite, that embraced the sea and the\nharbor, and terminated in a rocky promontory on either side, shone far\nout to sea, and showed conspicuous in the midst the great temple of\nCaesar, crowned with statues of Augustus and of the Roman city. An\nagora, a praetorium, a circus looking out to sea, and a rock-hewn\ntheatre, were included in Herod's magnificent plans, and fittingly\nadorned a city that was to become in a few years the capital of\nPalestine. We see its importance even as early as the days immediately\nafter Pentecost. It was here that the Gentiles were called to the\nfaith, in the person of Cornelius the centurion, a commander of the\nlegionaries stationed at Caesarea. His house, three hundred years\nlater, was turned into a chapel by St. Paulo, and must therefore have\nbeen recognizable at the time of which we write. It was here that\nHerod Agrippa I. planned the apprehension of St. Peter and the\nexecution of St. James the Greater; and it was in the theatre here\nthat the beams of the sun shone upon his glittering apparel, and the\npeople saluted him as a god, only to see him smitten by the hand of\nthe true God, and carried to his palace in the agonies of mortal pain.\nSt. Paul was here several times, and last of all when he was brought\nfrom Jerusalem by the fifty horsemen and the two hundred spearmen.\nHere he was examined before Felix, and before Festus, in the presence\nof King Agrippa, when he made his celebrated speech; and it was from\nthe harbor of Caesarea that he sailed for Rome to be heard before\nCaesar. For many centuries, even into the times of the crusaders, it\ncontinued to be a capital and haven of great importance. Between 195\nand 198, it was the scene of one of the earliest councils of the\nEastern Church, and, as the see of Eusebius, the founder of church\nhistory, and the site of a celebrated library, it must always be\ninteresting in ecclesiastical annals. But perhaps it would require\nnothing more to make {490} it a place of note in our eyes than the\nfact that when Origen was driven from Alexandria, in 231, he\ntransferred to Caesarea not the Alexandrian school, it is true, but\nthe teacher whose presence and spirit had contributed so much to make\nit immortal.\n\nCaesarea, indeed, was at that time a literary centre only second to\nAlexandria or Antioch. It was in direct communication with Jerusalem\nby an excellent military road, and with Alexandria by a road that was\nlonger, indeed, but in no way inferior. It was not far from Berytus\nboth by land and sea. Like Capharnaum and Ptolemais, but in a yet\nhigher degree, it was one of Herod the Great's model cities, in which\nhe had embodied his scheme of _Grecianizing_ his country by the\ninfluence of splendid Greek art and overpowering Greek intellect. It\nwas also the metropolis of Palestine. St. Alexander, bishop of\nJerusalem, Origen's fellow-student, was the intimate friend of\nTheoctistus, bishop of Caesarea; and it is clear that bishops, or\ntheir messengers, from the cities all along the coast, as for as\nAntioch, and even the distant Cappadocia and Pontus, were not\nunfrequent visitors to this great rallying-point of the church and the\nempire.\n\nWhen Origen, therefore, left Alexandria and took up his abode in a\ncity that was in a manner the diminished counterpart of one he had\nabandoned, he did not find himself in a strange land. St. Theoctistus\nreceived him with delight. It was not long before he journeyed the\nshort distance to Jerusalem, to renew his acquaintance with St.\nAlexander; and these two bishops were only too glad to put on his\nshoulders all the charges that he would accept. \"They referred to\nhim,\" says Eusebius, \"on every occasion as their master; they\ncommitted to him alone the charge of interpreting and teaching Holy\nScripture and everything connected with preaching the Word of God in\nthe church.\" From the way in which the historian joins the two bishops\ntogether, it would appear that Caesarea was a common school for the\ntwo dioceses, and a sort of ecclesiastical seminary whither the\nclerics from Jerusalem came, as to a centre where learning and learned\nmen would abound more than in ruined and fallen AElia. It is certain,\nhowever, that Origen, in a short time, was teaching and writing as\nfast as at Alexandria. His name soon began to draw scholars.\nFirmilian, bishop of so distant a see as Caesarea of Cappadocia, one\nof the most stirring minds of his age, who had controversies on his\nhands all round the sea-coast to Carthage in one direction, and Rome\nin the other, was a friend of Theoctistus. It is possible that he knew\nOrigen also, perhaps from having seen him at Alexandria, but more\nprobably from having met him when Origen travelled into Greece. At any\nrate, he conceived an enthusiastic liking for him. Nothing would serve\nhim but to make Origen travel to his own far-off province to teach and\nstimulate pastors and people; and, not long afterward, we find himself\nin Judaea, that is, at Caesarea, on a visit to Origen, with whom he is\nstated to have remained \"some time,\" for the sake of \"bettering\nhimself\" in divinity. And, as Eusebius sums up, \"not only those who\nlived in the same part of the world, but very many others from distant\nlands, left their country and came flocking to listen to him.\" We need\nnot mention here again the names Gregory and Athenodorus.\n\nThe position now occupied by Origen at Caesarea was, therefore, one of\nthe highest importance. He was no longer a private teacher, or even an\nauthorized master teaching in private; he was no less than the\nsubstitute for the bishop himself. In the Eastern Church, indeed, the\ncustom by which no one but the Bishop ever preached in the church was\nnot so strictly observed as it was in the West; but if a {491}\npresbyter did received the commission of preaching, it was always with\nthe understanding that what he said was said on behalf of the pontiff,\nwhose presence in his chair was a guarantee for its orthodoxy. When\nOrigen, therefore, on the Lord's day, after the reading of the holy\nGospel, stood forward from his place in the presbytery, and began to\nexplain either the Gospel text itself or some passage in the Old\nTestament which also had formed part of the liturgical service, it was\nwell understood that he was speaking with authority. And this is the\nfirst light in which we should view his homilies.\n\nIt would be saying little to say that Origen's homilies and\ncommentaries (for we need not distinguish them here) marked an era in\nthe exposition of Scripture. They not only were the first of their\nkind, but they may be said to have created the art, and not only to\nhave created it, but, in certain aspects, to have finished it and to\nhave become like Aristotle in some of his treatises, at once the model\nand the quarry for future generations. It may be true, as of course it\nis, that he was not absolutely the first to write expositions of\nScripture. The splendid eloquence of Theophilus of Antioch had already\nbeen heard on the four Gospels, and his spirit of interpretation seems\nto have had much more affinity for Origen's own spirit than for that\nof the school of his own Antioch two centuries later. Melito had\nwritten on the Apocalypse, but his direct labors on Scripture were\nonly an insignificant part of his voluminous works, if, indeed, they\nwere not all rather apologetic and hortatory than explanatory. The\nMosaic account of the creation had occupied a few fathers with its\ndefence against Gnostic and infidel. But we know from Origen's own\nwords that he had read and used \"his predecessors,\" as he calls them.\nAnd yet we may truly say that he is the first of commentators, not\nonly because no one before him had dared to undertake the whole\nScripture, but on account of his novel and regular method. He is\nturned by one great authority, Sixtus Senensis, \"almost self-taught,\"\nso little of what he says can he have gleaned from others. But in\nestimating how much Origen owed to those before him, we should lose a\nvaluable hint towards understanding him if we forgot Clement of\nAlexandria and the great body of tradition, oral and written, of which\nthe Alexandrian school was the headquarters. We know that the\nAlexandrian Jew, Philo, two hundred years before Clement's time, had\nwritten wonderful lucubrations on the mystical sense of Holy\nScripture. The Alexandrian catechetical teachers, catching and using\nthe spirit of the place, had always been Alexandrian in their\nScriptural teachings. Clement himself had commented on the whole of\nthe Scriptures in his book called the \"Hypotyposes.\" Origen entered\ninto inheritance. We see the spirit of the time and place in those\nquestionings with which, in his early years, he used to puzzle his\nfather. The unrivalled industry that made him collect versions of the\nsacred text from Syria, Asia, and even the shores of Greece, must have\nscrupulously sought out and exhausted every source of information and\nevery extant document relating to Scripture exposition that was at\nhand for him in his own city. So that Origen, though in one sense the\nfounder of a school, was really the culmination of a series of learned\nmen, and, by the influence of his name, made common to the universal\nchurch that knowledge and method which before had been confined to the\npupils that had listened to the Catechisms.\n\nAlthough, however, we may guess, we cannot be certain how\nprogressively or gradually a methodical and scientific exegesis had\nbeen growing up at Alexandria; and we come upon the commentaries of\nOrigen with all the freshness of a discovery. Before him we have been\naccustomed to writings like those of the apostolic fathers: we have\nbeen reading apologies of the most wonderful eloquence, whose Greek\nshames the rhetoricians, {492} or whose Latin has all the spirit,\nearnestness, and tenderness of new language, but in which Holy\nScripture is at the most only summarized and held up to view. Or,\nagain, we have been listening to a venerable priest crushing the\nheretics with the word of God, or to a philosopher confuting the Jews\nout of their own mouth. Or, once more, we have heard the pagan\nintellect of the world convinced that truth was nowhere to be found\nbut in Jesus, that the writings of the prophets were better than those\nof the philosophers, and that the morality of the New Testament cast\nfar into the shade the sayings of Socrates. Splendid ideas, striking\napplications, telling proofs, grand views, all these the early fathers\nfound in holy Scripture, and all these they used in the exhortations,\napologies, or refutations that were called for by the several\nnecessities of their times. But sustained, regular commentary, as\nsuch, they have none, or, what is the same to us now, none has come\ndown. The explanation of words, the classification of meanings, the\ndistinction of senses, the answering of difficulties and the solution\nof objections--all this, done, not for an odd portion of the text here\nand there, but regularly through the whole Bible, is what\ndistinguishes the labors of Origen from those of all who have gone\nbefore him, and makes them so important for all who shall come after\nhim. In making acquaintance with him we feel that we have come across\na master, with breadth of view enough to handle masses of materials in\na scientific way, and with learning enough never to be in want of\nmaterials for his science. We see in his Scripture commentaries the\npressure of three forces of unequal strength, but each of them of\nmarked presence, the tradition of the church, the teachings of the\ngreat school, and the needs of his own times. To understand him we\nmust understand this pressure under which he wrote. The first two\nforces may be passed over as requiring no explanation. We must dwell a\nlittle on the latter, for unless we vividly realize the necessities\nunder which the Christian teacher in his time lay, of meeting certain\nenemies and withstanding certain views, we shall be led to join in the\ncry of those who exclaim against Origen's Scripture exposition as\npartly useless and partly dangerous.\n\nThese necessities arose from two phenomena that appeared almost with\nthe birth of Christianity, and which, with a somewhat wide\ngeneralization, we may call the Ebionite and the Gnostic. No one can\nhave looked into early church history without being struck by the\ndifficulty the church seems to have had to free herself from the\ntrammels of Judaism. We need not allude to St. Paul, and his Epistles\nto the Galatians and to the Romans, and his various contentions with\nfriend and foe for the freedom of the Gospel. The Epistle to the\nHebrews, with its thoroughness of dogmatic exposition and its grand\nstyle, was also addressed to the Judaizants. Nay, if Ebion himself\never had an existence, it is more than probable that he was teaching\nat Jerusalem about the very time at which the Epistle seems to have\nbeen written and sent, if sent, to the Christian Jews of that city. It\nis certain, however, that Alexandria was one of the very earliest of\nthe churches which shook itself free, in a marked manner, from the\ntraditions of the law. The cosmopolitan spirit of the great city was a\npowerful natural auxiliary in a development which was substantially\nbrought about by the Holy Ghost and the pastors of the patriarchal\nsee. The Hebrew element hardly ever had such a footing at Alexandria\nas it had at Antioch. We can see in the writing of Justin Martyr,\n(_circa_ 160,) whose wide experience of all the churches makes his\ntestimony especially valuable, a. picture of Christianity, young and\nexuberant, with its face joyously set to its destined career, and with\nthe swathing-bands of the synagogue lying neglected behind it. Justin\nhad an {493} Alexandrian training, and among his many-sided gifts\nshone pre-eminent that intellectual culture which was the most\neffectual of the human weapons that beat off the spirit of Judaism.\nAnd in Clement himself there is no trace of any narrow formalism, but,\non the contrary, a grand, world-embracing charity, that can recognize\nthe work of the Divine Logos in all the manifold varieties of human\nwisdom and human beauty. So that long before the time that Origen\nsucceeded his master, the Alexandrian church was free from all\nsuspicion of clinging to what St. Paul calls the \"yoke of bondage;\"\nand knew no distinction of Jew or Greek. But the party that had\ntroubled the Apostle, and spread itself through the churches almost as\nsoon as the churches were founded, was by no means extinct, even at\nAlexandria. Since the destruction of Jerusalem, the Jews had become\nscattered all over the empire. The great towns, such as Antioch,\nCaesarea, and Alexandria, each contained a strong Jewish community. At\nAlexandria they were numerous enough to have a quarter to themselves.\nNow, it is not too much to say that many so-called Jews and Christians\nin such a city were neither Jews nor Christians, but Ebionites; that\nis, they acknowledged the divine mission of Christ, which destroyed\ntheir genuine Judaism, but denied his divinity, which was still more\nfatal to their Christianity. The consequences of such a state of\nthings to the interpretation of Scripture are manifest. The law was\nstill good and binding. Jerusalem was still the holy city, the chosen\nof God, and the spiritual and temporal capital of the world. St. Paul\nwas denounced as one who admitted heathen innovations and destroyed\nthe word of God. Everything in holy Scripture, that is, in the Old\nTestament and in the scanty excerpts from the New, which they\nadmitted, was to be understood in a rigorously literal sense; and the\n\"Clementines,\" once falsely attributed to St. Clement of Rome, but now\nconsidered to belong to the second century, and to be the work of an\nEbionite, are the only writings of the period in which the allegorical\nsense is totally and peremptorily denied. Ebionism was not very\nconsistent with itself, and the Ebionites of St. Jerome's time would\nhardly have saluted their sterner brethren of the apostolic age; but\nthe name may always be truly taken to typify those whose views led\nthem to hold to the \"carnal letter\" of the Old Testament. They carried\nthe old Jewish exclusiveness into Christianity. They considered the\nhistorical parts of the Scripture to have been written merely because\ntheir own history was so important in God's sight that he thought it\nright to preserve its minutest record. The prophecies were only meant\nto glorify, to warn, or to terrify themselves, and had no message for\nthe Gentiles. Even the parables and figures that occurred in the\nimagery of the inspired writer were dragged down to the most absurd\nand literal significations. The adherents of Ebionism were neither few\nnor silent in the time of Origen.\n\nBut if the Ebionite party in Alexandria, and in the Church generally,\nwas strong and stirring, there was a party not less important,\nperhaps, who, in their zeal for the freedom of Christianity against\nthe bonds of Judaism, were in danger of going quite as far wrong in a\ndifferent direction. It is always the case in a reaction, that the\nreturning force finds it difficult to stop at its due mark. So it had\nbeen with the reaction against the Ebionites, and especially at\nAlexandria. There was a body of advanced Christians who did not\ncontent themselves with not observing the law, but went on to\ndepreciate it. It was not enough for them to see the Old Testament\nfulfilled by Jesus Christ, but they must needs show that it never had\nmuch claim to be even a preparation and a type. It was full of\nfrivolous details, useless records, and absurd narrations. {494} Who\ncared for the _minutiae_ about Pharaoh's butler, Joseph's coat, or\nTobias's dog? Of what importance to the world were the marchings and\ncounter-marchings, the stupid obstinacy and the unsavory morality of a\nfew thousand Hebrews? Who was interested to hear how their prophets\nscolded them, or their enemies destroyed them, or their kings\ntyrannized over them? How could it edify Christians to know the number\nand color of the skins of the tabernacles or the names of the masons\nand blacksmiths that built the Temple, or the fact that the Jewish\npeople considerably varied their carnal piety by intervals of still\nmore carnal crime and idolatry? The state of things represented by the\nOld Testament had passed away, and they were of no interest save as\nancient history; and therefore, it was absurd to treasure up the\nPentateuch and the Prophets as if they were anything more, and not\nrather much less, than the rhapsodies of Homer and the travels of\nHerodotus. In fact--and to this conclusion a considerable party came\nbefore long--the Old Testament was certainly not divine at all; at any\nrate, it was not the work of the Father of the Lord Jesus, but of some\nother principle. And here the Gnostic interest was at hand with an\nopportune idea. Who _could_ have written the Old Testament but the\nDemiurge? That primary offshoot of the Divinity, just, but not good,\n(this was their distinction,) can never have been more worthily\nemployed than in concocting a series of writings in which there was\nsome skill, some justice, and very little goodness. The Demiurge was\ncertainly a handy suggestion, and the consigning of the Old Testament\nto his workmanship made all commentary thereon compressive into a very\nbrief space. Away with it all, for a farrago of nonsense, lies, and\nnuisances!\n\nOf course, neither of these parties, when extremely developed, could\nlay any claim to Christianity. But the world of that day had in it\nEbionites and Gnostics of every degree and every changing hue of\nerror. They were not unrepresented in the very bosom of the Church.\nPious Christians might be found who, strong in filial feeling to their\nJewish great-grandfathers, would see in the records of the old\ncovenant nothing but a most interesting family history, with\ndelightfully long pedigrees and a great deal of strong language about\nthe glory and dignity of the descendants of Israel. On the other hand,\nequally pious Christians, and among them a great majority, perhaps, of\nthe Gentile converts, would consider it an extravagant compliment to\nread in the house of God the sayings and doings of such a very\nunworthy set of people as the Hebrews. And the remarkable fact would\nbe, that both these sets of worthy Christians would begin with the\nsame fundamental error, though arriving at precisely opposite\nconclusions. That the Old Testament had a literal meaning, _and no\nother_ was the starting-point of both Ebionite and Gnostic The former\nconcluded, \"therefore let us honor it, for we are a divine race;\" the\nlatter, \"therefore let us reject it, for what are the Jews to us?\"\n\nIt would not require many sentences to prove, if our object in these\nnotes were proof of any sort, that Origen's leading idea in his\nScripture exposition is to look for the mystical sense. His very name\nis a synonym for allegory, and he is perhaps as often blamed for it as\npraised. But even blame, when outspoken and honest, is better than\nfeeble excuse; and and unfortunately not a few of the great\nAlexandrian's critics have undertaken to excuse him for having such a\nleaning to allegory. The Neo-Platonists, they say, dealt largely in\nmyths, and allegorized everything; somebody allegorized Homer just\nabout that time. Now Origen was a Platonist. We might answer, that\nOrigen was above all a Christian, and knew but very little of Plato\ntill he was thirty years old; and that the Greek allegories {495} were\ninvented by a more decorous generation for the purpose of veiling the\ngrossness of the popular mythology; whereas the Christian allegory, as\nintroduced by St Paul, or indeed by our Blessed Saviour, was a\nspiritual and mysterious application of real facts. Others, again,\noffer the excuse that Philo had allegorized very much, and Origen\nadmired Philo. This is saying that allegory was very usual at\nAlexandria, as we have said ourselves when speaking of St. Clement.\nBut it is not saying why allegory was kept up so warmly in the school\nof the Catechisms, or what was the radical cause that made its being\nkept up there a necessity for the well-being of the Church. This we\nhave endeavored to state in the foregoing remarks.\n\nWhen Origen, then, announces his grand principle of Scripture\ncommentary, in the fourth book of the De Principiis, we may be excused\nif we see in it the statement of an important canon, whereby to\nunderstand much that he has written. He says, \"Wherefore, to those who\nare convinced that the sacred books are not the utterances of man, but\nwere written and made over to us by the inspiration of the Holy Ghost,\nby the will of God the Father of all through Jesus Christ, we will\nendeavor to point out how they are to read them, keeping the rules of\nthe divine and apostolic Church of Jesus Christ.\" This is the key-note\nof all his exposition, and derives its significance from the state of\nopinions among those for whom he wrote; and a dispassionate\napplication of it to such passages as seem questionable or gratuitous\nin his writings, will explain many a difficulty, and show how clearly\nhe apprehended the work he had to do. If the Old Testament be really\nthe word of the Holy Ghost, as, he says, all true Christians believe,\nthen nothing in it can be trivial, nothing useless, nothing false.\nThis he insists upon over and over again. And, descending more to\nparticulars, he states these three celebrated rules of interpretation,\nwhich may be called, with their development, his contribution to\nScripture exposition. They are so plainly aimed at Ebionites and\nGnostics, that we need merely to state them to show the connection.\n\nHis first rule regards the old Law. The Law, he says, being abrogated\nby Jesus Christ, the precepts and ordinances that are purely legal are\nno longer to be taken and acted up to literally, but only in their\nmystical sense. This seems rudimentary and evident nowadays; but at\nthat period it greatly needed to be clearly stated and enforced.\n\nHis second rule is about the history and prophecy relating to Jew or\nGentile that is found in the Old Testament. The Ebionite who kissed\nthe Pentateuch, and the Gnostic who tore it up, were both foolish\nbecause both ignorant. These historic and prophetic details were\nundoubtedly true in their letter; but their chief use to the Christian\nChurch, and the main object the Holy Spirit had in giving them to us,\nwas the mystical meaning that lies hidden under the letter. Thus the\nearthly Pharaoh, the earthly Jerusalem, Babylon, or Egypt, are chiefly\nof importance to the Church from the fact that they are the allegories\nof heavenly truths.\n\nOrigen's third canon of scriptural exposition is this: \"Whatever in\nholy Scripture seems trivial, useless, or false,\" (the Gnostics could\nnot or would not see that parabolic narratives are most unjustly\ncalled false,) \"is by no means to be rejected, but its presence in the\ndivine record is to be explained by the fact that the divine Author\nhad a deeper and more important meaning in it than appears from the\nletter. Such portions, therefore, must be taken and applied in a\nspiritual and mystical sense, in which sense chiefly they were\ndictated by Almighty God.\"\n\nThese three rules look simple now; they were all-important and not so\nsimple then. It was by means of them, {496} and in the spirit which\nthey indicate, that the great catechist led his hearers by the hand\nthrough the flowery paths of God's word, and in his own easy, simple,\nearnest style, so different from that of the rhetoricians, showed them\nthe true use of the Old Testament. We hope it is not a fanciful idea,\nbut it has struck us that, the difference of circumstances considered,\nthere are few writers so like each other in their handling of holy\nScripture as Origen and St. John of the Cross. Both treat of deep\ntruths, and in a phraseology that sounds uncommon--the one because his\nhearers were intellectual Greeks, the other because he is professedly\ntreating of the very highest points of the spiritual life. Both use\nholy Scripture in a fashion that is absolutely startling to those who\nare accustomed to rationalistic Protestantism, or to what may be\ncalled the domestic wife-and-children interpretation of the\nEvangelicals. Both bring forward, in the most unhesitating manner, the\nmystic sense of the inspired words to prove or illustrate their point,\nand both mix up with their more abstruse disquisitions a large amount\nof practical matter in the very plainest words. From communion with\nboth of them we rise full of a new sense of the presence and nearness\nof the Spirit of God, and of reverence for the minutest details of his\nWord. Finally, both the Greek father and the Spanish mystic interpret\nthe ceremonial prescriptions, the history, the allusions to physical\nnature, and the incidents of domestic life that occur in the Old\nTestament, as if all these, however important in their letter, had a\nfar deeper and more interesting signification addressed to the\nspiritual sense of the spiritual Christian.\n\nTo illustrate Origen's principles of Scripture interpretation by\nextracts from his works would exceed our present limits, however\ninteresting and satisfactory the task might be. Neither have we space\nto notice his celebrated division of the meaning of the text into\nliteral, mystical, and moral, a division he was the first to insist\nupon formally. To answer the objections of critics against both his\nprinciples and his alleged practice would also be a distinct task of\ngreat length. We must content ourselves with having briefly sketched\nand indicated his spirit. There are grave theological controversies\ntoo, as is well known, connected with his name; and on these we have\nhad no thought of entering. The purpose of this and the preceding\narticles has not been dogmatical, but rather biographical. We have\nattempted to set forth on the one hand the personal character of this\ngreat man; on the other, the external circumstances by which that\ncharacter was influenced, and through which it exercised influence on\nothers.\n\n------\n\n{497}\n\n\nTranslated from the Spanish.\n\nPERICO THE SAD; OR, THE FAMILY OF ALVAREDA.\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nFollowing the curve formed by the ancient walls of Seville, encircling\nit as with a girdle of stone, leaving on the right the river and Las\nDelicias, we reach the gate of San Fernando. From this gate, in a\ndirect line across the plain, as far as the ridge of Buena Vista,\nextends a road which passes the rill upon a bridge of stone, and\nascends the steep side of the hill. To the right of the road are seen\nthe ruins of a chapel. At a bird's-eye view this road looks like an\narm which Seville extends toward the ruins as if to call attention to\nthem; for though small, and without a vestige of artistic merit, they\nform a religious and historic souvenir. They are an inheritance from\nthe great king, Fernando III., whose memory is so popular that he is\nadmired as a hero, venerated as a saint, and beloved as a king: thus\nrealizing, in one grand historic figure the ideal of the Spanish\npeople.\n\nHaving gained the summit, the road descends upon the opposite side\ninto a a little valley, through which runs a narrow stream, which has\nwashed its channel so clean that you will see in it only shining\npebbles and golden sand.\n\nFording this stream, the road touches on its right at a cheerful and\nhospitable little inn, and salutes on its left a Moorish castle seated\nso haughtily upon the height that it seems as though the ground had\nrisen solely to form a pedestal for it. This castle was given by Don\nPedro de Castilla to Do\u00f1a Maria de Padilla, whose name it retains. The\nestate and castle of Do\u00f1a Maria passed in time, as a pious donation,\nto the Cathedral of Seville, the chapter of which has, in our days,\nsold it to a private gentleman. The associations passed for nothing,\nsince a little while afterward, the withered, old, and furrowed Do\u00f1a\nMaria appeared clothed in the whitest of lime, and adorned with\nbrilliants of crystal.\n\nLet us follow the road which advances, opening its way through the\npalmettos and evergreens of some pasture-lands, until it enters the\nvillage of Dos-Hermanas,  [Footnote 85] situated in the midst of a\nsandy plain, two leagues from Seville.\n\n  [Footnote 85: Dos-Hermanas, two sisters. ]\n\nOne sees here neither river, nor lake, nor umbrageous trees, nor rural\nhouses with green blinds, nor arbors covered with twining plants, nor\npeacocks and Guinea fowls picking the green turf, nor grand avenues of\ntrees in straight lines, like slaves holding parasols, to provide a\nconstant shade for those who walk beneath. All these are wanting here.\nSad it is to confess it! All is common, rude, and inelegant, but\ninstead, one meets good and contented faces, which prove how little\nthose things are needed to make happiness. One sees, beside, flowers\nin the yards of the houses, and at their doors gay and healthy\nchildren, even more numerous than the flowers, and finds that sweet\npeace of the country, made up of silence and solitude, an atmosphere\nof Eden and the sky of paradise.\n\nThe village consists of houses of a single story, arranged in long,\nstraight, though not parallel streets, which open upon the large,\nsandy market-place, spread out like a yellow carpet before a fine\nchurch, which lifts its lofty tower, surmounted by a cross, like a\nsoldier elevating his standard.\n\n{498}\n\nBehind the church we shall find the oasis of this desert. Supported by\nthe rear wall of the edifice is a gate, opening into a wide and vast\ncourt, which leads to the chapel of Saint Anna, the patroness of the\nplace. Built against the side of the chapel is the small and humble\ndwelling of the custodian, who is both singer and sacristan of the\nchurch. In this enclosure we shall see century-old cypresses, thick\nfoliaged and sombre; the lilac, of stem so slight and rapid growth,\nlavishing leaves, flowers, and perfumes upon the wind, as if conscious\nthat its life is short; the orange, that grand seigneur, that favorite\nson of the soil of Andalusia, to whom it yields a life so sweet and\nlong. We shall see the vine, which, like a child, needs the help of\nman to thrive and rise, and which spreads its broad leaves as if to\ncaress the trellis that supports it. For it is certain that even\nplants have their individual characters from which we receive\ndifferent impressions. We can hardly see a cypress without sadness, a\nlilac without tenderness, an orange-tree without admiration. Does not\nthe lavender suggest the thought of a neat and peaceful interior; and\nthe rosemary, perfume of holy night, does it not awaken the wholesome\nand sacred thoughts of that season?\n\nTo the right and left of the place extend those interminable olive\nplantations, which form the principal branch of the agriculture of\nAndalusia. The trees being planted well apart from each other give a\ncheerful air to these groves, but the ground underneath, kept so level\nand free from other vegetation by the plough, renders them wearisomely\nmonotonous. At certain distances we encounter the groups of buildings\nwhich belong to the estates. These are constructed without taste or\nsymmetry, and we may go all round them without finding the front.\nThere is nothing imposing about these great masses, or structures,\nexcept the towers of their windmills, which rise above the olives as\nif to count them. The most of these estates belong to the aristocracy\nof Seville, but they are generally deserted because the ladies do not\nlike to live in the country, and are therefore as desolate and as\nempty as barns, so that in these out-of-the-way places, the silence is\nonly broken by the crowing of the cock, while he vigilantly guards his\nseraglio, or by the braying of some superannuated ass, that, turned\nout by the overseer to take his ease, tires of his solitude.\n\nAt the close of a beautiful day in January, in the year 1810, might\nhave been heard the fresh voice of a youth of some twenty years, who,\nwith his musket upon his shoulder, was walking with a firm but light\nstep along one of the footpaths which are traced through the olive\ngroves. His figure was straight, tall, and slight. His person, his\nair, his walk, had the ease, the grace, and the elegance which art\nendeavors to create, and which nature herself lavishes upon the\nAndalusians with generous hand. His head, covered with black curls, a\nmodel of the beautiful Spanish type, he carried erect and proudly. His\nlarge eyes were black and vivid; his look frank and full of\nintelligence. His well-formed upper lip, shortened with an expression\nof cheerful humor, showed his white and brilliant teeth. His whole\nperson breathed a superabundance of life, health, and strength. A\nsilver button fastened the snowy shirt at his brown throat. He wore a\nshort jacket of gray cloth, short trowsers, tied at the knee with\ncords and tassels of silk, and a yellow silk girdle passed several\ntimes around his waist. Leather shoes and gaiters of the same, finely\nstitched, encased his well-formed feet and legs. A wide-brimmed\nPortuguese hat, adorned with a velvet band and silk tassels, and\njauntily inclined toward the left side, completed the elegant\nAndalusian dress.\n\nThis youth, noted for his active disposition, and for his impulsive\nand daring character, was employed by the superintendent of one of the\nestates to act as guard during the olive gathering. He sang as he went\nalong:\n\n{499}\n\n  \"The way is short, my step is light,\n    I loiter not, nor do I weary;\n  The path seems downward--easy trod,\n    When up the hill I climb to Mary.\n\n  \"But long the road, and oh! how steep!\n    My lingering footsteps slow and weary;\n  The mountains seem before me piled\n    When down the hill I come from Mary.\"\n\nArriving at the paling which enclosed the plantation the guard sprang\nover it without stopping to look for the gate, and found himself in a\nroad face to face with another youth a little older than himself, who\nwas also going toward the village. He was dressed in the same manner,\nbut he was neither so tall nor so erect as the former.\n\nHis eyes were gray, and not so vivid, and his glance was more\ntranquil, his mouth was graver and his smile sweeter. Instead of a gun\nhe carried a spade upon his shoulder. An ass preceded him without\nbeing driven, and he was followed by an enormous dog, with short thick\nhair of a whitish yellow color, of the fine race of shepherd-dogs of\nEstremadura.\n\n\"Halloo! Is this you, Perico? God bless you!\" exclaimed the elegant\nguard.\n\n\"And you, too, Ventura, are you coming to take a rest?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Ventura, \"I come for supplies, and besides, it is eight\ndays--\"\n\n\"Since you saw my sister, Elvira,\" interrupted Perico with his sweet\nsmile. \"Very good, my friend, you are killing two birds with one\nstone.\"\n\n\"You keep still, Perico, and I will. He whose house has a glass roof\nshouldn't throw stones at his neighbor's,\" answered the guard.\n\n\"You are happy, Ventura,\" proceeded Perico with a sigh, \"for you can\nmarry when you like, without opposition from any one.\"\n\n\"And what!\" exclaimed Ventura, \"who or what can oppose your getting\nmarried?\"\n\n\"The will of my mother,\" replied Perico.\n\n\"What are you saying?\" asked Ventura, \"and why? What fault can she\nfind with Rita, who is young, good-looking, and comes of a good stock,\nsince she is own cousin to you?\"\n\n\"That is precisely the reason my mother alleges for not being in favor\nof it.\"\n\n\"An old woman's scruples! Does she wish to change the custom of the\nchurch, which permits it?\"\n\n\"My mother's scruples,\" replied Perico, \"are not religious ones. She\nsays that the union of such near relations is against nature, that the\nsame blood in both repels itself, and distaste is the result; that\nsooner or later evils, misfortunes and weariness follow and overtake\nthem, and she gives a hundred examples to prove it.\"\n\n\"Don't mind her,\" said Ventura; \"let her prophesy and sing evil like\nan owl. Mothers have always something against their sons' marrying.\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Perico gravely, \"no; without my mother's consent I will\nnever marry.\"\n\nThey walked along some instants in silence when Ventura said:\n\n\"The truth is, I am like the captain who embarked the passengers and\nremained on shore himself, or like the preacher who used to say, 'Do\nas I tell you and not as I do;' for, in fact, does not the will of my\nfather hold me, tied down like a lion with a woollen rope? Do you\nthink, Perico, that if it were not for my father, I would not now be\nin Utrera, where the regiment of volunteers is enlisting to go and\nfight the infamous traitors who steal across our frontier in the guise\nof friends, to make themselves masters of the country and put a\nforeign yoke upon our necks?\"\n\n\"I am of the same mind,\" said Perico, \"but how can I leave my mother\nand sister who have only me to look to? But remember, if my mother\nsets herself against my marrying, I'm not going to live so, and I\nshall go with the other young men.\"\n\n\"And you will do right,\" said Ventura with energy. \"As for me, the day\nthey least expect it, though they call me, I shall not answer, and you\nmay be sure, Perico, that on that day there will be a few less\nFrenchmen on the soil of Spain.\"\n\n{500}\n\n\"And Elvira?\" questioned Perico.\n\n\"She will do like others, wait for me--or weep for me.\"\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nThe house of the family of Perico was spacious and neatly whitewashed,\nboth without and within. On each side of the door, built against the\nwall, was a bench of mason work. In the entry hung a lantern before an\nimage of our Lord which was fixed upon the inner door, according to\nthe Catholic custom, which requires that a religious thought shall\nprecede everything, and puts all things under some holy patronage. In\nthe midst of the spacious court-yard an enormous orange-tree rose\nluxuriantly upon its smooth and robust trunk. Its base was shielded by\na wooden frame. For numberless generations this beautiful tree had\nbeen a source of enjoyment to this family. The deceased Juan Alvareda,\nthe father of Perico, claimed upon tradition, that its existence dated\nas far back as the expulsion of the Moors, when, according to his\nassertion, an Alvareda, a soldier of the royal saint, Fernando, had\nplanted it, and when the parish priest, who was his wife's brother,\nwould jest him upon the antiquity, and uninterrupted succession of his\nlineage, or make light of it, he always answered, without being\ndisturbed or vacillating for an instant in his conviction, that all\nthe lineages of the world were ancient, and that, though the direct\nline or succession of the rich might often be extinguished, such a\nthing never happened with the poor.\n\nThe women of the family made of the leaves of the orange-tree tonics\nfor the stomach and soothing preparations for the nerves. The young\ngirls adorned themselves with its flowers and made confections of\nthem. The children regaled their palate and refreshed their blood with\nits fruit. The birds had their quarters-general among its leaves, and\nsung to it a thousand cheerful songs, while its possessors, who had\ngrown up under its shelter, watered it unweariedly in summer-time and\nin winter cut away its withered twigs, as one pulls the gray hairs\nfrom the head of the father he would never see grow old.\n\nOn opposite sides of the entry were two suites of rooms, or, according\nto the expression of the province, _partidos_, both alike; consisting,\neach, of a parlor having two small windows with gratings looking\ntoward the street, and two bedrooms forming an angle with the parlor,\nand receiving light from the yard. At the end of the yard was a door\nwhich opened into a large enclosure in which were the kitchen,\nwash-house, and stables, and which paraded in its centre a large\nfig-tree of so little pretension and self-esteem that it yielded\nitself without complaint to the nightly roost of the hens, never\nhaving bent its boughs under the inconvenient weight, even to play\nthem a trick by way of carnival.\n\nThe master of the house had been dead three years. When he felt his\nend approaching, he called his son to him and said: \"In your care I\nleave your mother and sister; be guided by the one and watch over the\nother. Live always in the holy fear of God, and think often of death,\nso that you may see his approach without either surprise or fear.\nRemember my end, that you may not dread your own. All the Alvaredas\nhave been honest men; in your veins flows the same Spanish blood and\nin your heart exist the same Catholic principles that made them such.\nBe like them, and you will live happily and die in peace!\"\n\nAnna, his widow, was a woman distinguished among her class, and she\nwould have been so in a more elevated one. Carefully brought up by her\nbrother the priest, her understanding was cultivated, her character\ngrave, her manners dignified, and her virtue instinctive. These\nmerits, united with {501} her easy circumstances, gave her a real\nsuperiority over those who surrounded her, which she accepted without\nmisusing. Her son Perico, submissive, modest, and industrious, had\nbeen her consolation, his love for his cousin Rita being the only\ndisquietude he had ever caused her.\n\nHer daughter Elvira, who was three years younger than Perico, was a\nmalva in gentleness, a violet in modesty and a lily in purity.\nIll-health in childhood had given to her features, which closely\nresembled those of her brother, a delicacy, and an expression of calm\nresignation, which lent to her a singular attraction. From her infancy\nshe had clung to Ventura, the proud and handsome son of Uncle Pedro,\nwho had been the friend and gossip of the late Alvareda.\n\nThe wife of Pedro died in giving birth to a daughter, who from her\ninfancy had been confided to the care of her mother's sister, a\nreligious of Alcala. Separated thus from his daughter, Pedro had\nconcentrated all his affection upon his son, and with pride and\nsatisfaction had seen him become the handsomest, the bravest, and the\nmost gallant, of all the youths of the place.\n\nDirectly in front of the house of the Alvaredas stood the small\ncottage of Maria, the mother of Rita. Maria was the widow of Anna's\nbrother, who had been superintendent of the neighboring _hacienda_ of\nQuintos.\n\nThis woman was so good, so without gall, so candid and simple, that\nshe had never possessed enough force and energy to subdue the decided,\nhaughty, and imperious character which her daughter had manifested\nfrom her childhood, and these evil dispositions had therefore\ndeveloped themselves without restraint. She was violent-tempered,\nfickle, and cold-hearted. Her face, extraordinarily beautiful,\nseductively expressive, piquant, lively, smiling, and mischievous,\nformed a perfect contrast to that of her cousin Elvira.\n\nThe one might have been compared to a fresh rose armed with its\nthorns; the other to one of those roses of passion, which lift above\ntheir pale leaves a crown of thorns in token of endurance, while they\nhide in the depths of their calix the sweetest honey.\n\nIn the delineation and classification of the members which composed\nthis family and those connected with them, we must not omit Melampo,\nthe dog we have already seen, lazily following Perico on his return\nhome. We must give him his place, for not all dogs are equal, even in\nthe eye of the law. Melampo was a grave and honorable dog, without\npretension, even to being a Hercules or an Alcides among his race,\nnotwithstanding his enormous strength. He seldom barked, and never\nwithout good cause. He was sober and in nothing gluttonous. He never\ncaressed his masters, but never, upon any pretext, separated himself\nfrom them. He had never, in all his life, bitten any person, and he\ndespised above all things the attacks of those curs that with stupid\nhostility barked at his heels. But Melampo had killed six foxes and\nthree wolves; and one day had thrown himself upon a bull which was\npursuing his master, and obliged him to stop by seizing him by the\near, as one might treat a bad child. With such certificates of\nservice, Melampo slept in the sun upon his laurels.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nWhen the two youths arrived, they found Elvira and Rita leaning each\nagainst a side of the doorway, wrapped in their mantles of yellow\ncloth, bordered with black velvet ribbon, such as were worn then by\nthe women of the country in place of the large shawls which they use\nnowadays. They covered the lower part of the face, allowing only the\nforehead and eyes to be seen. Having wished them good evening, Perico\nsaid to his sister:\n\n{502}\n\n\"Elvira, I warn you that this bird wants to fly; fasten the cage well\n. . . He is beside himself to go and fight these _gabachos_  [Footnote\n86] who are trying to pass through here like Pedro through his house.\"\n\n  [Footnote 86: _Gabachos_, a term of contempt for Frenchmen.]\n\n\"For they say,\" added Ventura, \"that they are approaching Seville; and\nmust we stand looking on with our arms crossed, without so much as\nsaying this mouth is my own?\"\n\n\"Ah goodness!\" exclaimed Elvira, \"I hope in God that this may not\nhappen! Do not even speak of it! O my protectress Saint Anna! I offer\nthee what I prize so much, my hair, which I will tie up in a tress\nwith an azure ribbon and hang upon thy altar, if thou wilt save us\nfrom this.\"\n\n\"And I,\" said Rita, \"will offer the Saint two pots of pinks to adorn\nher chapel, if it falls out so that you take yourselves off in haste\nand do not come back soon.\"\n\n\"Don't say that, even in jest,\" exclaimed Elvira, distressed.\n\n\"Never mind, let her say it; the Saint is sure to prefer the beautiful\ntress of your hair to her pinks,\" observed Ventura.\n\nAt this moment the good widow, Maria, approached. She was older than\nher sister-in-law, and although hardly sixty years old, was so small\nand thin that she appeared much older.\n\n\"Children,\" she cried, \"the night is falling, what are you doing out\nhere, freezing yourselves?\"\n\n\"How freezing ourselves?\" answered Ventura, unbuttoning his collar,\n\"I'm too warm, the cold is in your bones, Aunt Maria.\"\n\n\"Do not play with your health, my son, nor trust in your youth, for\nDeath does not look at the record of baptism. This north wind cuts\nlike a knife, and you are more likely to get a consumption by waiting\nhere than an inheritance from the Indies.\"\n\nSo saying she passed into the house, all following her, except\nVentura, who went to discharge his commissions.\n\nThey found Anna seated before the brasier, the point of reunion round\nwhich families gather m winter. The great copper frying-pan shone like\ngold upon its low wooden bench. The floor of the spacious room was\ncovered with mattings of straw and hemp, around it were arranged rude\nwooden chairs, high-backed and low-seated, a low pine table upon which\nburned a large metal lamp, and a leathern arm-chair, like those seen\nin the barbers' shops of the region, completed the simple furniture of\nthe room. In the alcove were seen a very high bed, over which was\nspread a white counterpane with well starched ruffles; a very large\ncedar chest, with supports underneath to preserve it from the dampness\nof the floor; a small table of the same wood, upon which, in its case\nof mahogany and glass, was a beautiful image of \"Our Lady of Sorrows,\"\nsome pious offerings, and the \"Mystic Garland; or, Lives of the\nSaints,\" by Father Baltasar Bosch Centellas.\n\nAs soon as they were all reunited, including Pedro, the neighbor and\nfriend of Anna, the latter began to recite the rosary. When the\nprayers were finished Anna took up her distaff to spin, Elvira applied\nherself to her knitting, and Pedro, who occupied the great chair,\nemployed himself in the preparation of a cigarette; Perico in roasting\nchestnuts and acorns, which, when they were done, he gave to Rita, who\nate them.\n\n\"Did you ever!\" said Perico, \"how the rain holds off! The earth has\nturned to stone and the sky to brass. Last year at this time it had\nrained so much that the ground could not be seen for the grass that\ncovered it.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" said Uncle Pedro, \"and now the flocks are perishing with\nhunger, notwithstanding that last year their table was so well\nspread.\"\n\n\"It appears to me,\" added Elvira, in her sweet voice, \"that it is\ngoing to rain soon. The river wore its black frown to-day, and the old\npeople say that these frowns are sleeping tempests, which, when the\nwinds awaken them, drench the world.'\"\n\n{503}\n\n\"Of course it is going to rain,\" said Rita; \"I saw to-night the star\nof the waters which the storm brings for a lantern.\"\n\n\"It is a-going to rain,\" confirmed Maria, aroused from her dose by the\nabrupt and clear voice of her daughter; \"my rheumatic pains announce\nit to me. Indeed, wind and rain are the fruits of the season, and they\nare needed. But I am sorry for the poor herdsmen who pass such nights\nin the inn of the stars.\"\n\n\"Don't trouble yourself about them, Maria,\" said the jovial Uncle\nPedro, who had always a saying, a proverb, a story, or a something, to\nbring in support of whatever he asserted. \"In this world habit is\neverything, and that which seems disagreeable to one, another finds\nquite to his liking; custom makes all level as the sea, and gilds all\nlike the sun. There was once a shepherd that got married to a girl as\nlovely as a rose, and as chance would have it, on the very night of\nthe wedding there arose such a tempest as if all the imps from beneath\nhad been abroad with thunder and lightning, hurricane and flood. It\nwas too much for the shepherd; he abandoned his bride and rushed to\nthe window exclaiming as he dashed it open, 'O blessed night I why am\nI not out to enjoy thee!'\"\n\n\"The bride might well be jealous of such a rival,\" said Rita, bursting\ninto a loud laugh.\n\nThe clock struck nine, they recited the \"animas,\" and soon afterward\nseparated.\n\nWhen the mother and her children were left alone Elvira spread a clean\ncloth upon the table and placed upon it a dish of salad. Anna and her\ndaughter began to sup, but Perico remained seated with his head\ninclined over the brasier, absently stirring with the shovel the few\ncoals which still glowed among the ashes.\n\n\"Are you not going to eat your supper, Perico?\" said his sister,\nextending toward him the fine white bread which she herself had\nkneaded.\n\n\"I am not hungry,\" he answered, without lifting his head.\n\n\"Are you sick, my son?\" asked Anna.\n\n\"No, mother,\" he replied.\n\nThe supper was finished in silence, and when Elvira had gone out,\ncarrying the plates, Perico abruptly said to his mother:\n\n\"Mother, I am going to Utrera tomorrow to enlist with the loyal\nSpanish who are preparing to defend the country.\"\n\nAnna was thunderstruck. Accustomed to the docile obedience of her son,\nwho had never failed to keep his word, she said to him:\n\n\"To the war? That is to say that you are going to abandon us. But it\ncannot be! You must not do it! You ought not to leave your mother and\nsister, and I will not give my consent.\"\n\n\"Mother,\" said the young man, exasperated, \"it is seen that you always\nhave something to oppose to my desires; you have subjected my will,\nand now you wish to fetter my arm; but mother,\" he proceeded, growing\nexcited, and impelled by the two greatest motives which can rule a\nman--patriotism in all its purity, and love in all its ardor, \"mother,\nI am twenty-two years old, and I have besides strength enough and will\nenough, to break away if you force me to it.\"\n\nAnna, as much astonished as terrified, clapped her cold and trembling\nhands in agony, exclaiming:\n\n\"What! is there no alternative between a marriage which will make you\nwretched and the war which will cost you your life?\"\n\n\"None, mother,\" said Perico, drawn out of his natural character, and\nhardened by the dread that he should yield in the contest now fairly\nentered upon. \"Either I remain to marry, or I go to fulfil the duty of\nevery young Spaniard.\"\n\n\"Marry, then,\" said the mother in a grave voice. \"Between two\nmisfortunes I choose the least bitter; but remember, Perico, what your\nmother tells you to-day; Rita is vain and light {504} an indifferent\nChristian, and an ungrateful daughter. A bad daughter makes a bad\nwife--your blood and hers will repel each other. You will remember\nwhat your mother now says, but it will be too late.\"\n\nSaying these words, the noble woman rose and went into her room to\nhide from her son the tears that choked her voice.\n\nPerico, who regarded his mother with as much tenderness as veneration,\nmade a movement as if to retain her. He would have spoken, but his\ntimidity and the excitement of his mind confused his faculties. He\nfound no words, and after a moment of indecision rose suddenly, passed\nhis hand across his damp forehead, and went out.\n\nDuring this time Rita, who waited in vain at the grating of her window\nfor Perico, was impatient and uneasy.\n\n\"I won't put up with this!\" she said at last, spitefully, closing the\nwooden shutter. \"You may come now, but upon my life, you shall wait\nlonger than I have.\" At this instant a stone rolled against the foot\nof the wall, This was the signal agreed upon between her and Perico to\nannounce his arrival.\n\n\"Now you may roll all the stones of Dos-Hermanas and I shall not open\nthe shutter,\" said Rita to herself. \"Perhaps you think you have me at\nyour will and pleasure, like your old donkey, but this will never do,\nmy son.\"\n\nAnother stone came rolling, and bounded back from the wall with more\nviolence than Perico was accustomed to use.\n\n\"Ho!\" said Rita, \"he appears to be in a hurry; it is well to let him\nknow that waiting has not the flavor of caramels; I'm only sorry it\ndoesn't rain pitchforks.\" But, after a moment of reflection, she\nadded, \"If we quarrel, the one to bathe in rose water will be my\nhypocrite of an aunt; afterward Uncle Pedro's daughter, Saint Marcela,\nthat the old fox keeps shut up in the convent, like a sardine in\npickle, will be brought out to dance, so that she may trap his godson\nPerico on the first opportunity. But they shall not see themselves in\nthat glass, for to frustrate their plans--\"\n\nAnd suddenly opening the window, she finished the sentence:\n\n\"I am here.\" Addressing herself to Perico, she continued with\nasperity, \"Look here, are you determined to throw down the wall? Why\ndid you wake me? When I am kept waiting I fall asleep, and when I am\nasleep I do not thank anyone for disturbing me; so go back by the way\nyou came, or by another, it's all the same to me.\" And she made a\nmotion as if to shut the blind.\n\n\"Rita, Rita!\" exclaimed Perico, \"I have spoken to my mother.\"\n\n\"You!\" said Rita, opening again the half-shut blind. \"You don't say\nit! Why, this is another miracle like that of Balaam's ass! and what\nanswer did this '_mater_' not '_amabilis_' give you?\"\n\n\"She says, yes, that I may marry,\" answered Perico delightedly.\n\n\"Says yes!\" mocked Rita. \"Saint Quilindon help me! How often a key can\nturn! But it belongs to the wise to change their minds. Go along with\nyou! To-morrow I will come over and condole with her. Perico, what if,\nfollowing the good example of your mother, as mine exhorts me to, I\nalso should change my mind and now say no?\"\n\n\"Rita, Rita!\" cried Perico, beside himself with joy, \"you are going to\nbe my wife.\"\n\n\"That remains to be seen,\" she responded; \"the idea is not like a\nsilver dollar, which, the oftener you turn it, the prettier it looks.\"\n\nWith these and other absurdities Rita blotted entirely from the mind\nof Perico, the solemn impression his mother's words had left there.\n\n\n\n{505}\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nOn the following morning Anna was sitting alone, sad and depressed,\nwhen Uncle Pedro entered. \"Neighbor,\" he said, \"here I am, because I\nhave come.\"\n\n\"May it be for good, neighbor?\"\n\n\"But I have come because I have something to talk to you about.\"\n\n\"Talk on, neighbor, and the more the better.\"\n\n\"You must know, then, that my wind-mill of a Ventura has taken it into\nhis head to go and get his hide pierced by those French savages,\nconfound them!\"\n\n\"Gently, gently, neighbor; kill an enemy in fair fight, but do not\ncurse him. Perico also was thinking of the same thing. It is bitter,\nold friend, it is cruel for us, but it is natural.\"\n\n\"I do not say the contrary, my friend. _Bad luck to the traitors!_\nbut, in short, he is my only son, and I would not lose him; no, not\nfor all Spain. I have found but one means to keep him at home and am\ncome to tell you what that is.\"\n\nAs he spoke, Pedro was seating himself comfortably in the great\nleathern arm-chair, gathering up the ends of his cloak, approaching\nhis feet to the fire, and settling himself at his ease generally.\n\n\"Neighbor,\" he said, at last, with that profusion of synonymous\nphrases in which great talkers indulge, \"I abhor preambles, which only\nserve to waste the breath. Things ought to be arranged with few words,\nand those to the point. One side or the other, and this is mine, that\nwhich can be said in five minutes, why waste an hour talking about it?\nthat which can be done to-day, why leave it until tomorrow? Of all\nroads the shortest is the best, but to come to the point, for I\nneither like circumlocution nor--\"\n\n\"Really,\" said Anna, interrupting him, \"you give occasion to suppose\nthe contrary. _Do_ come to the point, for you have kept me in suspense\never since you entered.\"\n\n\"Patience, patience! I can't fire myself off like a musket; by talking\nfolks come to an understanding. What is there to hurry us? Good\ngracious! neighbor, if you are not all fire and tow, and as sudden as\na flash. I was saying, Mrs. Gunpowder, that I had found only one\nmethod of keeping this skyrocket of mine from going off; and that is\nto take a step which sooner or later I should have taken; in a word,\nand to end the matter, I have come to ask of you your Elvira for my\nVentura, hoping the son I offer you may be as much to your liking as\nthe daughter I ask you for is to mine.\"\n\nAnna did not attempt to hide the satisfaction she felt at the prospect\nof a union so suitable and equal in every respect, a union that had\nbeen foreseen by the parents, and was as much desired by them as by\ntheir children. Therefore, like the sensible people they were, they\nbegan at once to discuss the conditions of the contract.\n\n\"Neighbor,\" said Anna, \"you know what we have as well as I do. The\nonly question is how to divide it. This house has always gone to the\noldest son; the vineyard belongs to Perico by right, because he has\nimproved it, and has newly planted the greater part of it; my cows I\ngive to him, because he has me to support while I live. The ass he\nneeds.\"\n\n\"Would you tell me, companion of my sins,\" interrupted Pedro, \"what\nremains to Elvira? for according to these dispositions, it appears to\nme she is coming from your hands as our mother Eve, may she rest in\npeace, came from those of the Creator.\"\n\n\"Elvira will have the olive-yard,\" answered Anna.\n\n\"That _is_ the patrimony of a princess,\" exclaimed Uncle Pedro. \"Go\nalong! an olive-yard the size of a pocket handkerchief, which hardly\nyields oil enough for the lamp of the blessed sacrament.\"\n\n\"Twenty years ago it yielded _more than_ a hundred _arrobos_,\"\n[Footnote 87] observed Anna.\n\n  [Footnote 87: _Arroba_ of liquids, 32 pints; of solids, 29 pounds of\n  16 ounces to the pound.]\n\n\"Neighbor,\" said Pedro, \"that which was and is not, is the same as if\nit had never been; twenty years ago the girls were dying for me.\"\n\n{506}\n\n\"Forty years ago, you mean,\" Anna remarked.\n\n\"How very exact you are, neighbor,\" pursued Pedro. \"Let us come to the\npoint. Trees are as scarce in that yard as hairs on the head of Saint\nPeter, and those which remain are so dry that they look like church\ncandlesticks.\"\n\n\"It is plain, my friend, that you have not seen them in a long time.\nSince Perico has known that the oliveyard was to be his sister's, the\ntrees have been taken care of like rose-bushes in pots; each tree\nwould shade a parade ground. Elvira will have, besides, the fields\nthat skirt and that are watered by the brook which runs through them.\"\n\n\"And that are so parched and thirsty, you will take notice, because\nthe brook is one half the year dry and the other half without water,\"\nadded Pedro. \"Let us understand each other. I like bread, bread, and\nwine, wine; neither bran in the one nor water in the other. Those\nfields, neighbor, are poor and unproductive; of no use, except for the\nasses to wallow in. But, since no one overhears us, did you not sell\nlast year two fat hogs, each weighing fifteen _arrobas_, at a shilling\na pound--calculate it, a hundred bushels of barley at fifteen\nshillings a bushel, a hundred skins of wine, and fifty of vinegar? Now\nthis cat which you must have, shut up in a chest, without room to\nbreathe, what better occasion could there be to give it the air? When\nhis majesty, Charles V., came to Jerez (so the story goes) they\noffered him a rich wine. But such a wine! rather better than that of\nyour grace's vineyard, and his majesty appears to have been a judge,\nfor he praised the wine greatly. 'Sir,' said the Alcalde, so puffed up\nthat his skin could scarce contain him, for you must know that the\npeople of Jerez are more vain of their wine than I am of my son,\n'permit me to inform your majesty that we have a wine even better than\nthat.' 'Yes?' said the king; 'keep it then for a better occasion;' and\nthis, neighbor, is the letter I write to you; it is for you to make\nthe application.\"\n\n\"Which is,\" said Anna, \"that all this money, and somewhat more, I have\nsaved and put together for the daughter of my heart.\"\n\n\"That's what I call talking,\" exclaimed Pedro. \"Upon my word,\nneighbor, you are worth a Peru. As for my Ventura, all I have is his,\nsince Marcela wishes to take the veil, and you may be sure that he is\nnot shirtless. He will have my house.\"\n\n\"A mere crib,\" said Anna.\n\n\"My asses.\"\n\n\"They are old\"\n\n\"My goats.\"\n\n\"That do not make up to you in milk, cheeses, and kids, what they cost\nyou in fines, they are so vicious.\"\n\n\"And my orchard,\" continued Pedro, without replying to the raillery\nwith which Anna revenged herself for his jests.\n\nIn such discussion they arranged the preliminaries of the contract,\nremaining afterward, as they were before, the best friends in the\nworld.\n\nWhen Pedro had gone, Anna put on her woollen mantle, and repressing\nher grief, and hiding the extreme repugnance she felt, went to the\nhouse of her sister-in-law.\n\nMaria, who professed for Anna, who was very kind to her, as much love\nas gratitude, and as much respect as veneration, received her with\nloquacious pleasure.\n\n\"It does one's eyes good to see you in this house,\" she exclaimed, as\nAnna entered. \"What good thought has brought you, sister?\"\n\nAnd she hastened to place a chair for her guest.\n\nAnna sat down, and made known the object of her visit.\n\nThe proposition so filled the poor woman with joy, that she could not\nfind words to express herself.\n\n\"O my sister!\" she exclaimed in broken sentences, \"what good fortune!\nPerico! son of my heart! It is to Saint Antonio that I owe this good\n{507} fortune! And you, Anna, are you satisfied? Look here, sister:\nRita, although forward, is really a good-hearted girl. She is wilful,\nbut that is my fault. If I had brought her up as well as you have\nElvira, she would be different. She is giddy, but you will see (with\nyears and married life) how steady she will become. All these things\nare the effects of my spoiling and of her youth. Rita! Rita!\" she\ncried, \"come, make haste: here is your aunt--what do I say? your\nmother, she wishes to become, by marrying you to Perico.\"\n\nRita entered with the self-possession of a banker, and the composure\nof a diplomatist.\n\n\"What do you say, daughter?\" cried the delighted mother.\n\n\"That I knew it,\" replied Rita.\n\n\"Go along,\" said the mother in an undertone, \"if you are not as calm\nas if you were used to it, and cooler than a fresh lettuce.\"\n\n\"And what would you have me do--dance a fandango, because I am going\nto be married?\" answered Rita, raising her voice.\n\nAnna rose and went out. Maria, extremely mortified by her daughter's\nrudeness, went with her sister-in-law as far as the street, lavishing\nupon her a thousand expressions of endearment and gratitude.\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nPreparations were being made for the weddings. That of Elvira and\nVentura was to take place before that of Rita and Perico, as the\nformer had not to wait for a dispensation from Rome.\n\nPedro wished his daughter Marcela to assist at her brother's marriage,\nbefore commencing her novitiate, and determined to go to Alcal\u00e1 to\nbring her. Maria had a debt to collect there, and needing all her\nfunds for the expected event, took advantage of her old friend's going\nto make the trip in company.\n\nThe ancient pair, mounted upon their respective asses, set out on\ntheir journey, crossing themselves, and Maria, the Christian soul,\nmaking a prayer to the holy archangel, Saint Raphael, patron of all\ntravellers, from Tobias down to herself.\n\nMaria, comfortably seated upon the the cushions of her saddle, dressed\nin a wide chintz skirt, which was plaited at the waist, a jacket of\nblack woollen cloth, of which the closely fitting sleeves were\nfastened at the wrist by a row of silver buttons, and round her neck,\na white muslin kerchief, pinned down at the back to keep it from\ntouching her hair, looked like a burlesque, anticipated, upon the mode\nwhich was to rule among the fashionables thirty years later. A little\nshawl covered her head, the ends being tied under her chin.\n\nPedro wore, with some slight difference, the dress we have already\ndescribed in speaking of his son. The cloth was coarser, the bolt\nblack, as became a widower, his clothes all fitted more loosely, and\nhis hat had a broader brim, and was without ornament.\n\n\"It is a day of flowers!\" said Maria, \"the fields are smiling, and the\nsun seems as if he were telling them to be gay.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Pedro, \"the yellow-haired appears to have washed his face,\nand sharpened his rays, for they prick like pins.\"\n\nHe took out a little rabbit-skin bag, in which was tobacco, and began\nto make a cigarette.\n\n\"Maria,\" said he, when he had finished it, \"my opinion is, that, you\nwill come back from Alcal\u00e1 with your hands as empty as they go. But,\nChristian woman, who the deuce tempted you to lend money to that\nvagabond? You knew that he had not so much as a place whereon to fall\ndead, and nothing in expectation but alternate rations of hunger and\nnecessity.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Maria, \"to whom shall we lend if not to the poor? the rich\nhave no need to borrow.\"\n\n{508}\n\n\"And don't you know, big innocent, that 'he who lends to a friend,\nloses both the money and the friend!' But you, Maria, are always so\ncredulous, and I tell you now that this man will pay you in three\ninstalments: 'badly, late, and never.'\"\n\n\"You always think the worst, Pedro.\"\n\n\"That is the reason why I always hit the mark; think ill, and you will\nthink the truth,\" said the crafty Pedro.\n\nPresently he commenced droning a ballad, of which the interminable\ntext is as follows:\n\n  In my house I heard at night,\n  Sounds that roused me in affright;\n  Quick unsheathed my rapier bright,\n  Stole upstairs with footsteps light.\n\n  Searched the dwelling all around,\n  From the rooftree to the ground,\n  Listening for the faintest sound--\n  Nothing heard I, nothing found.\n\n  And my story, being new,\n  I'll repeat it o'er to you.\n  In my house, etc., etc.\n\nMaria said nothing, nor did she think much more. Rocked by the quiet\npace of her animal, she yielded herself to the indolence which the\nbalmy spring day induced, and went along sleeping.\n\nHalf the road being passed, they came to a small inn. When they\narrived some soldiers were lounging upon the brick seats which were\nfixed on each side of the door under the projecting roof. As soon as\nthey perceived the approach of our venerable couple, they began to\nattack them with facetious sayings, burlesque provocations, and\nrailleries, such as are usual among the country folk, and especially\namong the soldiers.\n\n\"Uncle,\" said one, \"where are you going with that ancient relic?\"\n\n\"Aunty,\" cried another \"is the church where you were christened still\nstanding?\"\n\n\"Aunt,\" said another, \"does your grace retain any recollection of the\nday you were married?\"\n\n\"Uncle,\" asked the fourth, \"are you going with this maiden to Alcal\u00e1\nto have the bans published?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Pedro, lazily dismounting, \"I shall wait for that until\nI am of age, and the girl has her growth.\"\n\n\"Aunt,\" continued the soldiers, \"shall we help you down from that gay\ncolt?\"\n\n\"It is the best thing you can do, my sons,\" responded the good woman.\n\nThe soldiers approached, and with kindly attention assisted her to\nalight.\n\nPedro found some acquaintances in the tavern who immediately asked him\nto drink with them. He did not wait to be urged, and having drank said\nto them:\n\n\"It is my turn now, and since I have accepted your treat, you, my\nfriends, and these gentlemen, whom I know only to serve, will do me\nthe favor to drink a small glass of _anisete_ to my health.\"\n\n\"Uncle Pedro,\" said a young muleteer of Dos-Hermanas, \"tell us a\nstory; and I in the mean while will take care to keep your glass\nfilled so that your throat don't get dry.\"\n\n\"Ah me!\" exclaimed Aunt Maria, who after having drank her little glass\nof _anisette_  [Footnote 88] had seated herself upon some bags of\nwheat, \"have mercy on us, for if Pedro lets loose his boneless member,\nwe shall not get back to our place to-night, at least, not without the\nmiracle of Joshua.\"\n\n  [Footnote 88: Liquor distilled from anise-seed.]\n\n\"There is no danger, Maria,\" answered Pedro, \"but you will sit on\nthose sacks till the corn sprouts.\"\n\n\"Is it true, Uncle Pedro, what my mother says,\" asked the muleteer,\n\"that in old times, when you were young, you were a lover of Maria's?\"\n\n\"It is indeed, and I feel honored in saying it,\" answered Uncle Pedro.\n\n\"What a story!\" exclaimed Aunt Maria, \"it is a lie as big as a house.\nGo along with you, Pedro, for a boaster. I never had a lover in my\nlife except my husband, 'may he rest in peace.'\"\n\n\"O Mrs. Maria, Mrs. Maria!\" said Pedro, \"how very poor is your grace's\nmemory! for you know the song--\n\n{509}\n\n  \"Though you take from him the sceptre,\n    Robes of state, and signet rings,\n    Still remains unto the monarch\n    This--that he was once a king.\"\n\n\"It is true,\" Maria answered, \"that he made love to me one day at my\ncousin's wedding, and that he came one night to my window; but he got\nsuch a fright there that he left me planted, and ran away as if fear\nhad lent wings to his feet; and I believe he never stopped until he\nran his nose against the end of the world.\"\n\n\"How is that?\" exclaimed the audience, laughing heartily; \"is that the\nway you show your heels when you are frightened, Uncle Pedro?\"\n\n\"I neither boast of my courage,\" replied the latter composedly, \"nor\ndo I wish to gain the palm from _Francisco Esteban_.\"\n\n\"That is being more afraid than ashamed,\" said Aunt Maria, who was\nbecoming impatient.\n\n\"You see, sirs,\" said Uncle Pedro, slyly winking, \"that she has not\nyet forgiven me, which proves, does it not, that she was fond of me?\nBut I should like to know,\" he proceeded, \"which of you is the _Cid\nCampeador_ that would like to have to do with beings of the other\nworld; with supernatural things?\"\n\n\"There was nothing more supernatural than your fears,\" interrupted\nMaria, \"and they had no more cause than the rolling of a stone from\nthe roof, by some cat that was keeping vigil.\"\n\n\"Tell us about it. Uncle Pedro, tell us how it happened,\" cried the\naudience.\n\n\"You must know then, sirs,\" began Uncle Pedro, \"that the window Maria\nindicated to me, was at the back of the house. The house was in a\nlonesome place on the outskirts of the town; near by was a picture of\npurgatory, with a lamp burning before it. As I looked at the light,\nsomething which happened there a short time before came into mind. A\nmilkman used to pass by the picture every night as he went out of\ntown, carrying the empty skins which he brought in at sunrise every\nmorning, filled with milk. When he came to this place, he did not\nscruple to lower the consecrated lamp to light his cigarette. One\nnight, it was the eve of All Souls, when he had taken the lamp down,\nas was his custom, it went out, and he could not light his cigarette.\nHe found it strange, for the wind slept, and the night was clear. But,\nwhat was his astonishment when a moment after, turning to look back,\nhe saw the lamp lighted, and burning more brightly than ever.\nRecognizing in this a solemn warning from God--touched, and repenting\nof the profanation he had done--he made a vow to punish himself by\nnever smoking another cigarette in his life; and, sirs,\" added Pedro,\nin a grave voice, \"he has kept it.\"\n\nPedro paused, and for a moment all remained silent.\n\n\"This is an occasion,\" presently said Maria, \"to apply the saying,\nthat when a whole company is silent at once, an angel has passed by,\nand the breath of his wings has touched them with awe.\"\n\n\"Come, Uncle Pedro,\" said the muleteers, \"let us hear the rest of the\nstory.\"\n\n\"Well, sirs,\" proceeded Pedro, in his former jocose tone, \"you must\nknow that the lamp inspired me with great respect, mingled with not a\nlittle fear. Is it well, I said to myself, to come here and trifle\nunder the very beards of the blessed souls that in suffering are\nexpiating their sins? And I assure you, that light which was an\noffering to the Lord--which appeared to watch and to record--and\nseemed to be looking at me and rebuking me, was an object to impose\nrespect. Sometimes it was sad and weeping like the _De Profundis_, at\nothers immovable like the eye of the dead fixed upon me, and then the\nflame rose, and bent, and flickered, like a threatening finger of fire\nadmonishing me.\n\n{510}\n\n\"One night, when its regards appeared more threatening than ever\nbefore, a stone, thrown by an invisible hand, struck me on the head\nwith such force that it left me stupefied; and when I started to run,\nthough I was, as you might say, in open field, it happened with me as\nwith that 'negro of evil fortune' who, where there were three doors to\ngo out at, could not find one; and so, running as fast as I could,\ninstead of coming to my house, I came to a quarry and fell in.\"\n\n\"I have always heard of that negro of evil fortune,\" said one of the\nlisteners, \"but could never find out how he came to be called so. Can\nyou tell me?\"\n\n\"I should think so!\" answered Uncle Pedro.\n\n\"There was once a very rich negro who lived in front of the house of a\nfine young woman, with whom he fell in love. The young woman, vexed by\nthe soft attentions and endearments of the fellow, laid the matter\nbefore her husband, who told her to make an appointment with the negro\nfor that evening. She did so, and he came, bringing a world of\npresents. She received him in a drawing-room that had three doors.\nThere she had a grand supper prepared for him. But they were hardly\nseated at the table when the light was put out, and the husband came\nin with a cowhide, with which he began to lash the negro's shoulders.\nThe latter was so confounded that he could not find a door to escape\nthrough, and kept exclaiming as he danced under the blows:\n\n  \"Poor little negro, what evil fortune!\n  Where there are three doors, he cannot find one.'\n\n\"At last, he chanced upon one, and rushed out like the wind. But the\nhusband was after him, and gave him a push that sent him from the top\nof the stairs to the bottom. A servant hearing the noise he made, ran\nto ask the cause. 'What would it be,' answered the black, 'but that I\nwent up on my tiptoes and came down on my ribs?'\n\n  \"Que he subido de puntillas.\n  The bajado de costillas.\"\n\n\"Uncle Pedro,\" asked the muleteer, laughing, \"was that the cause of\nyour remaining estranged?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Pedro, \"eight days afterwards, I armed myself with courage\nand returned to the grating, but Maria would not open the window.\"\n\n\"Aunt Maria did not want you to be stoned to death like Saint\nStephen,\" said the muleteer.\n\n\"It was not that, boy; the truth is, that Miguel Ortiz, who had just\ncompleted his term, returned to the place, and it suited Maria to\nforsake one and take up with another who----\"\n\n\"Was not afraid,\" interrupted Maria, \"to talk, with good intentions,\nto a girl in the neighborhood of a _consecrated object_; for, do you\nsuppose that all those souls were spinsters?\"\n\n\"I think so, Maria, because the married pass their purgatory in this\nworld--the men, because their wives torment them, and the women,\nthrough what their children cause them to suffer. Well, sirs, I took\nthe matter so to heart that I could not stay in Dos-Hermanas when the\nwedding was celebrated, and I went to Alcal\u00e1.\"\n\n\"Where he remembered me so well, that he came back married to\nanother.\"\n\n\"It is true, for I have always thought it best 'when one king is dead,\nto set up another.'\"\n\n\"Ah Pedro! everlasting talker,\" said Maria getting up, \"let us go.\"\n\n\"Yes, let us go; for the sun is as hot as if he were flying away from\nthe clouds, and I think it will rain.\"\n\n\"God forbid!\" exclaimed Maria, \"give us the sun and wasps though they\nsting!\"\n\n\"Why should it rain, since we are in March?\" put in the muleteer.\n\n\"And don't you know, Jose\" replied Uncle Pedro, \"that January promised\na lamb to March, but when March arrived the lambs were so fat and fine\nthat January would not fulfil the promise? Then March was vexed and\nsaid to him,\n\n  'With three days left me of my own.\n  And three friend April will me loan,\n  I'll pat your sheep in such a state,\n  You'll wish you'd paid me when too late.'\n\n{511}\n\n\"And so let us be off. Good-by, gentlemen.\"\n\n\"What a hurry you are in, Aunt Maria!\" said the muleteer. \"Are you\nafraid you shall take root?\"\n\n\"No, but these asses of ours do not go like yours, Jose.\"\n\n\"That is so,\" said Pedro as he assisted Maria to mount; \"with us, all\nis old--the horsewoman, her squire, and the steeds. My ass is so\njudicious that she cannot make up her mind upon which foot to limp,\nand therefore limps on all four; and that of Maria so old, that, if\nshe could speak, she would say 'thee and thou' to us all. Well,\ngentlemen, your commands.\"\n\n\"Health and dimes to you, Uncle Pedro.\"\n\nOur travellers took the road again, and when they reached Alcal\u00e1,\nseparated to attend to their respective affairs.\n\nAn hour afterward they rejoined each other. Pedro came accompanied by\nhis daughter, who threw herself upon Maria's neck with that tender\nsentimentality of young girls whose hearts have not been bruised,\nwounded, or chilled, by contact with the world.\n\n\"You have collected your money?\" questioned Pedro, as though he\ndoubted it.\n\n\"They offered me half now,\" answered Maria, \"or the whole after\nharvest; and, as I am in want of my dimes, I preferred the former.\"\n\n\"Not Solomon, Maria! not even Solomon! could have acted more wisely;\nfor, 'blessed is he that possesses,' and 'one bird in the hand is\nworth a hundred on the wing.'\"\n\nPedro took his daughter up behind him, and they set out--Maria taking\ncare of her money; Marcela of the flowers, spices, cakes, and\nsweetmeats she had bought as gifts; and Pedro looking after them both.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nThe arrival of Marcela caused great joy to all except Rita, who\nneither wished nor tried to hide the ill-humor she felt in the\npresence of one who had been destined by both families to be the wife\nof Perico.\n\nThis hostile disposition, and the cold reserve which Rita imposed upon\nPerico in his intercourse with Marcela, were the first frosts which\nhad ever fallen upon the springtime of that pure spirit.\n\nMarcela was far from suspecting the base and bitter sentiments of\nRita, and besides, she would not have understood them; for, though a\nyoung woman, she had the soul of a child. Having lived in the convent\nfrom her birth, she had created for herself a sweet existence, which\ncould not be enlarged by the interests and passions of life, except at\nthe cost of innocence and happiness. She loved her good religious, her\ngarden, her gentle and peaceful duties. She was attached to her\ndevotions, to her church, and to her blessed images. She wished to be\na nun, not from spiritual exaltation, but because she liked the life;\nnot from misanthropy, but with joy of heart; not because she was\nwithout convenient place or position in the world, which many believe\nto be a motive for taking the veil, but because her position, her\nplace, she found--and preferred it--in the convent.\n\nThis is what many do not, or pretend not to comprehend. Everything can\nbe understood in this world; all vices; all irregularities; all the\nmost atrocious inclinations; even the propensity of the Anthropophagi;\nbut that the desire for a tranquil and retired life, without care for\nthe present, or thought for the future, can exist, is denied, is\nincomprehensible.\n\nIn the world everything is believed in--the masculine woman, the\nmorality of stealing, the philanthropy of the guillotine, in the\ninhabitants of the moon, and other humbugs, as the English say; or\n_canards_, as our neighbors have it; or _bubbles_ and _fables_, as we\ncall them. The satirical sceptic, called the world, has a throat {512}\ndown which all these can pass, for there is nothing so credulous as\nincredulity, nor so superstitious as irreligion. But it does not\nbelieve in the instincts of purity, in modest desires, in humble\nhearts, and in religious sentiments. No indeed; the existence of these\nis all humbug, a _bubble_ which it cannot receive. This monster has\nnot a throat wide enough for these.\n\nMarcela, accompanied by Anna and Elvira, made her first visit to the\nchurch, and to the chapel of Saint Anna, into which the good wife of\nthe sacristan hastened to lead them.\n\nThe chapel is deep and narrow; at the extremity is an altar and the\neffigy of the saint. In a crystal urn, inserted into the altar, is\nseen a wooden cross and a small bell. The effigy of Saint Anna is very\nancient; its lower part widens in the form of a bell, upon its breast\nit bears an image of the Blessed Virgin, which in the same manner\nbears that of the child Jesus. The remote origin stamped upon this\neffigy, uniting antiquity of idea with age of material, gives, as it\nwere, wings to the devotion it inspires with which to rise and free\nitself from all present surroundings. On the wall, at the right hand,\nhang two large pictures. In one is seen an angel, appearing to two\ngirls, and in the other the same girls, in a wild and solitary place,\nwith a man who is digging a hole in the earth.\n\nOn the left hand an iron railing surrounds the entrance to a cave, the\ndescent into which is by a narrow stairway.\n\nMarcela and her companions having performed their devotions, seated\nthemselves in some low chairs which the sacristan's wife placed for\nthem under the arbor in the court-yard, and Marcela asked the obliging\nand kindly woman to explain to them the two pictures which they had\nseen in the chapel. The good creature, who loved to tell the story,\nbegan it very far back, and related it in the following words.\n\n\nPOPULAR TRADITION OF DOS-HERMANAS.\n\n\"In times the memory of which is almost lost, a wicked king, Don\nRodrigo, ruled in Spain. It was then customary for the nobles of the\nrealm to send their daughters to court, and therefore the noble count,\nDon Julian, sent his fair daughter Florinda, known as _La Cava_. When\nthe king saw her he was inflamed with passion, but she being virtuous,\nthe king obtained by violence that which he could not by consent. When\nthe beautiful Florinda saw herself dishonored, she wrote to the\nCount--with blood and tears she wrote it, in these words:\n\n\"'Father, your honor and mine are blemished; more to your renown would\nit have been, and better for me, if you had killed me, instead of\nbringing me here. Come and avenge me.'\n\n\"When the Count, Don Julian, read the letter, he fell down in a swoon,\nand when he came to himself he swore, upon the cross of his sword, to\ntake a vengeance the like of which had never been heard of, and one\nproportioned to the offence.\n\n\"With this intention, he treated with the Moors and gave up to them\nTarifa and Algeciras, and like a swollen river which breaks its\nembankments they inundated Andalusia. They reached Seville, known in\nthose times as _Hispalis_, and this place, then called _Oripo_. The\nChristians, before they fled, buried deep in the earth the venerated\nimage of their patroness Saint Anna. And there it remained five\nhundred years, until the good king Fernando, having made himself\nmaster of the surrounding country, invested Seville. Here, however,\nthe Moors made such a stubborn resistance that the spirit of the\nmonarch began to fail him. Then, in the tower of _Herveras_, now\nfallen to ruin, Our Blessed Mother appeared to him in a dream,\nanimating his valor, and promising him victory. The good king returned\nto his camp at Alcal\u00e1 with renewed courage. He summoned all the\nartificers that could {513} be found, and commanded them to make an\nimage, as nearly as possible in the likeness of his vision, but to his\ngreat chagrin no one succeeded.\n\n\"There then presented themselves, two beautiful youths, dressed like\npilgrims, offering to make an image in every particular like the form\nthe good king had seen in his vision. They were conducted to a\nworkshop in which they found prepared for them everything necessary\nfor their work. The following day, when the king, stimulated by his\nimpatience, went in to see how the work was progressing, the pilgrims\nhad disappeared. The materials were lying on the floor untouched, and\nupon an altar was an image of our Lady, just as she had appeared to\nhim in his sleep. The king, recognizing the intervention of the\nangels, knelt weeping before the image he had wished for so much, and\nwhich, by the hands of angels, their Queen herself had sent him.\n\n\"Afterward, when the pious chief had reduced Seville, he caused this\nimage to be placed in a triumphal car drawn by six white horses, his\nmajesty walking behind with naked feet, and deposited in the cathedral\nof Seville, where it is still venerated, and where it will continue to\nbe venerated until the end of time, under the invocation of our Lady\nof Kings. In her chapel, at her feet, lies the body of the sainted\nmonarch--relics, of the possessions of which all Spain may well envy\nSeville.\n\n\"Soon after the appearance of the vision, the king with great\nconfidence in the help of God prepared to make another attack. He\nposted himself upon the neighboring heights of Buena Vista: the two\nwings of his brave army extending on both sides, like two arms ready\nto do his will. But the troops were so weary, and so faint from heat\nand thirst, that they had neither strength nor spirit left. In this\nstrait, the good king built up an altar of arms, upon which he placed\nan image of the Blessed Virgin which he always carried with him,\ncalling upon her in these words, 'Aid me! aid me! Holy Mother, for if\nby thy help I set up the cross to-day in Seville, I promise to build\nthee a chapel in this very spot, in which thou shalt be venerated, and\nI will deposit in it the standards under which the city shall be\ngained.' As he prayed, a beautiful spring began to flow at the foot of\nthe ridge, sending forth in different directions seven streams. It\nflows still, and bears the name of The King's Fountain.\n\n\"Men and horses refreshed themselves, and recovered strength and\ncourage. Seville was won, and the Moorish King Aixa came bearing the\nkeys of the city upon a golden salver, and presented them to the pious\nconqueror. They are kept with other precious relics in the treasury of\nthe cathedral.\n\n\"In those times,\" proceeded the narrator, \"there lived in the province\nof Leon two devout sisters, named Elvia and Estefania, to whom an\nangel appeared and told them to set out for the purpose of finding an\nimage of Our Lady which the Christians had hidden under the earth. The\nfather of the devout maidens, Gomez Mazereno, who was as pious as they\nwere, wished to go with them. But on setting out they were in great\ntrouble, not knowing what direction to take. Then they heard the sound\nof a bell in the air. They saw no bell, but followed the ringing until\nthey came to this place, where it seemed to go down into the ground at\ntheir feet. This was then an uncultivated waste of matted thorns and\nbriers, and was called 'The Invincible Thicket,' because the Moors,\nwho had all these lands under cultivation could never cut it down;\nfor, unseen by them, an angel guarded it with a drawn sword in his\nhand. They began zealously to dig, and digging came to a large flat\nstone, which being lifted, they discovered the entrance to a cave--the\nsame that you saw in the chapel. In it they found the image of the\nsaint, a cross, the {514} small bell, which, like the star of the\neastern kings had led them here, and a lamp still burning--the very\nlamp that lights the saint now, for it hangs in the chapel before her\naltar! For more than a thousand years it has burned in veneration of\nour patroness. They took up her image and raised this chapel in her\nname. Houses were built and clustered together round it, until this\nvillage, which takes the name of Dos-Hermanas from its founders, was\nformed under its shelter. See,\" continued the good woman, rising and\nreentering the chapel, \"see here the image which nothing has been able\nto injure; neither the dampness of the earth, nor dust of the air, nor\nthe canker of time. In these two pictures are the portraits of the\ndevout sisters.\" A great quantity of offerings were seen hanging on\nboth sides of altar. Of these seven little silver legs, tied together\nand suspended by a rose-colored ribbon, attracted Marcela's attention.\n\n\"What is the meaning of that offering?\" she asked of the sacristan's\nwife.\n\n\"Marcos, the blacksmith, brought them here. It happened, one day, that\nthe poor fellow was seized with such violent pains in his legs, that\nit seemed as though he could neither live nor die.\n\n\"His wife having administered to him without effect all the remedies\nthat were ordered, took him, stretched upon a cart, to Seville. But\nneither could the doctors there do anything to relieve him. One day,\nafter the unfortunate man had spent all he possessed in remedies, made\ndesperate by his suffering, and by the cries of his children for the\nbread which he had not to give them, he lifted his broken heart to\nGod, claiming as his intercessor our blessed patroness Saint Anna,\npraying with fervor to be made well until such time as his children\nshould no longer need him; adding: When my children are grown up I\nwill die without murmuring. And if, until then, I regain my health, I\npromise, Blessed Saint, to hang, every year, a little silver leg upon\nthy altar, in attestation of the miracle.' The next day Marcos came on\nfoot to give thanks to God. Years passed. The sons of Marcos had grown\nup and were earning their living. There remained with him only a young\ndaughter. She had a lover who asked her of her father. The wedding was\ngay, only Marcos seemed to be in deep thought On the following day he\ntook his bed, from which he never rose. What he asked had been\ngranted. His task was done.\"\n\n\"And these ears of grain?\" said Marcela, seeing a bunch of wheat tied\nwith a blue ribbon.\n\n\"They were brought by Petrola, the wife of Gomez. These poor people\nhad only the daily wages of the father for the support of eight\nchildren. They had begged the use of a small field to sow with wheat,\nand in it were sown also their hopes. With what pleasure they watched\nit, and with what satisfaction! for it repaid their care, growing so\nluxuriantly that it looked as if they sprinkled it every morning with\nblessed water. One day a neighbor came from the field and told the\npoor woman that the locust was in her wheat. The locust! One of the\nplagues of Egypt! It was as if a bolt from heaven had struck her.\nLeaving her house and her little ones, she rushed out wildly, with her\narms extended and not knowing what she did. 'Saint Anna,' she cried,\n'my children's bread! my children's bread!' She reached the field and\nsaw in one corner the track of the locust. This insect destroys the\nblades from the foot without leaving a sign. But between its track and\nthe rest of the field an invisible wall had been raised to protect the\nwheat of the pious mother who invoked the saint, and the locust had\ndisappeared. You can imagine the delight and gratitude of the good\nwoman, who was so poor that she testified it by the gift of these few\nblades of the precious grain.\"\n\n{515}\n\nAnna, Elvira, and Marcela listened with softened and fervent hearts,\nand eyes moistened with tears. With the same emotions the relation has\nbeen transmitted to paper. God grant that it may be read in like\nspirit!\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nMay smiled. Golden with sunlight, noisy with the song of its birds and\nthe murmur of its insects; odorous with its flowers, laughing, and\nhappy to be the month, of all others, dedicated to Mary.\n\nThe wedding day of Ventura and Elvira had arrived, and the sun, like a\nfriend that hastened to be the first to give them joy, rose radiant.\nThey were ready to set out for the church. Anna pressed to her heart\nthe child of her love, the gentle Elvira, so humble and thoughtful in\nher gladness that she stood with drooping head and eyes cast down, as\nif oppressed and dazzled by so much joy. Uncle Pedro, who had never\nbeen so glad in all his life, exceeded even himself in jokes, hints,\nand facetious sayings. Maria, transported with her own delight, and\nthat of others, shed tears continually--tears, like the rain drops,\nwhich sometimes fall from a clear sky when the sun is bright.\n\nAs his rays shine through those drops, so shone Maria's smile through\nher tears.\n\n\"Dear sister,\" said Marcela to Elvira, \"next to mine, my sweet Jesus,\nyour bridegroom is the best and most perfect. See my Ventura, how well\nhe appears; if he had only a spray of lilies in his hand, he would\nlook like Saint Joseph in 'The Espousals.'\"\n\nAnd she had reason to praise her brother, for Ventura, neatly and\nrichly dressed, more animated and gallant than ever, hurrying the\nothers to set out, was the type a sculptor would have chosen for a\nstatue of Achilles.\n\nPerico forgot even Rita. His large, soft brown eyes were fixed upon\nhis sister with a look of deep and inexplicable tenderness. Rita only\nwas indifferent and petulant.\n\nThey were leaving the house when a strange sound reached their ears. A\nsound which seemed to be made up of the bellowing of the enraged bull,\nthe lamentations of the wounded bird, and the growl of the lion\nsurprised in his sleep.\n\nIt was the cry of alarm and rage of the flocks of fugitives that were\narriving, and the exclamations of astonishment and indignation of the\npeople of the village that were preparing to imitate them.\n\nThe French had entered Seville with giant strides, and were hurrying\non in their devastating march toward Cadiz.\n\nPerico having foreseen this event, had prepared a place of refuge for\nhis family, in a solitary farm-house, far apart from any public way,\nand had horses standing in the stables ready against surprise.\n\nWhile the men rushed into the yard to prepare the animals, the women,\nwild with fear, gathered and tied together the clothes and whatever\nelse they could carry with them in the panniers.\n\n\"What a sad omen!\" said Elvira to Ventura; \"the day which should join\nus together separates us.\"\n\n\"Nothing can separate us, Elvira,\" answered Ventura; \"I defy the whole\nworld to do it. Go without fear. We are going to prepare ourselves,\nand shall overtake you on the road.\"\n\nVentura saw them depart under the protection of Perico, and watched\nthem until they were out of sight.\n\nBut now was heard at the entrance of the village the fatal sound of\ndrums, which announced the arrival of the terrible phalanx that threw\nitself upon that poor unarmed people, taken by surprise, and treated\nwithout mercy.\n\n{516}\n\nIt came in the name of an iniquitous usurpation of which the\nprecedents belong to barbarous times, as the resistance it met with\nbelongs to the days of heroism--a resistance against which it dashed\nand was broken, fighting without glory and yielding without shame.\n\n\"Follow me, father,\" said Ventura. \"Sister, come; we must fly!\"\n\n\"It is too late,\" replied Pedro, \"they are already here. Ventura, hide\nyour sister; when night comes we will escape, but now hide\nyourselves.\"\n\n\"And you, father?\" said Ventura, hesitating between necessity and the\nrepugnance he felt to being obliged to hide himself.\n\n\"I,\" answered Pedro, \"remain here. What can they do to a poor old man\nlike me? Go, I tell you! Hide yourselves! Marcela, what are you doing\nthere, poor child, as cold and fixed as a statue? Ventura, what are\nyou thinking of that you do not move? Do you wish to be lost? Do you\nwish to lose your sister? Ventura! dear son, do you wish to kill me?\"\n\nHis father's cry of anguish roused Ventura from the stupor into which\nhe had been thrown by fear, uncertainty, and rage.\n\n\"It is necessary,\" he murmured, with clenched hands, and set teeth.\n\"Father, father! to hide myself like a woman! while I live I shall\nnever get over the shame of it!\" and taking a ladder, he lifted it to\nan opening in the ceiling, which formed the entrance to a sort of loft\nor garret, where they kept seeds, and worn-out and useless household\narticles, helped his sister to mount, went up himself, and drew the\nladder after him.\n\nIt was time, for there was a knocking at the door. Pedro opened it,\nand a French soldier entered.\n\n\"Prepare me,\" he said in his jargon, \"food and drink: give me your\nmoney, unless you want me to take it, and call your daughters, if you\ndo not wish me to look them up.\"\n\nThe blood of the honorable and haughty Spaniard rose to his face, but\nhe answered with moderation,\n\n\"I have nothing that you ask me for.\"\n\n\"Which means that you have nothing, you thief? Do you know whom you\nare talking to, and that I am hungry and thirsty?\"\n\nPedro, who had expected to pass the whole of this long wished-for day\nof his son's marriage in Anna's house, and had therefore nothing\nprepared, approached the door which communicated with the interior of\nthe house, and pointing to the extinguished hearth, repeated, \"As I\nhave already told you, there is nothing to eat in the house, except\nbread.\"\n\n\"You lie!\" shouted the Frenchman in a rage; \"it is because you do not\nmean to give it to me.\"\n\nPedro fixed his eyes upon the grenadier, and in them burned, for an\ninstant all the indignation, all the rage, all the resentment he\nharbored in his soul; but a second thought, at which he shuddered,\ncaused him to lower them, and say in a conciliating tone:\n\n\"Satisfy yourself that I have told you the truth.\"\n\nOn hearing this continued refusal, the soldier, already exasperated by\nthe glance Pedro had cast at him, approached the old man and said;\n\"You dare to face me; you refuse to comply with your obligation to\nsupply me. Ha! and worse than all, you insult me with your tranquil\ncontempt. Upon my life, I will make you as pliant as a glove!\" and\nraising his hand, there resounded through the house, dry and distinct,\na blow on the face.\n\nLike an eagle darting upon its prey, Ventura dropped down, threw\nhimself upon the Frenchman, forced the sword from his hand, and ran it\nthrough his body. The soldier fell heavily, a lifeless bulk.\n\n\"Boy, boy, what have you done?\" exclaimed the old man, forgetting the\naffront in the peril of his son.\n\n\"My duty, father.\"\n\n\"You are lost!\"\n\n\"And you are avenged.\"\n\n\"Go, save yourself! do not lose an instant.\"\n\n{517}\n\n\"First, let me take away this debtor, whose account is settled. If\nthey find him here, you will have to suffer, father.\"\n\n\"Never mind, never mind,\" exclaimed the father, \"save yourself, that\nis the first thing to be thought of.\"\n\nWithout listening to his father. Ventura took the corpse upon his\nshoulder, threw it into the well, turned to the old man, who followed\nhim in an agony of distress, asked for his blessing, sprang with one\nbound, upon the wall which surrounded the yard, and to the ground on\nthe other side. The poor father, mounted upon the trunk of a fig-tree,\nholding on by its branches, with bursting heart, and straining eyes,\nand breath suspended, saw his son, the idol of his soul, pass with the\nlightness of a deer, the space which separated the village from an\nolive plantation, and disappear among the trees.\n\n\nTO BE CONTINUED.\n\n------\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nSAPPHICS.\n\nSUGGESTED BY \"THE QUIP\" OF GEORGE HERBERT\n\n\n  Stratus in terram meditans jacebam;\n  Saeculum molle et petulans procaxqae,\n  Asseclas tristem stimulabat acri\n            Laedere lusu.\n\n  Pulchra, quam tinxit Cytherea, rosa,\n  \"Cujus, quaeso,\" inquit, \"manus, infaceta\n  Carpere inaudax?\" Tibi linquo causam,\n            Victor Iesu!\n\n  Tinnitans argentum: \"Melos istud audi:\n  Musicae nostine modes suaves?\"\n  Inquit et fugit. Tibi linquo causam,\n            Victor Iesu!\n\n  Gloria tunc tollens caput et coruscans,\n  Sericis filis crepitans, me figit\n  Oculis limis. Tibi linquo causam,\n            Victor Iesu!\n\n  Gestiit scomma sceleratis aptum,\n  Callida lingua acuisse Ira;\n  Conticescat jam. Tibi linquo causam,\n            Victor Iesu!\n\n  Attamen cum Tu, die constituto,\n  Eligisti quos Tibi vindicassis,\n  Audiam o, dextro lateri statatus,\n            \"Euge fidelis\"\n\n\nSti. Lodoiel, in Ascensione Domini, 1866.\n\nR. A. B.\n\n------\n\n{518}\n\n[ ORIGINAL.]\n\nPROBLEMS OF THE AGE.\n\n\nIV.\n\nTHE REVELATION OF GOD IN THE CREED\nDEMONSTRATED IN THE CONSTITUTIVE\nIDEA OF REASON.\n\n\nAs soon as we open the eye of reason we become spectators of the\ncreation. The word creation in this proposition is to be understood\nnot in a loose and popular sense, but in a strict and scientific one.\nWe intend to say, not merely that we behold certain existing objects,\nbut that we behold them in their relation to their first and supreme\ncause. We are witnesses of the creative act by which the Creator and\nhis work are simultaneously disclosed to the mind. This is the\noriginal constitutive principle of reason, its primal light preceding\nall knowledge and thought, and being their condition. It is the idea\nwhich contains in itself, radically and in principle, all possible\ndevelopment of thought and knowledge, according to the law of growth\nconnatural to the human intelligence. It includes--God with all his\nattributes: the work of God or the created universe; and the relation\nbetween the two, that is, the relation of God to the universe as first\ncause in the order of creation, and final cause in the order of the\nultimate end and destination of things. The different portions of this\nidea are inseparable from each other. That is, our reason cannot\naffirm God separately from the affirmation of the creative act, or\naffirm the creative act separately from the affirmation of God. The\nbeing of God is disclosed to us only by the creation, and the creation\nis intelligible to us only in the light given by the idea of God.\n[Footnote 89] God reveals himself to our reason as creator, and by\nmeans of the creative act. This is the limit of our natural light, and\nbeyond it we cannot see anything by a natural mode, either in God, or\nin the universe.\n\n  [Footnote 89: A careful attention to the succeeding argument will\n  show that by the idea of God given to intuition, is not meant the\n  evolved idea, but the idea capable of evolution, or the idea of\n  infinite, necessary being, which is shown to be the Idea of God by\n  demonstration.]\n\nThe idea of God must not be confounded with that distinct and explicit\nconception which a philosopher or well-instructed Christian possesses.\nIf the human mind possessed this knowledge by an original intuition,\nevery human being would have it, without instruction, from the very\nfirst moment of the complete use of reason, and could never lose it.\nThe idea of God is the affirmation of himself as pure, eternal,\nnecessary being, the original and first principle of all existence,\nwhich he makes to the reason in creating it, and which constitutes the\nrational light and life of the soul. This constitutive, ideal\nprinciple of the soul's intelligence exists at first in a kind of\nembryonic state. The soul is more in a state of potentiality to\nintelligence, than intelligence in act. The idea of God is obscurely\nenwrapped and enfolded in the substance of the soul, imperfectly\nevolved in its most primitive acts of rational consciousness, and\nimplicitly contained but not actually explicated in every thought that\nit thinks, even the most simple and rudimental. The intelligence must\nbe educated, in order to bring out this obscure and implicit idea of\nGod into a distinct conception in the reflective consciousness. This\neducation begins with the action of the material, sensible world on\nthe soul through the body, and specifically through the brain. The\nhuman soul was not created to exist and act under the simple\nconditions of pure spirit; but as is incorporated in a material body.\nThe body is not a temporary habitation, like the envelope of a larva,\nbut an integral part of man. The {519} intelligence is awakened to\nactivity through the senses, and all its perceptions of the\nintelligible are through the medium of the sensible. The sensible\nworld is a grand system of outward and visible signs representing the\nspiritual and intelligible world. Language is the science and art of\nsubsidiary signs, the equivalents of the phenomena of the sensible\nworld and of all that we apprehend through them; and forming the\nmedium for communicating thought among men. For this reason, all\nlanguage so far as it represents the conceptions of men concerning the\nspiritual word is metaphorical; and even the word _spirit_ is a figure\ntaken from the sensible world.\n\nWhen the obscure idea is completely evolved, and the soul educated,\nthrough these outward and sensible media, the reflective consciousness\nattains to the distinct conception of God. This education may be\nimperfect, and the reflective consciousness may have but an incomplete\nconception expressed in language by an inadequate formula; but the\nidea is indestructible, and the mental conception of it can never be\ntotally corrupted. This would be equivalent to the cessation of all\nthought, the annihilation of all conception of being and truth, and\nthe extinction of all rational life in the soul. It is a mere negation\nof thought, which cannot be thought at all, and a mere non-entity.\nThere is no such thing as absolute scepticism. Partial scepticism is\npossible. Revelation may be denied as to its complete conception, but\nthe idea expressed in revelation cannot be utterly denied. The being\nof God may be denied, as to its complete conception, but not\ncompletely as to the idea itself. No sceptic or atheist can make any\nstatement of his doubt or disbelief, which does not contain an\naffirmation of that ultimate idea under the conception of real and\nnecessary being and truth. Much less can he enunciate any scientific\nformulas respecting philosophy, history, or any positive object,\nwithout doing so. Vast numbers of men are ignorant of the true and\nformed conception of God, but every one of them affirms the idea in\nevery distinct thought which he thinks; and every human language,\nhowever rude, embodies and perpetuates it under forms and conceptions\nwhich are remotely derived from the original and infallible speech of\nthe primitive revelation. Although the mass of mankind cannot evolve\nthe idea of God into a distinct conception, and even gentile\nphilosophy failed to enunciate this conception in an adequate form,\nyet when this conception is clearly and perfectly enunciated by pure\ntheistic and Christian philosophy, reason is able to recognize it as\nthe expression of its own primitive and ultimate idea. It perceives\nthat the object which it has always beheld by an obscure intuition, is\nGod, as proposed in the first article of the Christian formula. The\nChristian church, in instructing the uninstructed or partially\ninstructed mind in pure theism, interprets to it, and explicates for\nit, its own obscure intuition. Thus it is able to see the truth of the\nbeing of God; not as a new, hitherto unknown idea, received on pure\nauthority, or by a long deduction from more ultimate truths, or as the\nresult of a number of probabilities; but as a truth which constitutes\nthe ultimate ground of its own rational existence, and is only\nunfolded and disclosed to it in its own consciousness by the word and\nteaching of the instructor, who gives distinct voice to its own\ninarticulate or defectively uttered affirmation of God. So it is, that\nGod affirms himself to the reason originally by the creative act which\nis first apprehended by the reason through the medium of the sensible,\nand interpreted by the sensible signs of language to the uninstructed.\nThus we know God by creation, and the creation comes into the most\nimmediate contact with us on its sensible side.\n\nIt has been said above, that we cannot separate the creative act from\nGod in the primitive idea of reason. It is not meant by this that\nreason has {520} an intuition of God as necessarily a creator. What is\nmeant is, that the idea of God present to an intelligent mind distinct\nfrom God, presupposes the creative act affirming to it an object\ndistinct from itself, and itself as distinct from the object. When the\nsubject is conscious of this truth, \"God affirms himself to me,\" there\nare two terms in the formula, \"God,\" and \"Me;\" involving the third\nuniting term of the creative act. The perception of other existences\nis simultaneous with the perception of himself, but logically prior to\nit; and his first rational act apprehends the existence of contingent,\ncreated substances, as well as the being of the absolute, uncreated\nessence. The elements of God and creation are in the most ultimate and\nprimitive act of reason, and therefore in its constitutive idea. The\ncreation is the idea of finite essences in God externized by the Word\nwho speaks them into existence. By the same Word, the intelligent,\nrational portion of creation is enlightened with the knowledge of this\nidea. It beholds God, as he expresses this idea in the creative act,\nand in no otherwise. It cannot see immediately, the necessity of his\nbeing, or, so to speak, the cause why God is and must be, but only the\naffirmation of this necessity in the creative act. But this\naffirmation is necessarily in conformity with the truth. It presents\nbeing as absolute, and creation as contingent, and therefore not\nnecessary. False conceptions may not discriminate accurately between\nthe two terms, being and existence; but when these false conceptions\nare corrected, and the idea brought fully into light, the very terms\nin which it is expressed clearly indicate God as alone necessary,\ncreation as contingent, and the creative act as proceeding from the\nfree will of the Creator.\n\nGod, and creation, are thus simultaneously affirmed in the creative\nact constituting the soul; although God is affirmed as first and\ncreation second, in the logical order: God as cause and creation as\neffect; and although creation may be first distinctly perceived and\nreflected on, as being more connatural to the reflecting subject\nhimself, and more directly in contact with his senses and reflecting\nfaculties. The knowledge of God is limited to that which he expresses\nby the similitude of himself exhibited in the creation. Our positive\nconceptions of God in the reflective order are therefore derived from\nthe imitations, or representations of the divine attributes in the\nworld of created existences. An infinite, and, to natural powers,\nimpassable abyss, separates us from the immediate intuition of the\nDivine Essence. The highest contemplative cannot cross this chasm; and\nthe ultimatum of mystic theology is no more than the confession that\nthe essence of God is unseen and invisible to any merely human\nintuition, unknown and unknowable by the natural power of any finite\nintelligence. We know _ut Deus sit, sed non quid sit Deus--that _God\nis, but not _what_ he is. We know that God is, by the affirmation of\nhis being to reason.   [Footnote 90] We form conceptions that enable\nour reflective faculties to grasp this affirmation, by means of the\ncreated objects in which he manifests his attributes, and through\nwhich, as through signs and symbols, images and pictures, he\nrepresents his perfections.\n\n  [Footnote 90: That is, after we have demonstrated that which is\n  involved in the idea of being.]\n\nThis is the doctrine of St. Paul, the great father of Christian\ntheology.\n\n  \"Quis enim hominum, scit quae sunt hominis, nisi spiritus hominis\n  qui in ipso est? Ita, et quae Dei sunt, nemo cognovit, nisi Spiritus\n  Dei.\"\n\n\"For what man knoweth the things of a man, but the spirit of man which\nis in him? So the things also that are of God, no one knoweth but the\nSpirit of God.\"\n\nWe understand this to mean, that God alone has naturally the immediate\nintuition of his own essence and of the interior life and activity of\nhis own being within himself.\n\n{521}\n\n\"Quod notum est Dei manifestum est in illis, Deus enim illis\nmanifestavit. Invisibilia enim ipsius, a creatura mundi, per ea quae\nfacta sunt intellecta, conspiciuntar; sempiterna quoqne ejus virtus et\ndivinitas.\" \"That which is known of God is manifest in them. For God\nhath manifested it to them. For the invisible things of him, from the\ncreation of the world, are clearly seen, being understood by the\nthings that are made; his eternal power also and divinity.\"\n\nThat is, God affirms himself distinctly to the reason by the creative\nact, and simultaneously with the showing which he makes of his works.\n\n\"Videmus nunc per speculum in enigmate.\"\n\n\"We see now through a glass in an obscure manner, or more literally,\nin a riddle, parable, or allegory.\"  [Footnote 91]\n\n  [Footnote 91: 1 Cor. ii. 11; Rom. i. 19, 20; 1 Cor. xiii. 12.]\n\nThat is, we understand the attributes and interior relations of God as\nthese are made intelligible to our minds by analogies derived from\ncreated things, in which, as in a mirror, the image of God is\nreflected. The original and obscure idea of God given to reason in its\nconstitution--but given only on that side of it which faces creation,\nincluding therefore in itself creation and its relation to the\ncreator--may be represented in various forms. It must be distinctly\nborne in mind that our natural intuition is not an intuition of the\nsubstance or essence of the divine being, or an intuition of God by\nthat uncreated light in which he sees himself and his works. God\npresents himself to the natural reason as Idea, or the first principle\nof intelligence and the intelligible, by the intelligibility which he\ngives to the creation. He does not disclose himself in his personality\nto the intellectual vision, but affirms himself to reason by a divine\njudgment. Our natural knowledge of God is therefore exclusively in the\nideal order. The intuition from which this knowledge is derived may be\ncalled the intuition of the infinite, the eternal, the absolute the\nnecessary, the true, the beautiful, the good, the first cause, the\nultimate reason of things, etc. Real and necessary being, considered\nas the ground of the contingent and as facing the created intellect,\nadequately embraces and represents all. This intuition enters into all\nthought and is inseparable from the activity of the intelligent mind.\nThe intellect always does and must apprehend, the real, which is\nidentical with the ideal, in its thought; and when this reality or\nverity which it apprehends is reflected on, it always yields up two\nelements, the necessary and the contingent, the infinite and the\nfinite, the absolute and the conditioned. In apprehending God, we\nnecessarily apprehend that the soul which apprehends and the creation\nby which it apprehends him, must exists. In apprehending creation, we\napprehend that God must be in order that the creation may have\nexistence. If we could suppose reason to begin with the idea of God,\npure and simple, we could not show how it could arrive at any idea of\nthe creature. Neither could we, beginning with the exclusive idea of\nthe conditioned, deduce the idea of the absolute and necessary. We can\nnever arrive by discursive reasoning, by reflection, by logic, by\ndeduction or induction, at any truth, not included in the principles\nor intuitions with which we start. Demonstration discovers no new\ntruth, but only discloses what is contained in the intuitions of\nreason. It explicates, but does not create. All that we know therefore\nabout being and existences is contained implicitly in our original\nintuition.\n\nReal being is the immediate object apprehended by reason, as St.\nThomas teaches, after Aristotle. \"Ens namque est objectum intellectus\nprimum, cum nihil sciri possit, nisi ipsum quod est ens in actu, ut\ndicitur in 9 Met. Unde nec oppositum ejus intelligere potest\nintellectus, non ens.\" \"For being is the primary object of the\nintellect, since nothing can be known but that which is being in act,\nas it is said in the 9 Met. Wherefore the intellect cannot {522}\napprehend its opposite or not being.\"   [Footnote 92] This appears to\nbe plain. Either the intelligible which the intelligence apprehends is\nreal or unreal, actual being or not being, entity or nonentity,\nsomething or nothing. If the intelligence apprehends the unreal, not\nbeing, not entity, no thing; it is not intelligence, it does not\napprehend. These very terms are unstatable except as negations of a\npositive idea. I must have the idea of the real, or of being in act,\nbefore I can deny it. I must have the idea of my own existence before\nI can deny I existed a century ago. If I deny or question my present\nexistence, I must affirm it first, before I deny it, by making myself\nthe subject of a certain predicate, non-existence, or dubious\nexistence.\n\n  [Footnote 92: Opus. cxiii. c. 1.]\n\nThere is only one door of escape open, which is the affirmation of an\nintuition of possible being. But what is the intuition of the possible\nwithout the intuition of the actual? How can I affirm that being is\npossible, unless I have an intuition of a cause or reason situated in\nthe very idea of being which makes it possible, and if possible\nnecessary and actual? The very notion of absolute being which is\npossible only, that is, reducible to act but not reduced to act, is\nabsurd. For it is not reducible to act except by a prior cause which\nis then itself actual, necessary being, and ultimate cause.\nPotentiality or possibility belongs only to the contingent, and is\nmere creability [sic] or reducibility to act through an efficient\ncause. Wherefore we cannot apprehend possible existence except in the\napprehension of an ultimate, creative cause. All that is intelligible\nis either necessary being, or contingent existence having its cause in\nnecessary being. The abstract or logical world is only a shadow or\nreflection of the real in our own minds, and instead of preceding and\nconditioning intuition, it is its product.\n\nThe real object apprehended by reason has various aspects, but they\nare aspects of the same object. The intuition of one aspect of being\nis called the intuition of truth or of the true, including truth both\nin the absolute and the contingent order. Truth, in regard to finite\nthings, is the correspondence of a conception to an objective reality.\nThis finite reality cannot be apprehended as true without a\nsimultaneous apprehension of necessary and eternal truth as its ground\nand reason. The mathematical truths, for instance, in their\napplication to existing things, express the relations of finite\nnumbers and quantities. They are, however, apprehended as necessarily\nand eternally true in an order of being independent of time, space,\nand all contingent existences; which order of being is absolute: the\ntype of all existing things, the ultimate ground of truth, the\nintelligible _in se_.\n\nThe intuition of the beautiful, which is \"the splendor of the true,\"\nis the intuition of a certain type and the conformity of existing\nthings to it, causing a peculiar complacency in the intellect. This\ncomplacency is grounded on a judgment of the eternal fitness and\nharmony of things, that is, of an absolute and necessary reason of\ntheir order in eternal truth, that is, in absolute being.\n\nThe intuition of the good is an intuition of being considered as the\nnecessary object of volition, and of existences as having in their\nessence a ground of desirableness or an aptitude to terminate an act\nof the will. Hence good and being are convertible terms. The absolute\ngood is absolute being, and created good is a created existence\nconformed to the type of the good which is necessary and eternal.\n\nThe intuition of the infinite reduces itself in like manner to the\nintuition of absolute being accompanied by the intuition of the finite\nor relative with which it is compared. The absolute is being in its\nplenitude, the intelligible as comprehended by intelligence in its\nultimate act, neither admitting of any increase. The finite is that\nwhich can be thought as capable of increase, but, increased\nindefinitely, never reaches {523} the infinite. The term infinite, as\nF\u00e9n\u00e9lon well observes, though negative in form--expressing the denial\nof limitation--is the expression of a positive idea. Herbert Spencer\nproves the same in a luminous and cogent manner, even from the\nadmissions of philosophers of the sceptical school of Kant.  [Footnote\n93] The intuition of the infinite gives us that which is not referable\nto an idea of a higher order, but is itself that idea to which all\nothers are referred as the ultimate of thought and being. This\nintuition of the infinite always presents itself behind every\nconception, and makes itself the first element of every thought.\n\n  [Footnote 93: First Principles of a New System of Philosophy.]\n\nThis is clearly seen in the conceptions, commonly called the ideas, of\nspace and time. The intuition of the infinite will never permit us to\nfix any definite, unpassable limits to these conceptions, but forces\nus to endeavor perpetually to grasp infinity and eternity under an\nadequate mental representation, which we cannot do. We must, however,\nif we are faithful to reason, recognize behind these conceptions of\nspace that cannot be bounded and time that cannot be terminated either\nby beginning or end, the idea of being infinite as regards both, the\nreason of the possibility of finite things bearing to each other the\nrelations of co-existence and successive duration.\n\nThe same intuition is at the root of the conception of the\nimpossibility of limiting the divisibility of mathematical quantity.\nWhichever way we turn, the idea of the infinite presents itself. We\ncan never reach the boundary of multiplicability, nor can we reach the\nboundary of divisibility, which is only another form of\nmultiplicability. The conception of ideal space and number is rooted\nin the idea of the infinite power of God to create existences which\nhave mathematical relations to each other. The positive multiplication\nor division of lines and numbers must always have a limit, but the\nradical possibility must always remain infinite, because it is\nincluded in the idea of God, which transcends all categories of\nspace, time or limitation.\n\nThe intuition of cause is in the same order of thought. Necessary\nbeing and contingent existence cannot be apprehended in the same idea,\nwithout the connecting link of the principle of causation. It has been\nfully proved by Hume and Kant, that we cannot certainly conclude the\nprinciple of causation from any induction of particular facts. We\nalways assume it, before we begin to make the induction. It is an _a\npriori_ judgment that everything which exists must have a cause, and\nthat all finite causes, receive their causality from a first cause or\n_causa causarum_. For every finite cause has a beginning, which comes\nfrom a prior cause, and an infinite series of finite causes being\nabsurd, the idea of causation necessarily includes first cause, and is\nincapable of being thought or stated without it. Existence is not\nintelligible in itself, but in its cause, absolute being. Absolute\nbeing, though intelligible in itself, is not intelligible to human\nreason, except by the causative act terminated in existences, and\nmaking them intelligible. That is, being and existence, in the\nrelation of cause and effect, are presented, and affirmed to reason,\nas the one complex object of its original intuition, and its\nconstitutive idea.\n\nThis is the point of co-incidence of the _a priori_ and _a posteriori_\narguments, demonstrating the Christian theistic conception. They\nanalyze the synthetic judgment of reason, and show its contents. The\nargument, _a priori_ analyzes it on the side of being, showing what is\ncontained in being, or _ens_. The argument _a posteriori_ analyzes it\non the side of existence, _existentia_. But either argument implicitly\ncontains the other. It is impossible to reason on either the first or\nlast term of the synthetic judgment, without taking in the middle term\nof causation, which implies the third term, existence, if you begin\n{524} with being, and the first term, being, if you begin with\nexistence. The theistic conception is God Creator. The theologian who\nbegins to prove the proposition, God creates the world, cannot deduce\ncreation by showing what is contained in the pure and simple idea of\nnecessary, self-existing being. The idea of God includes the creative\npower, but not the creative act, which is free, and cannot be deduced\nfrom the primitive intuition, unless God affirms it to the reason in\nthat intuition; and even the creative power, or the possibility of\ncreation, cannot be deduced by human reason from the idea of necessary\nbeing. Thus, the argument _a priori_ really does not conclude the\neffect, that is, creation, by demonstrating it from the nature of the\ncause alone, but assumes it as known from the beginning.\n\nIn like manner, the theologian, who argues from the creation up to the\ncreator, or from effect to cause, assumes that the creation is really\ncreated, and the effect of a cause exterior to itself; otherwise, the\nterm existence could never conduct him to the term being.\n\nWe cannot demonstrate beyond what is given us in intuition, for all\ndemonstration is a simple unfolding of the intuitive idea. The idea\npresents to us the creative act. If we reflect the causative or\ncreative principle, whatever we logically explicate from it is\nindubitably true, because in conformity with the idea of first cause.\nIf we reflect the terminus of the causative act, or creation, whatever\nwe logically explicate from it respecting the nature of eminent cause\nis indubitably true, for the same reason. In both cases we reason\nvalidly, and demonstrate all that is demonstrable in the case. In the\nfirst instance, we demonstrate what is really contained in the idea of\nnecessary being, and bring this idea--under the form of a distinct\nconception--face to face with the reflective reason. In the second\ninstance, we demonstrate the order of the universe, and the\nmanifestation in it of divine power, wisdom and goodness. We\ndemonstrate that the theistic conception, or the conception of God and\nhis attributes, contained in Christian Theology, is that which we know\nintuitively in the light of the primitive idea, logically explicated\nand represented by analogy in language. What we do not demonstrate, is\nthe objective reality of the idea; for this is indemonstrable, as\nbeing the first principle of all demonstration. The idea is\nintelligible in itself, and illuminates the reason with intelligence.\nThe office of logic and reasoning is to inspect and scrutinize the\nidea, to represent in reflection that which is intelligible. By this\nprocess the idea of necessary being evolves itself, necessarily, into\nthe complete theistic conception of God, as is shown most amply in the\ntreatises of theologians and religious writers.  [Footnote 94] We will\nendeavor to sum up their results in as brief and universal a synopsis\nas possible.\n\n  [Footnote 94: It will be seen, therefore, that the arguments _a\n  priori_ and _a posteriori_ demonstrating the Christian doctrine of\n  God, as stated by the great Catholic Theologians, have not been\n  impugned, but, on the contrary, vindicated from the\n  misrepresentation of a more modern and less profound school of\n  philosophers.]\n\nBeginning at this point, real necessary being is in itself the\nintelligible; we lay down first that which is most radical and\nultimate in the conception of the living, personal God and Creator;\nnamely, absolute, infinite _intelligence_.\n\nThe absolute intelligible being must be absolute intelligent being.\nThe intelligible is only intelligible to intelligence. What is the\nidea, or ideal truth or being, without an intelligent subject? What is\ninfinite idea, or infinite object of thought, without infinite\nintelligent subject? That which is intelligible in itself necessarily,\nabsolutely, and infinitely, must necessarily be the terminating object\nof intelligence equal to itself, that is infinite. This intelligence\ncannot be created, for then it would be finite. It must be included in\nabsolute being. {525} Being includes in itself all that is. It\ntherefore includes intelligence. It contains in itself all that is\nnecessary to its own perfection. Its perfection as intelligible\nrequires its perfection as intelligent. Absolute being is therefore\ninfinitely intelligible and intelligent in its own nature and idea. It\nis the intelligible being which is intelligent being, and only\nintelligent spirit, which is in its very essence intelligence, can be\nnecessarily and infinitely intelligible; for only self-existent\ninfinite spirit has the absolute infinite activity necessary to\nirradiate the light of the intelligible. The light of the intelligible\nirradiates our created intelligence by an act which constitutes it\nrational spirit. This act must be the act of supreme, absolute,\ninfinite intelligence. Whatever is in the creature, must be infinite\nin the creator. The world of finite, intelligent spirits can only\nproceed from an infinite, intelligent spirit, as first and eminent\ncause. The sensible and physical world also is apprehended by our\nreason as intelligible, and is intelligible, only in intelligent\ncause; which throws open the vast and magnificent field of\ndemonstration from the order and harmony of nature. The intelligible\nin the order of the finite, is a reflection of the intelligible in the\norder of the infinite. The intelligible in the order of the infinite,\nis the adequate object of infinite intelligence. The intelligible _in\nse_ is identical with being in its plenitude; and being in plenitude\nis necessarily infinite, intelligent spirit.  [Footnote 95]\n\n  [Footnote 95: Because, if we conceive of any essence that it is not\n  spiritual, we can conceive of one that is more perfect, namely, that\n  which has these two attributes; and if we conceive of one that is\n  finite in intelligence, we can conceive of one that is superior, or\n  has greater plenitude of being, until we reach the infinite. The\n  very conception of being in plenitude is being that excludes the\n  conception of the possibility of that which is greater than itself.]\n\nFrom this point the way is clear and easy to verify all that\ntheologians teach respecting the essential attributes of God. We have\nmerely to explicate the idea of intelligent spirit possessing being in\nits plenitude. All that has being--that is, every kind of good and\nperfection that the mind can apprehend in the divine essence by means\nof creatures--must be attributed to God in the absolute and infinite\nsense. We cannot grasp plenitude of being fully under one aspect or\nform. We are obliged to discriminate and distinguish qualities or\nattributes of being in God. But this is not by the way of addition or\ncomposition of these attributes with the idea of the simple essence of\nGod. It is by the way of identification. Thus, being is identified\nwith the intelligible and with intelligence. All the attributes of God\nare identified with each other and with his being.\n\nThis is what is meant by saying that God is most simple being, _ens\nsimplicissimum_. The pure and simple idea of being contains in itself\nevery possible predicate: hence we can predicate nothing of it that\ncan add to it, or combine with it, to make a composite idea greater\nthan the idea of being in its simplicity. It comes to the same, when\nwe say that God is most pure act, _actus purissimus_, which merely\nascribes to him actual being in eternity to the utmost limit of\npossibility, or to the ultimate comprehensibility of the idea of being\nby the infinite intelligence of God.\n\nIn the first place, then, we demonstrate the unity of God. There can\nbe but one infinite being. For the intelligible being of God is the\nadequate object of his intelligence. Therefore there is no other\ninfinite, intelligible object of infinite intelligence.\n\nGod is absolutely good. For his own being is the adequate object of\nhis volition, and the definition of good is adequate object of\nvolition, so that being is identical with good.\n\nGod is all-powerful. For there is no intelligible idea of power, which\ntranscends the knowledge God has of his own being as including the\nability to create.\n\nGod is infinitely holy. For the intellect and the will of God\nterminate upon the same object, that is, upon his {526} own being, and\nconsequently agree with each other; and the very notion of the\nsanctity of God is the perfect harmony of his intellect and will in\ninfinite good.\n\nGod is immutable. For any change or progression implies a movement\ntoward the absolute plenitude of being, and is inconsistent with the\nnecessary and eternal possession of this plenitude.\n\nGod is infinite and eternal; above all categories of limitation,\nsuccession, time or space; for this is only to say that he is most\nsimple being, and most pure act.\n\nGod is absolute truth and beauty, for these are identical with being.\n\nHe is infinite love, for he is the infinite object of his own\nintelligence comprehended as the term of his own volition.\n\nFor the same reason, he is infinite beatitude, since beatitude simply\nexpresses the repose and complacency of intelligence and will in their\nadequate object and is identical with love.\n\nGod is an ocean of boundless, unfathomable good and perfection, to\nwhom everything must be attributed that can increase our mental\nconception of his infinite being. We can go on indefinitely,\nexplicating this conception, and every proposition we can make which\ncontains the statement of anything positive and intelligible, is\nself-evident; requiring no separate proof, but merely verification as\ntruly identifying something with the idea of being. \"We shall say much\nand yet shall want words; but the sum of our words is, HE IS ALL.\"\n[Footnote 96] Nevertheless, our reason is not brought face to face\nwith God by any direct intuition or vision of his intimate, personal\nessence. Every word, every conception, every thought expressing the\nmost complete and vivid act of the reflective consciousness on the\nidea of God is derived from the creation, and gives only a speculative\nand enigmatical representation of the being of God itself, as mirrored\nin the perfections of created, contingent existences. Though we see\nall things by its light, the sun itself, the original source of\nintelligible light, is not within our rational horizon. The creation\nis illuminated by it with the light of intelligibility, and by this\nlight we become spectators of the creative act of God.\n\n [Footnote 96: Ecclus. xiiii. 99.]\n\nThe creative act is not a transient effort of power, but a durable,\ncontinuous, ever-present act, by which God is always creating the\nuniverse. The creation has its being not in itself but in God. All\nthat we witness therefore and come in contact with, is but the\nradiation of light, life, truth, beauty, happiness; physical, mental,\nand spiritual existence; from God, the source of being. We see the\narchitecture which proceeds from his mighty designs; we behold the\ninfinitely varied and ever shifting pictures and sculptures in which\nhe embodies his infinite idea of his own beauty. We hear the harmonies\nthat echo his eternal blessedness; the colossal machinery of worlds\nplays regularly and resistlessly by the force which he communicates\naround us; his signs, emblems, and hieroglyphics are impressed on our\nsenses; the perpetual affirmation of his being is always making itself\nheard in the depth of our reason. The perpetual influx of creative\nforce from him is every instant giving life and existence to our body.\nWe breathe in it, and see by it, and move through its energy. It is\nevery instant creating our soul. When our soul first came out of\nnothing into existence, it was created by a whisper of the divine\nword, which simultaneously gave it existence and the faculty of\napprehending that whisper, by which it was made. God whispered in the\nsoul the affirmation of his own being as the author of all existence.\nThis whisper is perpetual, like the creative act. It constitutes our\nrational life and activity. By its virtue we think and are conscious.\nIt concurs with every intellectual act. When the soul is stillest and\nits contemplation of truth the most profound, then it is most\ndistinctly heard; but it cannot be drowned by any {527} tumult or\nclamor. \"In God we live, and move, and have our being.\" We float in\nthe divine idea as in an ocean. It meets us everywhere we turn. We\ncannot soar above it, dive beneath it, or sail in sight of its coasts.\nIt is our rational element, in which our rational existence was\ncreated, in which it was made to live, and we recognize it in the same\nact in which we recognize our own existence. It is necessary to the\noriginal act of self-consciousness, and enters into the indestructible\nessence of the soul, as immortal spirit.\n\nThe Creed, therefore, when it proposes its first article to a child\nwho is capable of a complete rational act, only brings him face to\nface with himself, or with the idea of his own reason. It gives him a\ndistinct image or reflection of that idea, a sign of it, a verbal\nexpression for it, a formula by which his reflective faculty can work\nit out into a distinct conception. As soon as it is fairly\napprehended, he perceives its truth with a rational certitude which\nreposes in the intimate depths of his own consciousness. It is true\nthat he cannot arrange and express his conceptions, or distinctly\nanalyze for himself the operations of his own mind, in the manner\ngiven above. This can only be done by one who is instructed in\ntheology. But although he is no theologian or philosopher, he has\nnevertheless the substance of philosophy or _sapientia_, and of\ntheology, in his intellect; deeper, broader and more sublime than all\nthe measurements and signs of metaphysicians can express. We have\ntaken the child as creditive subject in this exposition, in order to\nexhibit the ultimate rational basis of faith in its simplest act, and,\nso to speak, to show its _genesis_. But we do not profess to stop with\nthis simple act which initiates the reason in its childhood into the\norder of rational intelligence and faith; rather we take it as only\nthe terminus of starting in the prosecution of a thorough\ninvestigation of the complete development which the intelligent faith\nunfolds in the adult and instructed reason of a Christian fully\neducated in theological science. Hence we have given the conception\nGod in its scientific form, but as the scientific form of that which\nis certainly and indubitably apprehended in its essential substance by\nevery mind capable of making an explicit and complete act of rational\nfaith in God as the creator of the world. In the language of\nWordsworth, \"The child is father of the man.\" A complete rational act\nin a child has in it the germ of all science. He is as certain that\ntwo and two make four, as is the consummate mathematician. A complete\nact of faith in a child is as infallible as the faith of a theologian,\nand has in it the germ of all theology. He is able to say \"Credo in\nDeum\" with a perfect rational certitude; and this conclusion is the\ngoal toward which the whole preceding argument has been tending.\n\nBut here we are met with a difficulty. The principle of faith cannot\nitself fall under the dominion of faith, or be classed with the\n_credenda_, which we believed on the veracity of God. How then can\n_Credo_ govern _Deum_. The necessity for an intelligible basis for\nfaith has been established, and this basis located in the idea of God\nevolved into a conception demonstrable to reason from its own\nconstitutive principles. It would therefore seem that instead of\nsaying \"I believe in God,\" we ought to say \"I know that God is, and is\nthe infinite truth in himself, therefore I believe,\" etc. only on you.\n\nThis formula does really express a process of thought contained in the\nact of faith, and implied in the signification of _Credo_. _Credo_\nincludes in itself _intelligo_. Divine faith presupposes, and\nincorporates into itself, human intelligence and human faith, on that\nside of them which is an inchoate capacity for receiving its divine,\nelevating influence. Hence the propriety of using the word _Credo_,\nleaving _intelligo_ understood but not expressed. The symbol of faith\nis not intended to express any object of our knowledge, {528} except\nas united to the object of faith. For this reason it does not\ndiscriminate in the proposition of the verity of the being of God,\nthat which is the direct object of intelligence, but presents it under\none term with those propositions concerning God which are only the\nindirect object of intelligence through the medium of divine\nrevelation. When we say _Credo in Deum_, if we consider in _Deum_ only\nthat which is demonstrable by reason concerning God, the full sense of\n_Credo_ is suspended, until the revelation of the superintellible\n[sic] s introduced in the succeeding articles. The term _Deum_\nterminates _Credo_, only inasmuch as it is qualified by the succeeding\nterms; that is, inasmuch as we profess our belief in God as the\nrevealer of the truths contained in the subsequent articles.\n\nThe foregoing statement applies to the use of the word _Credo_ in\nrelation with _Deum_ in the first article of the Creed, taking _Credo_\nin its strictest and most exclusive sense of belief in revealed truths\nwhich are above the sphere of natural reason. In addition to this, it\ncan be shown that there is a secondary and subordinate reason on\naccount of which the mental apprehension of that which is naturally\nintelligible in God is included under the term faith, taken in a wider\nand more extensive sense.\n\nThis intelligible order of truth, or natural theology, was actually\ncommunicated to mankind in the beginning, together with the primitive\nrevelation. We are, therefore, instructed in it, by the way of faith.\nThe conception of God, and the words which communicate to us that\nconception, and enable us to grasp it, come to us through tradition,\nand are received by the mind before its faculties are fully developed.\nWe believe first, and understand afterward; and the greater part of\nmen never actually attain to the full understanding of that which is\nin itself intelligible, but hold it confusedly, accepting with\nimplicit trust in authority, many truths which the wise possess as\nscience. Moreover, the term faith is often used to denote belief in\nany reality which lies in an order superior to nature and removed from\nthe sphere of the sensible, although that reality may be demonstrable\nfrom rational principles. In a certain sense we may say that this\nregion of truth is a common domain of faith and reason. But we have\nnow approached that boundary line where the proper and peculiar empire\nof faith begins, and like Dante, left by his human guide on the coasts\nof the celestial world, we must endeavor under heavenly protection to\nascend to this higher sphere of thought.\n\n------\n\nFrom Once a Week.\n\nTHE KING AND THE BISHOP.\n\n  Before Roskilde's sacred fane,\n    (The first the land has known.)\n  Attended by his courtier train,\n    And decked, as on his throne,\n  In costly raiment, glittering gay\n    Beneath the noon-day sun;\n  All fresh and fair, as though the day\n    Had seen no slaughter done--\n\n{529}\n\n  As though the all-beholding eye\n    Of that Omniscient Deity,\n  Whom, turning from the downward way\n    His heathen fathers trod,\n  He guided by a purer ray,\n   Hath chosen for his God--\n  Had seen no darker, dreader sight,\n    Twixt yester morn and yester night,\n\n  Beheld by his approving eye,\n    Who, now, would draw his altar nigh;\n  Ay, fresh and fair as to his soul\n    No taint of blood did cling,\n  As though in heart and conscience whole,\n    Stands Swend, the warrior-king.\n\n  On his, as on a maiden's cheek,\n    (Though bearded and a knight,)\n  The royal hues of Denmark speak  [Footnote 97]--\n    The crimson and the white;\n  But mark ye how the angry hue\n    Keeps deepening, as he stands,\n  And mark ye, too, the courtly crew,\n    With lifted eyes and hands!\n\n    [Footnote 97: The Danish king, Swend, soon after his entrance into\n    the Christian church, slew some of his \"jaris\" without a trial,\n    and, on presenting himself, after the commission of this crime, at\n    the portal of the newly-built cathedral of Roskilde, in Zealand,\n    found it barred by the pastoral staff of the English missionary\n    and bishop who had converted him. After receiving the rebuke given\n    in the poem, and forbidding his attendants to molest the bishop,\n    he returned whence he came, and shortly after, made his\n    reappearance in the garb of a penitent, when he was received by\n    the prelate, and, after a certain time of penance, absolved; after\n    which they became fast friends.]\n\n  Across the portal, low and wide,\n    A slender bar from side to side.\n  The bishop's staff is seen;\n    And holding it, with reverent hands\n  And head erect, the prelate stands,\n    A man of stately mien.\n\n  \"Go back!\" he cries, and fronts the king.\n    Whilst clear and bold his accents ring\n  Throughout the sacred fane--\n    And Echo seems their sound to bring\n  Triumphant back again--\n  \"Go back, nor dare, with impious tread,\n  Into the presence pure and dread.\n    Thy guilty soul to bring,\n  Impenitent--O thou, who art\n    A murderer, though a king!\"\n  A murmur, deepening to a roar,\n    'Mid those who were clust'ring round the door:\n  A few disjointed but eager words--\n    A sudden glimmer of naked swords;\n  And the bishop raised his longing eyes,\n    In speechless praise, to the distant skies;\n\n{530}\n\n  For he thought his labor would soon be o'er.\n  And his bark at rest, on the peaceful shore;\n  And he pictured the crown, the martyrs wear,\n  Floating slowly down, on the voiceless air;\n  Till he almost fancied he felt its weight\n  On his brows--as he stood, and blessed his fate.\n\n  With a calm, sweet smile on his face, he bowed\n  His reverend head to the raging crowd--\n    (Oh! the sight was fair to see!)\n  And \"Strike!\" he cried, whilst they held their breath.\n  To hear his words; \"For I fear not death\n    For him who has died for me!\"\n\n  King Swend looked up, with an angry glare,\n  At the dauntless prelate, who braved him there,\n    Though he deemed his hour near;\n  And he saw, with one glance of his eagle eye.\n  That that beaming smile and that bearing high\n    Were never the mask of fear!\n\n  Right against might had won the day;--\n    And he bade them sheathe their swords; then turned,\n    Whilst an angry spot on his cheek still burned,\n  From the house of God away.\n\n  Ere the hour had winged its flight, once more,\n  Behold! there stood, at the temple door,\n  A suppliant form, with its head bowed down.\n  And ashes were there, for the kingly crown;\n  And the costly robes, which had made erewhile\n  So gallant a show in the sunbeams' smile.\n  Had been cast aside, ere its glow was spent,\n  For the sackcloth worn by the penitent!\n\n  The bishop came down the crowded nave;\n  His smile was bright, though his face was grave,\n  He paused at the portal, and raised his eyes.\n  Yet another time to those sapphire skies,\n  But he thought not now, that the look he cast\n  To that radiant heaven would be his last;\n  And he thanked his Master again--but not\n  For the martyrdom that should bless his lot;\n  For the close to the day of life, whose sun\n  Was to set in blood, on his rest was won:\n  Far other than this was his theme of praise,\n  As he murmured: \"O thou, in thy works and ways\n  As wonderful now as when Israel went\n  Through the sea, which is Pharaoh's monument:\n  Though I pictured death in the flashing steel,\n  And I looked for the glory it should reveal,\n  Yet oh! if it be, as it seems to be,\n  Thy will, that I stay to glorify thee,\n  To add to thy jewels, one by one;\n  Then, Father in heaven, that will be done!\"\n\n{531}\n\n  Then on the monarch's humbled brow\n    The kiss of peace he pressed.\n  And led him, as a brother, now,\n    A little from the rest--\n  \"Here, as is meet, thy penance do,\n  And as thy penitence is true,\n    So God will make it light!\n  Then mayst thou work with me, that thus\n  The light that he hath given us\n    May rise on Denmark's night!\"\n\nM. T. F.\n\n------\n\nTranslated from Le Correspondant\n\nTHE YOUTH OF SAINT PAUL.\n\n\nBy L'ABBE LOUIS BAUNARD.\n\n\nAt the time when Jesus Christ came into this world, the Jews were\nscattered over the whole surface of the earth. From the narrow valley\nin which their religious law had confined them for the designs of God,\nthese people of little territory had overflowed into all the provinces\nof the Roman empire. Captivity had been the beginning of their\ndispersion. Numerous Israelitish colonists, who had formerly settled\nin the land of their exile, were still existing in Babylon, in Media,\neven in Persia; others had pushed their way further on to the extreme\neast, even as far as China. Finally, under the reign of Augustus, they\nare found everywhere.   [Footnote 98]\n\n  [Footnote 98: V. Remond \"Histoire de la Propagation du Judaisme,\"\n  Leipzig, 1789 Grost, \"De Migrationibus Hebr. extra patriam,\" 1817.\n  Jost, \"Histoire des Isra\u00e9lites depuis les Machab\u00e9es,\" etc.]\n\nIt was the solemn hour in which, according to the parable of the\ngospel, the Father had gone forth to sow the seed. The field, \"that is\nthe world,\" was filled with it already, and the time was not far\ndistant when the Lord, \"seeing the countries ripe for the harvest,\"\nwould send out his journeymen to reap, and gather the wheat into his\nbarns.\n\nOne of these families \"_of the dispersion_,\" as they were styled,\ninhabited the city of Tarsus in Cilicia. Of this once famous city\nnothing now remains but a few ruins, and the modern Tarsous falls\nvastly short of that high rank which the ancient Tarsus held among the\ncities of the East. Even at present, however, it is called the capital\ncity of Caramania. Situated on a small eminence covered over with\nlaurels and myrtles, at a distance of about ten miles from the\nMediterranean sea, it is washed by the rapid and cold waters of the\nKara-sou, and its population during winter amounts to more than thirty\nthousand souls. In summer it is almost a desert. Chased away by the\nburning heats which prevail at this season from the sea-coast, men,\nwomen and children abandon their homes and emigrate to the surrounding\nheights, where they fix their camp under lofty cedars, which afford\nthem shelter, shade, and coolness.  [Footnote 99]\n\n  [Footnote 99: P. Belon, \"Voyages\"--cit\u00e9 dans Malte-Brun.]\n\n{532}\n\nIt were difficult to draw, from what it is at present, an exact\npicture of the ancient Tarsus. Instead of the sad, disconsolate look\nof a Turkish city, there was then in it the movement, the ardor, the\nsplendor of the Greek city, proud of her politeness and her\nrecollections. According to Strabo, Tarsus was a colony of Argos. As a\nproof of the high state of its culture, the Greeks related that the\ncompanions of Triptolemus, perambulating the earth in search of Io,\nstopped at that place, charmed by its richness and beauty. Others\ntraced its origin further back, to the old kings of Assyria. At one of\nthe gates of Tarsus there had been seen for a long time the tomb of\nSardanapalus with the following inscription under his statue: \"I,\nSardanapalus, have built Tarsus in one day. Passenger, eat, drink, and\ngive thyself a good time; the rest is nothing.\"  [Footnote 100]\nHistory, however, has written there other remembrances. It was not far\nfrom Tarsus that the intrepid Alexander had nearly perished in the icy\nwaters of the Cydnus. It was there upon the sea, at the entrance of\nthe river, that the memorable interview and the fatal alliance of\nAntony and Cleopatra had just taken place in the midst of voluptuous\nfeasts. The wise providence that provides reparations for all our\npollutions, had chosen the city of a Sardanapalus and of an Antony to\nbe the cradle of St. Paul.\n\n  [Footnote 100: Strabo, liv, xvi.]\n\nFor the rest, Tarsus was a city perfectly well built and of remarkable\nbeauty. From the fertile hill on which she rested, she could\ncontemplate the direction toward the north and west of an undulating\nline, which traced rather than hid the horizon. This was the outline\nof the first ascending grades, of the mountains of Cilicia. At a short\ndistance from the city the waters of numerous living springs met\ntogether and formed a rapid river, deeply enchased, which soon reached\nand refreshed that portion of her which the historians call the\nGymnasium, and we would name the \"Quarter of the schools.\" Further on\nthere was a harbor of peculiar and distinctly marked outline.\nPhilostratus has described in a striking and picturesque manner the\ndifferent habitudes of the men of traffic and of the literary class,\nrepresenting \"the former as slaves to avarice, the latter to\nvoluptuousness. All their talk,\" says he, \"consisted in reviling,\ntaunting, and railing at each other with sharp-biting words: whence\none might have easily seen that it was only in their dress they\npretended to imitate the Athenians, but not in prudence and\npraiseworthy habits. They did nothing else all day but walk up and\ndown on the banks of the river Cydnus, which runs across this city, as\nif they were so many aquatic birds, passing their time in frolicsome\nlevities, inebriated, so to speak, with the pleasing delectation of\nthose sweet-flowing waters.\"   [Footnote 101]\n\n  [Footnote 101: Philostrate, \"De la Vie d'Apollonius Thyan\u00e9an\n  traduction de Blaise de Vigen\u00e8re,\" liv. iv. ch. ix. p. 103,104.\n  Paris, 1611.]\n\nSuch, then, was the city in which a vast multitude of young men,\nelegant, voluptuous and witty, crowded and pressed each other like a\nswarm of bees, for Tarsus was the most brilliant intellectual focus of\nthat time and country. The following is the description of it, given\nby Strabo: \"She carries to such a height the culture of arts and\nsciences, that she surpasses even Athens and Alexandria. The\ndifference between Tarsus and these two cities is, that in the former\nthe learned are almost all indigenous. Few strangers come hither; and\neven those who belong to the country do not sojourn here long. As soon\nas they have completed the course of their studies in the liberal\narts, they emigrate to some other place, and very few of them return\nto Tarsus afterward.\"\n\nThe best masters regarded it as an honor to teach in the schools of\nthis city of arts. There were in it such grammarians as Artemidorus\nand Diodorus; such brilliant poets and professors {533} of eloquence\nas Plutiades and Diogenes; such philosophers of the sect of the stoics\nas the two Athenodori; of whom the first had been Cato's friend in\nlife, and his companion in death, and the second had been the\ninstructor of Augustus, who, in token of gratitude, appointed him\ngovernor of Tarsus. For, it was the fate of this learned city to be\nunder the administration of men of letters, and of philosophers. She\nhad been ruled by the poet Boethus, the favorite of Antony. Nestor,\nthe Platonic philosopher, had also governed her. It is easily seen,\nhowever, that such men are better prepared for speculations in\nscience, than for the administration of public affairs, so that, in\ntheir hands, Tarsus felt more than once those intestine commotions, of\nwhich cities of schools have never ceased to be the theatre.\n\nIt was in this city, and under these circumstances, almost upon the\nfrontiers of Europe and Asia, in the very heart of a great\ncivilization, that St. Paul was born, about the twenty-eighth year of\nAugustus' reign, two years before the birth of Christ.  [Footnote 102]\nHe himself informs us that he was a _Jew_ of the tribe of Juda,\n[Footnote 103] born in the _Greek_ city of Tarsus, and a _Roman_\ncitizen: so that by parentage, by education, and by privilege, he\nbelonged to the three great nations who bore rule over the realm of\nthought and of action. The grave historian  [Footnote 104] who\nexhausts the catalogue of the illustrious men of Tarsus, never\nsuspected what man--very differently illustrious--had just appeared\nthere, and of what a revolution he was to become the zealous defender\nas well as the martyr.\n\n  [Footnote 102: This would be so, if St. Paul lived to the age of\n  sixty-eight years, as is stated in a Homily of St. John Chrysostom,\n  vol. vi. of his complete works.]\n\n  [Footnote 103: Benjamin. See Rom. xi 1.--Ep. C. W.]\n\n  [Footnote 104: Strabo, liv. xiv]\n\nThe Jewish origin of the Doctor of Nations was, as is easily\nunderstood, of vast importance for fulfilment of the designs of God.\nThe religion of Jesus Christ proceeds from Judaism, continues and\nperfects it. It was, therefore, well worthy of the wisdom of God that\nhis apostles should belong to the one as well as to the other\ncovenant, and that he should thus extend his hand to all ages, as he\nwas to extend it to all men.\n\nThis purity of origin was so considerable a privilege, that it is by\nit one may account to one's self for the rage and fury with which the\nEbionite Jews in the first age of our era labored to deprive him of\nit. Adhering to the last rubbish of the law of Moses, and, for this\nreason, irreconcilable enemies to the great apostle of the Gentiles,\nthese sectarians maliciously invented the following fable, according\nto the relation of St. Epiphanius. [Footnote 105] \"They say that he\nwas a Greek, that his father was a Greek as well as his mother. Having\ncome to Jerusalem in his youth, he had sojourned there for a certain\ntime. Having there known the daughter of the high priest, he had\ndesired to have her for his wife; and to this end he had become a\nJewish proselyte. As he could not, however, obtain the young maiden\neven at that price, he had conceived a burning resentment, and\ncommenced to write against the circumcision, the sabbath, and the\nlaw.\" It seems to me that St. Epiphanius confers too great an honor\nupon this romance, by merely exposing and refuting it.\n\n  [Footnote 105: \"Adv. Haeret\" liv. ii. t. i. p. 140, No. xvi.]\n\nI know on what foundation St. Jerome affirms, on the contrary, that\nSt. Paul was a Jew not only by descent, but also by the place of his\nbirth. According to him, St. Paul's parents dwelt in the small town of\nGirchala in Juda, when the Roman invasion compelled them to seek for\nthemselves a home somewhere else. Therefore they took their son, yet\nan infant, with them, and fled to Tarsus, where they remained, waiting\nfor better days.  [Footnote 106]\n\n  [Footnote 106: \"De Viris Illustrib. Catalog. Script. Eccles.\" t. i.\n  p.849]\n\nThe declaration of St. Paul himself, however, allows no doubt to be\n{534} entertained as to his origin. Born in Tarsus, he was circumcised\nthere on the eighth day after his birth, and received the name of\nSaul, which he exchanged afterward for that of Paul, probably at the\ntime when Sergius Paulus had been converted by him to the Christian\nfaith.\n\nHis parents failed not to instruct him in the law; for, how distant\nsoever from their mother country might have been the place in which\nthey lived, the Jews did not cease to render to the God of their\nfathers worship, more or less pure, but faithful. Like all other great\ncities of the Roman empire, Tarsus had her synagogue where the Law was\nread, and where the religious interests of the Israelitic people were\ndiscussed. It was there that prayers were solemnly made with the face\nturned toward the holy city: for there was no temple anywhere but in\nJerusalem, whither numerous and pious caravans from all the countries\nof Asia went every year to celebrate in Sion the great festivals of\nthe Passover and Pentecost, to pay there the double devotion, and\npresent their victims. The bond of union was thus fastened more firmly\nthan ever between the colonies and the metropolis, in which great\nthings were soon expected to take place. Jerusalem was not only the\ncountry of memorials, but to Jewish hearts she was also the land of\nhope, and every eye was turned toward the mountain whence salvation\nwas to come.\n\nSaul grew up in Tarsus. We must not seek in the youth of Saul for\nthose signs which reveal in advance a great man. In individuals of\nthis sort, devoted to the work of God, all greatness is from him, the\ninstrument disappearing in the hand of the divine artificer. Whatever\nillusion iconography may have impressed us with upon the point, Saul\ndid not carry, either in stature of body or in beauty of features, the\nreflection of his great soul, and at first sight the world saw in him\nonly an insignificant person, as he himself testifies, \"_aspectus\ncorporis infirmus_,\" Beside, he was a man of low condition, exercising\na trade, and earning his daily bread by the sweat of his face. The\nrabbinical maxims said that, \"not to teach one's son to work, was the\nsame thing as to teach him to steal.\" Saul was, therefore, a workman,\nand everything leads us to believe that he, who was to carry light to\nnations, passed, like his master, the whole of his obscure youth in\nhard work. He made tents for the military camps and for travellers.\nThis was an extensive industry in the East; and a great trade in these\ntextures was carried on in Tarsus with the caravans starting from the\nports of Cilicia and journeying though Armenia, Persia, the whole of\nAsia Major, and beyond.  [Footnote 107]\n\n  [Footnote 107: These conjectures and regard to St. Paul's birth and\n  parentage are not founded on any solid basis, but on the contrary\n  appear to be quite improbable. The author's citation from the\n  Rabbinical maxims overturns the argument which he derives from the\n  fact that St. Paul practised a handicraft. All Jews, whatever their\n  birth or wealth, learned a trade. St. Paul's knowledge of the\n  tent-maker's trade, therefore, does not prove that he was of low\n  birth, or belonged to the class of artisans. On the contrary, his\n  possession of the privileges of Roman citizenship, which he must\n  have inherited, and which could only have been conferred on account\n  of some great service rendered to the state by one of his ancestors,\n  together with his thorough education, go to show that he belonged to\n  one of the most eminent Jewish families of Tarsus.--Ed. C.W.]\n\nManual occupation, however, did not absorb the whole time, nor the\nwhole soul of the young Israelite; since the tradition of the fathers\npoints to him as frequenting the schools of Tarsus, and joining that\nstudious swarm of young civilians who crowded there to attend the\nlectures delivered by the professors of science and literature.\n[Footnote 108] His Epistles retain some traces of these his first\nstudies. In these he quotes now and then words of the ancient poets,\nMenander, Aratus, Epimenides. He expressed himself with equal facility\nin the three great languages of the civilized world, the Hebrew, the\nGreek, and the Latin; and it is manifest that he knew the secrets of\nthe art of eloquence, for which he {535} retained in later times only\na magnanimous contempt. He was also initiated in philosophy, under the\nteachers whom I have named already. Besides Stoicism, whose patrons\nand success in Tarsus I have mentioned, Platonism flourished there\nunder the protection of Nestor, a man of great distinction, who had\nbeen the preceptor of that illustrious youth Marullus, who was sung by\nVirgil, and bewailed by Augustus. Is it not, at this period, that a\nyoung man of Tyana, himself destined to acquire a strange celebrity,\ncame to Tarsus in his fourteenth year, and passionately embraced there\nthe precepts of Pythagorean doctrine? The uncertainties of the\nhistory, which was written by Philostratus afterward, do not permit us\nto say anything definite upon this point; but one cannot help thinking\nthat it is from the same place, and at the same time, that those two\nextremes of the power of good and of the power of evil have set\nout--Apollonius of Tyana, and Saint Paul.\n\n  [Footnote 108: Sancte Hieronymi, t. vi. 322.--\"Comm. Epist. ad\n  Galat.\"]\n\nFinally, not far from there the oriental doctrines drove to their\nseveral beliefs respectively the multitudes of Asia, and invaded also\nthe Greek cities of Asia Minor and the Islands. Thus Parsism on the\none hand, and Hellenism on the other, met in Tarsus with Judaism. By\nits position, as well as by its commerce, the birthplace of St. Paul\nwas the point of confluence of the two currents of ideas, which shared\nthe world between themselves. From this centre the future apostle was\nable to embrace in one view all those different sorts of minds which\nhe was to embrace in his zeal afterwards.\n\nSuch were his beginnings. In them Saul plays an insignificant part;\nbut God a great one; God does not act openly as yet; he prepares. But\nwhat preparation! What a concurrence of circumstances manifestly\nprovidential! What greatness even in this obscurity! The seal of\npredestination is visibly impressed upon that soul appointed to\nregenerate the world by the faith. The place, the time, the means,\neverything seems disposed, consecrated in advance, as it were, for a\ngreat scene. God incarnate was to fill it, but he had chosen Saul of\nTarsus to be in it the actor most worthy of him.\n\nII.\n\nThe second education of Saul took place in Jerusalem. He was yet young\nwhen his parents, yielding to that instinct which recalled the Jews to\ntheir native country, sent him, or, perhaps, went and took him with\nthemselves, to the holy city, in order to fix their residence there.\n\nThere occur in history some solemn epochs; but that in which Saul\narrived at Jerusalem possesses a consecration which cannot belong to\nany but to itself alone: it was what St. Paul called, afterward, \"the\nfulness of the times.\" The seventy weeks determined by Daniel, entered\nthen into the last phasis of their accomplishment. The sceptre had\nbeen taken away from Judah, and, at a few steps from the temple, a\ncenturion, with the vine-stock in his hand, quietly walked around the\nresidence of a Roman proconsul. People were waiting to see from what\npoint the star of Jacob was to appear. It had risen already, and the\nyoung workman of Tarsus, while going to Jerusalem, might have met on\nhis way with a workman like himself, who, sitting at the foot of some\nunknown hill, preached in parables to the people of his own country\nand of his condition. This was in fact taking place under the second\nHerod. Saul was then twenty-nine years old, and the Word made flesh\ndwelt among us full of grace and truth.\n\nDid Saul have the happiness to see his divine Master during his mortal\nlife? Grave historians formally affirm it,  [Footnote 109] and some\npassages in the Epistles allow us to believe it. Others think {536}\nthat what they refer to is only the vision on the road to Damascus.\n\n [Footnote 109: Alzog, \"Histoire Universelle de l'Eglise,\" t. i. p. 157.]\n\nBut, whatever may be the difference of opinions upon this point, it\nappears impossible that the fame of Jesus' teaching and miracles did\nnot reach the ears of Saul, while living in Judea: it is even probable\nthat Saul might have endeavored to see him. \"We have known the Christ\naccording to the flesh,\" he himself wrote to the Corinthians.\n[Footnote 110] This last testimony leaves yet some doubt as to the\ninterpretation; but, when one reflects on the repeated utterance of\nthese expressions, as well as upon the coincidence of dates and names,\none cannot help starting at the thought, that on some unknown hour the\nGod and the apostle must have met, and that Jesus, piercing into the\nfuture, bestowed on the youth that deep and tender look which he gave\nthe young man spoken of in the Gospel; and that the Pharisee, who was\nto become a vessel of election, then condemned himself to the regret\nof having that day neglected and mistaken the blessed God, of whom he\nwas afterward to say in that language invented by love, \"_Mihi vivere\nChristus est_,\" \"For me to live, is Christ.\"\n\n  [Footnote 110: 1 Cor. ix. 1 and 2 Cor. v. 16]\n\nWhen Saul entered Jerusalem for the first time, the pious Israelite\nmust doubtless have been astonished and saddened at the same time.\nHerod the Ascalonite had rendered her, according to Pliny's testimony,\nthe most magnificent city of the East; but by the profane character of\nher embellishments, she had lost much of her holy originality. The\nprince courtier had erected near by a circus and a theatre, where\nfestivals in honor of Augustus were celebrated every fifth year. He\nhad repaired and transformed the temple, but also profaned it; and\nover the principal gate of the holy place one saw the glitter of the\ngolden eagle of Rome and of Jupiter, a double insult to religion and\nliberty. Jerusalem was likely to become a Roman city; her part was on\nthe point of being played out; her priesthood was expiring, she began\nto cast off its insignia, and one saw the line gradually disappear\nwhich separated her from the cities of paganism.\n\nBeside, Saul found her torn in pieces by religious sects which had in\nthese latter times fastened to the body of Judaism, as parasitical\nplants stick to the trunk of an old tree. Religious opinion was\ndivided between the Pharisees and the Sadducees. I speak not of the\nHerodians, for in the order of ideas flatteries are not taken into\naccount, for this reason--because to flatter is not to dogmatize.\nSadduceeism, a sort of Jewish Protestantism, rejected all tradition;\nwould admit of nothing but the text of the Pentateuch; denied an\nafter-life because it was not found formally enough inculcated by\nMoses, and consequently endeavored to make this present one as\ncomfortable as possible. It was Epicureanism under the mask of\nreligion. Pharisaism, on the contrary, was the double reaction both in\nreligion and nationality. In order to enhance the law, it multiplied\npractices and rites; in order to save the dogma, it burdened it with\nan oral tradition, to serve as a commentary, an interpreter, and a\nsupplement to the law. Under the name of Mishna, this tradition\nproceeded, according to her account, from secret instructions of Moses\nhimself, and composed a kind of sacred science, of which the doctors\nonly possessed the key.\n\nThe sect of the Pharisees was, on the other hand, the great political\nas well as doctrinal power of the nation. The people venerated them,\nthe inces [sic] treated them with regard, and Josephus informs us that\nAlexander Jannacus, being at the point of death, spoke of them to his\nwife in the following manner: \"Allow the Pharisees a greater liberty\nthan usual; for they,\" he told her, \"would, for the favor conferred on\nthem, reconcile the nation to her interest; that they had a powerful\ninfluence over the Jews, and were in {537} a capacity to prejudice\nthose they hated and serve those they loved.\"   [Footnote 111]\n\n  [Footnote 111: \"Antiq.,\" liv. xili. eh, xv. p. 565.]\n\nThe Young Saul enrolled himself with the Pharisees: among them,\nhowever, he chose his school. Being sensible of the fact that foreign\nideas were insinuating themselves into the bosom of Judaism, some\nchoice minds were at this epoch in search of I know not what\ncompromise between Moses's doctrine and philosophy, in which\ncompromise the two elements might be fused together, and thus form a\nreligion at the same time rational and mystic. This fusion is one of\nthe signs by which this period is distinguished. Uneasy and attentive,\nevery mind was laboring under the want of a universality and unity of\nbelief, whose painful child-birth, twenty times miscarried, was yet\nsubmitted to without relaxation. One hundred and fifty years before\nthe epoch we are now in, Aristobulus had attempted this eclecticism,\nand Philo was soon after to reduce it to system in Alexandria and give\nit a widely spread popularity in Egypt. Another man, however, took\nupon himself the business of planting it in the very heart of\nPalestine.\n\nThis man was the famous rabbi Gamaliel, the beloved teacher of Saint\nPaul. It must be admitted that no man could be better qualified to\nrender it acceptable than he was, on account of his position and\ncharacter. He was the grandson of Doctor Hillel, whose science as well\nas his consideration and holiness he had inherited. He was the oracle\nof his time, and \"on his death,\" the Talmud says, \"the light of the\nlaw was extinguished in Israel.\" The Talmudists add that he had been\nvested with the title of _Nasi_, or chief of the council, and the\nGospel agrees with the Jewish authors, recognizing in him a just man,\nwise, moderate, impartial, an enemy to violence, and ruling the\ndifferent parties by a moral greatness, which secured to him the\nconfidence of all and the unanimity of their regards. He was the first\nwho caused the text of the Bible to be read in Greek at Jerusalem.\nThis innovation was of itself an immense progress, as it removed that\nbarrier which Pharisaism had raised between the _Hellenist_ and the\n_Judaizing_ Jews. He dreamed not, however, of transforming Moses into\na Socrates. He gave up nothing of pure Judaism. But, having a thorough\nknowledge of the Greek, Oriental and Egyptian philosophies, he held\nthem all in check; he took out of each of them what could be\nreconciled with the law of God, enriched with it the inheritance of\ntradition, and boldly applying to ideas that generous and\naccommodating toleration which he made use of in social life, he\nallowed them entrance into the Synagogue.  [Footnote 112]\n\n  [Footnote 112: Niemeyer, \"Characteristik der Bibel,\" p. 638.]\n\nGamaliel, it seems, kept in Jerusalem what certain authors call an\nacademy. It was frequented, for men of such a character possess a\ngreat power of attraction. Young Israelites brought to his feet, and\nplaced at his disposal, for the service of his and their ideas, the\nintemperate zeal and warm convictions of their age--Christian\ntradition acquaints us with the names of some of them; among others,\nof Stephen and Barnabas, whom we shall soon see disciples of a greater\nmaster.   [Footnote 113] But the most ardent of them all was, without\ncontradiction, the young Saul of Tarsus. Proud, fiery, enthusiastic,\nhe seems to have been passionately fond of the Pharisaism of Gamaliel,\nbut mixing with the zeal a violent asperity which, certainly, he had\nnot from his master. No man could be more attached, than he was, to\nthe ancient traditions; it is himself who says so, adding that his\nproficiency in the interpretation of the law placed him at the head of\nthe men of his time.  [Footnote 114]\n\n  [Footnote 113: Cornel. a Lapide, in Act. v. 34.]\n\n  [Footnote 140: See Epist. to the Galatians, i. 14.]\n\nThese Jewish as well as these Greek studies were not lost time in the\neducation of the apostle. They {538} made Saul sensible of the\npressing need of a revealer which the world was then laboring under;\nand they caused those groanings to reach his ears from all parts,\nwhich he himself called the groaning of creation in childbed of her\nredeemer. They did also reveal to him, seeing the inability of sects\nfor it, that redemption could not be the work of man, and they left in\nhis mind that haughty contempt of human wisdom, which would be\ndespair, if God had not come to reveal a better one possessing the\npromises both of this world and of the next.\n\nNow, whilst young Saul and the Jewish rabbins were agitating these\nquestions in the dust of schools and synagogue, our Lord Jesus Christ\nwas giving the solution of them in his own life and by his death. His\ndeath was even more fruitful than his life, and when the Pharisees\nbelieved they had put an end to his doctrine, as they had to his life,\nit was a great surprise to them to see twelve fishermen, wholly\nunknown the day before, suddenly appear, preaching that the Son of God\nhad risen from the dead, that they had seen him gloriously ascending\ninto heaven, and that, in order to give testimony of it to the world,\nthey were ready and would be happy to die. Their miracles, their\ndoctrine, the conversions which they wrought by multitudes, their\nbaptism conferred on thousands of disciples, the enthusiasm of some,\nthe perplexity of others, the hatred of many, stirred up the\npoliticians and the magistrates. The great council met under these\ncircumstances. It seems that there was held in it a decisive\ndeliberation, in which the destinies of Christianity were solemnly\ndiscussed. The question was to know, whether the new religion should\nbe drowned in blood, or whether it should be allowed the liberty and\ntime of dying by a natural death. It did not occur to any one's\nthought that it could live; and much less that it could be true: and\nit is remarkable that not a word was said on the doctrinal question,\nthe most important of all! Thus some of them advised to put those men\nto death, others feared lest violence should excite a sedition, and\nthere was division of counsel in the assembly, when Gamaliel rose up\nin it. Silence followed, the Scripture relates, because he was the\nsage of the nation. He made no speech. He cited only the names of some\nseditious men very well known in the city, the false prophet Theodas,\nand Judas of Galilee, who, after a little noise, had left no trace\nbehind them. Hence he concluded that the new religion would have the\nsame fortune if it was from man, and that if it was, on the contrary,\nthe work of God, it would prove invincible against all human efforts.\nHis advice appeared for a moment to prevail, on account of its wisdom;\nand the apostles, confiding in the future, readily accepted the\nchallenge.\n\nGod had other designs in regard to his church, and it was not peace\nbut war that he had come to bring with him. Wisdom had decided;\npassion executed. After reciting the advice of Gamaliel, the Scripture\nadds that, before being dismissed, the Apostles were scourged, and\nthat \"they went from the presence of the council rejoicing that they\nwere accounted worthy to suffer reproach for the name of Jesus.\" The\nsignal had thus been given, and a pure victim was about to open the\nera of the martyrs.\n\nWe have thus far related only the human history of St. Paul. We now\nbegin to enter into his supernatural and divine history.\n\nSaul had put himself at the head of those who persecuted the\nChristians. Hence it is that the Scripture represents him to us as\nlaying everything waste, like a rapacious wolf, spreading\nconsternation amidst the flock. His very name was terror to the newly\nborn church; above all the others, however, one Christian roused his\njealous rancor.\n\nIt was a young man whose name I have already mentioned, and who is\nbelieved to have been of the same {539} country with Saul, and his\nrelative.  [Footnote 115] He was called Stephanos, which we have\nmodified into Stephen.\n\n  [Footnote 115: Corn. a Lapide, in Act. Apost. vi. 18.]\n\nStephen, as everything indicates, was a Greek, and of the number of\nthose who were then called Hellenistic Jews. In all probability, he\nbelonged to that synagogue of Cilicians of which Saul, his friend and\ncountryman, must likewise have been a member. Some of the ancients\nhave even believed that he also belonged to the school of Gamaliel;\nand this is confirmed by the old tradition, which makes the remains of\nthe great rabbin and those of the first martyr rest in the same grave.\n[Footnote 116] All these relations between Stephen and Saul, who\npersecuted him, are worthy of being taken into account. They throw a\ngreat light over those events, and define with precision the\ncircumstances of which they give the key.\n\n  [Footnote 116: \"Inventio Corporis S. Stephani, Visio S. Luciani,\"\n  viii. te ix.]\n\nThe same tradition has taken a pleasure in surrounding the young\nneophyte with every gift and accomplishment that could make him a most\nprecious victim. The memory which the fathers have preserved of\nStephen is that of a youth of rare beauty, in the flower of his age,\nendowed with wonderful eloquence, and with a candor of soul yet more\ncharming.\n\n\"He was a virgin,\" St. Augustine says of him, \"and this purity of\nheart reflecting upon his features imparted to his face an angelic\nexpression.\" St. John Damascene speaks in the same strain of that\nexcellent nature which \"made the light of grace shine with more\nbrilliant lustre.\" Such souls are very near to Christianity. Stephen\nhad become a Christian. St. Epiphanius affirms that he was such during\nthe life of Jesus Christ, and that he was one of the seventy-two\ndisciples.  [Footnote 117] St. Augustine doubts of it. [Footnote 118]\n\n  [Footnote 117: \"Haer.\" 21.]\n\n  [Footnote 118: Sermo xciv. \"De Diversis.\"]\n\nWhat we are informed of in the Book of the Acts concerning this point\nis, that moved by \"a murmuring of the Greeks against the Hebrews for\nthat their widows were neglected in the daily ministration,\" the\napostles caused seven men of that nation to be chosen, whom they\n\"appointed over that business.\" The first named (and perhaps the most\npre\u00ebminent) among them was Stephen, characterized by the inspired\nhistorian as \"a man full of faith and of the Holy Ghost.\"\n\nThis conversion raised storms in the bosom of the synagogue; and as\nSt. Paul, according to his own account, occupied a pre\u00ebminent rank\namong the young men of that time, it was easy for him no doubt to\nbreathe his own burning flame into them.\n\nBesides, everything announced a violent crisis, and the whole city\nexperienced that agitation and anxiety which, in troubled times,\nprecede and portend a near commotion and a desperate struggle. As the\ndisciples had not yet been outlawed, as they did not even have any\npeculiar name which distinguished them from the rest of the people,\nand their religious belief enjoyed as yet its freedom, they joined\neverywhere the Jewish assemblies, instilled there their doctrine,\ntaught even in the temple, where they went to pray like the rest. But\na deep-rooted dissension, pregnant with tempests, was growing in the\nheart of every synagogue. These were most numerous at Jerusalem, as it\nis said that well-nigh five hundred different ones were there in\nexistence, each people possessing their own, about in the same manner\nas now in the city of Rome every Catholic nation possesses her proper\nchurch, for her own use, and in her own name. The synagogue of the\nCilicians, is expressly mentioned in the holy Scripture and signalized\nas one of the most disturbed, and most opposed to the new sect.\n[Footnote 119] Interpreters are of opinion that it was there Saul and\nthe deacon Stephen met together in the midst of other Asiatic Jews,\ntheir countrymen, {540} hot-headed and subtle, as are all of that\ncountry.  [Footnote 120] They were of the same age, according to\ncomputations made for the purpose, and of equal learning; but\nStephen's eloquence had no rival! It was, the Acts say, something at\nonce sweet and powerful, that attracted by its grace, and bore away\nthe soul by its force. One felt in it a higher spirit, it is said, and\nit was in vain that disputants from all the synagogues arose against\nChrist and his faith; none could resist that word, \"full of wisdom and\nof the Holy Ghost.\" Some Greek copies add that he \"reprehended the\nJews with such an assurance that it was impossible not to see the\ntruths which he announced.\"\n\n  [Footnote 119: Act. vi. 9]\n\n  [Footnote 120: Dom Calmet, \"Comm. sur les Actes,\" vi. 9.]\n\nHis words gave displeasure on account of this freedom; as they could\nnot refute him they soon resolved to calumniate him, waiting for a\npretext to get rid of him. Witnesses were found; they are found\neverywhere. Stephen had preached that a more perfect worship was about\nto take the place of the worship of Moses, that the glory and the\nreign of the temple were soon to have an end, and that a better\nJerusalem of larger destinies, was on the point of being built. It was\nbut too easy to turn these words from their spiritual meaning, and\nconvert them into threats against the city and the people. A purely\nmoral and peaceful revolution was a thing, on the other hand, so\nentirely novel in the history of the world, that one would have\nnaturally persisted in confounding it with a political and civil\nrevolution. It was this gross and voluntary mistake that had furnished\nthe text to the pretended lawsuit against our Lord Jesus Christ; it\nwas equally the foundation of that which his disciples have been\nsubjected to. To these accusations they took care to add that Stephen\nintended to change the ancient traditions, which thing in the eyes of\nthe Pharisees was decisive.\n\nThe young deacon was therefore brought before the high-priest, that\nsame Caiaphas by whom Jesus had suffered. When the accusers had been\nheard, the pontiff requested Stephen to answer them: \"Are these things\nso?\"\n\nHe rose up, and as soon as he could be seen, the book of the Acts\nobserves, all the eyes in the assembly were fixed on him. Did he have\nalready a glimpse of the martyr's crown, and did this vision\ntransfigure him in advance? I know not, but it is said that his face\nappeared to their eyes as the face of on angel. \"It was,\" says St.\nHilary of Aries, \"the flame of his heart overspreading itself upon his\nforehead; the candor of his soul was reflected on his features in a\nperfect beauty; and the Holy Ghost residing in Stephen's heart threw\nupon his face a jet of supernatural light.\"\n\nThe speech of Stephen was simple, but peremptory. To those who charged\nhim with breaking off from the religion of his fathers, he opposed at\nthe very beginning a long profession of faith from the books of Moses.\nBut the question relating to the temple, whose fall he had foretold,\nwas more serious. He viewed it firmly. He did not retract himself; but\npresently rising from the region of facts to that of superior\nprinciples which facts obey, he began to demonstrate that a material\ntemple is nowise necessary to the honor of God. As a proof of this he\npointed back to the times in which the patriarchs made their prayers\non the top of the high places; when the Lord manifested his presence\nin a flame of fire in a bush; and when the Hebrew people carried\nthrough the desert the tabernacle, which was the sanctuary and the\naltar at the same time. When he had come to the time of the first\ntemple he concluded, and his discourse suddenly assumed the character\nof a vivid and eloquent exaltation. Elevating himself from the\nimperfection of a national worship to the ideal of a universal and\nspiritual one, which would {541} have its sanctuary chiefly within\nman's soul, he said: \"Yet the Most High dwelleth not in houses made by\nhands, as the prophet saith: 'Heaven is my throne, and the earth my\nfootstool; what house will you build me, saith the Lord, or what is\nthe place of my resting? Hath not my hand made all these things?\"\n\nSuch a harangue was a manifesto. He did not abolish every temple, nor\nevery worship, as some people are pleased to insinuate; but he erased\nat a single stroke the exclusive privilege of the temple of Jerusalem,\nhe extended it's boundaries, and for the old Jewish monopoly\nsubstituted the catholicity of a new church, as large as the world.\n\nThe Jews understood him too well. They were already  trembling with\nrage against him, when, from the accused becoming the accuser, Stephen\ncharged them with the murder of the prophets, and principally with\nthat of the God, our Saviour, whom they had crucified. \"You have\nreceived the law by the disposition of angels,\" he said to them, \"and\nhave not kept it.\" On hearing these words, their rage, incapable of\nlonger restraint, burst out; \"they were cut to the heart, and they\ngnashed with their teeth at him,\" as the Acts relate. Stephen felt\nthat his last hour was at hand.\n\nThe Holy Ghost filled him as it were with a holy rapture. He looked\nsteadfastly to heaven, where the glory of God began to shine on him,\nand there, in the midst of that glory, recognizing and saluting Jesus\nChrist, who extended his hand to him, \"Behold,\" he exclaimed, \"I see\nthe heavens opened, the Son of Man standing on the right hand of God.\"\nThese words sealed his doom. On hearing him, the Jews, shaking with\nhorror, \"cried out with a loud voice, stopped their ears, and with one\naccord ran violently upon him,\" as wild beasts do on their prey.\n\nNo judgment was passed on him. A text in the book of Deuteronomy\nallowed any one to be put to death, who enticed the people into\nidolatry. This summary justice sometimes tolerated by the Roman\npro-consul, was termed the _judgment of zeal_. To apply this\n_judgment_ to the young deacon, was found more convenient than to go\nthrough the formalities of a regular sentence; and they seized him to\nput him to death. By a last relic of Pharisaism, however, they took\ncare to observe the practices of the law, even in such an arbitrary\nand cruel deed. To the end, therefore, that the holy city should not\nbe stained with blood, the innocent victim was \"cast forth without\"\nthe walls of Jerusalem.\n\nThey went out by the northern gate along that side which leads to\ncountry of Kedar. At the west of the valley crossed by the Kedron, on\na desolate places and at the right of the distant mountains of Galaad,\nthe crowd stopped. The witnesses began by raising their hands over the\nhead of Stephen, which was the rite of devoting a victim to death;\nthen stones innumerable, as thick as hail, fell upon him. The\natrocious deed went on with unrelenting fury, and the body of the\nheroic martyr was now noting but a wound; but he held his eyes\nimmovably fixed on that celestial vision, and as life was gradually\nreceding from his breast, he was ever \"invoking and saying, Lord\nJesus, receive my spirit!\"\n\nThe Acts of the Apostles conclude this narrative, with giving us the\nname of the person who was the most noted accomplice in this murder:\n\"_Saulus autem erat consentiens neci ejus_.\"\n\nSt. Luke, the disciple of St. Paul, says nothing further concerning\nhis master in this business. But St. Paul came afterward, who, humbly\ngiving a public testimony of his cruel error, denounced himself as the\ninstigator of that iniquity. \"When the blood of Stephen was shed,\" he\nsaid one day to the Jews, \"I was the first, and over the others,\"\n_Super ad stabam_. [Footnote 121] It is the sense of the Greek text.\nHad {542} he for such a thing a mandate of the Sanhedrim, as we shall\nsoon see him vested with full powers against the brethren of Damascus?\nEverything would make one believe so. The fathers and commentators\nsay, it was for this reason that he kept the garments of those men of\nblood: and they, in fact, show us those murderers as going the one\nafter the other, deferentially to lay their garments at the feet of\nSaul, as an homage, so to speak, paid to him, from whom they had the\npower and the command to strike.\n\n  [Footnote 121: Act. xxii. 20.]\n\nStephen saw him, and revenged himself in his way--the divine way. At\nthe point of death, covered with blood, he lowered his eyes to the\nearth for the last time, and sadly resting them on his persecutors,\nperhaps he saw through their impious crowd one of them apart, more\nfurious than the rest. He was moved to compassion for his soul; and\nthen it was that \"falling on his knees, he cried with a loud voice,\"\nnot of anger, but of grace, and said: \"Lord, lay not this sin to their\ncharge.\" He rose no more, and so saying, Stephen \"fell asleep in the\nLord.\"\n\nHe could sleep in peace, indeed, for he had just made a magnificent\nconquest. \"If Stephen had not prayed,\" St. Augustine says, \"the church\nhad not won St Paul; the martyr fell, the Apostle rose.\"  [Footnote\n122] These substitutions are the most mysterious secrets of\nProvidence. By an admirable law of a bond _in solido_, of fraternity\nand of love, God has willed that we, like himself, can, at the price\nof a little blood, or even of some tears, pay the ransom of souls, and\nsecure to them a future for which they are indebted to us. He has\npermitted that the life and the death of Christians, like those of\ntheir Master, should be a redemption, completing the great redemption\nof Calvary, according to the saying of St. Paul himself. Coloss. i. 24\n\n  [Footnote 122: St. Aug. Sermo 1. \"De Sanctis.\"]\n\nIt was meant that this should be the first apostleship of all, and the\nmost fruitful. In the midst of scaffolds, ever full of victims, and\nthe catacombs which incessantly recruited new children of God,\nTertullian proclaimed that \"the blood of the martyrs was a seed of\nChristians.\" He gave thus form to a beautiful law, which the blood of\nStephen, after the blood of God himself, had before inaugurated. The\nsoul of Saul, therefore, was that day a conquered soul. It is in vain\nthat on the road to Damascus he struggles and \"kicks against the\ngoad:\" he is under the yoke of God; he carries a mark of blood on him\nwhich points him out, and which saves him; and Jesus, whenever he\nwill, has only to show himself to throw him down and make him obey.\nThis is admirable. Moses had written in the book of Leviticus, \"The\npriest shall command him that is to be purified to offer for himself\ntwo living sparrows which it is lawful to eat, . . . . and he shall\ncommand one of the sparrows to be immolated, . . . . but the other\nthat is alive he shall dip . . . . in the blood of the sparrow that is\nimmolated; . . . . and he shall let go the living sparrow, that it may\nfly into the field.\" (Levit xiv. 4-7.) It was according to this rite\nthat the transaction was accomplished. Stephen had been the chosen\nvictim; and when Saul had covered himself with his redeeming blood,\nthat blood set him free: he had no more to do but to spread his wings,\nand to start on his flight.\n\n------\n\n{543}\n\n\nFrom Chambers's Journal\n\nTHE CUCKOO AND THE NIGHTINGALE.\n\n\nOur oldest poet, and almost our best, unites in one sweet song the\ncuckoo and the nightingale--the former to be chidden, and spoken of\ndespitefully; the latter to be made the theme of fervent praise, as\nthe singer and harbinger of love. Taken altogether, the cuckoo, in\nfact, is far from being an attractive bird. Somehow, it has in all\ncountries been regarded as a symbol of matrimonial infidelity,\nprobably because it introduces itself into and defiles the nests of\nother, birds. Shakespeare, who loved to make eternal the fancies and\nprejudices of mankind, exclaims:\n\n  \"Cuckoo! cuckoo! O word of fear!\n  Unpleasing to a married ear!\"\n\nLoved or hated, however, it is a creature about which we know less\nthan any other winged animal. It comes and goes in mystery, no one\nbeing able to decide what is its original country, how far it extends\nits travels, to what peculiarity in its structure or constitution it\nowes its restless propensity, or why, almost as soon as born, it\nbecomes a sort of feathered Cain, murdering its foster-brethren, and,\naccording to some, devouring the very dam that fed it. Wide, indeed,\nare its wanderings. It is heard on the banks of the Niger and the\nSenegal in the heart of Africa; it is familiar to the dwellers on the\nObi and the Irtish; it flies screaming forth its harsh dissyllables\nover the Baltic surge; it repeats them untiringly in the perfumed air\nof Andalusia and Granada, among the ruins of the Alhambra and the\nGeneraliffe; it startles the woodman in the forests of France; it\namuses the school-boy in the green vales of Kent, of Gloucestershire,\nand of Devonshire.\n\nOur associations with the cuckoo are, in some cases, pleasant; it\ncomes to us with the first of those peregrinating birds that usher in\nthe summer; its cry is redolent of sunshine, of the scent of\nprimroses, of lindens, of oaks, and elms, of solitary pathways, of the\nlilied banks of streams. Occasionally, we know not why, it flies early\nin the morning over the skirts of great cities, as if to invite their\ninmates to shake off drowsiness, and look forth upon the loveliness of\nthe young day. Not many weeks ago, we heard it in London, just as the\nclouds were parting in the east to make way for the first beams of\ndawn. Many summers back, we heard the self-same notes echoing among\nthe pinnacles of the Alps, before the morning-star had faded from\nbehind the Jungfrau. The cuckoo is a sort of familiar chronicler, that\ngathers up the events of our lives, and brings them to our memory by\nhis well-known voice. As he shouts over our heads, we call to mind the\nmany summers the sweet scents of which we have inhaled, the rambles we\nhave taken in the woods, our idolatry of nature, our innocent\npleasures.\n\nThe cuckoo and the nightingale constitute the opposite poles of the\nornithological world; one the representative of eternal monotony, the\nother of infinite variety. Among men, there are cuckoos and\nnightingales--individuals whose ideas are few, who think invariably\nafter the same pattern, who repeat day after day the formulas of the\nnursery and the school-room, who, from their swaddling-bands to their\nshrouds, never break away from the social catechism dinned into them\nat the outset; while there are others who seem, at least in their\nrange of thought, to know no limit but that of creation, to generate\nfresh swarms of ideas every moment, now to hover among the nebulas on\nthe extreme verge of the {544} universe, and now to nestle in the\nchalice of the violet, where even Ariel could scarcely find room for\nthe tip of his pinion. Naturalists may be fanciful, like poets; and if\nthis liberty be ever allowable, it is surely so when they speak of the\nnightingale. The organization of this winged miracle, whose whole\nweight does not exceed an ounce, may in truth be looked upon as one of\nthe most remarkable in the whole scale of animal life. The roar of the\ngorilla can, it is said, be heard a full mile. But the gorilla is a\ncolossus, equalling in stature one of the sons of Anak; while\nPhilomela, not exceeding in bulk the forejoint of the monster's thumb,\nis able at night, when all the woods are still, to cause the liquid\nmelody of her notes to be heard at an equal distance. Consider the\norgan, measure the length of country, and the ecstacy of the listening\near, and you will perhaps acknowledge that there are few phenomena\nfamiliar to our experience more astonishing than this. We have stood\nat midnight on a mountain in the south of France, and at a distance\nquite as great, we think, as that mentioned above, have heard the\nnotes of the songstress of darkness borne up to us, on the breeze from\nthe depths of an unwooded valley. Faintly and gently they came through\nthe hushed air, but there could be no mistake about their identity; no\nother mortal mixture of earth's mould than her throat could have given\nforth such sounds, crisp, clear, long-drawn, melancholy, as if she\nwere still lamenting the sad hap that overtook her amid die solitudes\nof Hellas. The French, down even to the peasants, love the\nnightingale; and wild country girls, who in their whole lives never\nread a page of poetry, will sit out half the night on a hillside to\nlisten to their favorite bird. A priest once invited us to pass a week\nwith him in his village _presbyt\u00e8re_, and in enumerating the\ninducements, mentioned first that there were nightingales in the\nneighborhood. His home was in the valley of Mortagne, in the Bocages\nof Normandy, where these birds are in fact as plentiful as sparrows.\n\nIn Italy, especially in Tuscany and the Venetian states, the\nnightingale trills her notes with more than ordinary beauty. The great\nRoman naturalist who perished amid the lava-floods of Vesuvius, often,\nwe may be sure, enjoyed her song from his nephew's garden in this part\nof the peninsula. No description of the wonders she achieves can\napproach the one he has left us for truth or eloquence, and it was\nwritten in all likelihood by the light of some antique lamp between\nthe prolonged gushes of her music. Unhappily, it is true, as he says,\nthat the nightingale's song can only be heard in perfection during\nfifteen out of the three hundred and sixty-five days of the year. The\nfemale bird is then sitting in her nest, imparting vital heat to the\nmusicians of future years; and her lover, fully impressed with the\nimportance of her duty, intoxicates her with his voice, to dispel the\ntedium of confinement. In spite of natural history, however, poetry\ntransfers to the mute female the singing powers of her lord:\n\n  \"Nightly she sings from yon, pomegranate-tree.\"\n\nPliny, too, after stating the fact, that it is the male that sings,\nimmediately avails himself of the aid supplied by metonymy, and\nchanges the sex of the musician. Let us take his description, as\nhonest Philemon Holland supplies it in the language of Elizabeth's\ntime: \"Is it not a wonder,\" he says, \"that so loud and clear a voice\nshould come from so little a body? Is it not as strange that she\nshould hold her breath so long, and continue with it as she doth?\nMoreover, she alone in her song keepeth time and measure truly; she\nriseth and falleth in her note just with the rules of music and\nperfect harmonic: for one while in one entire breath she draweth out\nher tune at length treatable; another while she quavereth, and goeth\naway as fast in her running points; sometimes she maketh stops and\nshort cuts in her notes, another time she gathereth in {545} her\nbreath and singeth descant between the plain song; she fetcheth her\nbreath again, and then you shall have her in her catches and\ndivisions; anon, all on a sudden, before a man would think it, she\ndrowneth her voice, that one can scarce hear her; now and then she\nseemeth to record to herself; and then she breaketh out to sing\nvoluntarie. In some she varieth and altereth her voice to all keys;\none while full of her larges, longs, briefs, semibriefs, and minims;\nanother while in her crotchets, quavers, semiquavers, and double\nsemiquavers, for at one time you shall hear her voice full and loud,\nanother time as low; and anon shrill and on high: thick and short when\nshe list; drawn out at leisure again when she is disposed; and then\n(if she be so pleased) she riseth and mounteth up aloft, as it were\nwith a wind-organ. Thus she altereth from one to another, and singeth\nall parts, the treble, the meane, and the base. To conclude; there is\nnot a pipe or instrument again in the world (devised with all the art\nand cunning of man so exquisitely as possibly might be) that can\nafford more music than this pretty bird doth out of that little throat\nof hers.\"\n\nWe have persons here in England who earn their livelihood by catching\nnightingales. It is the same in most other countries. Near Cairo,\nthere is, or used to be, a pretty grove of mingled mimosas, palms, and\nsycamores, where the netters of nightingales station themselves at\nnight, in the proper season, to take the bird when in full song.\nAccording to their report, which there is no reason to discredit, the\nmale bird becomes so intoxicated by the scented air, by love, and by\nhis own music, that the cap-net, fixed at at the summit of a long\nreed, may be raised and closed about him before he is sensible of his\ndanger. From the free woods he is then transferred to a cage, where in\nnine cases out of ten, he dies of nostalgia. Nor is this all. The\nfemale bird, accustomed not only to be cheered by his song, but\nlikewise fed by his industry, pines and perishes with all her brood.\nThe wren, the swallow, the titlark intermit the business of\nincubation, and leave their nests for a minute or a minute and a half\nto help themselves while they are sitting, or to assist the male in\nfeeding the young after the eggs are hatched: but the female\nnightingale used, like an eastern sultana, to be provided for entirely\nby her lord, feels her utter helplessness when she is deserted, and\nleaning her little head and neck over the edge of the nest, with her\neyes fixed in the direction in which he used to come, dies in that\nattitude of expectancy. The reason is, that the instinct of pairing,\nwhich is strong in many other birds, reaches its culminating point in\nthe nightingale--the same males and females keeping together for years\nwithout ever seeking other mates.\n\nThe cuckoo, as we have said, offers the most striking contrast in the\ndevelopment of its instincts. It does not pair at all, and as there\nare more males than females, we may often see two or three of the\nformer sex following one of the latter, and fighting for her favors.\nAs the parents care not for one another, neither do they care for\ntheir young. It was long supposed that the cuckoo laid only one egg in\nthe season; but this has been found to be an error, for though they\nleave no more than one egg in one nest--we mean generally--they have\nbeen observed to make deposits in various nests, and then fly away to\na distant part of the country, or even to other lands. In the female\ncuckoo, therefore, the maternal instinct is entirely wanting, which,\nthough it acts in obedience to an imperious law of nature, makes it a\nhateful bird. As soon as it quits the shell, it begins to exhibit its\nodious qualities. When the cuckoo's egg is placed in the nest of the\nhedge-sparrow, for example, the deluded mother perceives no difference\nbetween the alien production and her own. She sits, therefore, on what\nshe finds, and having no idea of numbers, of course never thinks of\ncounting the eggs. {546} When hatching-time arrives, however, she is\nmade the witness of an extraordinary scene. The villainous young\ncuckoo, which often escapes from the shell a whole day before the\nothers, immediately begins to clear the nest by pitching out the\nunhatched eggs; or if the young ones have made their appearance, forth\nthey are thrown in like manner. Nature has fabricated the little\nmonster with a view to this ungrateful proceeding, for in its back\nthere is a hollow depression, in which egg or chick may be placed\nwhile he is rising to shunt it over the battlements. The process is\nextremely curious: the young assassin, putting shoulder and elbow to\nthe work, keeps continually thrusting against his victim till he gets\nit on his back; he then rises, and placing his back aslant, tumbles it\nout into empty space. This done, and finding that he has all the\ndwelling to himself, he subsides quietly into his place, and waits\nwith ever-open bill for the dole which the foolish sparrow wears\nitself almost to death in providing for the faithless wretch. When the\nnest happens to be situated in a high hedge, you may often see the\nyoung sparrows spiked alive on the thorns, or the eggs still\npalpitating with living birds lying unbroken on the soft grass below.\nThis inspires naturalists with no pity; they observe that neither the\neggs nor the young birds are thrown away, since various reptiles that\nfeed on such substances make a comfortable meal of what is thus placed\nwithin their reach.\n\nAs the cuckoo does nothing in life but eat, scream, and lay eggs for\nother birds to hatch, it needs no education, and receives none. On the\nother hand, the nightingale, having to perform the highest functions\nallotted to the class _aves_, requires much training and discipline,\nstudy and preparation. The young nightingale does not sing by mere\ninstinct. If taken from the nest soon after it is hatched, and brought\nup among inferior creatures, it is incapable of performing its lofty\nmission, and deals in vulgar twittering like them; just as a baby, if\nremoved from the society of speech-gifted mortals, and entrusted to\nthe care of dumb persons, will lack that divine quality of expressing\nideas which distinguishes man from the brute. The nightingale needs\nand receives a classical education. When the grass is dewy--when the\nleaves are green and fresh--when the soft breath of the morning steals\nover the woods like incense, the old bird takes forth the young ones,\nbefore it is quite light, and placing them on some bough, with strict\ninjunctions to listen, goes a little way off, and begins his song. In\nthis he commences with the easier notes, and is careful to keep the\nwhole in a comparatively narrow compass. He then pauses to watch the\nresult of his first instructions. After a brief delay, during which\nthey are turning over the notes in their minds, the young ones take up\nthe lay one by one, and go through it, as our neighbors say, _tant\nbien que mal_. The teacher watches their efforts with attention;\napplauds them when right; chides them when they have done amiss; and\ngoes on day by day re\u00efterating his lessons till he considers his\npupils quite equal to the high duties they have to perform. Mankind,\nof course, imagine that those duties consist in soothing their ears,\nand driving away melancholy. But _apropos_ of the performances of\nanother bird, our philosophic poet inquires:\n\n  \"Is it for thee the lark ascends and sings?\"\n\nAnd replies:\n\n  \"Joy tunes his voice, joy animates his wings.\"\n\nSo with the nightingale--\n\n  \"Loves of his own and raptures swell the note.\"\n\nSome one speaking of our own species, says:\n\n  \"We think, we toil, we war, we rove.\n  And all we ask is--woman's love.\"\n\nIt is to win the love of Philomela that the male nightingale studies,\nwatches, and pours forth his soul in song. He had much rather that men\ndid not listen; he is a shy, solitary, and timid bird, and takes his\nlove away into {547} the forests, where, undisturbed by the sounds of\nvulgar life, he ravishes her ears with music. It is a question much\ndiscussed by poets and naturalists, whether the nightingale's song be\njoyous or melancholy. It probably derives its character from the frame\nof mind in which the listener happens to be--to the joyous it is\nmirthful, to the sorrowful it is sad--but in its real nature it is\nwhat Milton suggests--\n\n  \"She all night long her amorous descant sung.\"\n\nStill it must be owned that they who discover melancholy in her long,\nlow, meltingly sweet notes, seem to approach nearer the truth than\nthey who describe her as a merry bird. It is superstition, perhaps,\nthat attributes to her the strange philosophy which makes anguish the\nwell-spring of pleasure. When desirous, it is said, of reaching the\nsublimest heights of song, she leans her breast against a thorn, in\norder that the sense of pain may tone down her impetuous rapture into\nsympathy with human sorrow.\n\nAnother strange notion is, that the nightingale fixes her eyes--\n\n  \"Her bright, bright eyes; her eyes both bright and full\"--\n\non some particular star, from which she never withdraws them till her\nsong is concluded, unless she be alarmed by the approach of some\nfootstep, or other sound indicative of danger. We remember once, in\nKent, going forth to spend a night in the fields to enjoy the strange\ndelight imparted by the nightingale's notes. We placed ourselves on a\nlittle eminence overlooking a valley, covered at intervals by\nscattered woods. It was the dead watch and middle of the night;\nsilence the most absolute brooded over the earth. We stood still in\nhigh expectation. Presently, one lordly nightingale flung forth at no\ngreat distance from the summit of a lofty tree his music on the night.\nThe lay was not protracted, but a rich, short, defiant burst of\nmelody; he then, like the Roman orator, paused for a reply. The reply\ncame, not close at hand, but, as it seemed, from some copse or thicket\nfar down in the valley. If one might presume to judge on the spur of\nthe moment, the second songster did really outdo the first. The notes\ncame forth bubbling, gushing, quivering, palpitating, as it were, with\nsoul, for nothing material ever resembled it. He went over a broad\narea of song, with a sort of wilderness of melody; his notes followed\neach other so rapidly, high, low, linked, broken--now sweeping away\nlike a torrent, now sinking till it sounded like the scarcely audible\nmurmur of a distant bee. He then stopped abruptly, confident that he\nhad given his rival something to reflect upon. We now waited to hear\nthat rival's answer, but he appeared to consider himself defeated, and\nremained silent. Another champion now stepped forward, and took up the\nchallenge. He must surely have been the prince of his race. From a\ntree on the slope of a height, not far to the right of our position,\nhe gave us a new specimen of the poetry of his race. The former two,\nevidently younger and more inexperienced, had been in a hurry. He took\nup his parable at leisure, beginning with a few light flourishes by\nway of preface, after which he plunged into his epic, seeming to carry\non the subject from the epoch of Deucalion and Pyrrha, down to that\nmoment, displaying all the resources of art, and presenting us with\nevery form into which music could be moulded. What he might have\nachieved at last, or to what pitch he might have raised our ecstasy,\nmust remain a mystery, for before he had concluded his song, a\nthundering railway train, belching forth fire and smoke as it\nadvanced, seemed to be on the very point of annihilating the\nsongsters; so they all took to flight, or at least remained\nobstinately silent. We waited hour after hour, now pacing in one\ndirection, now in another; stopping short, pausing in our talk,\nlistening till the streaky dawn, climbing slowly up the eastern hills,\nrevealed to us the inutility of further hope.\n\n{548}\n\nThe first time we heard the nightingale was from the deck of a vessel\nin the Avon, near Lee Woods. It was a starlight night; we were leaning\non the bulwarks, speculating on the reception we were to meet with in\nEngland--in which we had that day arrived for the first time. As we\nwere chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy, from an indenture in\nthe woods, called, as we have since learned, Nightingale Valley, there\nburst forth at once a flood of sound, the strangest, the sweetest, the\nmost intoxicating we had ever heard--it must be, it was the voice of\nthe nightingale---\n\n  To the land of my fathers that welcomed me back.\n\nYears not a few have rolled by since then, but we remember as\ndistinctly as if it were yesternight the pleasure of that exquisite\nsurprise. We heard the nightingale in England before the cuckoo--a\ncircumstance which, according to Chaucer, should portend good-luck;\nand so it did--good-luck and happy days.\n\nPerhaps much of the pleasure tasted in such cases is derived from the\ntime of year--for both the cuckoo and the nightingale belong to the\nspring--when the air is full of balm, when the foliage is thick, when\nthe grass is green and young--and when, especially in the morning,\ndelicate odors ascend from the earth, which produce a wonderful effect\nupon the animal spirits. Through these scents, the cry of one bird and\nthe song of the other invariably come to us: the one flitting at early\ndawn over the summits of woods, the other in loneliest covert hid,\nmaking night lovely, and smoothing the raven down of darkness till it\nsmiles.\n\n------\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nHYMN.\n\n  Spirit of God, thyself the Lord,\n    Out of the depths I call on thee.\n  Above, I view thy gleaming sword.\n    Around, thy works of love I see.\n\n  Spirit of God, that hovering high\n    Didst watch the primal waters roll,\n  Brood o'er my heart, and verify\n    The turbid chaos of my soul!\n\n  Spirit of God, oh! bid me fear,\n    That blessed fear thy love can calm;\n  Transfix me with thy shining spear\n    And heal me with thy holy balm!\n\n  Spirit of God, oh! fill my breast,\n    And sear me with the sign of heaven.\n  The glorious brand of sin confessed,\n    The glorious seal of sin forgiven.\n\nF.A.R.\n\n------\n\n{549}\n\n\nFrom the Irish Industrial Magazine\n\nTHE INDUSTRIAL ARTS OF OUR ANCESTORS.\n\nBY M. HAVERTY, ESQ.\n\n\nThat the early inhabitants of Ireland possessed sundry kinds of\nmanufacture is a point that can scarcely be disputed; for, besides\nfrequent passages in ancient and authentic historical documents\nreferring to the matter, we have satisfactory evidence in those\nspecimens of the manufactured articles themselves which have been\npreserved to the present day, and which bear testimony to the skill\nand industry that produced them.\n\nA visit to the Museum of the Royal Irish Academy must convince us of\nthe excellent workmanship of the ancient Irish bronze swords, and\nother weapons, and of certain ancient gold ornaments--both bronze and\ngold articles belonging to a date anterior to the introduction of\nChristianity into Ireland. From the early Christian ages we have\nreceived many of the old ecclesiastical ornaments that have been\npreserved; and some of them exhibit that peculiar and exquisite kind\nof interlaced ornamentation which began at a remote period to be known\nas _opus Hibernicum_, or the Irish style.\n\nWe know that the ancient Irish were skilled in the manufacture of\ntheir musical instruments, as well as in the use of them; and in the\npreparation of parchment, as well as in the almost unrivalled beauty\nof penmanship of which that parchment has preserved so many specimens.\nThen we must return to much more ancient times for the manufacture of\ngold and silver goblets, and, above all, for those beautiful fibulae,\nor brooches, which have afforded models for some of the most graceful\nand costly articles of female decoration at the present day. We may\nvery naturally conclude that these charming fibular were not employed\nto hold together mantles of the coarsest possible manufacture, or,\nrather, that there was some proportion between the texture of the\ncloth and the beautiful workmanship of the brooch which clasped it\nround the person of the wearer; and, in a word, we are justified in\npresuming that some manufactures, besides those of which specimens\nwere durable enough to have been preserved to the present day, existed\nin the country.\n\nThe incessant warfare of the Danish period, and of the centuries\nfollowing the Anglo-Norman invasion, must have been destructive to the\nindustrial arts; yet we meet occasionally with some external evidence\nof their existence even then. Some eighty years ago, the Earl of\nCharlemont lighted on a curious passage relating to the subject in an\nItalian poem of the fourteenth century. From this and other\nauthorities he was able to show, in a paper published in the first\nvolume of the \"Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy,\" that Ireland\nproduced a fine woollen fabric called serge, which enjoyed an European\nreputation at the very time the Flemish weavers were brought over by\nEdward III. to establish the woollen manufacture in England, and\nconsequently before it could have been introduced here from the latter\ncountry. The investigation of such scattered facts as these would be\ninteresting, and no doubt would flatter national vanity. It may,\nperhaps, occupy us on some future occasion; but for the present we\nshall confine our inquiry to a somewhat more modern epoch, and more\ntangible evidences.\n\nStrangely enough, the first writer we have had on the natural history\nand industrial resources of Ireland happens {550} to have been a\nDutchman. Dr. Gerard Boate--a resident of London, though by birth, it\nappears, a Hollander--obtained the post of state physician in Ireland\nfrom the Commonwealth, in 1649 and having purchased, as an adventurer,\na few years earlier, some of the forfeited lands in Leinster and\nUlster, applied himself to the subject of his book, with a view\noriginally to the improvement of his own property. His information,\nhowever, was obtained, not from personal experience, but from Irish\ngentlemen whom he had met in London, such as Sir William and Sir\nRichard Parsons; and from his brother, Dr. Arnold Boate, who had\npracticed as a physician in Dublin for many years; but he himself,\nunfortunately, died a few months after his arrival in Ireland to enter\non the duties of his office, before he was able to carry out more than\nhalf the original design of his work, which, though written in 1645,\nwas not published until some years after his death. He collected his\ninformation and wrote while the great civil war was still raging, and\nwhen all his feelings and interests must have been strongly enlisted\nagainst the native race, so that we are not to be surprised at the\nacerbity of some of his expressions about them. Our concern is, not\nwith his feelings or opinions, but with the facts which he relates,\nand the descriptions and statistics which he supplies.\n\nOn the state of metallurgy in Ireland in his time, Dr. Boate gives us\nsome very curious information. He denies any knowledge of the subject\non the part of the native Irish, and asserts that all the mines in\nIreland were discovered by the \"New English.\" \"The Old English in\nIreland,\" he says, \"that is, those who are come in from the time of\nthe first conquest until the beginning of Queen Elizabeth's reign,\nhave been so plagued with wars from time to time--one while intestine\namong themselves, and another while with the Irish--that they could\nscarce ever find the opportunity of seeking for mines. . . . . . And\nthe Irish themselves, as being one of the most barbarous nations of\nthe whole earth, have at all times been so far from seeking out any,\nthat even in these last years, and since the English have begun to\ndiscover some, none of them all, great or small, at any time hath\napplied himself to that business, or in the least manner furthered it;\nso that all the mines which to this day are found out in Ireland, have\nbeen discovered (at least, as far to make any use of them) by the New\nEnglish, that is, such as are come in during and since the reign of\nQueen Elizabeth.\" (_Thom's Collection of Tracts and Treatises_, vol.\ni. 102.)\n\nHe adds, that several iron mines had been discovered in various parts\nof the kingdom, and also some of lead and silver, during the forty\nyears' peace, from the death of Elizabeth to the outbreak of the great\nrebellion--the longest peace, he remarks, that Ireland ever enjoyed,\neither before or after the coming of the English. The great extent to\nwhich smelting was carried on during a portion of that time may be\nconcluded from the almost incredible destruction of the Irish woods,\nto make charcoal for the purpose. This Dr. Boate describes in a\npreceding chapter; \"As long as the land was in the full possession of\nthe Irish themselves,\" he says, and we know the fact from many other\nsources, \"all Ireland was very full of woods on every side;\" but the\nEnglish cleared away a great deal of these, both to destroy the\nlurking places of their foes, and to convert the land into tillage and\npasture. Besides the woods cleared for these purposes, a vast amount\nof timber was felled, as Boate tells us, for merchandise, and to make\ncharcoal for the iron works. The timber comprised under the former\nhead does not appear to have been for building, but simply for pipe\nstaves and the like, of which, he says, great quantities were exported\neven in former times; \"and,\" he adds, \"during the last peace a mighty\ntrade was driven in them, and whole shiploads sent into foreign\ncountries yearly;\" while, \"as for the charcoal,\" he {551} continues,\n\"it is incredible what quantity thereof is consumed by one iron work\nin a year . . . so that it was necessary from time to time to fell an\ninfinite number of trees, all the loppings and windfalls being not\nsufficient for it in the least manner.\" The result of all this was,\nthat even in Boate's time, that is, over 200 years ago, the greater\npart of Ireland was left totally bare of woods; the inhabitants could\nobtain no wood for building, or even for firing; and in some parts one\nmight travel whole days without seeing any trees, except a few about\ngentlemen's houses. For a distance of over three score miles from\nnorth to south, in the counties of Louth and Dublin, \"one doth not\ncome near any woods worth speaking of; and in some parts thereof you\nshall not see so much as one tree in many miles. For the great woods\nwhich the maps do represent unto us upon the mountains, between\nDundalk and Nurie, are quite vanished, there being nothing left of\nthem these many years since but one only tree, standing close by the\nhighway, at the very top of one of the mountains, so far as it may be\nseen a great way off, and therefore serveth travellers for a mark.\"\n\nAt that period iron mines were worked extensively near Tallow, on the\nborders of Cork and Waterford, by the famous Earl of Cork; in the\ncounty of Clare, some six miles from Limerick; at a place called\nDesert, in the King's County, by Sergeant-Major Pigott; at Mountrath\nand Mountmellick, in the Queen's County; on the shores of Lough Allen,\nboth on the Roscommon and Leitrim sides--the mountains of\nSlieve-an-ieran, or the Iron Mountain, in the latter county, having\nobtained its name, in the remotest ages, from the presence of that\nmetal; on the shores of Lough Erne, in Fermanagh; in Cavan; at Lissan,\non the borders of Tyrone and Londonderry, where the works were carried\non by Sir Thomas Staples, the owner of the soil; at the foot of Slieve\nGallen, in the county of Derry; and in several other places. Iron\nsmelting works and foundries were erected, not only in the vicinity of\nthe mines, but in other places on the coast, and elsewhere, where the\nconvenience of water carriage and the supplies of charcoal afforded\ninducements. To some of these works on the sea-coast, the ore was\nbrought even from England; but the principal iron works appear to have\nbeen those belonging to the Earl of Cork, in Munster; to Sir Charles\nCoote, at Mountrath, and in Roscommon and Leitrim; to the Earl of\nLondonderry, in his own county; to Lord Chancellor Loftus, ancestor of\nthe Marquis of Ely, at Mountmellick; to Sir John Dunbar, in Fermanagh;\nSir Leonard Blennerhassett, on Lough Erne; and a company of London\nmerchants in Clare. We are not told whether these last were the\nrepresentatives of the London Mining Company, to which Queen Elizabeth\ngranted the royalties of the precious metals that might be discovered\nwithin the English Pale. Mr. Christopher Wandsworth, who had been\nMaster of the Rolls for Ireland, and acted as Lord Deputy under the\nEarl of Strafford, erected a foundry in the county of Carlow, where\nordnance were cast, and also a kind of small round furnaces, pots, and\nother articles made.\n\nIt was estimated that the owners of the iron works--we do not here\nrefer to the mines--made a profit of forty per cent in the year; and\nBoate was assured, by persons who were particularly well informed on\nthe subject, that the Earl of Cork cleared \u00a3100,000 by his iron works.\nSir Charles Coote--\"that zealous and famous warriour in this present\nwarre against the Irish rebells,\" in the first year of which war he\nfell--appears to have been quite as famous as an iron-master as he was\nas a warrior, and his iron-works at Mountrath were a model at that\ntime. A ton of the ore called rock mine cost him, at the furnace head,\n5s. 6d.; and a ton of white mine, or ore dug from a mountain, 7s. The\ntwo ores were mixed in the {552} proportion of one of rock mine to two\nof white mine, and three tons of the mixed ore yielded one ton of good\nbar iron, which was conveyed in rude, small boats called cots, on the\nRiver Nore to Waterford, and thence shipped to London, where it was\nsold for \u00a316, and sometimes for \u00a317, or even \u00a317 10s.; the whole cost\nof the iron to Sir Charles Coote, including that of digging it out of\nthe mine and every expense until it reached the London market, Custom\nHouse duty included, being between \u00a310 and \u00a311 per ton. In most places\nthe cost of the ore at the furnace varied from 5s. to 6s. per ton; and\nwhen the ore was particularly rich, 2-1/2 tons produced one ton of\ngood iron; but Boate tells us that few of the iron smelters carried on\ntheir work as profitably as Sir Charles Coote.\n\nIn Boate's time, only three lead and silver mines appear to have been\nknown in Ireland. One of these was in the county of Antrim, and was\nvery rich, yielding 1 lb. of silver to 30 lbs. of lead; another was\nsituated in Cony Island, at Sligo; and the third, the only one which\nwas worked, was the famous silver mines of the barony of Upper Ormond,\nin Tipperary, about twelve miles from Limerick. This mine had been\ndiscovered about forty years before, and was at first supposed to be\nmerely a lead mine; some of the first lead it produced being used by\nthe Earl of Thomond to roof his house at Bunratty. It was worked in\nthe shape of open pits, several fathoms deep, but still sloping so\ngradually, that the ore was carried to the surface in wheelbarrows.\nEach ton of ore at this mine yielded 3 lbs. of pure silver; but our\nauthority does not inform us how much lead. The silver was sold in\nDublin for 5s. 2d. per oz., and the lead for \u00a311 per ton, though it is\nstated to have brought \u00a312 in Limerick; and the royalty, or king's\nshare, was a sixth part of the silver, and a tenth of the lead. The\nrest was the property of those who farmed the mine, and who cleared an\nestimated profit of \u00a32000 per annum. The works at this mine, and in\ngeneral all the smelting works which we have mentioned throughout the\ncountry, were of course destroyed in the civil war.\n\nSo much for the practical metallurgy of Ireland, as it existed two\nhundred years ago. Of the knowledge of the original inhabitants on the\nsubject, Sir William Wilde (\"Catalogue of Antiquities,\" etc., vol. i.\np. 351) says--and his opinion is the result of all the investigation\nthat is practicable in the matter--\"When, and how, the Irish people\ndiscovered metals and their uses, together with the art of smelting\nand casting, has not been determined by archaeologists;\" but a few\nremarkable and suggestive facts on the subject may be mentioned.\nManuscripts, themselves five or six hundred years old, and purporting\nto give information handed down from the most remote antiquity, make\nfrequent mention of the knowledge and use of metals among the ancient\nIrish. Thus the old annalists say, that \"gold was first smelted in\nIreland in Fotharta-Airthir-Liffe,\" a woody district in Wicklow, east\nof the River Liffey, supposed to coincide with the present well-known\nauriferous tract in that county. Indeed, it is most probable that gold\nwas the first metal known to the Irish, as well as to all people in\nearly stages of civilization, as, besides its glittering quality, it\nis almost the only metal found in a native state upon the surface, and\nconsequently obtainable without the art of smelting. Dr. Boate writes:\n\"I believe many will think it very unlikely that there should be any\ngold mines in Ireland; but a credible person hath given me to\nunderstand, that one of his acquaintances had several times assured\nhim that out of a certain rivulet, in the county of Nether-Tirone,\ncalled Miola, he had gathered about one dram of pure gold.\" We also\nknow from the celts, and other articles in these metals which have\nbeen preserved, that the ancient Irish possessed {553} copper, which\nthey were able to convert into brass and bronze; and also that they\nhad silver, tin, lead, and iron. The Irish version of Nennius\nmentions, as the first wonder of Ireland, that Lough Lein--the Lake of\nKillarney--is surrounded by four circles, viz., \"a circle of tin, and\na circle of lead, and a circle of iron, and a circle of copper\"--an\nindication not only that these metals were known to the people, but\nthat some rude idea had been formed of the mineralogy of the district.\n\n\n\nTHEIR AGRICULTURE.\n\nGrain, in one shape or other, formed a main ingredient in the food of\nthe Irish from the earliest historic period; and we may, consequently,\ninclude Agriculture among the earliest of their industrial arts. We\nare not aware of any time at which they were exclusively a\nflesh-eating people; and we find it clearly stated, with reference to\nperiods not altogether very remote, that the native Irish subsisted to\na great extent on the milk and butter of their large herds of cattle,\nseldom killing the animals for their flesh. On the other hand, we know\nthat vast numbers of cattle were slain and consumed in the constant\npetty wars of the country; and that the lawless dwellers in the\n_cranogues_, or lake habitations--whatever period they belong to--were\ndecidedly carnivorous, as the immense accumulations of the bones and\nhorns of cattle found in their insulated haunts testify. But the fact\nwe contend for is, that the ancient Irish were a granivorous quite as\nmuch as a carnivorous race, if not more so; and some ethnologists have\nconcluded, from an examination of very ancient Irish crania, that the\nteeth were chiefly employed in masticating grain in a hard state.\n\nIt is a curious and well-known fact that in many parts of Ireland\ntraces of tillage are visible on the now barren sides or summits of\nhills, in places which have been long since abandoned to savage\nnature, and in a soil which would appear never to have been\nsusceptible of cultivation. Some such elevated spots, now covered with\ngrass, are known to have been cultivated some years since, when the\nrural population was much denser than at present; but we are referring\nto other places where we find well-marked ridges and furrows on\nhillsides, four or five hundred feet above the sea level, or even\nmore; and which are now covered with heath, and so denuded, by ages of\natmospheric action on the steep slopes, as to retain only the least\nquantity of vegetable surface, wholly inadequate at present to nourish\nany kind of grain.\n\nWhen, and by whom, were these wild spots cultivated? The country\npeople have lost all tradition on the subject, and substitute their\nown conjectures.\n\nIt is not probable that the population of Ireland was ever so dense as\nto have necessitated such extreme efforts to eke out the arable land;\nor that the people were ever so crowded as to have been compelled, as\nit were, like the Chinese, to Terrace the hill-sides to grow food. Mr.\nThom has collected, in his admirable \"Statistics of Ireland,\" all the\nauthentic accounts of Irish census returns. Taking these in their\ninverse order, we find that the 8,175,124 of 1841 was only 6,801,827\nin 1821; 5,937,856 in 1814; 4,088,226 in 1792; 2,544,276 in 1767;\n2,309,106 in 1726; 1,034,102 in 1695; and 1,300,000 in 1672. These\nlatter early returns were merely the estimates of the hearth-money\ncollectors, and are generally deemed to be unreliable. Newenham, in\nhis Enquiry, expresses his disbelief in them, and shows from the\nstatements of Arthur Young, and from official returns, that they were\nclearly under the truth. Yet the returns recently found by Mr.\nHardinge, of the Landed Estates Record Office, among the papers of Sir\nWilliam Petty, in the library of the Marquis of Lansdowne, would\nreduce the population to a {554} much lower figure still at an epoch\nonly a little earlier than the date last enumerated above. Mr.\nHardinge shows that the Petty returns must have been made in 1658 or\n1659; and, supplying a proportional computation for some omitted\ncounties and baronies, he finds that the total population of Ireland\nat that date was only _half a million!_ It is true that this was\nimmediately after the close of the long and desolating civil war which\ncommenced in 1641; and at a time when, as Mr. Hardinge observes, one\nprovince had been so utterly depopulated as to leave its lands vacant\nfor the transplanted remnants of the people of two other provinces;\nyet, even under all the circumstances, the number is incredibly small.\n\nGoing further back, we may conclude that the population could not have\nbeen considerable during the constant civil wars which wasted the\nentire country throughout the long reign of Elizabeth; nor was there\nany time from the Anglo-Norman invasion to that period in which the\ncircumstances of the country were favorable to the social or numerical\ndevelopment of the population; while in earlier times matters can\nhardly be said to have been a whit better. There is no period of\nancient Irish history in which the native annalists do not record\nalmost an annual recurrence of internecine wars in all the\nprovinces--wars equally inveterate and sanguinary, whether the country\nwas infested by foreign foes, or not (_vide_ the Four Masters\n_passim_)--while, on the other hand, we know that the population of a\ncountry never multiplies excessively except in long intervals of\npeace. It may be urged that the remains of the innumerable _raths_ and\n_cahirs_, or _caishels_, which cover the land, and of the abbeys and\nsmall churches which dot the country, indicate periods of very dense\npopulation: but this is a mistaken notion; for at the time when the\nraths were inhabited, it can scarcely be said there were any towns in\nIreland; and even when the monasteries were built, the population was\nalmost wholly rural, and scattered; while a great many of the very\nsmall religious edifices through the country were only the isolated\noratories of hermits.\n\nThe poet, Spenser, writing about A.D. 1596, would seem to give us the\nbest clue to the time in which those mountain wildernesses we have\nbeen referring to were subjected to a kind of cultivation. In his\n\"View of the State of Ireland,\" he makes _Irenaeus_ relate how the\nmost part of the Irish fled from the power of Henry II. \"into deserts\nand mountains, leaving the wyde countrey to the conquerour, who in\ntheir stead eftsoones placed English men, who possessed all their\nlands, and did quite shut out the Irish, or the most part of them:\"\nand how \"they [the Irish] continued in that lowlinesse untill the time\nthat the division betweene the two houses of Lancaster and York arose\nfor the crowne of England; at which time all the great English lords\nand gentlemen, which had great possessions in Ireland, repaired over\nhither into England. . . . . . Then the Irish whom before they had\nbanished into the mountains, where they only lived on white meates, as\nit is recorded, seeing now their lands so dispeopled and weakened,\ncame downe into all the plaines adjoyning, and thence expelling those\nfew English that remained, repossessed them againe, since which they\nhave remained in them,\" etc.\n\nIt is most probable, then, that it was during that early period of\nrefuge in the mountains that the wild tracts we have alluded to were\ncultivated by the Irish; and it is worth remarking that when, in\nSpenser's own time, the English recovered a portion of the plain at\nthe foot of Slieve Bloom, in the O'Moore's country, of which the Irish\nhad been for several years in quiet possession, they were surprised at\nthe high state of cultivation in which they found it.\n\n{555}\n\nThe ancient Irish ploughed with oxen, as appears from many\nunquestionable authorities--among others, from a reference to the\nsubject in the volume of \"Brehon Laws\" recently published by\nGovernment, page 123; but in subsequent times they were brought so\nlow, that in some places, and among the poorest sort, the barbarous\npractice prevailed of yoking the plough to a horse's tail! It is a\nmistake to suppose, on the one hand, that this was a mere groundless\ncalumny on the people; or, on the other, that it was anything like a\ngeneral national custom. The preamble to the Act of the Irish\nParliament (10 and 11 Charles I., chap. 15) passed in 1635, to\nprohibit the practice, says: \"Whereas in many places of this kingdome\nthere hath been a long time used a barbarous custome of ploughing. . . .\nand working horses, mares, etc, by the taile, whereby (besides the\ncruelty used to the beasts) the breed of horses is much impaired in\nthis kingdome, to the great prejudice thereof; and whereas also divers\nhave and yet do use the like barbarous custom of pulling off the wool\nyearly from living sheep, instead of clipping or shearing of them, be\nit therefore enacted,\" etc., etc.\n\nThat this Act, as well as the subsequent Act, chap. 15, \"to prevent\nthe unprofitable custom of burning of corne in the straw,\" instead of\nthreshing out the grain, was regarded as a popular grievance, appears\nfrom the fact, that the repeal of these Acts was made one of the\npoints of negotiation with the Marquis of Ormond during the Civil War;\nbut they remained on the Statute Book until repealed, as obsolete, in\n1828, by 9 Geo. IV. c. 53.\n\nBoate, writing about Ireland, more than two hundred years ago, labors\nto show that the soil and climate are better suited for grazing than\nfor tillage. \"Although Ireland,\" he quaintly observes, \"almost in\nevery part bringeth good corn plentifully, nevertheless hath it a more\nnaturall aptness for grass, the which in most places it produceth very\ngood and plentiful! of itself, or with little help; the which also\nhath been well observed by Giraldus, who of this matter writeth--'This\niland is fruitfuller in grass and pastures than in corn and graines.\"\nAnd farther on he continues: \"The abundance and greatness of pastures\nin Ireland doth appear by the numberless number of all sorts of\ncattell, especially kine and sheep, wherewith this country in time of\npeace doth swarm on all sides.\" He remarks, that, although the Irish\nkine, sheep, and horses were of a small size, that did not arise from\nthe nature of the grass, as was fully demonstrated by the fact that\nthe breed of large cattle brought out of England did not deteriorate\nin point of size or excellence.\n\nSir William Petty states that the cattle and other grazing stock of\nIreland were worth above \u00a34,000,000 in 1641, at the outbreak of the\ncivil war; and that in 1652 the whole was not worth \u00a3500,000.\n\nJohn Lord Sheffield, in \"Observations on the Manufactures, etc., of\nIreland,\" Dublin, 1785, writes that Ireland, \"which had so abounded in\ncattle and provisions, was, after Cromwell's settlement of it, obliged\nto import provisions from Wales. However, it was sufficiently\nrecovered soon after the Restoration to alarm the grazing counties of\nEngland; and in the year 1666 the importation of live cattle, sheep,\nswine, etc, from Ireland was prohibited. . . . . Ireland turned to\nsheep, to the dairy, and fattening of cattle, and to tillage; and she\nshortly exported much beef and butter, and has since supplanted\nEngland in those beneficial branches of trade. She was forced to seek\na foreign market; and England had no more than one fourth of her\ntrade, although before that time she had almost the whole of it.\"\n\n{556}\n\nArthur Young, whose \"Agricultural Tours in Ireland in 1775, etc.,\" did\nso much for the improvement of this country, always advocated tillage\nin preference to grazing. Referring to the former, he says: \"The\nproducts upon the whole [of Ireland] are much inferior to those of\nEngland though not more so than I should have expected; not from\ninferiority of soil, but from the extreme inferiority of management. . . .\nTillage in Ireland is very little understood. In the greatest corn\ncounties, such as Louth, Kildare, Carlow, and Kilkenny, where are to\nbe seen many very fine crops of wheat, all is under the old system,\nexploded by good farmers in England, of sowing wheat upon a fallow and\nsucceeding it with as many crops of spring corn as the soil will bear.\n. . . But keeping cattle of every sort is a business so much more\nadapted to the laziness of the farmer, that it is no wonder the\ntillage is so bad. It is everywhere left to the cotters, or to the\nvery poorest of the farmers, who are all utterly unable to make those\nexertions upon which alone a vigorous culture of the earth can be\nfounded; and were it not for potatoes, which necessarily prepare for\ncorn, there would not be half of what we see at present. While it is\nin such hands, no wonder tillage is reckoned be unprofitable. Profit\nin all undertakings depends on capital; and is it any wonder that the\nprofit should be small when the capital is nothing at all! Every man\nthat has one gets into cattle, which will give him an idle lazy\nsuperintendence instead of an active attentive one.\"\n\nHow much of this is just as applicable to the state of things in our\nown times, as it was eighty or ninety years ago! Young would appear to\nbe describing accurately the state of agriculture in Ireland just\nbefore the last destructive famine; but happily he would find at the\npresent moment a considerable improvement. One change, however, which\nhe would find would not be much to his taste. He would see even the\nhumblest tenant farmer, as well as the large land occupier, placing\nalmost his whole confidence in pasturage, and compelled to abandon\ntillage by the uncertainty of the seasons, the low price of grain, and\nthe increasing price of labor.\n\n------\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nCLAIMS.\n\n\n  Nay,--claim it not, the lightest joy that throws\n            Its transient blushes o'er the beaming earth\n  Or the sweet hope in any living thing\n                    As thine by birth.\n\n  No precious sympathy, no thoughtful care,\n          No touch of tenderness, however near;\n  But watch the blossoming of life's delight\n                    With sacred fear.\n\n  Have joy in life, and gladden to the sense\n          Of dear companionship, in thought, in sight;\n  But oh! as gifts of heaven's abounding love,\n                    Not thine by right.\n\n----\n\n{557}\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nSEALSKINS AND COPPERSKINS.\n\nCaptain Hall, unconvinced by the evidence published by Captain\nM'Clintock in 1859, undertook his expedition in search of the\nsurviving members of Sir John Franklin's crew, (if such there were;)\nor in the hope of clearing up all doubt about the history of their\nend, in the event of their having perished. He was baffled in his\nattempt to reach the region in which he hoped to find traces of the\nobjects of his search, by the wreck of the boat which he had\nconstructed for the enterprise; and his ship being beset with ice in a\nwinter which set in earlier than usual, he spent more than two\nyears--the interval between May, 1860, and September, 1862--among the\nEsquimaux on the western coast of Davis's Strait, in order to acquire\ntheir language and familiarize himself with their habits and mode of\nlife. He is at present once more in the arctic regions, having\nreturned thither in order to prosecute his enterprise. He is now\naccompanied by two intelligent Esquimaux, whom he took back with him\nto America; and who, having now learnt English, will serve him as\ninterpreters as well as a means of introduction to the various\nsettlements of Esquimaux whom he may have occasion to visit in his\ntravels. The results of his present expedition will probably be more\ninteresting than those of his first. If we test the success of his\nfirst voyage by the discoveries to which it led, these were confined\nto correcting the charts of a portion of the western coast of Davis's\nStrait, and to proving that the waters hitherto laid down as\n\"Frobisher's _Strait_\" are in fact not a strait, but a bay. As a\nvoyage of discovery, its importance falls far short of that undertaken\nfor the same object in 1857 by Captain M'Clintock. Captain Hall,\nhowever, was enabled, by comparing the various traditions among the\nEsquimaux, to arrive at the spot where Frobisher, in the reign of\nQueen Elizabeth, attempted to found a settlement on \"Kodlunarn\" [that\nis, \"White man's\"] Island, (the Countess Warwick's Island, of English\nmaps,) where he found coal, brick, iron implements, timber, and\nbuildings still remaining. This success in tracing out, by means of\ninformation supplied by the natives, the relics of an expedition\nundertaken more than three centuries ago, makes him confident of\nobtaining a like success in unravelling the mystery in which the fate\nof Sir John Franklin and his companions is still wrapped, by a similar\nresidence among the Esquimaux of Boothia and King William's Island,\nwhich were the last known points in their wanderings. This is the\nregion he is now attempting to reach for the second time. But the real\nvalue of his present volume is the accurate and faithful record it\ngives of the author's impressions, received from day to day during a\nresidence within the arctic zone, and the details it gives of the\nhabits and character of the Esquimaux.\n\nThe origin of this people is, we believe, unknown. Another arctic\ntraveller has suggested that they are \"the missing link between a\nSaxon and a seal.\" They are rapidly decreasing in numbers; yet, if\nmeasured by the territory which they inhabit, they form one of the\nmost widely-spread races on the face of the earth. Mr. Max M\u00fcller\nmight help us to arrive at the ethnological family to which they\nbelong, were he to study the specimens of their language with which\nCaptain Hall supplies us. Judging from the physiognomy of two of them,\nwhom the author has photographed for his frontispiece, we should say\nthat {558} they certainly do not belong, as M. B\u00e9rard and, we believe,\nBaron Humboldt have supposed, to those Mongol races, which, under the\nnames of \"Laps\" and \"Finns,\" inhabit the same latitudes of the\nEuropean continent. They seem rather to approach the type of some of\nthe tribes of the North American Indians; and the resemblance of their\nhabits of life and traditions points to the same conclusion. They are\nsmall of stature, five feet two inches being rather a high standard\nfor the men, but of great strength and activity, and they have a\nmarvellous power of enduring fatigue, cold, and hunger.\n\nThe name \"Esquimaux,\" by which we designate them, is a French form of\non Indian word, _Aish-ke-um-oog_ (pronounced Es-ke-moag)--meaning in\nthe Cree language, \"He eats raw flesh;\" and in fact they are the only\nrace of North-American savages who live habitually and entirely on raw\nflesh. In their own language they are called _Innuit_ that is, _the_\npeople par _excellence_. Formerly they had chiefs, and a sort of\nfeudal system among them; but this has disappeared, and they have now\nno political organization whatever, and no authority among them,\nexcept that of the husband over his wives and children.\n\nTheir theology--so far as we can arrive at it--teaches that there is\none Supreme Being, whom they call \"Anguta,\" who created the material\nuniverse; and a secondary divinity, (the daughter of Anguta,) called\n\"Sidne,\" through whose agency he created all living things, animal and\nvegetable. The Innuits believe in a heaven and a hell, and the\neternity of future rewards and punishments. Success and happiness, and\nbenevolence shown to others, they consider the surest marks of\npredestination to eternal happiness in the next world; and they hold\nit to be as certain that whoever is killed by accident or commits\nsuicide goes straight to heaven, as that the crime of murder will in\nall cases be punished eternally in hell. They seem hardly to secure\nthe attribute of omnipotence to their \"Supreme Being;\" for, in their\naccount of the creation of the world, they affirm that his first\nattempt to create a man was a decided failure--that is to say, he\nproduced a _white_ man. A second attempt, however, was crowned with\nentire success, in the production of an Esquimaux on Innuit--the\nfaultless prototype of the human race. A tradition of a deluge, or\n\"extraordinary high tide,\" which covered the whole earth, exists among\nthe Esquimaux; and they have certain customs which they observe with\nreligious reverence, although they can give no other reason or\nexplanation of them except immemorial tradition. \"The first Innuits\ndid so,\" is always their answer when questioned on the subject. Thus,\nwhen a reindeer, or any other animal, is killed on land, a portion of\nthe flesh is always buried on the exact spot where it fell--possibly\nthe idea of sacrifice was connected with this practice; and when a\npolar bear is killed, its bladder must be inflated and exposed in a\nconspicuous place for three days. And many such practices, equally\nunintelligible, are scrupulously adhered to; and any departure from\nthem is supposed to bring misfortune upon the offending party.\n\nThough the Esquimaux own neither government nor control of any kind,\nthey yet yield a superstitious obedience to a character called the\n\"Angeko,\" whose influence they rarely venture to contravene. The\nAngeko is at once physician and magician. In cases of sickness the\nEsquimaux never take medicine; but the Angeko is called, and if his\nenchantments fail to cure, the sick person is carried away from the\ntents, and left to die. The Angeko is also called upon to avert evils\nof all kinds; to secure success for hunting or fishing expeditions, or\nany such undertaking; to obtain the disappearance of ice, and the\npublic good on various occasions; and in all cases the efficacy of his\nministrations is believed to be proportioned to the guerdon which he\nreceives. Captain Hall {559} mentions only two instances, as having\noccurred in his experience, of resistance being made by Esquimaux to\nthe wishes of the Angeko; and in both cases the parties demurred to a\ndemand that they should give up their wives to him. Though more\ncommonly they have but one wife, owing to the difficulty of supporting\na number of women, polygamy is allowed and practised by the Esquimaux.\nTheir marriage is without ceremony of any kind, nor is the bond\nindissoluble. Exchange of wives is of frequent occurrence; and if a\nman becomes, from sickness or other cause, unable to support them, his\nwives will leave him, and attach themselves to some more vigorous\nhusband. For the rest, the Esquimaux are intelligent, honest, and\nextremely generous to one another. When provisions are scarce, if a\nseal or walrus is killed by one of the camp, he invites the whole\nsettlement to feast upon it, though he may be in want of food for\nhimself and his family on the morrow in consequence of doing so. They\nare very improvident, and rarely store their food, but trust to the\nfortunes of the chase to supply their wants, and are generally during\nthe winter in a constant state of oscillation between famine and\nabundance. The Esquimaux inhabit the extreme limits of the globe\nhabitable by man, and they have certain peculiarities in their life\nconsequent on the circumstances of their climate and country; but in\nother respects they resemble the rest of the nomad and savage races\nwhich people the extreme north of America. In summer the Esquimaux\nlive in tents called _tupics_, made of skins like those used by the\nIndian tribes, and these are easily moved from place to place. As\nwinter sets in, they choose a spot where provisions are likely to be\nplentiful, and there they erect _igloogs_, or huts constructed of\nblocks of ice, and vaulted in the roof. If they are obliged to change\ntheir quarters during the winter, either permanently or temporarily,\nthey build fresh _igloos_ of snow cut into blocks, which soon freeze,\nand in the space of an hour or two they are thus able to provide\nthemselves with new premises. The only animals domesticated by the\nEsquimaux are their fine and very intelligent dogs. They serve them as\nguards, as guides, as beasts of burden and draught, as companions, and\nassist them in the pursuit of every kind of wild animal. The women\nhave the care of all household affairs, and do the tailor's and\nshoemaker's work, and prepare the skins for all articles of clothing\nand bedding--no unimportant department in such a climate as theirs:\nthe men have nothing to think of but to supply provisions by hunting\nand fishing. Sporting, which in civilized society is a mere recreation\nand amusement, is the profession and serious employment, as well as\nthe delight, of the savage. And we find in the rational as well as in\nthe irrational animal, when in its wild state, the highest development\nof those instincts and sensible powers with which God has endowed it\nfor its maintenance and self-preservation, and which it loses, in\nproportion as it ceases to need them, in civilized society or in the\ndomesticated state.\n\nThe arctic regions, though ill-adapted for the abode of man, teem with\nanimal life. The seal, the walrus, and the whale supply the ordinary\nneeds of the Esquimaux. In the mouth of their rivers they find an\nabundance of salmon; various kinds of ducks and other aquatic birds\ninhabit their coasts in multitudes; reindeer and partridges are\nplentiful on the hills; while the most highly prized as well as the\nmost formidable game is the great polar bear, whose flesh affords the\nmost dainty feast, and whose skin the warmest clothing, to these\nchildren of the North.\n\nCaptain Hall lived, for months at a time, alone with the Esquimaux. He\nacquired some proficiency in their language and shared their life in\nall respects. He became popular with them, and even gained some\ninfluence over them. He experienced some {560} difficulty in his first\nattempt to eat raw flesh, (some whale's blubber, which was served up\nfor dinner;) but on a second trial, when urged by hunger, he made a\nhearty meal on the blood of a seal which had just been killed, which\nhe found to be delicious. After this, cooking was entirely dispensed\nwith. Those who have visited new and \"unsettled\" countries will be\nable to testify how easily man passes into a savage state, and how\npleasant the transition is to his inferior nature. There is a charm in\nthe freedom, in the total emancipation from the artificial restraints,\nthe feverish collisions, and daily anxieties of civilized society\nwhich is one of the most secret, but also one of the most powerful\nagents in advancing the colonization of the world. Captain Hall's\nenthusiasm, which begins to mount at the sight of icebergs, whales,\nand the novelty and grandeur of arctic scenery, reaches its climax\nwhen he finds himself in an unexplored region, the solitary guest of\nthis wild and eccentric people, and depending, like them, for his\ndaily sustenance on the resources of nature alone.\n\nThe Esquimaux are sociable and cheerful, and, in Greenland and the\nneighboring islands, hospitable to strangers; but those of their race\nwho inhabit the continent of America have a character for ferocity,\nand are the most unapproachable to Europeans of all the savage tribes\nof America. Even Captain Hall himself expresses uneasiness from time\nto time lest he should become an object of suspicion to them, or give\nthem a motive for revenge. They are one of the few peoples of the\nextreme north with whom the Hudson's Bay Company have hitherto failed\nto establish relations of commerce. Many travellers and traders have\nbeen murdered by them on entering their territory, and the missioners\nof North-America regard them as likely to be the last in the order of\ntheir conversion to Christianity. Skilful boatmen and pilots,\nperfectly familiar with their coasts, with great intelligence in\nobserving natural phenomena, and knowing by experience every probable\nvariation of their inhospitable climate, as well as the mode of\nproviding against it, they formed invaluable assistants to an\nexpedition for the scientific survey of a region as yet imperfectly\nknown to the geographer. Their sporting propensities were the chief\nhindrance to their services in the cause of science. No sooner were\nducks, or seals, or reindeer in view, than all the objects of the\nexpedition were entirely forgotten till the hunt was over. No motive\nis strong enough to restrain an Esquimaux from the chase so long as\ngame is afoot:\n\n  \"Canis a corio nunquam absterrebitur uncto.\"\n\nSeals are captured by the Esquimaux in various ways. Some are taken in\nnets. At other times they are seen in great numbers on the ice, lying\nat the brink of open water, into which they plunge on the first alarm,\nand much skill is then required in approaching them. In doing this,\nthe Esquimaux imitate the tactics of the polar bear. The bear or the\nsavage, as the case may be, throws himself flat upon the ice and\nimitates the slow jerking action of a seal in crawling toward his\ngame. The seal sees his enemy approaching, but supposes him to be\nanother seal; but if he shows any signs of uneasiness, the hunter\nstops perfectly still and \"talks\" to him--that is, he imitates the\nplaintive grunts in which seals converse with one another. Reassured\nby such persuasive language, the seal goes to sleep. Presently he\nstarts up again, when the same process is repeated. Finally, when\nwithin range, the man fires, or the bear springs upon his victim. But\nthe Esquimaux confess that the bear far surpasses them in this art,\nand that if they could only \"talk\" as well as \"Ninoo,\" (that is,\n\"Bruin,)\" they should never be in want of seal's flesh. When the\nwinter sets in, and the ice becomes thick, the seal cuts a passage\n{561} through the ice with his sharp claws with which its flippers are\narmed, and makes an aperture in the surface large enough to admit its\nnose to the outer air for the purpose of respiration. This aperture is\nsoon covered with snow. When the snow becomes deep enough, and the\nseal is about to give birth to its young, it widens the aperture,\npasses through the ice, and constructs a dome-shaped chamber under the\nsnow, which becomes the nursery of the young seals. This is called a\nseal's _igloo_, from its resemblance to the huts built by the\nEsquimaux. It requires a dog with a very fine nose to mark the\nbathing-place or igloo of a seal by the taint of the animal beneath\nthe snow; but when once it has been discovered, the Esquimaux is\npretty sure of his prey. If an igloo has been formed, and the seal has\nyoung ones, the hunter leaps \"with a run\" upon the top of the dome,\ncrushes it in, and, before the seals can recover from their\nastonishment, he plunges his seal-hooks into them, from which there is\nno escape. If there be no igloo, but a mere breathing-hole, he clears\naway the snow with his spear and marks the exact spot where the seal's\nnose will protrude at his next visit, an aperture only a few inches in\ndiameter; then with a seal-spear strongly barbed in his hand, and\nattached to his belt by twenty yards of the thongs of deer's hide, he\nseats himself over the hole and awaits the seal's \"blow.\" The seal may\nblow in a few minutes, or in a few hours, or not for two or three\ndays; but there the Esquimaux remains, without food, and whatever the\nweather may be, till he hears a low snorting sound; then, quick as\nlightning, and with unerring aim, he plunges the spear into the seal,\nopens the aperture in the ice with his axe till it will allow the body\nof the seal to pass, and draws it forth upon the ice. The mode of\nspearing the walrus is more perilous. The walrus are generally found\namong broken ice, or ice so thin that they can break it. If the ice is\nthin, they will often attack the hunter by breaking the ice under his\nfeet. In order to do this, the walrus looks steadily at the man taking\naim at him, and then dives; the Esquimaux, aware of his intention,\nruns to a short distance to shift his position, and when the walrus\nrises, crashing through the ice on which he was standing only a moment\nbefore, he comes forward again and darts his harpoon into it.\nOrdinarily the Esquimaux selects a hole in the ice where he expects\nthe walrus to \"vent,\" and places himself so as to command it, with his\nharpoon in one hand, a few coils of a long rope of hide, attached to\nthe harpoon, in the other, the remainder of the rope being wound round\nhis neck, with a sharp spike fastened at the extreme end of it. As\nsoon as the walrus rises to the surface, he darts the harpoon into its\nbody, throws the coils of rope from his neck, and fixes the spike into\nthe ice. A moment's hesitation, or a blunder, may involve serious\nconsequences. If he does not instantly detach the rope from his neck,\nhe is dragged under the ice. If he fails to drive the spike firmly\ninto the ice before the walrus has run out the length of the line, he\nloses his harpoon and his rope.\n\nBut the sport which rouses the whole spirit of an Esquimaux community\nbegins when a polar bear comes in view. \"Ninoo\" is the monarch of\nthese arctic deserts, as the lion is of those of the South. The person\nwho first shouts on seeing \"Ninoo,\" whether man, woman, or child, is\nawarded with the skin, whoever may succeed in killing him. Dogs are\nimmediately put upon his track, and, on coming up with him, are taught\nnot to close with him, but to hang upon his haunches and bring him to\nbay. The men follow as best they can, and with the best arms that the\noccasion supplies. The sagacity and ferocity of this beast make an\nattack upon him perilous, even with fire-arms; but great nerve,\nstrength, and skill are required, when armed {562} only with a harpoon\nor a spear, to meet him hand to hand in his battle for life,\n\n  \"Or to his den, by snow-tracks, mark the way,\n  And drag the struggling savage into day.\"\n\nThe polar bear it amphibious, and often takes to the sea. Then if\nboats can be procured, it becomes a trial of speed between rowing and\nswimming, and an exciting race of many miles often takes place. In the\nopen sea \"Ninoo\" has a poor chance of escape, unless he gets a great\nstart of his pursuers; but the arctic coasts are generally studded\nwith islands, and, when he can do so, he makes first for one island,\nthen for another, crossing them, and taking to the water again on the\nopposite side, while the votes have to make the entire circuit of\neach. The sagacity of these animals is marvellous, and proverbial\namong the Esquimaux, who study their habits in order to get hints for\ntheir own guidance. When seals are in the water, the bear will swim\nquietly among them, his great white head assuming the appearance of a\nblock of floating ice or snow, and when close to them he will dive and\nseize the seals under the water. When the walrus are basking on the\nrocks, \"Ninoo\" will climb the cliffs above them and loosen large\nmasses of rock, and then, calculating the curve to a nicety, launch\nthem upon his prey beneath. When a she-bear is attended by her cubs,\nthe Esquimaux will never attack the cubs until the mother has been\ndespatched; such is their fear of the vengeance with which, in the\nevent of her escaping, she follows up the slaughter of her offspring\nby day and night with terrible pertinacity and fury.\n\nThe Esquimaux stalk the reindeer much as we do the red deer in the\nHighlands of Scotland; but the snow which lies in arctic regions\nduring the greater part of the year enables them to follow the same\nherd of deer by their tracks for several days together.\n\nSuch, then, are the life, the habits, the pursuits of the Esquimaux.\nPagan in religion, the stand in need of that phase which alone is able\nto save their race, now perishing from the face of the earth. Their\nlife is a constant struggle with the climate in which they live and\nthe famine with which they are perpetually threatened. A hardy race of\nhunters, they exhibit many natural virtues, considerable intelligence,\nand a strong nationality. The true faith, if they embraced it, while\nit secured their eternal interests, would at the same time be to them,\nas it has been to so many savage races, the principal of a great\nsocial regeneration. At present they are wasting away as a race, and\nwill soon become extinct. Polygamy has always been found to cause the\ndecrease and decay of a population; and any human society, however\nsimple, will fall to pieces when it is not animated by ideas of order\nand justice.\n\nThe Esquimaux occupy the extremities of human habitation in North\nAmerica; and if we pass from their territory to the south, we enter\nupon that vast realm called \"British America\"--a region sufficient in\nextent and resources, if developed by civilization, to constitute an\nempire in itself. Of this vast territory the two Canadas alone, on the\nnorth bank of the St. Lawrence River and the chain of mighty lakes\nfrom which it flows, have been colonized by European settlers. The\nremainder is inhabited by the nomad tribes of Indians and the wild\nanimals upon which they subsist, the British government being there\nunrepresented except by the occasional forts and stations established\nby the Hudson's Bay Company as centres for the traffic in furs, which\nthe Indians supply in the greatest abundance and variety.\n\nThe French, who were among the first to profit by the discovery of\nColumbus and to settle as colonists in the new hemisphere, have in\ntheir conquests always planted the cross of Christ side by side with\nthe banner of France. Though they have failed to retain the dominion\nof those colonies {563} which they founded, yet, to their glory be it\nsaid, their missioners have not only kept alive that sacred flame of\nfaith which they kindled in their former possessions, but have spread\nit from one end of the American continent to the other, beyond the\nlimits within which lucre leads the trader, and even among the remote\ntribes who as yet reject all ordinary intercourse with the white man.\nMonseigneur Faraud, now Bishop of Anemour and Vicar-Apostolic of\nMackenzie, has published his experiences during eighteen years of\nmissionary labor as a priest among the savages of the extreme north of\nAmerica,  [Footnote 123] with the view of giving information to future\nmissioners in the same regions, and inspiring others to undertake the\nconversion of this portion of the heathen world. The proceeds of the\nsale of his book will be devoted to founding establishments for works\nof corporal and spiritual mercy among the tribes of Indians in his\ndiocese. The narrative of his apostolic life is highly interesting.\nBorn of an old legitimist family in the south of France, some of whose\nmembers had fallen victims to the Reign of Terror in 1793, and\ncarefully educated under the eye of a pious mother, he offered himself\nto the service of God in the priesthood. Being of a vigorous\nconstitution and of an enterprising spirit, he was drawn to the work\nof the foreign missions, and at the age of twenty-six he started for\nNorth America. Landing at New York, he passed through Montreal to St.\nBoniface, a settlement on the Red River, a few miles above the point\nwhere it discharges its waters into the great Lake Winnipeg. Here he\nfixed his abode for seven months, studying the language, and acquiring\nthe habits and mode of life of the natives. At the end of this time\nthe Indians of the settlement started on their annual expedition at\nthe end of the summer to the prairies of the west to hunt the\nbuffalo--an important affair, on which depends their supply of\nbuffalo-hides and beef for the winter.\n\n  [Footnote 123: \"Dix-huit Ans chez les Sauvages. Voyages et Missions\n  de Mgr. Faraud dans le Nord de l'Am\u00e9rique Britannique. Regis Ruffet\n  et Cie. Paris, 1866.\"]\n\nFor this expedition, which was organized with military precision and\nmost picturesque effect, one hundred and twenty skilful hunters were\nselected, armed with guns and long _couteaux de chasse_, and mounted\non their best horses. A long train of bullock-carts followed in the\nrear, with boys and women as drivers, carrying the tents and\nprovisions for encampment, and destined to bring home the game. The\npriest accompanied them, saying mass for them every morning in a tent\nset apart as the chapel, and night-prayers before retiring to rest in\nthe evening.\n\nIn this way they journeyed for a week, making about thirty miles in\nthe day, and camping for the night in their tents. Let the reader, in\norder to conceive an American \"prairie,\" imagine a level and boundless\nplain, reaching in every direction to the horizon, fertile and covered\nwith luxuriant herbage, and unbroken except by swelling undulations\nand here and there occasional clumps of trees sprinkled like islets on\nthe ocean, or oases on the desert. After marching for a week across\nthe prairie, they came upon the tracks of a herd of buffaloes. The\nIndians are taught from childhood, when they encounter a track, to\ndiscern at once to what animal it belongs, how long it is since it\npassed that way, and to follow it by the eye, as a hound does by\nscent. For two days they marched in the track of the buffaloes, and\nthe second night the hunters brought a supply of fresh beef into\ncamp--they had killed some old bulls. These old bulls are found\nsingle, or in parties of two or three, and always indicate the\nproximity of a herd. Accordingly, on the following morning the herd\nwas discovered in the distance on the prairie, like a swarm of flies\non a green carpet. The hunters now galloped to the front, and called a\ncouncil of war behind some undulating ground about a mile and a half\n{564} from the buffaloes, who, in number about three thousand, were\ngrazing lazily on the plain. All was now animation. It would be\ndifficult to say whether the keener interest was shown by the men or\nthe horses, who now, with dilated eyes and nostrils, ears pricked, and\nnervous action, pawed the ground, impatient as greyhounds in the slips\nand eager for the fray. The plan of action was soon agreed upon--a few\nwords were spoken in a low tone by the chief, and the horsemen\nvanished with the rapidity of the wind. In about a quarter of an hour\nthey reappeared, having formed a circle round the buffaloes, whom they\nnow approached at a hand-gallop, concentrating their descent upon the\nherd from every point of the compass. The effect of this strategy was\nthat, though they were soon discovered, time was gained. Whichever way\nthe herd pointed, they were encountered by an approaching horseman,\nand they were thus thrown into confusion, until, massing themselves\ninto a disordered mob, they charged, breaking away through the line of\ncavalry. Then began the race and the slaughter. A good horse, even\nwith a man on his back, has always the speed of a buffalo; but the\nskill of a hunter is shown (besides minding his horse lest he gets\nentangled in the herd and trampled to death, and keeping his presence\nof mind during the delirium of the chase,) in selecting the youngest\nand fattest beasts of the herd, in loading his piece with the greatest\nrapidity--the Indians have no breech-loaders--and taking accurate aim\nwhile riding at the top of his speed. In the space of a mile a skilful\nbuffalo-hunter will fire seven, eight, nine shots in this manner, and\nat each discharge a buffalo will bite the dust. On the present\noccasion the pursuit continued for about a mile and a half, and above\neight hundred buffaloes were safely bagged. When the chase was over,\nthere was a plentiful supply of fresh beef, the hides were carefully\nstowed on the carts, the carcasses cut up, the meat dried and highly\nspiced and made into pies, in which form it will keep for many months,\nand forms a provision for the winter. The buffalo (which in natural\nhistory would be called a bison) is the principal source of food and\nclothing to the Indians who live within reach of the great western\nprairies. But the forests also abound with elk, moose, and reindeer,\nas well as the smaller species of deer, and smaller game of other\nkinds, and the multitudes of animals of prey of all sizes which supply\nthe markets of Europe with furs. The abundance of fish in the lakes\nand rivers is prodigious. The largest fish in these waters is the\nsturgeon. This fish lies generally near the surface of the water: the\nIndian paddles his canoe over the likely spots, and when he sees a\nfish darts his harpoon into it, which is made fast by a cord to the\nhead of the canoe; the fish tows the canoe rapidly through the water\ntill he is exhausted, and is then despatched. Besides many other\ninferior kinds of fish, they have the pike, which runs to a great size\nin the lakes, and two kinds of trout--the smaller of these is the same\nas that found in the rivers of England; the larger is often taken of\nmore than eighty pounds in weight. The Indians take these with spears,\nnets, and baskets; but a trout weighing eighty pounds would afford\nconsiderable sport to one of our trout-fishers of Stockbridge or\nDriffield, if taken with an orthodox rod and line.\n\nA fortnight was devoted to the chase; and between two and three\nthousand buffaloes having been killed, and the carts fully laden, the\nparty returned to St. Bonifice. The settlement of St. Bonifice was\nfounded by Lord Selkirk, who sent out a number of his Scotch\ndependents as colonists, and induced some Canadian families to join\nthem. It was originally intended as a model Protestant colony; but the\ndemoralization and vice which broke out in the new settlement brought\nit to the verge of temporal ruin. Lord Selkirk then called Catholics\nto his aid, {565} and three priests were sent there. Religion took the\nplace of fanaticism, and ever since this epoch the colony has never\nceased to flourish and increase, and has become the centre of numerous\nsettlements in the neighborhood of friendly Indians converted to the\nfaith. This is one of many instances which might be quoted in which\nthe noxious weed of heresy has failed to transplant itself beyond the\nsoil which gave it birth. St. Boniface has been the residence of a\nbishop since 1818, and is now the resting-place and point of departure\nfor all missioners bound for the northern deserts of America. It was\nhere that Mgr. Faraud spent eighteen months studying the languages of\nthe northern tribes of Indians. Lord Bacon says that \"he that goeth\ninto a strange laud without knowledge of the language goeth to learn\nand not to travel.\" This, which is true of the traveller, is much more\ntrue of the missioner, as Mgr. Faraud soon found by experience. He\nmade several essays at intercourse with neighboring tribes, like a\nyoung soldier burning with zeal and the desire to flesh his sword in\nmissionary work. But the reception he met with was most mortifying,\nbeing generally told \"not to think of teaching men as long as he spoke\nlike a child.\" He applied himself with renewed energy to acquire the\nnative language.\n\nThe dialects of most of the tribes of the extreme north of America\n(with the exception of the Esquimaux) are modifications of two parent\nlanguages, the Montaignais and the Cree. By acquiring these Mgr.\nFaraud was able to make himself understood by almost any of these\ntribes after a short residence among them. Eighteen months spent at\nSt. Boniface served as a novitiate for his missionary work, at the end\nof which time he received orders to start, early in the following\nmonth, for Isle de la Crosse, a fort on the Beaver river, about 350\nleagues to the N.W. of St. Boniface. On his way thither he was the\nguest of the Governor of the Hudson's Bay Company, at Norway House,\nwhere he was most hospitably entertained. Mgr. Faraud bears witness to\nthe liberal and enlightened spirit in which the authorities of the\nHudson's Bay Company, as well as the government officials in Canada,\nrender every aid and encouragement in their power to the Catholic\nmissioners; and he quotes a speech made to him by Sir Edmund Head\n(then Governor of Canada) showing the high estimation, and even favor,\nin which the Catholic missioners are held by them. Whatever permanence\nand stability our missions possess in these vast deserts is owing to\nthe protection and kind assistance rendered to them by the British\nauthorities; while, on the other hand, it would be hardly possible for\nthis powerful company of traders to maintain their present friendly\nrelations with Indian tribes, upon which their trade depends, without\nthe aid of the Catholic missioners.\n\nAfter five months spent at Isle de la Crosse, and three years after\nhis departure from Europe, Mgr. Faraud left for Atthabaska, one of the\nmost northerly establishments of the Hudson's Bay Company, whither the\nvarious tribes of Indians, spread over an immense circuit 400 leagues\nin diameter, come twice in the year, early in spring and late in the\nautumn, to barter their furs, the produce of their winter and summer\nhunting. This was his final destinatibn and field of apostolical\nlabor, it is often said that it is the happiness of the Red Indian to\nbe totally ignorant of money; and this, in a certain sense is true.\nBut money has no necessary connection with the precious metals or\nbank-notes; and any medium of circulation which by common agreement\ncan be made to represent a determined value becomes money, in fact, if\nnot in name. Thus the market value of a beaver's skin in British\nAmerica varies little, and is nearly equivalent to an American dollar.\nThe Hudson's Bay Company have adopted this as the unit of their\ncurrency, and the value of other furs {566} is reckoned in relation to\nthis standard. The following are some of the prices given to the\nIndians for the furs ordinarily offered by them for sale:\n\n  The skin of a black bear values from six to ten beavers; the skin of\n  a black fox, about six beavers; the skin of a silver fox, about five\n  beavers; the skin of an otter, from two to three beavers; the skin of\n  a pecari, from one to four beavers; the skin of a martin, from one\n  to four beavers; the skin of a red or white fox, about one beaver,\n  and so forth.\n\nTwice in the year the steamers and canoes of the company, laden with\nmerchandise, work their way up the lakes and rivers to these stations,\nwhere the Indians assemble to meet them, and receive an equivalent for\ntheir furs in arms, ammunition, articles for clothing, hardware, and\ntrinkets.\n\nTwo of our countrymen, Viscount Milton, and Dr. Cheadle, have lately\npublished an account of their travels in British America, of which we\ngive a notice in another part of this number.  [Footnote 124] The\ndescription they give of the privations they endured and the\ndifficulties they had to overcome in merely traversing the country as\ntravellers, furnished as they were with all the resources which wealth\ncould command, while it reflects credit on their British pluck and\nperseverance in attaining the object they had in view, gives us some\nidea of the obstacles which present themselves to a missioner in these\nregions, who has to take up his abode wherever his duty may call him,\nand without any means of maintaining life beyond those which these\ndistricts supply. The object of these gentlemen was to explore a line\nof communication between Canada and British Columbia, with a view to\nsuggesting an overland route through British territory connecting the\nPacific with the Atlantic--a most important project in a political\npoint of view, upon which the success of the rising colony of Columbia\nappears eventually to depend. The territory administered by the\nHudson's Bay Company, reaching as it does from the Atlantic to the\nPacific, from the coasts of Labrador on the N.E., to Vancouver's\nIsland on the S.W., contains an area nearly equal to that of the whole\nof Europe.\n\n  [Footnote 124: \"The North-West Passage by Land.\" By Viscount Milton,\n  M.P., and W. B. Cheadle, M.D. London. 1865.]\n\nMgr. Faraud remained fifteen years at Atthabaska. He found it a\nsolitary station-house, in the midst of deserts inhabited by\nidolatrous savages; it is now a flourishing mission, with a vast\nChristian population advancing in civilization, the capital of the\ndistrict to which it gives its name, and a centre of operation from\nwhich missioners may act upon the whole north of British America, over\nwhich he now has episcopal jurisdiction. Such results, as may be\nsupposed, have not been attained without labor and suffering. In the\ncommencement the mission was beset with difficulties and\ndiscouragements. His first step was to build himself a house with logs\nof wood, an act which was accepted by the savages as a pledge that he\nintended to remain with them. A savage whom he converted and baptized\nsoon after his arrival, acted as his servant and hunted for him; while\nwith nets and lines he procured a supply of fish for himself when his\nservant was unsuccessful in the chase. In this manner he for some time\nmaintained a life alternately resembling that of Robinson Crusoe and\nSt. Paul. He soon made a few conversions in his neighborhood, and in\nthe second year, with the aid of his catechumens, built a wooden\nchapel, ninety feet long by thirty broad. He was now able, when the\ntribes assembled in the spring and autumn, to converse with them, and\npreach to them. They invited him to visit them in their own countries,\noften many hundreds of miles distant; and these visits involved long\nand perilous journeys, in which he several times nearly perished. In\nthe fourth year he began building a large church, surmounted by a\nsteeple, from which he swung a {567} large bell, which he procured\nfrom Europe through the agents of the company. It was regarded as a\nsupernatural phenomenon by the savages when \"the sound of the\nchurch-going bell\" was heard for the first time to boom over their\nprimeval forests. As soon as a savage became his catechumen, he taught\nhim to read, at the same time that he instructed him in religion. The\nsoil was gradually cultivated, crops were reared, and cows and sheep\nintroduced. In the tenth year a second priest was sent to his aid, who\nwas able to carry on his work for him at home while he was absent on\ndistant missions.\n\nThere are thirteen distinct tribes inhabiting British America, and\nMgr. Faraud devotes a chapter to the distinctive characteristics of\neach. But a general idea of these savages may be easily arrived at.\nMost of us are familiar with the lively descriptions of the red man in\nthe attractive novels of Mr. Fenimore Cooper; and, though the stories\nare fiction, these portraits of the Indians are drawn to the life. We\nhave most of us been struck by their taciturnity, their profound\ndissimulation, the perseverance with which they follow up their plans\nof revenge, the pride which prevents them from betraying the least\ncuriosity, the stoical courage with which they brave their enemies in\nthe midst of the most horrible sufferings, their caution, their\ncruelty, the extraordinary keenness and subtlety of their senses. The\nIndian savage is profoundly selfish; gratitude and sympathy for others\ndo not seem to enter into the composition of his nature. The same\nstubborn fortitude with which he endures suffering seems to render him\nindifferent to it in others. Intellectually he is slow in his power of\nconception and process of reasoning, but is endowed with a marvellous\npower of memory and reflection. He has a great fluency of speech,\nwhich often rises to real eloquence; and there is a gravity and\nmaturity in his actions which is the fruit of meditation and thought.\nCases of apostasy in religion are very rare among the Indians. A\nsavage visited Mgr. Faraud soon after his arrival at Atthabaska. He\nhad come from the shores of the Arctic Ocean, where his tribe dwelt, a\ndistance of above six hundred miles, and asked some questions on\nreligious subjects. After listening to the priest's instruction on a\nfew fundamental truths, \"I shall come to you again,\" he said, \"when\nyou can talk like a man; at present you talk like a child.\" Three\nyears afterward he kept his promise; and immediately on arriving he\npresented himself to the priest, and placed himself under instruction.\nOn leaving after the first instruction, he assembled a number of\nheathen savages, at a short distance in the forest, and preached to\nthem for several hours. This continued for many weeks. In the morning\nhe came for instruction; in the afternoon he preached the truths he\nhad learned in the morning to his countrymen. Mgr. Faraud had the\ncuriosity to assist unseen at one of these sermons, and was surprised\nto hear his own instruction repeated with wonderful accuracy and in\nmost eloquent language. In this way a great number of conversions were\nmade; and the instructions given to one were faithfully communicated\nto the rest by this zealous savage. The name of this savage was\nD\u00e9n\u00e9gonusy\u00e8. When the time arrived for his tribe to return to their\nown country, the priest proposed that he should receive baptism. \"No,\"\nhe said; \"I have done nothing as yet for Almighty God. In a year you\nshall see me here again, and prepared for baptism.\" Punctual to his\npromise, he returned the following spring. In the mean time he had\nconverted the greater portion of his tribe; he had taught them to\nrecite the prayers the priest had taught him; and he brought the\nconfessions of all the people who had died in the mean time among his\nown people, which he had received on their death-beds, and which his\nwonderful memory enabled him now to repeat word for word to the {568}\npriest, baking him to give them absolution. D\u00e9n\u00e9gonusy\u00e8 was now told\nto prepare for baptism; but he again insisted on preliminaries. First,\nthat he was to take the name of Peter, and wait to receive his baptism\non St. Peter's day--\"Because,\" he said, \"St. Peter holds the keys of\nheaven, and is more likely to open to one who bears his name and is\nbaptized on his feast;\" secondly, that he was to be allowed to fast\nbefore his baptism forty days and nights, as our Blessed Lord did. On\nthe vigil of St. Peter's day he was so weak that he walked with\ndifficulty to the church; but on the feast, before daybreak, he\nknocked loudly at the priests door and demanded baptism. He was told\nto wait till the mass was finished. When mass was over, the priest was\nabout to preach to the people; but D\u00e9n\u00e9gonusy\u00e8 stood up and cried out,\n\"It is St. Peter's day; baptize me.\" The priest calmed the murmurs\nwhich arose from the congregation at this interruption, and the eyes\nof all were suddenly drawn to the figure of this wild neophyte of the\nwoods standing before the altar to receive the waters of regeneration.\nA ray of light seemed to play round his head and rest upon him, as\nthough the Holy Ghost were impatient to take up his abode in this new\ntemple.\n\nCases are not unfrequent of \"half-caste\" Indians reared in the woods\nas savages claiming baptism from the priest as their \"birthright.\"\nThey have never met a priest before, nor ever seen their Catholic\nparent. They are not Christians, and do not know even the most\nelementary doctrines of the church. Yet they have this strange faith\n(as they say \"by inheritance\") through some mysterious transmission of\nwhich God alone knows the secret. One of these \"half-castes\" met Mgr.\nFaraud one day as he was travelling through the forest, and asked him\nto baptize him. \"I have the faith of my father,\" he said, \"and demand\nmy birthright.\" Then, inviting him to his house, he added: \"My wife\nalso desires baptism.\" The priest accompanied him to his\nhunting-lodge, and was presented to his wife, a young savage lady of\nsome twenty years. She was a veritable Amazon, a perfect model of\nsymmetry of form and feminine grace; there was a savage majesty in her\ngestures and gait; she was a mighty huntress, tamed the wildest\nsteeds, and was famed far and near for her prowess with the bow and\nspear. She welcomed the stranger with courtesy, and immediately\npresented him with a basket full of the tongues of elks which had been\nthe spoil of her bow in the chase of the previous day. But as soon as\nshe learned the errand on which he had come, her manner changed to\nprofound reverence, and, throwing herself on her knees with hands\nclasped in the attitude of prayer, she asked him for a crucifix, \"to\nhelp me in my prayers,\" she said. The Indians do not pray. Her husband\ndid not know one article of the creed. Who taught her to pray?--to\nvenerate a priest?--to adore the mystery of the cross?--to desire\nbaptism, and yearn for admission to the unity of God's church?\n\nThe three principal difficulties in the missioner's work among the\nIndians are to \"stamp out\" (to use a recently-invented phrase) the\ninfluence of their native magicians, and the practices of polygamy and\ncannibalism--though several of the tribes are free from the last-named\nvice. The magician, as we might expect, is always plotting to\ncounteract his advances and to revenge them when successful. When a\nman has been possessed of half-a-dozen wives, and perhaps as yet\nbarely realized to himself the Christian idea of marriage, it is a\nconsiderable sacrifice to part with all but one, and sometimes\nperplexing to decide which he will retain and which he will part with.\nThen the ladies themselves have generally a good deal to say upon this\nquestion, and combinations arise in consequence, which are often very\nserious and oftener still very ludicrous.\n\nAt Fort Resolution, on the great Slave Lake, the missioner met with a\n{569} warm reception from the neighboring tribes of Indians; and as\nthe greater part of them embraced Christianity, he set himself to work\nin instructing them. He explained to them that Christian marriage was\na free act, and could never be valid where it was compulsory, and that\nin this respect the wife was as independent as the husband. This was\nquite a new doctrine to the savages, with whom it was an inveterate\ncustom to obtain their wives either by force or by purchasing them\nfrom their parents. The doctrine, however, was eagerly received by the\nwomen, who felt themselves raised by it to equal rights with their\nhusbands. The men were then instructed that the Christian religion did\nnot permit polygamy, and that as many of them as had more than one\nwife must make up their minds which of them they would retain, and\nthen part with the rest. It would be difficult to explain the reason\nwhy marriage, which is a serious and solemn contract, and which in\nmystical signification ranks first among the sacraments, is the\nsubject of jests, and provokes laughter in all parts of the world. The\nsavages were no exception to this rule; and while they set themselves\nto obey the commands of the church, they made their doing so the\noccasion of much merriment. The following morning a crowd of them\nwaited upon the priest, each of whom brought the wife with whom he\nintended to be indissolubly united. After an exhortation, which dwelt\nupon the divine institution, sacramental nature, and mutual\nobligations of matrimony, each couple was called up to the priest\nafter their names had been written down in the register. The first\ncouple who presented themselves were \"Toqueiyazi\" and \"Ethikkan.\"\n\"Toqueiyaza,\" said the priest, \"will you take Ethikkan to be your\nlawful wife?\" \"Yes,\" was the answer. \"Ethikkan, will you take\nToqueiyazi to be your lawful husband?\" \"No,\" said the bride, \"on no\naccount.\" Then turning to the bridegroom, who shared the general\nastonishment of all present, she continued, \"You took me away by\nforce; you came to our tent and tore me away from my aged father; you\ndragged me into the forests, and there I became your slave as well as\nyour wife, because I believed that you had a right to make yourself my\nmaster: but now the priest himself has declared that God has given the\nsame liberty to the woman as to the man. I choose to enjoy that\nliberty, and I will not marry you.\" Great was the sensation produced\nby this startling announcement. A revolution had taken place. The men\nbeheld the social order which had hitherto obtained in their tribe\nsuddenly overthrown. The women trembled for the consequences which\nthis daring act might bring upon them. For a moment the issue was\ndoubtful; but the women, who always get the last word in a discussion,\nin this case got the first also; they cried out that Ethikkan was a\ncourageous woman, who had boldly carried out the principles of the\nChristian religion regardless of human respect; and what she had done\nwas in fact so clearly in accordance with what the priest had taught,\nthat the men at length acquiesced, and the \"rights of woman\" were\nthenceforward recognized and established on the banks of the great\nSlave Lake.\n\nIn one of his winter journeys through the snow, attended by a party of\nIndians and sledge drawn by dogs, Mgr. Faraud was arrested by a low\nmoaning sound which proceeded from a little girl lying under a hollow\ntree covered with icicles. Her hands and feet were already\nfrostbitten, but she was still sufficiently conscious to tell him that\nher parents had left her there to die. It is a common practice with\nthe savages to make away with any member of the family who is likely\nto become a burden to them. The priest put the child on the sledge,\ncarried her home, and, with proper treatment, care, and food, she\nrecovered. She was instructed and baptized, receiving the name of\nMary. This child became the priest's consolation and joy, {570} a\nvisible angel in his house, gay and happy, and a source of happiness\nand edification to others. She was one of those chosen souls on whom\nGod showers his choicest favors, and whom he calls to a close\nfamiliarity with himself. But after a time the priest was obliged to\nleave on a distant mission, having been called to spend the winter\nwith a tribe who wished to embrace Christianity, and whose territory\nlay at a distance of several hundreds of miles. What was to be done\nwith Mary? To accompany him was impossible--to remain behind was to\nstarve. There was at that time, among his savage catechnmens, an old\nman and his wife whose baptism he had deferred till the following\nspring. This seemed to be the only solution of the difficulty. They\nhad no children of their own; they would take charge of Mary, and\nbring her safe back to \"the man of prayer\" in the spring. Bitter was\nthe parting between little Mary and the priest; but there was the hope\nof an early meeting in the following spring. The spring came, and the\npriest returned; but the old savages and Mary came not. For weeks the\npriest expected them, and then started to seek their dwelling, about\nfifty miles distant from his own. He found their house empty, and the\nman could nowhere be discovered. But in searching for him through the\nforest, he descried an old woman gathering fuel. It was his wife.\nWhere was Mary? The old woman made evasive replies until the sternness\nof the priest's manner terrified her into confession. \"The winter had\nbeen severe\"--\"they had run short of provisions\"--\"and--and--\" in\nshort, _they had eaten her_.\n\nBut if the difficulties, disappointments, and sufferings of the\nmissioner in these American deserts are great, requiring in him great\nvirtue and an apostolic spirit, his consolations are great also. The\ngrace of God is always given in proportion to his servants' need; and\nin this virgin soil, where spurious forms of Christianity are as yet\nunknown, the effects it produces are at time astounding. The missioner\nis alternately tempted to elation and despair. He must know, to use\nthe words of the Apostle, \"how to be brought low, and how to abound.\"\nMonseigneur Faraud has now returned to his diocese to reap the harvest\nof the good seed which he has sown, and to carry a Christian\ncivilization to the savages of the extreme north of America. He has\nleft his volume behind him to invite our prayers for his success, and\nto remind those generous souls who are inspired to undertake the work\nof evangelizing the heathen, that in his portion of the Lord's field\n\"the harvest is great and the laborers few.\"\n\n------\n\nMISCELLANY.\n\n\n_The Zoological Position of the Dodo_.--At a meeting of the\nZoological Society on the 9th of January last, Professor Owen read a\npaper on the osteology of the Dodo, the great extinct bird of the\nMauritius. Our readers will remember that this bird has given rise to\na good deal of discussion from time to time as to its true affinities.\nWhen Professor Owen was Curator of the Royal College of Surgeons'\nMuseum, he classed the Dodo along with the Raptorial birds. This\narrangement led to the production of the huge volume of Messrs.\nStrickland and Melville, in which it was very ably demonstrated that\nthe bird belongs to the _Columbae_ or pigeon group. It is highly\ncreditable therefore to Professor Owen that upon a careful examination\nof the specimens of the dodo's bones which have lately come under his\nobservation, he has consented to the view long ago expressed by Dr.\nMelville. {571} The materials upon which Professor Owen's paper was\nbased consisted of about one hundred different bones belonging to\nvarious parts of the skeleton, which had been recently discovered by\nMr. George Clark, of Mah\u00e9berg, Mauritius, in an alluvial deposit in\nthat island. After an exhaustive examination of these remains, which\nembraced nearly every part of the skeleton, Professor Owen came to the\nconclusion that previous authorities had been correct in referring the\ndodo to the Columbine order, the variations presented, though\nconsiderable, being mainly such as might be referable to the\nadaptation of the dodo to a terrestrial life, and different food and\nhabits.--_Popular Science Review_.\n\n\n\n_Native Borax_.--A lake about two miles in circumference, from which\nborax is obtained in extremely pure condition and in very large\nquantity, has recently been discovered in California. The borax\nhitherto in use has been procured by combining boracic acid, procured\nfrom Tuscany, with soda. It is used in large quantities in England,\nthe potteries of Staffordshire alone consuming more than 1100 tons\nannually.\n\n\n\n_Fall of the Temperature of Metals_.--At the last meeting of the\nChemical Society of Paris, Dr. Phipson called attention to the sudden\nfall of temperature which occurs when certain metals are mixed\ntogether at the ordinary temperature of the atmosphere. The most\nextraordinary descent of temperature occurs when 207 parts of lead,\n118 of tin, 284 of bismuth, and l,617 of mercury are alloyed together.\nThe external temperature being at +170\u00b0 centigrade at the time of the\nmixture, the thermometer instantly falls to--10\u00b0 below zero. Even when\nthese proportions are not taken with absolute rigor, the cold produced\nis such that the moisture of the atmosphere is immediately condensed\non the sides of the vessel in which the metallic mixture is made. The\npresence of lead in the alloy does not appear to be so indispensable\nas that of bismuth. Dr. Phipson explains this fact by assuming that\nthe cold is produced by the liquefaction at the ordinary temperature\nof the air of such dense metals as bismuth, etc., in their contact\nwith the mercury.\n\n\n\n_Greek and Egyptian Inscriptions_.--The discovery of a stone bearing a\nGreek inscription with equivalent Egyptian hieroglyphics, by Messrs.\nLepsius, Reinisch, R\u00f6sler, and Weidenbach, four German explorers, at\nSane, the former Tanis, the chief scene of the grand architectural\nundertakings of Rameses the Second, is an important event for students\nof Egyptology. The Greek inscription consists of seventy-six lines, in\nthe most perfect preservation, dating from the time of Ptolemy\nEnergetes I. (238 B.C.) The stone is twenty-two centimetres high, and\nseventy-eight centimetres wide, and is completely covered by the\ninscriptions. The finders devoted two days to copying the\ninscriptions, taking three photographs of the stone, and securing\nimpressions of the hieroglyphics. Egyptologists are therefore\nanxiously looking forward to the production of these facsimiles and\nphotographs.\n\n------\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\n\nMISCELLANEA: comprising Reviews, Lectures, and Essays, on Historical,\nTheological, and Miscellaneous Subjects, By M. J. Spalding, D.D.,\nArchbishop of Baltimore. Fourth edition. 2 vols. 8vo. Pp. 807.\nBaltimore: John Murphy & Co. 1866.\n\nThis work has attained a well deserved popularity in the Catholic\ncommunity; and we hail with pleasure this new and enlarged edition of\nit. Dr. Spalding has obtained the first place amongst the few of our\npopular writers; and by his contributions to Catholic literature will\nleave after him evidences of a \"good fight\" for the truth and faith of\nChrist. The Miscellanea is a book for the times, such as the Church\nalways needs, and of which in later years we have sadly felt the want.\nThe prolific Anti-catholic press has deluged the country with {572}\npublications of all sizes and of every character, unfair in their\nstatements of our doctrine and practice, and but too often marked by\nbitter invective and wilful misrepresentation. The prejudices thus\nengendered and deepened must be quickly and pointedly met before the\npoison has had time to spread. We must not be content with a passive\nconfidence in the inherent strength of truth. In the long run truth\nwill prevail, we know; but there is no reason why truth should not\nalso prevail in the short run. Our American style of making a mental\nmeal is not very far different from that of our physical meal. We read\nas fast as we eat, and are not over dainty. It is perfectly marvellous\nwhat hashes of literary refuse your anti-church, anti-papal, and\nliberal (sic) caterer has the impudence to set before a people\nhungering after righteousness and truth: and it is equally marvellous\nthat these same people so hastily gulp down the newly spiced dish,\nwithout evincing any suspicion of their having once or twice before\nseen and rejected the same well-picked bones and unsavory morsels.\n\nExperience proves the necessity of providing for the American mind\ngood solid food, cooked _a la h\u00e2te_, and served with few\naccompaniments. They are not partial to long introductory soups, and\ntotally disregard all side-dish references and quotations. Comparisons\naside, we need quick and popular answers to these popular and hasty\naccusations. The difficulty we experience is in the fact that the\nbooks, pamphlets, and tracts which disseminate error, contain such a\nmass of illogical reasoning, and are based upon so many contradictory\nprinciples, that to answer them all fully and logically would require\nas many octavos as they possess pages. To give a fair, unsophistical,\nand popular response to the questions of the day, as presented to us\nin the forms we have mentioned, requires no little critical skill, and\nreal literary genius. In the perusal of the work before us we have had\nfrequent occasion to admire these characteristics of the distinguished\nauthor. His trenchant blows decapitate at once a host of hydra-headed\nerrors, and he displays a happy faculty of marking and dealing with\nthose particular points which would be noticeable ones for the reader\nof the productions which come under the judgment of his pen. We have\ncause to congratulate ourselves that we have in him a popular writer\nfor the American people. An American himself, he understands his\ncountrymen, appreciates their merits, and is not blind to their\nfailings. It is true we find in these pages many qualifications of the\nmotives of Protestant antagonists and of Protestant movements\ngenerally which we wish might be read only by those to whom they\napply; still the intelligent reader will not fail to observe that they\nwere called forth by the temper of the times in which these different\nessays were written. The author himself observes in his preface to\nthis edition: \"As some of them were written as far back as twenty\nyears, it is but natural to suppose that they occasionally exhibit\nmore spirit and heat in argument, than the cooler temper and riper\ntaste of advancing years would fully approve.\" And he very justly\nadds: \"While I am free to make this acknowledgment, justice to my own\nconvictions and feelings requires me to state, that in regard to the\nfacts alleged, I have nothing to retract, or even, materially to\nmodify, and that in the tone and temper I do not even now believe that\nI set down aught in malice, or with any other than the good intent of\ncorrecting error and establishing truth, without assuming the\naggressive except for the sake of what I believed to be the legitimate\ndefence of the Church of God.\"\n\nWhat the learned writer here hints at, we feel to be his own profound\nconvictions at the present day, and the wisdom of which the aspect of\ncontroversy as it is now successfully being carried on here and in\nEurope, also proves, that it is better to convince and to teach, than\nto silence. We are not, however, altogether averse to sharp reproof or\ngood-natured ridicule where it is well deserved. Fools are to be\nanswered, says the Holy Scripture, according to their folly; and fools\nnot unfrequently attack the truth and do a deal of mischief. When a\nwriter or public orator presumes to talk nonsense, or appeals to the\nvulgar prejudices or the fears of the ignorant, it becomes necessary\nto exhibit both his character and motives. Calm and unimpassioned\nargument is thrown away upon him, and is looked upon by the unthinking\nmasses as a confession of weakness. Few instances, if any, can be\nshown where a Catholic polemic writer has treated an honorable {573}\nantagonist with discourtesy: and we venture to say that the scathing\ncriticisms which are to be found in the work before us were richly\nmerited, and on the whole will be so judged by the dispassionate\nreader.\n\nThis edition contains upward of one hundred and sixty pages of new\nmatter, of equal interest with that of the fore-going editions.\n\nWe give it our humble and earnest commendation, heartily wishing that\nit may be widely circulated and read; confidently assured as we are\nthat it will do good, and advance the cause of truth.\n\n\n\nCHRISTIANITY, Its Influence on Civilization, and its Relation to\nNature's Religion: the \"Harmonial\" or Universal Philosophy. A Lecture.\nBy Caleb S. Weeks. New York: W. White & Co. 1866.\n\nWhat a pity Mr. Caleb S. Weeks was not born earlier! The whole world\nhas been running for nineteen centuries after the \"Nazarene,\" and his\n\"religious system,\" when it might have been running after Mister\nWeeks, and his shallow spiritualistic humanitarian philosophy! Who\nknows? Reading effusions of this kind, we are reminded of Beppolo's\nFanfarone:\n\n       \"What is't that boils within me?\n  Is't the throes of nascent genius; or the strength\n  Of high immortal thoughts to find vent;\n  Or, is it wind?\"\n\n------\n\nREPORT OF THE HOLY CHILDHOOD IN\nU. S.  ANNALS OF THE HOLY CHILDHOOD, etc. 1866.\n\nWe are in receipt of the above in French and in English, together with\nvarious circulars and pictures illustrating and recommending the\nextensive and admirable work of charity, called \"The Holy Childhood\"\nIt was founded by the Bishop of Nancy in France, the Rt. Rev.\nForbin-Janson: and its object is principally to rescue the abandoned\nchildren of the Chinese, baptize them, and educate them as Christians.\nChinese parents have irresponsible control over the life and death of\ntheir children, and hence the crime of infanticide is very common\namongst them, and that in its most revolting forms, the heartless\nparents drowning them, leaving them to die by exposure, and even to be\neaten alive by dogs and swine. The poor will sell their young children\nfor a paltry sum, apparently without much regret. It was impossible\nthat Catholic charity should forever pass by unnoticed such a\nplague-spot upon humanity. Wherever humanity suffers, she knows how to\ninspire devoted souls with an ardent desire for the alleviation of its\nmisery. Founded only since 1843, the association of the Holy Childhood\nhas rescued and baptized three millions of these children. The report\nfor this year gives the number of those under education at\ntwenty-three thousand four hundred and sixteen. Such a noble work, so\ntruly Catholic in its spirit, needs no commendation of ours. We are\nsure that all Catholic children, who are the ones particularly invited\nto be members of it, and to contribute to its support, will vie with\neach other in their prayers and offerings for its success. Catholic\ncharity effects great things with little means. The entire annual\nexpenditures of the Society for the Propagation of the Faith, with\nwhich we hope our readers are well acquainted, did not amount, a few\nyears since, to more than eight thousand dollars. The Society of the\nHoly Childhood asks for a contribution of only one cent a month from\neach of its members, and requires each one to say daily a Hail Mary\nand an invocation to the child Jesus, to have pity upon all poor pagan\nchildren.\n\nWe have been much interested in looking over the number of the annals\nsent us, but we are sorry to see certain Religious Orders singled out\nby name as not yet having made this enterprise a part of their work.\nThose holy and devoted men need no stimulation of this kind to do all\nthat comes within their sphere for God's greater glory, and the\nsalvation of mankind: and one does not like one's name called out as a\ndelinquent by him who solicits, but has not yet obtained our name for\nhis subscription-list It is, to say the least, injudicious; but we\nhope that the well-known zeal and ardent charity of the Directors of\nthis pious work will be sufficient apology for the incautious remark.\n\n{574}\n\nA BRIEF BIOGRAPHICAL DICTIONARY.\nCompiled and arranged by the Rev. Charles Hole, B.A., Trinity College,\nCambridge; with additions and corrections by William A. Wheeler, M.A.,\nassistant editor of Webster's Dictionary, author of \"A Dictionary of\nNoted Names of Fiction,\" etc. 12mo, pp. 453. New-York: Hurd &\nHoughton. 1866.\n\nWe have here a most convenient little volume for reference, and one\nthat is also pretty accurate and complete. It merely gives the name of\nthe person, his country, profession, date of birth and death. The\nAmerican editor has done his work well, as well as it is possible,\nhumanly speaking, to compile such a work; but he certainly should have\nadded the name of Dr. J.V. Huntington to the Appendix, which contains\nthe names of those omitted by Mr. Hole, He has placed names there that\nare not half so well known to men of letters as that of the late\nlamented Dr. Huntington. We make special mention of his name, as the\nAmerican editor of this useful little book is the author of \"A\nDictionary of Noted Names of Fiction,\" and must have read of the\nauthor of \"Alban,\" \"The Forest,\" \"Rosemary,\" \"Pretty Plate,\" \"Blonde\nand Brunette,\" etc., etc. There may be other omissions, but this\nauthor being one of the most prominent of our deceased American\nCatholic writers, there can be no good excuse for the exclusion of his\nname.\n\n\n\nDEVOTION TO THE BLESSED VIRGIN MARY IN NORTH AMERICA.\nBy the Rev. Xavier Donald Macleod. With a Memoir of the author by the\nMost Rev. John B. Purcell, D.D., Archbishop of Cincinnati. 8vo, pp.\n467. Virtue & Yorston, New-York.\n\nFew Americans are well acquainted with the religious history of their\nown country. It is to be regretted, for in the religious history of\nany nation we find a revelation of life no less interesting, and far\nmore important than the detail of its political fortunes. Indeed, we\nbelieve that history written so as to exclude the mention of religion\nand its influence upon the social character, civilization, and the\nnational peculiarities of a people, would be as incomplete as it would\nbe unintelligible. Americans are educated to believe that this\ncountry, with the exception of Mexico, has been a Protestant country\nfrom the start; that its religious activity has been purely\nProtestant; that Catholicity has been chiefly hitherto a work confined\nto the spiritual ministrations of foreign priests to a foreign\nimmigrant population; and he is surprised to learn that the only\nmissionary work done on this continent worthy of record on the page of\nits history is wholly Catholic. And we venture to affirm that the only\npicture of the religion of America, either of its early or its later\ndays, which will be looked upon by future generations with pleasure\nand pride, will be that which the Catholic Church presents in the\napostolic labors of her missionaries, through which the savage Indian\nbecomes the docile Christian; the rude, uneducated masses, whether\nwhite or black, are guided, instructed, and saved; the truth and grace\nof the holy faith is preached in hardship, toil, privation,\npersecution, and death. It is true that the book before as treats of\nreligion in America with only the devotion toward our Blessed Lady as\nits particular theme, but it necessarily offers us a view of the\nprogress of the Catholic religion in every part of the continent. It\nis written in a most charming style, replete with graphic\ndescriptions, and marked throughout by that tone of enthusiastic\nloyalty to the faith so characteristic of the gifted and lamented\nauthor. There is no portion of the work we have read with greater\ninterest than that which concerns the conversion and religious life of\nthe Indians. There has been no truer type of the Catholic missionary\nthan is displayed by those devoted priests, who came to this country\nburning with the desire to win its savage aborigines to the faith of\nChrist. Let us give a little extract:\n\n  \"For thirty years now has Father Sebastian Rasle dwelt in the\n  forest, teaching to its wild, red children the love of God and Mary.\n  He is burned by sun and tanned by wind until he is almost as red as\n  his parishioners. The languages of the Abenaki and Huron, the\n  Algonquin and Illinois, are more familiar to him than the tongue in\n  which his mother taught him the Ave Maria. The huts of Norridgewock\n  contain his people; the river Kennebec flows swiftly past his\n  dwelling to the sea. There he has built a church--handsome, he\n  thinks and says; perhaps it would not much excite our luxurious\n  imagination. At any rate, the altar is handsome; and he has gathered\n  a store of copes and chasubles, albs and embroidered stoles for the\n  dignity of the holy service. He has trained, also, as many as forty\n  Indian boys in the ceremonies, and, in their crimson cassocks and\n  white surplices, they aid the sacred pomp. Besides the church, there\n  are two chapels, one on the road which leads to the forest, {575}\n  where the braves are wont to make a short retreat before they start\n  to trap and hunt; the other on the path to the cultivated lands,\n  where prayers are offered when they go to plant or gather in the\n  harvest. The one is dedicated to the guardian angel of the tribe,\n  the other to our most holy mother, Mary Immaculate. To adorn this\n  latter is the especial emulation of the women. Whatever they have of\n  jewels, of silk stuff from the settlements, or delicate embroidery\n  of porcupine-quill, or richly tinted moose-hair, is found here; and\n  from amidst their offerings rises, white and fair, the statue of the\n  Virgin; and her sweet face looks down benignantly upon her swarthy\n  children, kneeling before her to recite their rosaries. One\n  beautiful inanimate ministrant to God's worship they have in\n  abundance--light from wax candles. The wax is not precisely _opus\n  apium_, but it is a nearer approach to it than you find in richer\n  and less excusable places. It is wax from the berry of the laurels,\n  which cover the hills of Maine. And to the chapel every night and\n  morning come all the Indian Christians. At morning they make their\n  prayer in common, and assist at mass, chanting, in their own\n  dialect, hymns written for that purpose by their pastor. Then they\n  go to their employment for the day; he to his continuous, orderly,\n  and ceaseless labor. The morning is given up to visitors, who come\n  to their good father with their sorrows and disquietudes; to ask his\n  relief against some little injustice of their fellows; his advice on\n  their marriage or other projects. He consoles this one, instructs\n  that, reestablishes peace in disunited families, calms troubled\n  consciences, administers gentle rebuke, or gives encouragement to\n  the timid. The afternoon belongs to the sick, who are visited in\n  their own cabins. If there be a council, the black-robe must come to\n  invoke the Holy Spirit on their deliberations; if a feast, he must\n  be present to bless the viands and to check all approaches to\n  disorder. And always in the afternoon, old and young, warrior and\n  gray-haired squaw, Christian and catechumen, assemble for the\n  catechism. When the sun declines westward, and the shadows creep\n  over the village, they seek the chapel for the public prayer, and to\n  sing a hymn to St. Mary. Then each to his own home; but before\n  bed-time, neighbors gather again, in the house of one of them, and\n  in antiphonal choirs they _sing_ their beads, and with another hymn\n  they separate for sleep.\"\n\nThe work does not need any commendation at our hands; it will\nassuredly become popular wherever it is introduced, whether it be into\nthe libraries of colleges or literary associations, or into the family\ncircle.\n\n\nLIFE AND CAMPAIGNS OF LIEUT.-GENERAL U. S. GRANT,\nfrom his Boyhood to the Surrender of General Lee; including an\naccurate account of Sherman's great march from Chattanooga to\nWashington, and the final official Reports of Sheridan, Meade,\nSherman, and Grant; with portraits on steel of Stanton, Grant and his\nGenerals, and other illustrations. By Rev. P.G. Headley, author of\nLife of Napoleon, Life of Josephine, etc., etc. 8vo, pp. 720. New\nYork: Derby & Miller Publishing Co. 1866.\n\nThe title of this work is sufficiently ambitious to justify the\nexpectation that it is really a valuable contribution to our national\nhistorical literature. Such is, however, not the case. The only\nvaluable portions of the book are the reports of different commanding\ngenerals, which are appended. The style is of the inflated,\nmock-heroic order, of which we have had a surfeit, especially since\nthe commencement of the late war. The descriptions of battles remind\nus of a certain class of cheap battle pictures, in which smoke,\nartillery horses, and men are arranged and rearranged to suit any\ndesired emergency. One is left in doubt in reading the account of the\nfamous charge on the left at Fort Donelson, whether C. F. Smith or\nMorgan L. Smith was the officer in command. Morgan L. Smith was a\nbrave and valuable officer, but the decisive charge in question was\nled by C. F. Smith, and was one of the most remarkable and brilliant\nmilitary exploits of the war. We cannot pretend to wade through all\nthe crudities, platitudes, and mistakes of this bulky volume,\nmanufactured to order, not written. There is one glaring blunder or\nintentional perversion, in the desire to please every body, which all\ncannot pass over. The relief of Major-General McClernand in front of\nVicksburg is made to appear to be a reluctant act on the part of\nGeneral Grant. Mr. Headley represents General Grant as complying with\nan urgent military necessity, at the cost of _his friend_. This is all\nsheer nonsense. There was and could be no friendship between Grant and\nMcClernand. One might as well expect fellowship between light and\ndarkness. There was a military necessity to remove McClernand, for\nevery day that he commanded a corps imperilled the safety of the whole\narmy. Sherman and McPherson united in demanding his removal, {576} and\nGeneral Grant chose the right moment to relieve him--when he had\ndemonstrated his incapacity, or worse, to the mind of every soldier on\nthe field, and ruined forever the false popularity he had acquired as\na politician of the lowest grade. Mr. Headley makes an unsuccessful\neffort to glaze over General Wallace's unaccountable delay in coming\nup to the field of' Shiloh. In fact, he deals in indiscriminate praise\nfor an obvious reason, and like all such people is certain to get very\nlittle himself from his critics. The book no doubt sells, and will\nprobably stimulate a desire to read the authentic histories which will\nin due season appear, and of which Wm. Swinton's History of the Army\nof the Potomac (not without its faults) is a specimen. We expect a\nfirst-class scientific History of the War. Major-General Schofield is\nthe man to write it, when the proper time arrives.\n\n\nPOETRY, LYRICAL, NARRATIVE, AND SATIRICAL, OF THE CIVIL WAR.\nSelected and edited by Richard Grant White. 12mo, pp. 384. American\nNews Co.\n\nMr. White's preface to this volume of selected poetry is the best\ncriticism which the book could have, and is an exhaustive and elegant\nessay. It is a remarkably complete collection of the pieces which have\nappeared from time to time in the progress of the war. The value of\nsuch a work is in its completeness less than in the merits of the\ncompositions selected. We should be glad to see another edition,\ncontaining some which have been overlooked or omitted. The value of\nsuch a collection increases with time, and it will be eagerly sought\nfor and highly prized when the hateful, painful, and commonplace\nfeatures of the struggle have softened into the elements of pleasing\nreminiscence and romance, and become the incentives to heroism and\npatriotism to unborn children.\n\n\nA TEXT BOOK ON PHYSIOLOGY.\nFor the use of Schools and Colleges, being an Abridgement of the\nauthor's larger work on Human Physiology. By John William Draper,\nM.D., LL.D., author of A Treatise on Human Physiology, and A History\nof the Intellectual Development of Europe, etc. 12mo, pp. 376. Harper\n& Brothers, 1866.\n\n\nA TEXT BOOK ON CHEMISTRY.\nFor the use of Schools and Colleges. By Henry Draper, M.D., Professor\nAdjunct of Chemistry and Natural History in the University of New\nYork. 12mo, pp. 507. Harper & Brothers. 1866.\n\nThe Drapers, father and sons, present the rare example in this\nmaterialistic age and most materialistic city, of a whole family\ndevoted to literary and scientific pursuits, and working in that\nharmony which the sincere and loyal pursuit of science is sure to\nproduce. Although we have had occasion to differ with Professor Draper\nin his philosophical and some of his political deductions, we admire\nhis intellect and attainments, and in the purely scientific order\nconsider him entitled to the highest consideration and respect. He is\na close student and an original observer, and we believe him ardently\nand faithfully devoted to the ascertainment of exact scientific truth.\n\nHis sons are men of great promise, and have already done more in their\nshort lives in the respective departments of natural science than many\nof twice their age.\n\nCatholicity courts scientific investigation and verification in every\ndepartment of inquiry, and delights to honor all men who devote their\nlives to these self-denying labors. There is, so to speak, a sanctity\nof science. Science inevitably tends toward religion, and is the most\npowerful safeguard of society and civilization next to religion.\n\nThe two manuals whose titles are given above are excellent of their\nkind, and we cordially recommend them to our schools and colleges.\n\n\nBOOKS RECEIVED.\n\nFrom D. Appleton & Co., New-York. The Annual Cyclopaedia and Register\nof Important Events of the Year 1865. 8vo, pp. 850.\n\n\nFrom Hurd & Houghton, New-York. Revolution and Reconstruction. Two\nLectures delivered in the Law School of Harvard College, in January,\n1865, and January, 1866, by Joel Parker. 8vo, pamphlet, pp. 89.\nShakespeare's Delineations of Insanity, Imbecility, and Suicide. By A.\nO. Kellogg, M.D., Assistant Physician State Lunatic Asylum, Utica,\nN.Y. 12mo. pp. 204. Pictures of Country Life. By Alice Cary. 18mo, pp.\n859.\n\n\nFrom D. & J. Sadlier & Co., New-York. Parts 18. 19, and 20 of\nD'Artaud's Lives of the Popes; and Vol II. of Catholic Anecdotes.\n\n\n\nFrom P. O'Shea, New-York. Nos. 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32. and 33 of\nDarras's History of the Catholic Church.\n\n\nFrom A. D. F. Randolph, New-York. The Lady of La Garaye. By the Hon.\nMrs. Norton, 12mo, pp. 115.\n\n\n\nFrom J. J. O'Connor & Co., Newark, N.J. Jesus and Mary. A Catholic\nhymn-book. Selected from various sources, and arranged for the use of\nthe children of St. Patrick's Cathedral, Newark, N.J. 12mo, pp. 76,\npaper.\n\n------\n\n{577}\n\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD.\n\nVOL. III., NO. 17.--AUGUST, 1866.\n\n\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nPROBLEMS OF THE AGE.\n\n\nV.\n\nTHE REVELATION OF THE SUPERNATURAL ORDER,\nAND ITS RELATION TO THE PRIMITIVE IDEA OF REASON.\n\nOur reason in apprehending the intelligible is advertised at the same\ntime of the existence of the super-intelligible. It is necessary to\nexplain here the sense in which this latter term is used. It is\nevident that it can be used only in a relative and not in an absolute\nsense. That which is absolutely without the domain of the intelligible\nis absolutely unintelligible and therefore a non-entity. The\nsuper-intelligible must therefore be something which is intelligible\nto God, but above the range either of all created reason, or of human\nreason in its present condition. It will suffice for the present to\nconsider it under the latter category.\n\nOur reason undoubtedly apprehends in its intelligible object the\nexistence of something which is above the range of human intelligence\nin its present state. The intimate nature of material and spiritual\nsubstances is incomprehensible. Much more, the intimate nature or\nessence of the infinite divine being. All science begins from and\nconducts to the incomprehensible. Any one who wishes to satisfy\nhimself of this may peruse the first few chapters of Mr. Herbert\nSpencer's \"Principles of Philosophy.\" That portion of the first\narticle of the creed which reason can demonstrate; namely, the being\nof God, the Creator of the world, in which is included also the\nimmortality of the soul, and the principle of moral obligation;\nadvertises therefore, of an infinite sphere of truth which is above\nour comprehension. The natural suggests the supernatural, in which it\nhas its first and final cause, its origin and ultimate end. The\nknowledge of the natural, therefore, gives us a kind of negative\nknowledge of the super-natural, by advertising us of its own\nincompleteness, and of the want of any principle of self-origination\nor metaphysical finality in itself. A system of pure naturalism which\nrepresents the idea of reason under a form which satisfies completely\nthe intelligence without introducing the supernatural, is impossible.\nWhat is nature, and what do we mean by the natural? Nature is simply\nthe aggregate of finite entities, and the natural is {578} what may be\npredicated of these entities. A system of pure naturalism would\ntherefore give a complete account of this aggregate of finite\nentities, without going beyond the entities themselves, that is,\nwithout transcending the limits of space, time, the finite and the\ncontingent. Such a system is not only incapable of rational\ndemonstration, but utterly unthinkable. For, when the mind has gone to\nits utmost length in denying or excluding every positive affirmation\nof anything except nature, there remains always the abyss of the\nunknown from which nature came and to which it tends, even though the\nunknown may be declared to be unknowable. Those who deny the\nsuper-intelligible and the supernatural, therefore, are mere sceptics,\nand cannot construct a philosophy. Those who affirm a First Cause, in\nwhich second causes and their effects are intelligible, affirm the\nsupernatural. For the first and absolute Cause cannot be included\nunder the same generic term with the second causes and finite forces\nof nature. The more perfectly and clearly they evolve the full\ntheistic conception of pure reason, the more distinctly do they affirm\nthe supernatural, because the idea of God as the infinite,\nintelligible object of his own infinite intelligence is\nproportionately explicated and apprehended. It is explicated and\napprehended by means of analogies derived from finite objects, but\nthese analogies suggest that there is an infinite something behind\nthem which they represent. By these analogies we learn in a measure\nthe meaning of the affirmation _Ut Deus sit_. We do not learn _Quid\nsit Deus_, but still we cannot help asking the question, What is God,\nwhat is his essence? We know that he is the adequate object of his own\nintelligence and will, and therefore we cannot help asking the\nquestion what is that object, what does God see and love in himself,\nin what does his most pure and infinite act consist, what is his\nbeatitude? Our reason is advertised of an infinite truth, reality, or\nbeing, which it cannot comprehend, that is, of the super-intelligible.\nThose who base their philosophy on pure theism, or a modified\nrationalistic Christianity, are therefore entirely mistaken when they\nprofess to be anti-supernaturalists, and to draw a distinctly marked\nline between themselves and the supernaturalists. The distinction is\nonly between more or less consistent supernaturalists. Those who are\nat the remotest point from the Catholic idea, see that those who are a\nlittle nearer have no tenable standing-point, and these see it of\nthose who are nearer than they are, and so on, until we come to the\nAnglicans and the Orientals. But the extremists themselves have no\nbetter standing-point than the intermediaries, and in their theistic\nconception have admitted a principle from which they can be driven by\nirresistible and invincible logic to the Catholic Church. For the\npresent, we merely aim to show that they are compelled to admit the\nsupernatural when they affirm God as the first and final cause of the\nworld. In affirming this, they affirm that nature has its origin and\nfinal reason in the supernatural, or in an infinite object above\nitself, which human reason cannot comprehend. That is, they affirm\nsuper-intelligible and super-natural relations, of man and the\nuniverse. These relations must be regulated and adjusted by some law.\nThis law is either the simple continuity of the original creative act\nwhich explicates itself through con-creative second causes in time and\nspace, or it is this, and in addition to this, an immediate act of the\nCreator completing his original, creative act by subsequent acts of an\nequal or superior order, which concur with the first towards the final\ncause of the creation. Whoever takes the first horn of this dilemma is\na pure naturalist in the only sense of the word which is intelligible.\nThat is, while he is a supernaturalist, in maintaining that nature has\nits first and final cause in the supernatural, or in {579} God; he is\na naturalist in maintaining that man has no other tendency to his\nfinal cause except that given in the creative act that is essential to\nnature, and no other mode prescribed for returning to his final cause\nthan the explication of this natural tendency, according to natural\nlaw. Consequently, reason is sufficient, without revelation; the will,\nwithout grace; humanity, without the incarnation; society, or the race\norganized under law, without the church. It is precisely in the method\nof treating this thesis of naturalism that the divarication takes\nplace between the great schools of Catholic theology and between the\nvarious systems of philosophy, whether orthodox or heterodox, which\nprofess to base themselves on the Christian idea, or to ally\nthemselves with it. It is not easy to find the clue which will lead us\nsafely through this labyrinth and preserve us from deviating either to\nthe right hand or to the left, by denying too much on the one hand to\nthe naturalists, or conceding too much to them on the other.\nNevertheless it is necessary to search for it, or to give up all\neffort to discuss the question before us, and to prove from principles\nfurnished by nature and reason the necessity of accepting a\nsupernatural revelation.\n\nThe true thesis of pure naturalism or rationalism is, that God in\neducating the human race for the destiny in view of which he created\nit, merely explicates that which is contained in nature by virtue of\nthe original creative act, without any subsequent interference of the\ndivine, creative power. He develops nature by natural laws alone, in\none invariable mode. The physical universe evolves by a rigid sequence\nthe force of all the second causes which it contains. The rational\nworld is governed by the same law, and so also is the moral and\nspiritual world. The intellectual and spiritual education of the human\nrace develops nothing except natural reason, and the natural,\nspiritual capacity of the soul. Reason extends its conquests by a\ncontinual progress in the super-intelligible realm, reducing it to the\nintelligible, and eternally approaching to the comprehension of the\ninfinite and absolute truth. The spiritual capacity advances\nconstantly in the supernatural realm, reducing it to the natural, and\neternally approaching the infinite and absolute good or being. All\nnature, all creation, is on the march, and its momentum is the\nimpulsive force given it by the creative impact that launched it into\nexistence and activity.\n\nPlanting themselves on this thesis, its advocates profess to have _\u00e0\npriori_ principle by which they prove the all-sufficiency of nature\nfor the fulfilment of its own destiny, and reject as an unnecessary or\neven inconceivable intrusion, the affirmation of another divine\ncreative act, giving a new impact to nature, superadding a new force\nto natural law, subordinating the physical universe to a higher end,\nimplanting a superior principle of intelligence and will in the human\nsoul, and giving to the race a destination above that to which it\ntends by its own proper momentum. They refuse to entertain the\nquestion of a supernatural order, or an order which educates the race\naccording to a law superior to that of the evolution of the mere\nforces of nature; and in consequence of this refusal, they logically\nrefuse to entertain the question of a supernatural revelation\ndisclosing this order, and of a supernatural religion in which the\ndoctrines, laws, institutions, forces and instruments of this order\nare organized, for the purpose of drawing the human race into itself.\nThis is the last fortress into which heterodox philosophy has fled.\nThe open plains are no longer tenable. The only conflict of magnitude\nnow raging in Christendom is between the champions of the Catholic\nfaith and the tenants of this stronghold. It is a great advantage for\nthe cause of truth that it is so. The controversy is simplified, the\nissues are clearly marked, the opportunity is favorable for an {580}\nunimpeded and decisive collision between the forces of faith and\nunbelief, and the triumph of faith will open the way for Christianity\nto gain a new and mighty sway over the mind, the heart, and the life\nof the civilized world. This stronghold is no more tenable than any of\nthe others which have been successively occupied and abandoned. Its\ntenants have gained only a momentary advantage by retreating to it.\nThey escape certain of the inconsistencies of other parties and evade\nthe Catholic arguments levelled against these inconsistencies. But\nthey can be driven by the irresistible force of reason from their\nposition, and made to draw the Catholic conclusion from their own\npremises.\n\nWe do not say this in a boastful spirit, or as vaunting our own\nability to effect a logical demolition of rationalism. Rather, we\ndesire to express our confidence that the reason of its advocates\nthemselves will drive them out of it, and that the common judgment of\nan age more enlightened than the present will demolish it. It is our\nopinion, formed after hearing the language used by a great number of\nmen of all parties, and reading a still greater number of their\npublished utterances, that the most enlightened intelligence of this\nage in Protestant Christendom has reached two conclusions; the first\nis, that the Catholic Church is the true and genuine church of\nChristianity; and the second, that it is necessary to have a positive\nreligion which will embody the same idea that produced Christianity.\nThe combination and evolution of these two intellectual convictions\npromise to result in a return to Catholicism. And there are to be seen\neven already in the writings of those who have given up the positive\nChristianity of orthodox Protestantism, indications of the workings of\na philosophy which tends to bring them round to the positive\nsupernatural faith of the Catholic church. It is by these grand,\nintellectual currents moving the general mind of an age, that\nindividual minds are chiefly influenced, more than by the thoughts of\nother individual minds. Individual thinkers can scarcely do more than\nto detect the subtle element which the common intellectual atmosphere\nholds in solution, to interpret to other thinkers their own thoughts,\nor give them a direction which will help them to discover for\nthemselves some truth more integral and universal than they now\npossess. Therefore, while confiding in the power of the integral and\nuniversal truth embodied in the Catholic creed to bear down all\nopposition and vanquish every philosophy which rises up agamst it, we\ndo not arrogate the ability to grasp and wield this power, and to\nexhibit the Catholic idea in its full evidence as the integrating,\nall-embracing form of universal truth. It is proposed in an honorable\nand conciliatory spirit to those who love truth and are able to\ninvestigate it for themselves. Many things must necessarily be\naffirmed or suggested in a brief, unpretending series of essays, which\nadmit of and require minute and elaborate proof, such as can only be\ngiven in an extensive work, but merely sketched here after the manner\nof an outline engraving which leaves out the filling up belonging to a\nfinished picture.\n\nTo return from this digression. We have begun the task of indicating\nhow that naturalism or pure rationalism which affirms the theistic\nconception logically demonstrable by pure reason, can only integrate\nitself and expand itself to a universal Theodicy or doctrine of God,\nin a supernatural revelation.\n\nIf the opposite theory of pure naturalism were true, it ought to\nverify itself in the actual history of the human race, and in the\nactual process of its education. The idea of the supernatural ought to\nbe entirely absent from the consciousness of the race. For, on the\nsupposition of that theory, it has no place in the human mind--and no\nbusiness in the world. If unassisted nature and reason suffice for\n{581} themselves they ought to do their work alone, and do it so\nthoroughly that there would be no room for any pretended supernatural\nrevelation to creep in. The history of mankind ought to be a\ncontinuous, regular evolution of reason and nature, like the movements\nof the planets; the human race ought to have been conscious of this\nlaw from the beginning, and never to have dreamed of the supernatural,\nnever to have desired it.\n\nPhilosophy ought to have been, from the first, master of the\nsituation, and to have domineered over the whole domain of thought.\n\nThe reverse of this is the fact. The history of the human race, and\nthe whole world of human thought, is filled with the idea of the\nsupernatural. The philosophy of naturalism is either a modification\nand re-combination of principles learned from revelation, or a protest\nagainst revelation and an attempt to dethrone it from its sway. It has\nno pretence of being original and universal, but always pre-supposes\nrevelation as having prior possession, and dating from time\nimmemorial. Now human nature and human reason are certainly competent\nto fulfil whatever task God has assigned them. They act according to\nfixed laws, and tend infallibly to the end for which they were\ncreated. The judgments of human reason and of the human race are valid\nin their proper sphere. And therefore the judgment of mankind that its\nlaw of evolution is in the line of the supernatural is a valid\njudgment. Revelation has the claim of prescription and of universal\ntradition. Naturalism must set aside this claim and establish a\npositive claim for itself based on demonstration, before it has any\nright even to a hearing. It can do neither. It cannot bring any\nconclusive argument against revelation, nor can it establish itself on\nany basis of demonstration which does not pre-suppose the instruction\nof reason by revelation.\n\nIt cannot conclusively object to revelation. The very principle of\nlaw, that is, of the invariable nexus between cause and effect, which\nis the ultimate axiom of naturalism, is based on the perpetual\nconcurrence of the first cause with all secondary causes, that is, the\nperpetuity of the creative act by which God perpetually creates the\ncreature. There is no reason why this creative act should explicate\nall its effects at once or merely conserve the existences it has\nproduced, and not explicate successively in space and time the effects\nof its creative energy. The hypothesis that the creative power can\nnever act directly in nature except at its origin, and must afterwards\nmerely act through the medium of previously created causes in a direct\nline, is the sheerest assumption. Some of the most eminent men in\nmodern physical science maintain the theory of successive creations.\nThere may be the same direct intervention of creative power in the\nmoral and spiritual world. Miracles, revelations, supernatural\ninterventions for the regeneration and elevation of the human race,\nare not improbable on any _\u00e0 priori_ principle. The artifice by which\nthe entire tradition of the human race is set aside, and a demand made\nto prove the supernatural _de novo_, is unwarrantable and unfair. The\nsupernatural has the title of prescription, and the burden of proof\nlies only upon the particular systems, to show that they are genuine\nmanifestations of it, and not its counterfeits. The existence of a\nreality which may be counterfeited is a fair postulate of reason,\nuntil the contrary is demonstrated, and something positive of a prior\nand more universal order is logically established from the first\nprinciples of reason. We are not to be put off with assurances like a\nfraudulent debtor's promises of payment, that our doubts and\nuncertainties, will be satisfied after two thousand or two hundred\nthousand years. Exclude the supernatural, and natural reason will\nhave, and can have nothing in the future, beyond the universal data\nand principles which we have now and have had from the beginning, with\nwhich to solve its problems. The {582} connection between mind and\nmatter, the origin and destination of the soul, the future life, the\nstate of other orders of intelligent beings, the condition of other\nworlds, will be as abstruse and incapable of satisfactory settlement\nthen as now. If we are to gain any certain knowledge concerning them,\nit must be in a supernatural way. And what conclusive reason is there\nfor deciding that we may not? Who can prove that some of that infinite\ntruth which surrounds us may not break through the veil, that some of\nthe intelligent spirits of other spheres may not be sent to enlighten\nand instruct us?  [Footnote 125]\n\n  [Footnote 125: That is, who can prove it from reason alone, without\n  the evidence of Revelation itself that it is already completed?]\n\nOne of the ablest advocates of naturalism, Mr. William R. Alger, has\nadmitted that it is possible, and oven maintains that it has already\ntaken place. In his erudite work on the \"History of the Doctrine of a\nFuture Life,\" he maintains the opinion that Jesus Christ is a most\nperfect and exalted being, who was sent into this world by God to\nteach mankind, who wrought miracles and really raised his body to life\nin attestation of his doctrine, although he supposes that he laid it\naside again when he left the earth. He distinctly asserts the\ninfallibility of Christ as a teacher, and of the doctrine which he\nactually taught with his own lips. Here is a most distinct and\nexplicit concession of the principle of supernatural revelation. To\nthose who heard him he was a supernatural and infallible teacher. In\nso far as his doctrine is really apprehended it is for all generations\na supernatural and infallible truth. It has regenerated mankind, and\nMr. Alger believes it is destined, when better understood, to carry\nthe work of regeneration to a higher point in the future. It is true,\nhe does not acknowledge that the apostles were infallible in\napprehending and teaching the doctrine of Christ. But he must admit,\nthat in so far as they have apprehended and perpetuated it, and in so\nfar as he himself and others of his school now apprehend it more\nperfectly than they did, they apprehend supernatural truth and\nappropriate a supernatural power. Besides, once admitting that Christ\nwas an infallible teacher, it is impossible to show why he could not\ndo what so many philosophers have done, communicate his doctrine in\nclear and intelligible terms, so that the substance of it would be\ncorrectly understood and perpetuated. Miss Frances Cobbe, admitted to\nbe the best expositor of the doctrine of the celebrated Theodore\nParker, in her \"Broken Lights,\" and other similar writers, give to the\ndoctrine and institutions of Christ a power that is superhuman and\nthat denotes the action of a superhuman intelligence. Those who\nprognosticate a new church, a new religion, a realization of ideal\nhumanity on earth, cannot integrate their hypothesis in anything\nexcept the supernatural, and must suppose either a new outburst of\nsupernatural life from the germ which Christ planted on the earth, or\nthe advent of another superhuman Redeemer.\n\nDr. Brownson while yet only a transcendental philosopher on his road\nto the Church, exhibited this thought with great power and beauty, in\na little book entitled \"New Views.\" The dream of a new redemption of\nmankind in the order of temporal perfection and felicity was never\npresented with greater argumentative ability or portrayed in more\ncharming colors, at least in the English language; and never was any\nthing made more clear than the necessity of superhuman powers for the\nactual fulfilment of this bewitching dream.  [Footnote 126]\n\n  [Footnote 126: That is, bewitching to those who do not believe in\n  something for more sublime, the restoration of all things in Christ,\n  foretold in the Scriptures.]\n\nWhether we look backward or forward, we confront the idea of the\nsupernatural. This is enough to prove its reality. There are no\nuniversal pseudo-ideas, deceits, or illusions. That which is universal\nis true. We have {583} therefore only to inspect the idea of the\nsupernatural, to examine and explicate its contents, to interrogate\nthe universal belief and tradition of mankind, to study the history of\nthe race, and unfold the wisdom of the ancients, and the result will\nbe truth. We shall obtain true and just conceptions of the original,\nuniversal, eternal idea, in which all particular forms of science,\nbelief, law, and human evolution in all directions, coalesce and\nintegrate themselves as in a complete whole including all the\nrelations of the universe to God, as First and Final Cause.\n\nWe must now go back to the point where we left off, after establishing\nas the first principle of all science and faith the pure theistic\ndoctrine respecting the first and final cause, or the origin and end\nof all things in necessary being, that is, God. We have to show the\nposition of this doctrine in the conception of supernatural\nrevelation, and its connection with the other doctrines which express\nthe supernatural relation of the human race and the universe to God.\n\nThe conception of the supernatural in its most simple and universal\nform, is the conception of somewhat distinct from and superior to the\ncomplete aggregate of created forces or second causes. In this sense,\nit is identical with the conception of first and final cause. It may\nbe proper here to explain the term Final Cause, which is not in common\nuse among English writers. It expresses the ultimate motive or reason\nfor which the universe was created, the end to which all things are\ntending. When we say that God is necessarily the final cause, as well\nas the first cause, of all existing things, we mean that he could have\nhad no motive or end in creating, extrinsic to his own being. All that\nproceeds from him as first cause must return to him as final cause.\nFrom this it appears that the conception of nature in any theistic\nsystem implies the supernatural; because it implies a cause and end\nfor nature above itself. The supernatural can only be denied by the\natheist, who maintains that there is nothing superior to what the\nTheist calls second causes, or by the Pantheist, who either identifies\nGod with nature, or nature with God. A Theist cannot form any\nconception of pure nature or a purely natural order, except as\nincluded in a supernatural plan; because his natural order originates\nin a cause and tends toward an end above and beyond itself, and is not\ntherefore its own adequate reason. As we have already seen, reason, by\nvirtue of its original intuition of the infinite, is advertised of\nsomething infinitely beyond all finite comprehension. By apprehending\nits own limitation, and the finite, relative, contingent existence of\nall things which are, it is advertised of an infinite unknown, and\nthus has a negative knowledge of the supernatural. By the light of the\ncreative act in itself and in the universe, it apprehends the being of\nGod as reflected in his works and made intelligible by the similitude\nof created existences to the Creator. It apprehends that there is an\ninfinite being, whose created similitude is in itself and all things;\na primal uncreated light, the cause of the reflected light in which\nnature is intelligible. Therefore it apprehends the supernatural. But\nit does not directly and immediately perceive what this infinite being\nor uncreated light is, and cannot do so. That is, by explicating its\nown primitive idea, and bringing it more and clearly into the\nreflective consciousness, and by learning more and more of the\nuniverse of created existences, it may go on indefinitely,\napprehending God by the reflected light of similitudes, \"_per\nspeculum, in aenigmate;_\" but it must progress always in the same\nline: it has no tendency toward an immediate vision of God as he is\nintelligible in his own essence and by uncreated light. Therefore, it\nhas only a negative and not a positive apprehension of the\nsupernatural. God dwells in a light inaccessible to created {584}\nintelligence, as such. There is an infinite abyss between him and all\nfinite reason, which cannot be crossed by any movement of reason,\nhowever accelerated or prolonged. Therefore, although there is no\nscience or philosophy possible which does not proceed from the\naffirmation of the supernatural, that is, of the infinite first and\nfinal cause of nature, yet it is not properly called supernatural\nscience so long as it is confined to the limits of that knowledge of\ncauses above nature which is gained only through nature. Its domain is\nrestricted to that intelligibility which God has given to second\ncauses and created existences, and which only reflects himself\nindirectly. Therefore, theologians usually call it natural knowledge,\nand in its highest form natural theology, as being limited within the\nbounds above described. They call that the natural order in which the\nmind is limited to the explication of that capacity of apprehending\nGod, or of that intuitive idea of God, which constitutes it rational,\nand is therefore limited to a relation to God corresponding to the\nmode of apprehending him. The term supernatural is restricted to an\norder in which God reveals to the human mind the possibility of\napprehending him by the uncreated light in which he is intelligible to\nhimself, and coming into a relation to him corresponding therewith;\ngiving at the same time an elevation to the power of intelligence and\nvolition which enables it to realize that possibility. This elevation\nincludes the disclosure of truths not discoverable otherwise, as well\nas the faculty of apprehending them in such a vivid manner that they\ncan have an efficacious action on the will, and give it a supernatural\ndirection.\n\nIn this sense, rationalists have no conception of the supernatural.\nNone have it, except Catholics, or those who have retained it from\nCatholic tradition. When we ascribe to rationalists a recognition of\nthe supernatural, we merely intend to say that they recognize in part\nthat immediate interference of God to instruct mankind and lead it to\nits destiny which is really and ultimately, although not in their\napprehension, directed to the elevation of man to a sphere above that\nwhich is naturally possible. Therefore they cannot object to\nrevelation on the ground of its being an interference with the course\nof nature or not in harmony with it, and cannot make an _\u00e0 priori_\nprinciple by virtue of which they can prejudge and condemn the\ncontents of revelation. But we do not mean to say that they possess\nthe conception of that which constitutes the supernaturalness of the\nrevelation, in the scientific sense of the term as used by Catholic\ntheologians. Even orthodox Protestants possess it very confusedly. And\nhere lies the source of most of the misconceptions of several abstruse\nCatholic dogmas.\n\nIt is in the restricted sense that we shall use the term supernatural\nhereafter, unless we make it plain that we use it in the general\nsignification.\n\nWe are now prepared to state in a few words the relation of the\nconception of God which is intelligible to reason, to the revealed\ntruths concerning his interior relations which are received by faith\non the authority of his divine veracity. How does the mind pass\nthrough the knowledge of God to belief in God; through \"_Cognosco\nDeum_\" to \"_Credo in Deum_\"?  [Footnote 127]\n\n  [Footnote 127: \"I know God.\" \"I believe in God.\"]\n\nWe have already said that \"_Cognosco_\" is included in \"_Credo_.\" The\ncreed begins by setting before the mind that which is self-evident and\ndemonstrable concerning God, in which is included his veracity. It\nthen discloses certain truths concerning God which are not\nself-evident or demonstrable from their own intrinsic reason, but\nwhich are proposed as credible, on the authority of God. The word\n\"_Credo_\" expresses this. \"I believe in God,\" means not merely, \"I\naffirm the being of God,\" but also, \"I believe certain truths\nregarding God (whose being is made known to me by the light of reason)\non the authority of his Word.\" {585} These truths must have in them a\ncertain obscurity impervious to the intellectual vision; otherwise,\nthey would take their place among evident and known truths, and would\nno longer be believed on the simple motive of the veracity of God\nrevealing them. That is, they are mysteries, intelligible so far as to\nenable the mind to apprehend what are the propositions to which it is\nrequired to assent, but super-intelligible as to their intrinsic\nreason and ground in the necessary and eternal truth, or the being of\nGod.\n\nIn the Creed these mysteries, foreshadowed by the word \"Credo,\" and by\nthe word \"Deum,\" considered in its relation to \"Credo,\" which\nindicates a revelation of mysterious truths concerning the Divine\nBeing to follow in order after the affirmation of the being and unity\nof God; begin to be formally expressed by the word \"Patrem.\" In this\nword there is implicitly contained the interior, personal relation of\nthe Father to the Son and Holy Ghost in the blessed Trinity, and his\nexterior relation to man as the author of the supernatural order of\ngrace, or the order in which man is affiliated to him in the Son,\nthrough the operation of the Holy Spirit. These relations of the three\npersons of the blessed Trinity to each other, and to man, include the\nentire substance of that which is strictly and properly the\nsupernatural revelation of the Creed, and the direct object of faith.\nBefore proceeding, however, to the consideration of the mysteries of\nfaith in their order, it is necessary to inquire more closely into the\nprocess by which the intellect is brought to face its supernatural\nobject, and made capable of eliciting an act of faith.\n\nThe chief difficulty in the case is to find the connection between the\nlast act of reason and the first act of faith, the medium of transit\nfrom the natural to the supernatural. The Catholic doctrine teaches\nthat the act of faith is above the natural power of the human mind. It\nis strictly supernatural, and possible only by the aid of supernatural\ngrace. Yet it is a rational act, for the virtue of faith is seated in\nthe intellect as its subject, according to the teaching of St. Thomas.\nIt is justifiable and explicable on rational grounds, and even\nrequired by right reason. The truths of revelation are not only\nobjectively certain, but the intellect has a subjective certitude of\nthem which is absolute, and excludes all suspicion or fear of the\ncontrary. Now, then, unless we adopt the hypothesis that we have lost\nour natural capacity for discerning divine truth, by the fall, and are\nmerely restored by divine grace to the natural use of reason, there\nare several very perplexing questions on this point which press for an\nanswer. Rejecting this hypothesis of the total corruption of reason,\nwhich will hereafter be proved to be false and absurd, how can faith\ngive the mind absolute certitude of the truth of its object, when that\ntruth is neither self-evident nor demonstrable to reason from its own\nself-evident principles? Given, that the intellect has this certitude,\nhow is it that we cannot attain to it by the natural operation of\nreason? Once more, what is the evidence of the fact of revelation to\nordinary minds? Is it a demonstration founded on the arguments for\ncredibility? If so, how are they capable of comprehending them, and\nwhat are they to do before they have gone through with the process of\nexamination? If not, how have they a rational and certain ground for\nthe judgment that God has really revealed the truths of Christianity?\nSuppose now the fact of revelation established, and that the mind\napprehends that God requires its assent to certain truths on the\nvirtue of his own veracity. The veracity of God being apprehended as\none logical premiss, and the revelation of certain truths as another,\ncan reason draw the certain conclusion that the truth of these\npropositions is necessarily contained in the veracity of God or not?\nIf it can, why is not the mind capable of giving them the firm,\nunwavering {586} assent of faith by its own  natural power, without\nthe aid of grace? If not, how is it that the assent of the intellect\nto the truth of revealed propositions does not always necessarily\ncontain in it a metaphysical doubt or a judgment that the contrary is\nmore or less probable, or at least possible? If it is said that the\nwill, inclined by the grace of God, determines to adhere positively to\nthe proposed revelation as true, what is meant by this? Does the will\nmerely determine to act practically as if these proposed truths were\nevident, in spite of the lesser probability of the contrary? Then the\nassent of the intellect is merely a judgment that revelation is\nprobably true, and that it is safest to follow it, which does not\nsatisfy the demand of faith. For faith excludes all fear or suspicion\nthat the articles of faith may possibly be false. Does the will force\nthe intellect to judge that those propositions are certain which it\napprehends only as probable? How is this possible? The will is a blind\nfaculty, which is directed by the intellect, \"Nil volitum nisi prius\ncognitum.\"   [Footnote 128] There is no act of will without a previous\nact of knowledge. The will can not lawfully determine the intellect to\ngive any stronger assent to a proposition than the evidence warrants.\n[Footnote 129] In a word, it is difficult to show how the intellect\nhas an absolute certitude of the object of faith, without representing\nthe object of faith as coincident with the object of knowledge, or the\nintuitive idea of reason, and thus naturally apprehensible. It is also\ndifficult to show that faith is not coincident with knowledge, and\nthus to bring out the conception of its supernaturalness, without\ndestroying the connection between faith and reason, subverting its\nrational basis, and representing the grace of faith as either\nrestoring a destroyed faculty or adding a new one to the soul, whose\nobject is completely invisible and unintelligible to the human\nunderstanding before it is elevated to the supernatural state. The\ndifficulty lies, however, merely in a defective statement, or a\ndefective apprehension of the statement of the Catholic doctrine, and\nnot in the doctrine itself. In order to make this plain, it will be\nnecessary to make one or two preliminary remarks concerning certitude\nand probability.\n\n  [Footnote 128: Nothing is willed unless previously known.]\n\n  [Footnote 129: This is the statement of an objection, not a\n  proposition affirmed by the author.]\n\nThere is first, a metaphysical certitude excluding all possibility to\nthe contrary. Such is the certitude of mathematical truths. Such also\nis the certitude of self-evident and demonstrable truths of every\nkind. The sphere of this kind of certitude is diminished or extended\naccordingly as the mind has before it a greater or lesser number of\ntruths of this order. Some of these truths present themselves to every\nmind so immediately and irresistibly that it cannot help regarding\nthem just as they are, and thus seeing their truth. For instance, that\ntwo and two make four. Others require the mind to be in a certain\nstate of aptitude for seeing them as they are, and to make an effort\nto bring them before it. There are some truths self-evident or\ndemonstrably certain to some minds which are not so to others; yet\nthese truths have all an intrinsic, metaphysical certitude which\nreason as such is capable of apprehending, and the failure of reason\nto apprehend them is due in individual cases merely to the defective\noperation of reason in the particular subject. The operation of reason\ncan never be altogether deficient while it acts at all, for it acts\nonly while contemplating its object or primitive idea. But its\noperation can be partially defective, inasmuch as the primitive idea\nor objective truth may be imperfectly brought into the reflective\nconsciousness. And thus the intellect in individuals may fail to\napprehend truths which can be demonstrated with metaphysical\ncertitude, and which the intellect infallibly judges to be absolutely\ncertain in {587} those individuals who are capable of making a right\njudgment. In this operation of apprehending metaphysical truths there\nis no criterion taken from experience, or from the concurrent assent\nof all men, but the truth shines with its own intrinsic light, and\nreason judges by its inherent infallibility.\n\nNext to metaphysical certitude comes moral demonstration, resulting\nfrom an accumulation of probabilities so great that no probability\nwhich can prudently be allowed any weight is left to the other side,\nbut merely a metaphysical possibility. For instance, the Copernican\ntheory.\n\nThen comes moral certainty in a wider sense; where there is probable\nevidence on one side without any prudent reason to the contrary, but\nnot such a complete knowledge of all the facts as to warrant the\npositive judgment that there is really no probability on the other\nside. This kind of certainty warrants a prudent, positive judgment,\nand furnishes a safe practical motive for action; but it varies\nindefinitely according as the data on which the judgment is based are\nmore or less complete, and the importance of the case is greater or\nless.\n\nThen come the grades of probability, where there are reasons balancing\neach other on both sides, which the mind must weigh and estimate.\n\nTo apply these principles to the question in hand.\n\nFirst, we affirm that the being and attributes of God are apprehended\nwith a metaphysical certitude. Second, that the motives of credibility\nproving the Christian revelation are apprehended, when that Revelation\nis sufficiently proposed, with a varying degree of probability,\naccording to varying circumstances in which the mind may be placed,\nbut capable of being increased to the highest kind of moral\ndemonstration. Third, that the logical conclusion which reason can\ndraw from these two premises, although hypothetically necessary and a\nperfect demonstration--that is, a necessary deduction from the\nveracity of God, on the supposition that he has really made the\nrevelation--is really not above the order of probability, on account\nof the second premiss. It is not above the order of probability,\nalthough, as we have already argued, it is capable of being brought to\na moral demonstration by such an accumulation of proofs within that\norder, that reason is bound to judge that the opposite is altogether\ndestitute of probability.\n\nFrom this it appears, both how far reason with its own principles can\ngo in denying, and how far it can go in assenting to revealed truth.\nWe see, first, how it is, that the truth of revelation does not compel\nthe assent of all minds by an overwhelming and irresistible evidence.\nThe first premiss, which affirms the being of God, although undeniable\nand indubitable in its ultimate idea, may be in its distinct\nconception, so far denied or doubted by those whose reason is\nperverted by their own fault, or their misfortune, as to destroy all\nbasis for a revelation. The second premiss, much more, may be\npartially or completely swept away, by plausible explanations of its\ncomponent probabilities in detail. And thus, revelation may be denied.\nThe influence of the will on the judgment which is made by the mind on\nthe revealed truth is explicable in this relation, and must be taken\ninto the account. It is certain that the moral dispositions by which\nvoluntary acts are biased, bias also the judgment. The\nself-determining power of the will which decides positively which of\nits different inclinations to follow, controls the judgment as well as\nthe volition. This is an indirect control, which is exerted, not by\nimperiously commanding the judgment in a capricious manner to make a\nblind, irrational decision, but by turning it toward the consideration\nof that side toward which the volition or choice is inclined. This\ninfluence and control of volition over judgment increases as we\ndescend in the order of truth from primary and self-evident\nprinciples, and diminishes as we {588} approach to them. In the case\nof truth which is morally or metaphysically demonstrable, its control\nis exerted by turning the intellect partially away from the\nconsideration of the truth and hindering it from giving it that\nattention which is necessary, in order to its apprehension. In the\ncase of divine revelation, various passions, prejudices, interests, or\nat least intellectual impediments to a right operation of reason, act\npowerfully upon a multitude of minds in such a way, that the mirror of\nthe soul is too much obscured to receive the image of truth.\n\nBut, supposing that reason and will both operate with all the\nrectitude possible to them, without supernatural grace; how far can\nthe mind proceed in assenting to divine revelation? As far as a moral\ndemonstration can take it. It can assent to divine truth, and act upon\nit, so far as this truth is adapted to the perfecting of the intellect\nand will in the natural order. But it lacks capacity to apprehend the\nsupernatural verities proposed to it, as these are related to its\nsupernatural destiny.\n\nThe revelation contains an unknown quantity. The will cannot be moved\ntoward an object which the intellect does not apprehend. Therefore, a\nsupernatural grace must enlighten the intellect and elevate the will,\nin order that the revealed truth may come in contact with the soul.\nThis supernatural grace gives a certain con-naturality to the soul\nwith the revealed object of faith, by virtue of which it apprehends\nthat God speaks to it in a whisper, distinct from his whisper to\nreason, and catches the meaning of what he says in this whisper. It is\nthis supernatural light, illuminating the probable evidence\napprehended by the natural understanding, which makes the assent in\nthe act of faith absolute, and gives the mind absolute certitude. It\nis, however, the certitude of God revealing, and not the certitude of\nscience concerning the intrinsic reason of that which he reveals. This\nremains always inevident and obscure in itself, and the decisive\nmotive of assent is always the veracity of God. It is not, however,\naltogether inevident and obscure, for if it were, the terms in which\nit is conveyed would be unintelligible. It is so far inevident, that\nthe intellect cannot apprehend its certainty, aside from the\ndeclaration of God. But it is partially and obscurely evident, by its\nanalogy with the known truth of the rational order. It is so far\nevident that it can be demonstrated from rational principles that it\ndoes not contradict the truths of reason. Further, that no other\nhypothesis can explain and account for that which is known concerning\nthe universe. And, finally, that so far as the analogy between the\nnatural and the supernatural is apprehensible, there is a positive\nharmony and agreement between them. This is all that we intend to\naffirm, when we speak of demonstrating Christianity from the same\nprinciples from which scientific truths are demonstrated.\n\nLet us now revert once more to Jesus Christ and the pagan philosopher.\nThe pagan first perceives strong, probable reasons, which increase by\ndegrees to a moral demonstration, for believing that Christ is the Son\nof God, and his doctrine the revelation of God. The supernatural grace\nwhich Christ imparts to him, enables him to apprehend this with a\npermanent and infallible certitude as a fixed principle both of\njudgment and volition. He accepts as absolutely true all the mysteries\nwhich Christ teaches him, on the faith of his divine mission and the\ndivine veracity. We may now suppose that Christ goes on to instruct\nhim in the harmony of these divine verities with all scientific\ntruths, so far, that he apprehends all the analogies which human\nreason is capable of discerning between the two. He will then have\nattained the _ultimatum_ possible for human reason elevated and\nenlightened by faith, in this present state. Science and faith will be\ncoincident in his mind, as far as they can be. That is, faith will be\ncoincident {589} with science until it rises above its sphere of\nvision, and will then lose itself in an indirect and obscure\napprehension of the mysteries, in the veracity of God.\n\nIn the case of the child brought up in the Catholic Church, the\nChurch, which is the medium of Christ, instructs the child through its\nvarious agents. The child's reason apprehends, through the same\nprobable evidence by which it learns other facts and truths, that the\ntruth presented to him comes through the church, and through Christ,\nfrom God, who is immediately apprehended in his primitive idea. The\nlight of faith which precedes in him the development of reason,\nilluminates his mind from the beginning to apprehend with infallible\ncertitude that divine truth which is proposed to him through the\nmedium of probable evidence. This faith is a fixed principle of\nconscience, proceeding from an illuminated intellect, inclining him to\nsubmit his mind unreservedly to the instruction of the Catholic Church\non the faith of the divine veracity. It rests there unwaveringly,\nwithout ever admitting a doubt to the contrary or postponing a certain\njudgment until the evidence of revelation and the proofs of the divine\ncommission of the church have been critically examined. It may rest\nthere during life, and does so, with the greater number, to a greater\nor lesser degree; or, it may afterward proceed to investigate to the\nutmost limits the _rationale_ of the divine revelation, not in order\nto establish faith on a surer basis, but in order to apprehend more\ndistinctly what it believes, and to advance in theological science.\n\nSome one may say: \"You admit that it is impossible to attain to a\nperfect certitude of supernatural truth without supernatural light;\nwhy, then, do you attempt to convince unbelievers that the Catholic\ndoctrine is the absolute truth by rational arguments?\" To this we\nreply, that we do not endeavor to lead them to faith, by mere\nargument; but to the \"preamble of faith.\" We aim at removing\ndifficulties and impediments which hinder those from attending to the\nrational evidence of the faith; at removing its apparent\nincredibility. We rely on the grace of the Holy Spirit alone to make\nthe effort successful, and to lead those who are worthy of grace\nbeyond the preamble of faith to faith itself. This grace is in every\nhuman mind to which faith is proposed, in its initial stage; it is\nincreased in proportion to the sincerity with which truth is sought\nfor; and is given in fulness to all who do not voluntarily turn their\nminds away from it. If we did not believe this, we would lay down our\npen at once.  [Footnote 130]\n\n  [Footnote 130: The doctrine taught by Cardinal de Lugo and Dr.\n  Newman, in regard to which some dissent was expressed in a former\n  number, seems to the author, on mature reflection, to be, after all,\n  identical with the one here maintained.]\n\n------\n\n{590}\n\n\nFrom Once A Week.\n\nA DAY AT ABBEVILLE.\n\nBY BESSIE RAYNOR PARKES.\n\n\nTwenty years ago, we posted into Abbeville by night, and were\ndeposited in an old-fashioned inn, with a large walled garden. In the\nmorning we posted further on across country to Rouen. Since then, many\na lime has the Chemin de Fer du Nord borne us flying past the ancient\ncity oft visited by English kings and English men-at-arms; not,\nperhaps, deigning to stop to take in water; for Abbeville, once upon\nthe highway of nations, now lies just, as it were, a shade to one\nside; just a shade--the distance between the station and the ramparts.\nYet this is enough to cause the _ma\u00eetre d'h\u00f4tel_ to shake his head and\nsay in a melancholy accent, \"_Abbeville est presque d\u00e9truite._\"\n\nOn asking for the H\u00f4tel de l'Europe, I was told that the H\u00f4tel T\u00eate de\nBoeuf was \"all the same.\" Which, however, was far from being the case,\nas neither the building nor the master was what we had known twenty\nyears ago. _Query_ as to the degree of affinity required by the French\nintellect to produce the degree of identity? In fact, the H\u00f4tel de\nl'Europe no longer existed. The house was possessed by a body of\nreligious, the sisters of St. Joseph, and their large school for young\nladies. The T\u00eate de Boeuf had been a small ch\u00e2teau; two still\npicturesque brick turrets bearing witness of its ancient state.\n\nIn the morning I walked over almost the length and breadth of\nAbbeville, surprised to find it so large and, apparently, flourishing;\nand yet, in spite of tall chimneys upon the circumference, full of the\nquaintest old houses in the centre. Some of them have richly carved\nbeams running along the edge of the overhanging stories. Such may\nstill be seen in a few English towns; I remember them at Booking, in\nEssex. The glory of the place is its great church, or rather the nave,\nfor this is all that ever got completed of the original design of the\ntime of Louis XII., the king who married our Princess Mary, sister of\nHenry VIII. The choir has been patched on, and is about half the\nheight of the nave. The latter is a glorious upshoot of traceried\nstone, with two towers; perhaps all the more impressive from having\nbeen thus arrested in the very act of creation. It is like a forest\ntree which has only attained half its development; and one feels as if\nit ought to go on growing, pushing out fresh buttresses and arches,\ntill its fair proportions stood complete. There is an excellent stone\nstaircase up one of the towers, and from the top a wide view of the\ntown and the fields of Picardy, even to the sharp cliff marking where\nthe sea-line must be. The windings of the Somme may be traced for many\nmiles. I was told that the tide used to swell almost up to the town,\nand that several little streams, once falling into the river, were\ndried up. Even now, as there are several branches, one is here and\nthere reminded of Bruges, by the little old-fashioned bridges,\ncrossing a canal in the middle of a street. A broad girdle of water\nseemed to me to surround great part of the town; but I could obtain no\nmap and no guide-book, though I anxiously inquired at the best shop.\nOnly a history of Abbeville was dug out of the museum at the H\u00f4tel de\nVille, which building had a strong but plain tower reported of the\neleventh century. {591} The Abbevillois care little apparently for\ntheir antiquities, though they are many and curious.\n\nThis ground, though somewhat bare and barren in appearance, has been\nthickly occupied by humanity from the earliest ages of history. Keltic\nbarrows have been found here in abundance, and though many of them\nhave been destroyed in the interests of agriculture, enough remain to\ndelight the antiquary by their flint hatchets and arrows, their urns,\nand their burnt bones. One such barrow, near Noyelles-sur-Mer, when\nopened, was found to contain a large number of human heads, disposed\nin a sort of cone. In 1787, one was opened at Cr\u00e9cy, and in it were\nfound two sarcophagi of burnt clay, in each of which was an entire\nskeleton. Each had been buried in its clothes, and one bore on its\nfinger a copper ring; its dress being fastened likewise by a brooch or\nhook of the same metal. Endless indeed is the list of primitive\ninstruments in flint, in copper, in iron, in bronze, found hereabouts;\nlikewise vases full of burnt bones, not only of our own race, but of\nvarious animals--mice, water-rats, and \"such small deer;\" and in the\nnear neighborhood, of boars, oxen, and sheep. Succeeding to these wild\npeople and wild animals came the Romans. Before they pounced down upon\nus, before they crossed over to Porta Lymanis, and drew those straight\nlines of causeway over England which make the Roman Itinerary look\nsomething like Bradshaw's railway map, (only straighter,) they settled\nthemselves firmly in the north of France; notably, they staid so long\nnear St. Valery, (at the mouth of the river which runs through\nAbbeville,) that they buried there their dead in great numbers,\nwhereof the place of sepulchre is at this day yet to be seen. Their\nown nice neat road also had they, cutting clean through the Graulic\nforests. It came from Lyons to Boulogne, passing through Amiens and\nAbbeville, and was in continuation of one which led from Rome into\nGaul! And wherever this people of conquerors travelled, thither they\ncarried their religious ceremonies and their domestic arts, so that we\nfind still all sorts of medals, vases of red, grey, or black clay,\nlittle statuettes, _ex votos_, and sometimes larger groups of\nsculpture, such as one in bronze representing the combat of Hercules\nand Antaeus. Carthaginian medals have also been turned up here,\nbrought from the far shores of the Mediterranean; and those of\nClaudius, Trajan, Caracalla, and Constantine. This long catalogue is\nuseless, save to mark the rich floods of human life which have\nsuccessively visited the banks of the Somme.\n\nIn the first year of the fifth century the barbarians made their way\nup to the Somme, fighting the Romans inch by inch. Attila burst upon\nthis neighborhood, and fixed his claws therein; the tide of Rome rolls\nback upon the south, and new dynasties begin, and with them comes in\nChristianity; not, however, without much difficulty. The faith appears\nto have gradually spread from Amiens, where St. Finius preached as\nearly as 301; but even 179 years later, St. Germain, the Scotchman,\nwas martyred, and St. Honor\u00e9, the eighth bishop of Amiens, labored\ndaily, for thirty-six years, in conjunction with Irish missionaries,\nto infuse Christianity into the minds of people equally indisposed,\nwhether by Frankish paganism or Roman culture, to accept the doctrines\nof the Cross. Indeed, the learned historian of this part of the\ncountry, M. Louandre, believes that even Rome itself had never been\nable to destroy the old Keltic religion. He says that, as late as the\nseventh century, the antique trees, woods, and fountains were still\nhonored by public adoration in this part of France; and St. Rignier\nhung up relics to the trees to purify them, just as in Rome itself the\nold pagan temples were exorcised. And after a time the old gods of all\nsorts were known either as idols or demons; no particular distinctions\nbeing drawn among them; they lie as _d\u00e9bris_ beneath the religious\nsoil of this part of Picardy, just as the bones of those who adored\nthem are confounded in one common dust.\n\n{592}\n\nLate in the seventh century appears St. Rignier, a great saint in\nthese parts. He was converted and baptized by the Irish missionaries,\nand thereupon became a most austere Christian indeed; only, says his\nlegend, eating twice a week--Sundays and Thursdays. King Dagobert\ninvited the saint to a repast, which the holy man accepted, and\npreached the Gospel the whole time they sat at table--a day and a\nnight!\n\nWe must now take a great leap to the days of Charlemagne, because in\nhis days the Abbey of St. Rignier, near to Abbeville, was very famous\nindeed, both as monastery and school, and contained a noble library of\n256 volumes; the greater part whereof were Christian, but certain\nothers were pagan classics; let us, for instance, be grateful for the\nEclogues of Virgil and the Rhetoric of Cicero. Of this library but one\nvolume remains; I have seen it, and with astonishment. It is a copy of\nthe Gospels, written in letters of gold upon purple parchment. It was\ngiven by Charlemagne to the Count-Abbot, Saint Augilbert. This one\nprecious fragment of the great library is in the museum of Abbeville.\nThe school was, indeed, an ecclesiastical Eton and Oxford. The sons of\nkings, dukes, and counts came here to learn the \"letters,\" of which\nCharlemagne made such great account.\n\nNow the town of Abbeville first gets historic mention in the century\nsucceeding Charlemagne. It is called Abbatis Villa, and belonged to\nthis great monastery of St. Rignier; wherefore I have introduced both\nthe good saint and his foundation. It grew, as almost all the towns of\nthe middle ages did grow, from a religious root--a tap-root, striking\ndeep in the soil. Of course, having thus begun to grow, its history\nhas made interesting chapters a great deal too long to be copied or\neven noted here; it will not be amiss, however, to look for its points\nof occasional contact with England. Firstly, then, it was from St.\nValery, the seaport of the Somme, that William the Conqueror set out\nfor England. Then, in 1259, our Henry III. met St. Louis at Abbeville,\nand Henry did homage for his French possessions. Then, in 1272, our\ngreat King Edward I. married Eleanor, heiress of Ponthieu--she who\nsucked the poison from her husband's wound; and the burgesses of\nAbbeville, misliking the transfer, quarreled violently with the king's\nbailiff, and killed some of the underlings. Eleanor's son, Edward II.,\nmarried Isabel, the\n\n  \"She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs.\n  That tearest the bowels of thy mangled mate.\"\n\nThis unamiable specimen of her sex lived at Abbeville in 1312; but\nduring her reign and residence, and that of her son Edward III., the\ninhabitants of Abbeville ceased not to kick indignantly. The King of\nFrance, her brother, struck into the contest \"_pour comforter la main\nde Madame d'Angleterre_.\" The legal documents arising from these\nquarrels partially remain to us. So they go on, quarreling and\nsometimes fighting, until the great day of Cr\u00e9cy, when Edward III.,\nthe late king's nephew, tried to get the throne. The oft-told tale we\nneed not tell again. In 1393, France being in worse extremities, we\nfind Charles VI. at Abbeville, and Froissart there at the same time.\nPerhaps, in respect of battles and quarrels, those few notices are\nsufficient; I only wished to indicate that Abbeville was on the\nborderland between the English and the French, and came in for an\nample share of fighting. Two royal ceremonials enlivened it in the\ncourse of centuries, whereof particular mention is made in the\nhistory. Louis XII. here met and married Mary of England, in 1514:\n\"_La Reine Blanche_,\" as she was afterward called, from her white\nwidow's weeds. In the H\u00f4tel de Cluny at Paris is still shown the\napartments she occupied. Louis was old, and Mary young, when they\nmarried; but the French historian recounts her exceeding complaisance\nand politeness to the king, and his great delight therein.\n\n{593}\n\nIn 1657, young Louis XIV. came here with his mother, and lodged at the\nH\u00f4tel d'Oignon. Monsieur D'Oignon, the noble owner, had everything in\nsuch beautiful and ceremonious order for their reception, that he\nbecame a proverb at Abbeville--\"As complete and well arranged as M.\nd'Oignon.\" A sort of _rich_ Richard.\n\nThe antiquarian who goes to Abbeville and dips into the history (by M.\nLouandre) at the Museum, will find plenty of interesting matter about\nthe manners and customs of the Abbevillois, rendered all the more\nstriking by so many of the old houses being yet just where they were,\nand as they were. But few impressions of the book seem to have been\nprinted off, for it is no longer sold, though the obliging librarian\ndid say he knew where a few copies remained at a high price. This for\nthe benefit of any long-pursed antiquary, curious in local histories.\nIt is such a book as can only be written by a devoted son of the soil\ndigging away on the spot.\n\nIn the Revolution, Abbeville fortunately escaped any great horrors;\nbut the trials of the middle ages afford plenty; especially one of a\ncertain student, condemned for sacrilege. Now, it is a peaceful,\nwell-governed town, busy in making iron pots and cans, and other\nwrought articles from raw materials brought by the railway. It proves\nto be only in respect of the hotel interest that _Abbeville est\npresque d\u00e9truite_.\n\n\n------\n\n\nTranslated from the French\n\n\"GOD BLESS YOU!\"\n\nBY JEROME DUMOULIN.\n\n\n\"Thank you, master Jerome!\" my reader replies; \"yes, to be sure, may\nGod bless me! But I have not sneezed, that I know of, for a quarter of\nan hour, at least; and _apropos de quoi_ do you say that? or rather,\nwhy and wherefore do they always say so to people who sneeze? I\nsuspect that you want to talk about it, and, in fact, I should not be\ndispleased to hear you discuss for a little while this odd custom; so\nbegin, master Jerome.\"\n\nVery well, dear reader, such is my idea, and I think you will not find\nuninteresting the little history of it which I intend to give; and I\nassure you beforehand, that if I fail to convince you, you must be\nvery difficult.\n\nSettle it first in your mind, that in whatever you may have heard\nheretofore upon this subject, there was not one word of truth. Among\nthe most probable histories of this kind is that of a pestilence,\nwhich in the time of Pope Saint Gregory, ravaged Italy, the peculiar\ncharacteristic of which was to cause the sick person to die suddenly\nby sneezing. When the patient sneezed, which was for him, the passage\nfrom life to death, the assistants gave him this fraternal\nbenediction, saying to him, \"God bless you!\" which was the equivalent\nor translation of _Requiescat in pace_. This account, I repeat, would\nbe much more acceptable, if it were not contradicted by a positive\nfact, namely, that the use of the expression is many centuries\nanterior to Pope Saint Gregory; anterior even to the Christian era,\nand borrowed, of course, from the pagans, as I am about to prove from\nauthentic testimony.\n\n{594}\n\nBut in the first place, let us remark that in the highest antiquity\nsneezing was a circumstance in regard to which they drew auguries,\nespecially if a person sneezed many times consecutively. Xenophon\nrelates that one of his corporals having sneezed, he drew from it a\ngood augury by a process of reasoning which I did not quite\nunderstand, but which his troops, apparently, found sufficiently\nconclusive. Going back again some eight centuries, we find in the\n\"Odyssey\" an adventure of the same kind, but more droll. In the\neighteenth book of this poem, the divine Homer relates that one day\nTelemachus began to sneeze in such a manner as to shake the whole\nhouse. That put madam Penelope in good humor, who calling her faithful\nEumacus the swineherd: \"Do you hear, old fellow,\" she said; \"he is\nwell cared for! and what an augury of happiness the gods have given\nus. Jupiter has spoken by the nose of my dear Telemachus, and he\nannounces to us that we are about to be freed from these scamps of\ngallants who bore me with their pursuits, and who beside put to sack\nour poor civil list; for every hour our cattle, goats, and little\npigs, which you love like so many children, are sacrificed to the\nvoracity of these rascals. Now, my good fellow, I have an idea: go you\nto the door of the palace, where for some days I have seen that beggar\nthat you know. Take him from me these pantaloons and this shirt, which\nI am sure he needs very much; and promise him beside a magnificent\nfrock-coat, which he will have only if he shall answer in a\nsatisfactory manner the questions which I shall propose.\" In fact the\ngood queen suspected that the ragged peasant might be the wise Ulysses\nin disguise. But let us proceed with our subject.\n\nIn the second chapter of his twenty-eighth book, the elder Pliny\nexpresses himself thus: _Cur sternumentis salutamus? Quod etiam\nTiberium Caesarem in vehiculo exegisse tradunt, et aliqui nomine\nquoque consalutare religiosius putant._ Thus the custom was already\nestablished among the Romans of wishing health and good fortune to\npersons who sneezed, and the last word but one of the phrase indicates\nthat this wish had a religious character. In many authors health is\nwished to persons who sneeze; _salvere jubentur_, is the consecrated\nexpression, which corresponds to \"God guard you;\" and according to the\npassage cited above, it appears that when Tiberius, driving in his\nchariot, sneezed, then, and only then, the populace were obliged to\ncry. _Long live the emperor!_ a formula which included the impetration\nof life and health by the protection of the gods. This custom existed\nthen at the time of Pliny, and going back still further among the\nRomans, let us see what we find. Here then is a story extracted from\nthe \"Veterum Auctorum Fragmenta,\"' and inserted by Father Strada in\nhis \"Prolusiones Academicae.\" I give a free translation, it is true,\nbut I will guarantee the perfect exactitude of the substance, and of\nthe formulas.\n\nOne day when Cicero was present at a performance at the Roman opera,\nthe illustrious orator began to sneeze loudly. Immediately all rose,\nsenators and plebeians, and each one taking off his hat, they cried to\nhim from all parts of the house: \"God bless you! _Omnes\nassurrexere--salvere jubentes_.\" Upon which three young men, named\nseverally Fannius, Fabalus, and Lemniscus, leaning upon their elbows\nin one of the boxes, began the interchange of a succession of absurd\nremarks, and finally started the question of the origin of this\ncustom. Each gave his own opinion, and the three agreed at once that\nthe usage dated back as far as Prometheus. It was then, at Rome, a\ncommon tradition of very ancient date, as we see, according to some,\neven as ancient as the epoch of the tower of Babel. {595} But if they\nwere agreed as to the groundwork, they embellished their canvas in\nvery different fashions. The stories related by Fannius, and by\nFabalus I will spare you for the sake of brevity and for other\nreasons; contenting myself only with the version of Lemniscus, which\nwill suffice for our object.\n\nFollowing then, this respectable authority: The son of Japetus\nmoulded, as every one knows, with pipe-clay, a statue which he\nproposed to animate with celestial fire, and his work finished, he put\nit into a stove in order that it should dry sufficiently; but the heat\nwas very great, and acted so well, or so ill, that independently of\nother damages, the nose of the work became cracked and shrunken in a\nmanner very unfortunate for a nose which had the slightest\nself-consciousness. When the artist returned to the stove and saw this\nstunted nose, he began to swear like a pagan as he was; but perceiving\nthat the flat-nose gained nothing thereby, he took the wiser part of\nre-manipulating the organ, adding thereto fresh clay, and in order to\nfacilitate the work of restoration, he conceived the idea of inserting\na match in one of the nostrils of his manikin. But the mucous\nmembrane, already provided with sensibility and life, was irritated at\nthe contact of the sulphuric acid, and the consequence was such a\ntremendous sneezing that all the teeth, not yet quite solid in the\njaw, sprang out into the face of the operator. Dismayed by this deluge\nof meteors, and expecting to see his little man get out of order from\ntop to bottom \"Ah!\" cried Prometheus, \"may Jupiter protect\nyou!\"--_Tibi Jupiter adsit!_ \"And from this you see two things,\"\ncontinued Lemniscus: \"First, why they always say to people who sneeze,\n'May Jupiter assist you!' and also, why this morning, in a similar\ncase, I said nothing at all to this old mummy Crispinus, since from\ntime immemorial his last tooth has taken flight. He might sneeze like\nan old cat without the slightest danger to his jaw.\"\n\nHere terminates the colloquy of our young men. I am far from intending\nto guarantee the contents, either as to the conduct and exploits of\nPrometheus, or the misfortunes of his little man, since I have not\nunder my eye the authentic records; but what follows incontestably\nfrom this recital, is, that at the time of Cicero, the usage of which\nwe speak was already very ancient, since they traced it back to one of\nthe most ancient heroes of fable. But moreover, and this it is which\nrenders this passage particularly precious, we find in it the precise\nform of salutation which other passages contain in the generic\nphrase--_salvere jubent_. This formula consists in these three words:\n_Tibi Jupiter adsit!_ I do not intend to say that this wish and this\ndeprecatory formula were only used in the special case of which we\nspeak. Undoubtedly, in a thousand other circumstances, persons\naddressed each other as a mark of good will. _Deus tibi faveat! Dii\nadsint! Tibi adsit Jupiter!_ etc, etc.; but in the special case of\nsneezing, the phrase was obligatory among persons of gentle breeding.\n\nNow, reader, attention! and will you enter into a Roman school, in the\ntime of Camillus or Coriolanus? There we shall find in the midst of\nabout fifty pupils, an honest preceptor bearing the name of Stolo, or\nVolumnus, or Pomponius, perhaps. Very well, let it be Pomponius. Now\non a certain day the good man began to sneeze, but magisterially, and\nin double time, following the form still used among the moderns, that\nis to say, he emitted this nasal interjection----_ad----sit_! which\nyou have observed and practised a thousand times. Upon which one of\nthe young rogues, remarking the homophony of the thing with one of the\nthree words of the deprecatory formula which he had heard in\nnumberless cases, added, in a mocking tone--_tibi Jupiter!_and\ninstantly all the crowd repeated in chorus after him, _ad--sit--tibi\nJupiter_.\n\nHere you have, dear reader, the solution of the enigma. But let us\nobserve the sequel. What did master {596} Pomponius under the fire of\nthis gay frolic? Somewhat astonished at first, he immediately\nrecovered himself, and took the thing in good part; and being\nsomething of a wag himself, that style of benediction suited his\nhumor. I see him now running his glance along the restless troops,\nraising the right hand, then the fore-finger, which he carries to his\nnose, then calming their terrors by these soothing words:\n\n  Fear not, my little friends:\n  You often have committed\n  Offenses much more grave.\n  Ah well! how often and whenever\n  I shall happen to make--_ad---sit!_\n  Cry you all: _Jupiter adsit!_\n\nYou will not suppose that the little boys failed in this duty. From\nthe school of Pomponius it passed through all the line of the\nuniversity establishments, and improving upon it, the children saluted\nwith--_Jupiter ad----sit_!----first the heads of their classes, then\nfathers, mothers, and all respectable persons. The elders failed not\nto imitate the little ones: it permeated the whole of society. Then\ncame Christianity, which changed _Jupiter_ into _God_; and the\nformula, _Jupiter protect you!_ was naturally transformed into _God\nbless you!_\n\nThus it is verified that this formula is of Roman origin; and if\nanything is simple, natural, and manifest, it is its derivation from\nthe physiological phenomena with which it is connected, and of which\nit represents phonetically the energetic expression. If any of my\nreaders can find a better explanation of it, I beg him to address me\nhis memorandum by telegraph.\n\nI owe you now the quotation from the \"Anthology,\" which I promised\nabove. Among the Greek epigrams of all epochs, of which this\ncollection is composed, there is one which relates precisely to the\ncustom of which we speak. The _Zeu Soson_ of this epigram is the\ntranslation of the _Jupiter adsit_ of the Latins. I say the\ntranslation and not the original. For this is not one of those\nfragments which may be of an epoch anterior to that in which we have\nplaced, and in which we have a right to place master Pomponius and his\nlittle adventure. In extending their empire over the countries of the\nGreek tongue, the Romans imported there a great number of their\ncustoms and social habits: the _Jupiter adsit_ must have been of this\nnumber, and therefore we find it under Greek pens. I dare not venture\nhere upon the Greek text of the \"Anthology,\" which would perhaps\nfrighten our fair readers, and I give only the Latin translation in\ntwo couplets:\n\n  Dic cur Sulpicius nequeat sibi mungere nasum?\n  Causa est quod naso sit minor ipsa manus.\n  Cur sibi sternutans, non clamat, Jupiter adsit?\n  Non nasum audit qui distat ab aure nimis.\n\nVery well! I yet have scruples in regard to my Latin, which may not be\nunderstood by some of the ladies and especially by the bachelors of\nthe bifurcation. Therefore, to put it into good French verse, I have\nhad recourse to the politeness of our friend Pomponius, and the\nexcellent man has willingly given the following translation of the\nsecond distich, which alone relates to the circumstance:\n\n  On demande pourquoi notre voisin Sulpice\n  Eternue, et jamais ne dit: Dien _me_ b\u00e9nisse!\n  Serait-ce, par hasard, qu'll n'entend pas tres-blen?\n  Du tout, l'oreille est bonne et fonctionne \u00e0 merveille;\n  Mais son grand nez s'en va--si loin de son oreille,\n  Que quand il fait--_ad--sit!_ celle-ce n'entend rien.\n\n  You demand why our neighbor Sulpice\n  Sneezes and never says, God bless _me_!\n  It is, perhaps, because he does not hear well:\n  Not at all, his ear is good, and acts to a marvel;\n  But his great nose goes away--so far from his ear,\n  That when he makes--_ad--sit!_ this last hears nothing.\n\nThis epigram, undoubtedly, is not much more than two thousand years\nold; and why may it not have been written by Pomponius the ancient?\nFor the Pomponius of our day, to him also, \"how often and whenever,\"\nhe shall sneeze--and without that even, God bless him!\n\n------\n\n{597}{598}\n\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nTHEREIN.\n\nA SONG.\n\n\n  I know a valley fair and green,\n          Wherein, wherein,\n  A dear and winding brook is seen,\n          Therein;\n  The village street stands in its pride\n  With a row of elms on either side,\n          Therein;\n  They shade the village green.\n\n  In the village street there is an inn.\n          Wherein, wherein,\n  The landlord sits in bottle-green,\n          Therein.\n  His face is like a glowing coal,\n  And his paunch is like a swelling bowl;\n          Therein\n  Is a store of good ale, therein.\n\n  The inn has a cosy fireside.\n          Wherein, wherein,\n  Two huge andirons stand astride,\n          Therein.\n  When the air is raw of a winter's night,\n  The fire on the hearth shines bright\n          Therein.\n  'Tis sweet to be therein.\n\n  The landlord sits in his old arm-chair\n          Therein, therein;\n  And the blaze shines through his yellow hair\n          Therein.\n  There cometh lawyer Bickerstith,\n  And the village doctor, and the smith.\n          Therein\n  Full many a tale they spin.\n\n  They talk of fiery Sheridan's raid\n          Therein, therein;\n  And hapless Baker's ambuscade\n          Therein;\n  The grip with which Grant throttled Lee,\n  And Sherman's famous march to the sea.\n          Therein\n  Great fights are fought over therein.\n\n  The landlord has a daughter fair\n          Therein, therein.\n  In ringlets falls her glossy hair\n          Therein.\n  When they speak in her ear she tosses her head;\n  When they look in her eye she hangs the lid,\n          Therein.\n  She does not care a pin.\n\n  I know the maiden's heart full well.\n          Therein, therein,\n  Pure thoughts and holy wishes dwell\n          Therein.\n  I see her at church on bended knee;\n  And well I know she prays for me\n          Therein.\n  Sure, that can be no sin.\n\n  Our parish church has a holy priest,\n          Therein, therein.\n  When he sings the mass, he faces the east.\n          Therein.\n  On Sunday next he will face the west,\n  When my Nannie and I go up abreast,\n          Therein,\n  And carry our wedding-ring.\n\n  And when we die, as die we must;\n          Therein, therein,\n  The priest will pray o'er the breathless dust,\n          Therein;\n  And our graves will be planted side by side.\n  But the hearts that loved shall not abide\n          Therein,\n  But love in Heaven again.\n\nC.W.\n\n------\n\n{599}\n\n\nFrom The Lamp.\n\nUNCONVICTED; OR, OLD THORNELEY'S HEIRS.\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nTHE VERDICT AT THE INQUEST\n\nFrom the time that suspicions as to the manner of Gilbert Thorneley's\ndeath had been communicated to Scotland Yard, the house in Wimpole\nstreet was taken possession of by the police, and all egress or\ningress not subject to the knowledge and approval of the officer in\ncharge was prohibited. Merrivale had been allowed on the previous day\nto see the body of poor old Thorneley, but with much difficulty, as\nthe police had strict orders not to allow any strangers access to the\nchamber of death. He told me this on our way to the inquest.\n\n\"By the by,\" he said, \"did you know that Wilmot is acting as sole\nexecutor of his uncle, and has taken upon himself the responsibility\nof ordering everything about the funeral? I asked Atherton about it\nyesterday evening, and he says Wilmot came to him and asked what was\nto be done, as Smith and Walker had said that he and Atherton, as only\nrelatives of the deceased, were the proper persons to open the will,\nand see who were left his executors. Atherton, with his usual\nthoughtlessness for his own interests, bade him act as he considered\nright in everything, and was too much overwhelmed with his own sorrow\nto think of anything else. Wilmot then went to Smith's and opened the\nwill, which was deposited there, and finds he is left sole executor;\nand, mind you, I fancy he's sole heir likewise, for he's as coxy as\never he can be. Mark my words, Kavanagh, there'll be a hitch about\nthat will as sure as I'm alive.\"\n\nI felt that Merrivale spoke with a purpose; but I answered him coolly:\n\"I think so too; and Wilmot will find himself in the wrong box.\"\n\n\"If I thought it was any use,\" continued he, \"I would ask you once\nmore to confide to me the nature of the business which took you to\nThorneley's on Tuesday evening.\"\n\n\"It will transpire in due time, Merrivale. I pass you my word it is\nutterly useless knowledge now; nor does it in any way affect Hugh\nAtherton's present position. God knows that nothing should keep me\nsilent if I thought that silence would injure in the smallest degree\none so dear to me--Will he be present to day?\" I asked in a little\nwhile.\n\n\"Yes; he seemed very anxious to watch the proceedings; and on the\nwhole I thought it better he should. I never saw such a man,\" said\nMerrivale, with a burst of enthusiasm very unlike his usual dry, cold\nmanner; \"he thinks of every one but himself. He is principally anxious\nto be there that he may detect any flaw in the evidence, or find any\nclue that may lead to the discovery of the real murderer of his uncle,\napparently without any thought of saving himself, as if that were a\nsecondary consideration. He seems to think more of the old man's death\nand take it to heart than of anything which has happened to himself;\nexcept when he speaks of Miss Leslie, and then he breaks down\nentirely. I have prepared him for having to hear your evidence, and I\nlikewise mentioned that his uncle had sent for you the night of his\ndeath; and that you considered yourself bound in honor not to mention\nyet what transpired at the interview, but you had assured me it would\nthrow no light upon our present darkness.\"\n\n{600}\n\n\"Darkness, indeed! O my poor Hugh!\"\n\n\"He expressed great surprise, and said; 'Well, this will be the first\nand only secret affecting either of us which John has ever kept from\nme. Wilmot hinted that some one had been at work who was not friendly\nto me; but I told him I didn't believe I had an enemy: and I don't and\nwon't believe it now.' Then I asked him if he wouldn't like to see\nyou, and I think in his heart he would; but he seemed to hesitate, and\nat last said: 'No, it is best not, best for us both--at least until\nafter this,'--meaning the inquest--'is over.'\"\n\nThe first secret! No, not the first, Hugh, not the first; but the\nother could never have divided us, could never have raised one shadow\nbetween us, I had buried it deep down in its lonely grave, and laid\nits ghost by the might of my strong love for you, my friend and\nbrother!\n\nThe house in Wimpole street looked gloomy enough, with its close-shut\nblinds and the two policemen keeping guard on either side the door,\nsuggestive of death--of murder! There was a small crowd collected\nround; not such a crowd as had assembled before the police-station,\nbut something like. Street-children, errand-boys, stray costermongers\nwith their barrows, passing tradesmen with their carts or baskets, and\nwomen--slatterns from neighboring alleys and back-streets, Irish\nwomen from the Marylebone courts and slums; and each arrival caused\nfresh agitation and excitement amidst that crowd of upturned eager\nfaces gathered there, _waiting for the verdict_.\n\n\"That's him,\" cried a voice as our cab drove up to the door--\"that's\nCorrinder Javies!\"' \"No, it an't, bless yer innercence! the corrinder\nwears a scarlet gownd and a gold-laced 'at.\" \"Tell ye he don't; he\nwears a black un, and ers got it in his bag.\" \"Yah!--the lawyer, the\nnevy's lawyer!\" followed by a yell of imprecations. The nearest\n_gamin_ on the door-step had heard Merrivale give his name to the\npolicemen and demand admission, and had handed it down to his fellows.\nSo, with the sounds of the brutal mob ringing in our ears, we passed\nthe threshold of the murdered man's house. A cold shudder seized me as\nI stood in the hall, and I seemed to feel as if the spirit of the dead\nwere hovering about in disquiet, and unable to rest. A superintendent\nof the police received us in the hall, and we asked him if we could go\nup to see the body. After some demur he went up-stairs with us, and\nunlocked the chamber of death. There in his shell lay all that\nremained of Gilbert Thorneley, he whose name and fame had been\nworld-wide. Fame, for what? For amassing wealth; for grinding down the\npoor; for toiling, slaving, wearing himself out in the busy march of\nlife, with no thought but for that life which perishes heaping up\nriches which must be relinquished on the grave's brink; which could\nbring him no comfort nor solace in the valley of the shadow; which\nperchance, in the inscrutable designs of providence, had been used as\nan instrument of retribution against him. I looked at his worn\nface--seamed with the lines of care, furrowed with the struggles that\nhad brought so little reward--and remembered that last evening when I\nhad seen and spoken with him--of the secret he had confided to me, of\nwhat he had so darkly hinted at; and I fancied I could read in his\nunplacid face that death had visited him in all its intensity of\nbitterness, that the bodily suffering had been nothing compared to the\nocean of remorse which had swept over his soul. He rested from his\nweary labors, and the fruits of them had not followed him. God alone\nknew the complete history of his life; God only could supply what had\nbeen wanting from the treasures of his mercy; God only could tell\nwhether that last flood of remorseful anguish had been the sorrow that\ncould be accepted for the sake of One who had died for him.\n\n{601}\n\nWhilst we yet stood gazing on the corpse, word was brought us that the\ncoroner had arrived, and was going to open proceedings. The\nsuperintendent once more turned the key upon the dead; and we\ndescended to the first-floor.\n\n\"I must divide you, gentlemen, now,\" said he. \"You, sir,\" to\nMerrivale, \"will please to come with me to the inquest-room; and you,\nMr. Kavanagh, must wait in this back drawing-room until we send for\nyou. I thought you'd prefer being alone, to going along with the other\nwitnesses.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" I said; \"I should much prefer it.\"\n\nI avail myself of the newspaper-reports, together with Mr. Merrivale's\nnotes, for an account of the inquest; and I have also used his\nobservations made on the personal appearance, manner, etc, of the\nwitnesses and others who took part in it. For myself, I remained in\nthat dark dingy back-room until my turn came to give evidence.\n\nI heard the dull tramp of the jury-men as they went up-stairs and\nentered the room overhead to view the body, and their hushed murmurs\nas they came down. I heard the hum of voices in the front\ndrawing-room, where the witnesses were assembled, and the distinct\norders issued at intervals by the police. I remember standing at the\nwindow looking into the dismal back-garden, noting mechanically the\nvarious small sights in the back-gardens opposite. I remember staring\nfor a quarter of an hour at two cats fighting on the wall--a black and\na tabby; and listening to their dismal squalls. If they had been two\ntigers tearing each other to pieces on that back garden-wall in the\nmidst of this eminently civilized city, I don't think it would have\nmade more impression on my brain than did those two specimens of the\nfeline race. And last, I remember walking, as in a dream, into the\ndining-room, where sat the coroner at the head of the long table, and\nranged on either side of him the twelve jury-men. I remember seeing a\nman whom I recognized as one of the deceased's solicitors, Mr. Walker,\noccupying a chair at a small side-table with his clerk, and on the\nopposite side of the room at another table sat Merrivale: while just\nbehind him, guarded--ay, _guarded_--by a policeman, sat Hugh Atherton;\nand that as I came and took a chair placed for me at the other end of\nthe long table, he raised his eyes and looked full upon me, and that I\nknew then the deadly influence which had been at work--for it was no\nlonger the friendly, trustful look of old; I knew--yes, I knew that\nour warm friendship had died the death, that a traitor's hand had\nhelped to slay it. I knew, and knowing it the pain was so intense, so\nlike a knife entering my heart, that unconsciously I raised my hand as\nthough to ward off the agony that had come upon me, and a cry escaped\nmy lips--\"Hugh, Hugh!\" And then I heard the coroner addressing me in\nthe calm business tones of a man accustomed to do his terrible work.\n\nThe first witness called was Mr. Evans, surgeon. He said:\n\n\"I am a member of the Royal College of Surgeons, and live at 138\nWimpole street. I was summoned to Mr. Thorneley's house about seven\no'clock on the morning of the 24th; and was taken up into deceased's\nroom. He was in bed, lying on his back, the eyes partially open, and\nthe forehead and mouth contracted, as though great pain had preceded\ndeath. He had apparently been dead some hours. There was a stiffness,\nhowever, about the body, and an unusual rigidity of the limbs, which\nexcited my suspicion. The feet were likewise arched. The housekeeper\nand the man-servant were in the room with the deceased at the time I\narrived. I asked what he had taken last before going to bed. The\nhousekeeper replied he had taken his bitter {602} ale as usual about\nnine o'clock. I asked to see the bottle out of which he had taken the\nale. The housekeeper bade the man go down to his master's study and\nfetch up the tray. On it were a pint-bottle of Bass's bitter ale, a\ntumbler, and a plate of hard biscuit. There were a few drops at the\nbottom of the glass. I smelt and tasted them; there was no peculiar\nsmell, but the taste was unusually bitter. It suggested to me that\nstrychnine might have been introduced. In the bottle about half a\ntumblerful of ale was left. I took possession of it for the purpose of\nanalysis, with the tumbler still containing a few drops. I said to the\nhousekeeper: 'Information must be sent at once to the police.' This\nwas done. I remained until the superintendent arrived, and then\nproceeded to my house with the ale-bottle and glass. I immediately\nsubjected the contents of both to the usual process. In the few drops\ncontained in the glass I discovered the appearance of strychnine. The\ncontents of the bottle were perfectly free.\" (Sensation.) \"I then went\nback to Mr. Thorneley's house, and reported the results to the\npolice-officer, who communicated with Scotland Yard, the deceased's\nrelative Mr. Wilmot, and his lawyers. I demanded that the family\nmedical man should be summoned. On his arrival we made a _post-mortem_\nexamination, and removed the stomach with its contents, sealed and\ndespatched them to Professor T---- for analysis. We both refused a\ndeath-certificate until the results of that analysis had been\nascertained. We agreed ourselves in suspecting death had originated\nthrough poison, and that the poison had been strychnine. There was no\nappearance of any disease in either heart, lungs, or brain, which\nshould cause sudden death. All three organs were in a perfectly\nhealthy state.\"\n\nDr. Robinson, physician, and the usual medical attendant of deceased,\ncorroborated the above evidence in every particular.\n\nProfessor T---- next deposed that he received the stomach of deceased\nwith its contents from Dr. Robinson and Mr. Evans. That he had\nanalyzed the latter, and had detected and separated strychnine in very\nminute quantities; on further test, positive proof of the existence of\nthe poison was afforded by the colors produced. Upon introducing some\nof the suspected matter into the body of a frog, death had been\nproduced from tetanic convulsions; thus demonstrating the existence of\nstrychnine. His opinion was that deceased had died from the effects of\nstrychnine administered in bitter ale; that the quantity administered\nhad been about one grain, not more--it might be less.\n\nMrs. Haag, the housekeeper, was then examined. She was a woman past\nfifty in appearance; her face was remarkable; so perfectly immobile\nand passionless in its expression. Her hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes\nwere of a pale sandy color; and her drooping eyelids had that peculiar\nmotion in them which novelists call \"shivering.\" She gave her answers\nin clear low tones; but seldom raising her eyes to the interrogator;\nthey were of a cold bluish-gray, with a dangerous scintillating light\nin them. Her manners and appearance were those of a woman above her\nstation in life; her language quite grammatical, though tinctured by a\nslightly foreign idiom and accent; her deportment perfectly\nself-possessed. She deposed that the deceased had appeared in the same\nhealth as usual up to the evening previous to his death, when on\ntaking in his bitter ale and biscuits she observed that he looked very\nmuch flushed and agitated, and his voice had sounded loud and angry as\nshe came up the stairs. He and Mr. Atherton seemed to be having a\ndispute; and as she came into the room she distinctly heard Mr.\nAtherton say to her master, \"You will bitterly repent to-morrow what\nyou have said to-night.\" She could swear to the words, for they made\nan {603} impression upon her. Had not heard Mr. Wilmot speak whilst in\nthe study. The ale had been brought up from the cellar by Barker, who\nuncorked it down-stairs, as usual, in presence of the other servants.\nBarker had accompanied her to the study-door, and opened it for her.\nAlways took in the ale when her master was alone, or when only the\nyoung gentlemen (Wilmot and Atherton) were there; and waited to\nreceive his orders for the next day. Deceased always took bitter ale\nat nine o'clock, with hard biscuits.\n\nMr. Merrivale: \"Did you not pour some ale out into the tumbler before\ntaking it up-stairs?\"\n\n\"I did not.\"\n\n\"Would you swear you did not?\"\n\n\"Certainly I would swear it.\"\n\nEvidence continued: To her knowledge he had taken nothing since the\nale. The young gentlemen never took bitter ale: Mr. Atherton didn't\nlike it, and Mr. Wilmot could not drink it. Only one tumbler had been\nbrought up. The tray had remained in the study just as Mr. Thorneley\nhad left it, and had not been touched until the following morning,\nwhen the doctor asked to have the bottle and glass brought to him.\nBarker, the man-servant, had fetched the tray from the study. No one\nhad entered the study from the time Mr. Thorneley had gone to bed,\nuntil Barker had gone there for the tray the next morning. She had\nlocked the door on the outside as she went up to bed, but had not gone\ninto the room. On the morning of the 24th she was roused by a violent\nknocking at her door, and by Barker saying, in a very agitated manner,\n\"For God's sake get up directly, Mrs. Haag, and come to master; for I\nfear he's dead!\" Had hurried on a few clothes, and gone instantly to\nMr. Thorneley's room. The deceased was in bed, the eyes partially\nopen, and the mouth contracted, as if in an agony of pain. She had\ntouched his hand and found it quite cold. Then they both had stooped\nto listen if he breathed; but he did not. Barker said: \"I fear it's\nall up with him; he must have had a fit and died in the night. What's\nto be done, Mrs. Haag?\" Replied, \"Send at once for a doctor.\" The\nother servants now came crowding in, and one of them ran off\nimmediately for the nearest surgeon. He arrived in less than half an\nhour. No one had touched the body until the arrival of the doctor;\nthey had all feared lest they might do harm by touching it. Had lived\nin the service of deceased nearly thirty years; he had been a severe\nbut just master to her. Was a Belgian by birth; but had lived nearly\nall her life in England. Was a widow; had no children living, nor any\nrelations alive that she knew of. Examined as to what had transpired\nbefore taking the ale to the study, Mrs. Haag deposed that Mr. John\nKavanagh had called on Mr. Thorneley at seven o'clock, and been\ncloseted with him for an hour; that a short time before he went away\nthe study-bell rang, which was answered by Barker, who came down into\nthe servants'-hall and told Thomas the coachman to go up with him to\nhis master's room. When they came down, they said they had been\nsigning their names as witnesses to some paper, which both of them had\nsupposed was a will; but that neither their master nor Mr. Kavanagh\nhad told them so. She had put on her things whilst they were upstairs,\nand just after they returned she went out--Questioned as to her\nerrand, said she went to buy some ribbon she wanted at a shop in\nOxford street; that returning home by Vere street she saw Mr. Atherton\ncoming out of the chemist's shop at the corner of Oxford street, and\nheard him speak to Mr. Kavanagh. Heard the words \"Kavanagh,\"\n\"Atherton,\" and saw them shake hands. Could swear to their\nidentity.--Questioned by Mr. Merrivale, solicitor for the prisoner,\nas to how it had come about that she had been witness to the meeting\nbetween the two gentlemen at {604} the corner of Vere street and\nOxford street, and yet was met only in the middle of Vere street--a\nvery short street--at least five minutes afterwards by Mr. Kavanagh,\ndenied meeting Mr. Kavanagh at all in Vere street; had passed the two\ngentlemen at the corner, and gone straight home. Had worn no veil that\nevening.--Examination resumed by the coroner: Had not seen her master\nsince taking the ale into the study; had gone to the door after the\ngentlemen had left, but found it locked, and received for answer, he\nwas busy, and did not require anything. Mr. Wilmot had left some time\nprevious to Mr. Atherton; she had seen neither to speak to them that\nevening. This was the pith of the housekeeper's evidence.\n\nJohn Barker was the next witness called, who corroborated everything\ndeposed by Mrs. Haag. Asked by a juryman if it was he who signed the\npaper on the evening before Mr. Thorneley's death, replied it was. Was\nhe aware of the nature of the document? No; but both he and Thomas the\ncoachman, who had likewise signed, fancied it must be a will. Had\nlived nearly twenty years with his master, and often witnessed\nbusiness papers, but never asked what they were.--Questioned by Mr.\nMerrivale as to whether he had noticed any conversation which passed\nbetween Mr. Wilmot and Mr. Atherton in the hall the night before the\ndeceased died, replied he had caught one or two words.--Told by the\ncoroner to repeat them. After seeming to recollect himself for a\nmoment or two, said he had heard Mr. Wilmot say he must get some money\nout of the governor; to which Mr. Atherton had replied in rather a low\nvoice; but he had heard the words, \"won't live long,\" and \"to be\nworried,\" and \"our affairs.\"--Asked by the prisoner if the sentence\nhad not been, \"He is getting very old, and won't live long; he ought\nnot to be worried with our affairs\"? Replied he could not say; it\nmight have been so; but what he had repeated was the whole of what he\nhad distinctly heard. He wished to say that he believed Mr. Atherton\nto be innocent; for he was very fond of poor master, and his uncle\nalways seemed more partial to him than to any one else--much more\nthan to Mr. Wilmot.\n\nThomas Spriggs the coachman, the cook, and the housemaid, were then\nexamined respectively, and their evidence corroborated every statement\nmade before; only one fresh feature presented itself. The cook\nvolunteered to state that she had been awoke, in the middle of the\nnight on which her master died, by some noise, and had fancied she\nheard stealthy footsteps on the stairs.--Questioned upon this, said\nthat she meant the stairs leading from the third story where the\nwomen-servants slept, to the second story..\n\nWere they front or back-stairs?\n\nFront-stairs; the back-stairs only reached the second floor. That the\nhousekeeper occupied one room to herself, she and the housemaid\nanother, and the third was empty. She had not dared to get out of bed,\nbelieving it was the ghost.\n\nWhat ghost?\n\nOh! the house was haunted; all the servants know it and believed it,\nexcept the housekeeper, who had laughed at her shameful, and called\nher a superstitious woman. But then they had never been what she might\ncall comfortable nor friendly together; for Mrs. 'Aag 'eld herself\n'igh and 'orty with all the company in the 'all. Couldn't say at what\nhour she had been awoke; had drawed the clothes over her 'ed, and said\nher prayers, and supposed she had fell asleep again, being that way\ninclined by natur'.\n\nMr. Merrivale: \"Have you and the housekeeper ever fallen out, cook?\"\n\nWitness: \"Well, no, sir. I can't say as we ever 'ave; and I've nothing\nto bring against her except as she was 'igh and close, which isn't\nagreeable, sir, when the position of parties is {605} ekally\nrespectable, which mine is, sir, 'aving come of a greengrocer's family\nas kep' their own wehicle and drove theirselves; and whose mother\ncould afford to be washed out, and never sat down to tea on Sunday\nwithout s'rimps or 'winkles or something to give a relish.\"\n\nCoroner: \"That is enough, cook.--Bring in the next witness.\"\n\nMr. Lister Wilmot, who appeared much agitated, next deposed: \"I went\nto visit my deceased uncle on the evening of Tuesday last, and whilst\ntaking off my outer coat in the hall, my cousin, Mr. Atherton,\narrived. We went into my uncle's study together. Very little\nconversation passed between us. I mentioned my intention of asking my\nuncle for some money that evening, which I needed, having some\npressing bills to pay. My cousin replied something to the effect that\nhe, my uncle, would probably not live long, and we ought not to worry\nhim with our affairs. I think he simply said it with a view to\nstopping me from making the application: he thinks I am extravagant.\nHe asked me how much I wanted. I said, \u00a3500. He said: 'That is a large\nsum, Lister; we shall never get the governor to come down as handsome\nas that.'\"\n\nMr. Merrivale: \"Did Mr. Atherton say, 'we shall,' or 'you will'?\"\n\nWitness (hesitating:) \"I am not quite clear, but I think he said 'we\nshall.' It was simply a kindly way of speaking. We found my uncle more\nthan usually taciturn and abstracted; but I was so hard pressed I was\nobliged to brave him, and ask him for money. To my astonishment,\ninstead of venting his anger on me, he turned it all upon my cousin\nHugh, and accused him of leading me into extravagance.\"\n\nCoroner: \"Was this so?\"\n\n\"It was not. Hugh and I are the best of friends; but our pursuits and\ntastes are totally opposite. I said so to my uncle, and tried to\nappease him in vain. At last he worked himself into such a rage that\nhe seemed quite reckless of what he said; and hinted that Hugh might\npay my debts for me, and if he couldn't do so out of his own pocket,\nhe might get Kavanagh to advance me some out of his future wife's\ndividends; that I might have got the girl for myself if I had chosen;\nbut as it was, he dared say Kavanagh would marry her in the long-run,\nfor it was easy to see how the wind lay in that quarter.\"\n\nMr. Merrivale: \"Can you swear to those words?\"\n\n\"I can. My cousin got very angry at this, and said: 'You have no right\nto make such remarks or draw any such conclusions; they are false. You\nwill repent of this to-morrow.' I can swear to those words. Just then\nMrs. Haag, the housekeeper, brought in my uncle's ale and biscuits, as\nusual. Barker opened the door for her: I remember that fact. There was\nonly one tumbler with the bottle brought up. Neither myself nor my\ncousin ever touch that beverage. When Mrs. Haag had left the room,\nHugh got up and went to the table where the tray had been placed, and\nbrought a glass of ale to my uncle with a plate of hard biscuits.\"\n\nCoroner: \"Did you see the prisoner pour out the ale? Where was he\nstanding with regard to yourself?\"\n\n\"He had his back toward us; I was sitting by the fire opposite my\nuncle; the table was in the middle of the room. To get the ale Hugh\nmust turn his back to us.\"\n\n\"How long was he at the table?\"\n\nWitness, (after a moment's thought:) \"A minute or more; but I could\nnot speak positively.\"\n\n\"Sufficient time to have put anything in the ale?\"\n\nWitness, (much agitated:) \"Am I obliged to answer this?\"\n\n\"You are not obliged; but an unfavorable interpretation might be put\nupon your silence.\"\n\nWitness (in a very low voice:) \"There _was_ time.\"\n\n{606}\n\nMr. Merrivale: \"Did you not observe that some ale was poured out in\nthe tumbler when it was brought up?\"\n\n\"I did not observe it; it might have been so, but I could not say for\ncertain either way.\"\n\nMr. Merrivale to the coroner: \"My client desires me to state\ndistinctly that a small quantity, about a quarter of a glassful, was\nalready poured out when he went to the tray. He supposes it was done\nto save the overflow from the bottle.\"\n\nCoroner: \"I will note it.\"\n\nEvidence continued: \"My uncle drank half the ale at a draught, shook\nhis bead, and said: 'It is very bitter, to-night.' We neither made any\nremark upon it. He likewise took a biscuit and ate it. Soon afterward\nI rose to go. He would not say good-night to me. Hugh came to the door\nwith me--the study-door--and whispered, 'I'll try to appease him and\nmake it all right for you.' I went straight down-stairs and out of the\nhouse. I remember seeing my cousin's coat hanging in the hall; it was\na brown-tweed waterproof one; but I did not touch it. The coachman\ncame the following morning with the sad news to my chambers.\"\n\nMr. Merrivale: \"Are you acting as sole executor, Mr. Wilmot?\"\n\n\"I am; my cousin is aware of it.\"\n\nMr. Walker: \"It is illegal to ask for any depositions about the\ndeceased's will here.\"\n\nCoroner: \"I am the best judge of that, Mr. Walker. Anything which\nthrows light upon what we have to find out must be received as\nevidence.\"\n\nMr. Merrivale: \"Were you aware what the contents of your late uncle's\nwill were before you opened it at Messrs. Smith and Walker's?\"\n\n\"I was not; but both Hugh Atherton and myself were led to anticipate\nwhat the tenor of it would be.\"\n\n\"Have the results fulfilled your anticipations?\"\n\n\"I don't consider myself warranted in answering such a question.\"\n\nCoroner: \"Have you any thing else to state, Mr. Wilmot?\"\n\n\"Nothing, except that I believe in my cousin's innocence.\"\n\nMr. John Kavanagh was then called, and, after the usual preliminaries,\nstated that on his return from a tour in Switzerland on the afternoon\nof Tuesday, the 23d, he found a note from Mr. Thorneley, which he now\nproduced. (Note read by the coroner and passed on to the jurymen.)\nThat upon receipt of it he had gone to Mr. Thorneley's at the hour\nappointed, and had been shown at once into that gentleman's study. Had\nfound him very much altered for the worse and aged since last he had\nseen him, some months since. He looked as if some heavy trouble were\nupon him, weighing him down. He had transacted the business required,\nwhich occupied, he should say, an hour, and had then left him as calm\nand as well as when he (witness) first entered the room. He had chosen\nto walk home, and, stopping to light a segar at the corner of Vere\nstreet, had met Mr. Atherton _coming out of the chemist's shop_. Mr.\nAtherton had offered to accompany him home, but he (Witness) had\nrefused, and they had parted, Mr Atherton stating his intention of\ncoming to see him on the morrow. That the moment after, he had\nrepented his refusal and hurried back to ask him to return; but being\nnear-sighted and the night dark, had not been able to distinguish his\nfigure, and had given up the pursuit. Returning down Vere street,\nabout half-way he had met a female walking very fast, but who in\npassing had almost stopped, and stared very hard at him. She had on a\nthick veil, so he could not see her face, nor did he recognize her\nfigure. The circumstance had passed from his mind until detective\nJones had told him that Mr. Thorneley's housekeeper had been in Vere\nstreet that evening, and seen his meeting with Mr. Atherton, and then\nit had struck him it might have been she.--(Here Mr. Merrivale was\nseen to confer very earnestly with the {607} prisoner, and afterward\nto pass a slip of paper to the coroner, who after reading it bowed, as\nif in assent, and then beckoned to a policeman, who left the room.) He\nhad gone straight home to his chambers, and being tired went early to\nbed, and did not wake till very late the following morning, when his\nclerk had told him the news of Mr. Thorneley's death, and detective\nJones had called upon him shortly afterward.\n\nBy the coroner: \"What was the nature of the business which you\ntransacted with deceased?\"\n\n\"I am bound over very solemnly not to mention it until a certain\ntime.\"\n\n\"Was it a will you called the two servants to witness?\"\n\n\"I am not at liberty to answer. I pass my word as a gentleman and a\nman of honor that in no way do I consider this to affect my friend Mr.\nAtherton's present position; and that when it does I shall consider\nmyself free to speak.\"\n\nMr Walker: \"We shall compel you, Mr. Kavanagh, to speak in another\nplace than this. The breach of etiquette you have committed will not\nbe passed over by us as the family and confidential legal advisers of\nthe deceased gentleman.\"\n\n\"We shall both act as we think right, Mr. Walker.\"\n\nThe prisoner here in a very hollow voice said \"For God's sake, and for\nthe sake of one who is dear to us both, I entreat you, John Kavanagh,\nto reveal any thing that may help to clear an innocent man from this\nfrightful imputation.\"\n\n\"I will, Hugh, so help me God! But it would avail you nothing to speak\nnow.\"\n\nCoroner: \"Have you anything further to state?\"\n\n\"Nothing, save my most solemn religious conviction that Mr. Atherton\nis innocent, and that he is the victim of the foulest plot.\"\n\nMr. Walker here appealed to the coroner, and said he objected to such\ninsinuations being made there; that Mr. Kavanagh had done his best to\ncriminate the prisoner, and that he was now trying to cast the blame\nupon others.\n\nMr. Kavanagh was about to make some violent answer, when the coroner\ncalled to order.\n\nMr. Merrivale: \"Will you have the goodness, Mr. Kavanagh, to look\ntoward the end of the room, and see if you identify any one there?\"\n\nMr. Kavanagh: \"My God! _It is she!_\"\n\nCoroner: \"Who?\"\n\n\"The woman I met in Vere street that night.\"\n\nStanding opposite to the witness, with the light full upon her, was a\nfemale figure, closely veiled.\n\n\"I never met you, Mr. Kavanagh!\" it was the woman who spoke, loudly,\nvehemently.\n\nCoroner to witness: \"I see you are using your eyeglass now; were you\nusing it when you say you met this person in Vere street?\"\n\n\"I was.\"\n\n\"Could you swear that the figure standing before you now and the woman\nyou met are one and the same?\"\n\n\"I would swear that _the appearance_ of that woman standing before me\nnow and that of the figure I met is one and the same--the same height,\nthe same carriage, the same veiled face.\"\n\n\"I never met you, Mr. Kavanagh!\" repeated the woman, with a passionate\ngesture.\n\nCoroner: \"Mrs. Haag, you can retire.\" (It was the housekeeper.)\n\nMr. Walker: \"I don't see how this affects the case.\"\n\nMr. Merrivale: \"Probably not, sir; but you will see by and by. I am\nmuch obliged to you, Mr. Coroner.\"\n\nMr. Kavanagh is replaced by Inspector Jackson, detective officer, who\ndeposed that from information received at Scotland Yard on the morning\nof the 24th instant, he had been desired by his superintendent to\nproceed to 100 Wimpole street, the residence {608} of the deceased\ngentleman, and examine into the case, accompanied by detective Jones.\nFrom information received from the housekeeper and other servants, and\nafter a conference with the surgeon called in, his suspicions had\nfallen upon Mr. Atherton. He had left a policeman in charge from the\nnearest station-house, and gone with Jones direct to Mr. Atherton's\nchambers in the Temple. On breaking the nature of his visit to that\ngentleman, together with the news of Mr. Thorneley's death, he had\nbeen terribly overcome, and exclaimed that he was an innocent man, God\nwas his witness; that he would not have hurt a hair of the old man's\nhead; but certainly he _had_ been angry with him the night before.\nCautioned not to say anything which might criminate himself, Mr.\nAtherton had again said, in very solemn tones: \"My God, thou knowest I\nam innocent!\" Witness had searched Mr. Atherton's room and clothes; in\nthe pocket of his coat had found a small empty paper labelled\nSTRYCHNINE--POISON; with the name of \"Davis, chemist, 20 Vere street,\ncorner of Oxford street.\"--Questioned by Mr. Merrivale as to which\ncoat-pocket the packet was found in, replied the overcoat which Mr.\nAtherton wore on the previous evening.\n\nBy a juryman: \"How do you know it was the identical coat worn that\nevening?\"\n\n\"The man-servant, John Barker, swears to it; he took it from Mr.\nAtherton when he came to Mr. Thorneley's house, and hung it up in the\nhall to dry.\"\n\nThe prisoner: \"Yes, I did wear that coat; but I know nothing of the\npaper found in it.\"\n\nBy the coroner: \"Have you been in communication with the chemist in\nVere street?\"\n\nWitness: \"I have, sir; he remembers--\"\n\nMr. Merrivale: \"I object to this evidence coming from the mouth of Mr.\nInspector. The chemist is here and should be examined himself.\"\n\nMr. Walker, one of the solicitors of deceased \"I think that the\nevidence should be received from both the inspector and the chemist.\"\n\nMr. Merrivale: \"I still object.\"\n\nThe coroner: \"On what ground, Mr. Merrivale?\"\n\nMr. Merrivale: \"On the ground that the inspector having a preconceived\nnotion when he communicated with the chemist, the latter may have been\nmisled by his questions. I should at least wish that Davis should be\nexamined first, and his evidence received direct.\"\n\nThe coroner: \"Very well. Is there anything else, Mr. Inspector?\"\n\n\"Nothing else, except that Mr. Atherton denied all knowledge at once\nof the paper found.\"\n\nBy Mr. Merrivale: \"Did you not find also a bottle of camphorated\nspirits?\"\n\n\"I did; but on the table. It was a fresh bottle, unopened, and bore\nthe same label, from Mr. Davis's.\" (Witness dismissed.)\n\nMr. Merrivale here demanded to have the man Barker recalled, which was\ndone.\n\nMr. Merrivale: \"Can you swear to the overcoat which Mr. Atherton wore\nthe last evening he came to Wimpole street?\"\n\n\"Certainly, sir. It was a brown tweed waterproof, with deep pockets. I\nknow it well.\"\n\n\"Is that the coat?\" (Coat produced.)\n\n\"It is, sir.\"\n\n\"Can you swear to it?\"\n\n\"I can, sir.\"\n\n\"How long was it between the time Mr. Wilmot went away and the time\nMr. Atherton left the house?\"\n\n\"About half an hour or three quarters, I should say.\"\n\n\"Did you let him out?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Nor Mr. Atherton?'\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"Did you hear or know of any one being in the hall for any length of\ntime whilst Mr. Atherton was with his uncle?\"\n\n{609}\n\n\"No one could have been in the hall, sir, we servants were all at\nsupper.\"\n\n\"Was the housekeeper with you?\"\n\n\"No, sir; she has her supper in her own sitting-room always.\"\n\n\"Then how are you sure that she did not go into the hall?\"\n\n\"I should have heard her door open and her footsteps pass along the\npassage. The servants' hall door was open that I might hear master's\nbell.\"\n\n\"You feel certain of this?\"\n\n\"I do, sir.\"\n\n\"I have no more to ask this witness, Mr. Coroner.\"\n\nThomas Davis, chemist, was then called. He deposed that on the evening\nof the 23d he perfectly well remembered a gentleman coming into his\nshop and buying a small bottle of spirits of camphor. Could not swear\nto him, but thinks it may have been the prisoner. It was a tall\ngentleman. (Upon being shown the bottle of camphor, immediately\nidentified it as the one sold. The paper found in Mr. Atherton's\npocket was now produced, and he likewise identified it as coming from\nhis shop.) The paper and label were the same as he used.--Questioned\nas to whether he recollected selling any strychnine either on or\nbefore the 23d, replied he could not remember selling any; but that he\nhad found a memorandum in his day-book of one grain sold on the 23d.\n(Sensation.) Was quite sure it had been sold, or the entry would not\nhave been made; always made those entries himself. His assistant\nreported to him of anything sold during his absence from the shop, and\nhe then entered it in his day-book as a ready-money transaction. His\nassistant might have sold the strychnine on that day; but he had\nquestioned him and found he did not remember any particulars. Could\nswear that he himself remembered nothing about it.--by Mr. Merrivale:\nWas generally absent from the shop an hour at dinner-time--from one to\ntwo--and from five to half-past for tea; again at night from nine to\nhalf-past. Closed at ten.\n\nMr. Merrivale here asked that Mr. Wilmot and Mrs. Haag might severally\nbe brought in; to which Mr. Walker objected. The objection was\noverruled by the coroner, and Mr. Wilmot was summoned.\n\nMr. Merrivale: \"Do you remember having seen this gentleman before, Mr.\nDavis?\"\n\n\"I do not, sir.\"\n\n\"Nor remember his coming into your shop?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\nThe housekeeper was then called, with the same results.\n\nExamination of witness continued: His assistant was a remarkably\nsteady and able young man, intrusted with making up very important\nprescriptions; his word could be relied on; had been with him for five\nyears. He himself was a licensed member of Apothecaries' Hall.\n\nThe last witness summoned was James Ball, assistant to Mr. Davis, the\nchemist. In reply to the coroner, he never remembered having sold any\nstrychnine on the 23d, though he might have done so; in which case he\nwould report it to Mr. Davis, who would have entered it in the\nday-book. Was in the habit of mentioning each item as soon after it\nwas sold as opportunity permitted. Could not identify either Mr.\nWilmot or Mrs. Haag as having seen them in the shop.--By Mr. Walker:\nRemembered the prisoner coming into the shop on the evening of the\n23d; they did not often see such a tall gentleman. His employer, Mr.\nDavis, had served him with the camphor.\n\nBy Mr. Merrivale: \"Do you mean to say that a customer whom you did not\nserve, buying camphor, made an impression on your mind, and yet you\nhave no recollection of any one coming to your shop and asking for\nsuch a remarkable and _dangerous_ thing as strychnine?\"\n\nAfter a moment's consideration:\n\n{610}\n\n\"I remember that gentleman,\" (pointing to the prisoner,) \"because I\nwondered what his height might be, and what a jolly thing it must be\nto be so tall, especially with such a high counter to serve over.\"\n(Laughter. James Ball was considerably below the middle height) \"I\ndon't recollect anything at all about the strychnine.\"\n\nBy the coroner: \"It is a question probably of life or death, James\nBall, to that gentleman, Mr. Atherton; and I conjure you to strive to\nthe utmost of your power to call to mind any circumstance concerning\nthe sale of that poison which may throw some light upon the subject\nTake your time now to consider, for I see you _can_ recollect things.\"\n\nAfter some moments of dead silence, James Ball replied, \"I remember\nnothing further than what I have already stated.\"\n\nThis closed the evidence, and coroner, summing up, addressed the jury.\nHe commented upon the awfulness of the crime which had been committed;\non the fearful increase of the use of poisons of every kind for the\npurpose of taking away human life. He said in this case the principal\nfacts they had to deal with were, that it was proved on evidence that\npoison had been administered to deceased in the bitter ale, which he\nhad taken before going to bed. That the poison was pronounced to be\nstrychnine, which it was well known would probably not take effect\nuntil an hour or so after it had been imbibed. That the glass of\nbitter ale in which the strychnine had been detected was poured out\nand given to deceased by his nephew, Mr. Hugh Atherton, in presence of\nhis other nephew, Mr. Wilmot. That it had been proved by medical\nevidence that in the ale remaining in the bottle no strychnine had\nbeen detected. All suspicions therefore were confined to the ale which\nhad been _poured out_. That Mr. Atherton had been heard to use angry,\nif not threatening, language to the deceased, (he repeated the words,)\nand had been seen by two witnesses coming out of the chemist's shop\nkept by the identical man whose name was on the paper labelled\nStrychnine, and found in the prisoner's pocket. The prisoner's legal\nadviser had stated that a portion of the ale was already poured out in\nthe tumbler, when he (the prisoner) approached the table for the\npurpose of helping his uncle; but no evidence had been adduced of the\nfact. Mrs. Haag, the housekeeper, had stated to the contrary. Still\nthe prisoner was entitled to the benefit of the doubt. There had been\npositive evidence that the deceased had died from the effects of\npoison; it rested with the jury to decide whether the other evidence\nwas sufficiently conclusive to warrant their finding a verdict against\nthe prisoner as having administered the poison.\n\nAfter a consultation of some quarter of an hour, the jury returned a\nverdict of _Wilful Murder against Mr. Hugh Atherton_.\n\nMerrivale brought me the news in that dull back-room where I waited,\nheaven only knows with what crushing, heart-sick anxiety, and we left\nthe house--that doomed house of death, of woe and desolation to the\nliving.\n\nThe crowd outside had thickened and densified; but their cries and\nclamors were meaningless sounds for me. As we stood on the pavement\nwhilst Merrivale hailed a cab, I felt something thrust into my hand--a\npiece of paper. I looked round and saw a man disappearing amongst the\nthrong, who presently turned and held up his hand to me. He was in\nplain clothes and somewhat disguised; but I recognized Jones the\ndetective. When in the cab I unfolded the paper, and read, hastily\nscrawled in pencil:\n\n  \"Meet me, sir, please, on the Surrey end of London Bridge to-night\n  at nine o'clock.\"\n     \"A. Jones.\"\n\n{611}\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nIN BLUE-ANCHOR LANE.\n\nNine o'clock was striking, as I hurried along the footway of London\nBridge, hustled and jostled by the many passengers who seem to be\nforever treading their weary road of business, care, or pleasure--for\neven pleasure brings its toil; nine o'clock resounding loud and clear\nin the night-air from the dome of St. Paul's, and echoed from the\nneighboring church-steeples. It sounds romantic enough to please the\nmost enthusiastic devourers of pre-Radcliffe novels, or to capture the\nimagination of the most ardent votaries of fiction. But it was far\notherwise to me on the night of that Thursday which had seen Hugh\nAtherton branded with the name of murderer. It was far otherwise to\nme--weighed down with the crushing knowledge that the companion of my\nyouth, the friend of my later years, although an innocent man, was\nbeing gradually hurried on to a felon's death; and that I--_I_ who\nloved him so well--had helped to his destruction, though Heaven could\nwitness how unwillingly and unconsciously. No; there was no romance\nfor me that night as I dragged my weary steps over the bridge, with\nthe sight of him before my eyes, and the sound of heart-bursting grief\nfrom the lips of that poor stricken girl, his betrothed bride, ringing\nin my ears; for I had been to tell her the results of this day's work.\nOh! why had I not yielded to his wish the evening I met Hugh Atherton\nin that fatal street, and taken him home with me? Why had I not more\nearnestly followed up the impulse--nay, dare I not call it\ninspiration?--to return after him and bid him come back with me? Ah\nme! my selfishness, my blindness--could any remorse ever atone for\nthem and the terrible evil they had brought about? My God, thou\nknowest how my heart cried out to thee then in bitterness and sorrow:\n\"Smite me with thy righteous judgments; but spare him--spare her!\"\n\nAnd now what new scene in this drama of life was I going to see\nunfolded? I could not tell; I knew nothing; I could only pray that if\nProvidence pointed out to me any track by which I might penetrate the\nawful mystery that hung round us, I might pursue it with all fidelity,\nwith utter forgetfulness of self. I had gone with Merrivale after we\nleft Wimpole street to the House of Detention where Atherton was\nlodged, and desired him to ask that I should see Hugh; but he had come\nout looking puzzled and perplexed, and said: \"I can't make it out;\nAtherton refuses to see you, and gives no reason except that it is\n'best not.'\" No help was there, then, but to trust to time and\nunwearied exertion to remove the cloud between us.\n\nI found Jones waiting for me at the other end of the bridge, and\nanxiously on the look-out.\n\n\"I am right glad to see you, sir; I was fearful you mightn't come,\nseeing that I gave you no reason for doing so.\"\n\n\"I trusted you sufficiently, Jones, to belive you wouldn't have\nbrought me on a useless errand at such a time of awful anxiety.\"\n\n\"Bless you, sir, I wouldn't--not for a thousand pounds; and I've had\nthat offered to me in my day by parties as wished to get rid of me or\nshut me up. No, indeed, sir; I'd not add to your trouble if so be I\ncould not lighten it. But we have no time to lose, and we have a\ngoodish bit before us. You asked me this morning whether I knew any\nthing of a Mr. de Vos. I did not then, but I do now; and a strange\nchance threw me across him. If, sir, you will trust yourself entirely\nto me to-night, I think I can be of use to you. But you must confide\nin me, and allow me to take the lead in everything. And first, will\nyou let me ask you one or two questions?\"\n\nI told him he might ask anything he pleased; if I could not answer, I\nwould tell him so; that I would trust him implicitly.\n\n{612}\n\n\"Then, sir, will you condescend to honor me by coming home first for a\nfew minutes? My missus expects us. She's in a terrible way about Mr.\nAtherton: she never forgets past kindness.\"\n\nWe turned off the bridge, straight down Wellington street, High street\nBorough, and then into King street, where Jones stopped before a\nrespectable-looking private house, and knocked. The door was opened by\nhis wife--with whom, under other circumstances, I had been acquainted\nbefore--and we entered their neat little front-parlor. Evidently we\nwere expected, for supper was laid--homely, but substantial, and\ntemptingly clean.\n\n\"You must excuse us, sir,\" said Jones; \"but I fancied it was likely\nyou had taken little enough to-day, and I told Jane to have something\nready for us. Please to eat, Mr. Kavanagh; we have a short journey\nbefore us, and I want you to have all your wits and energies about\nyou.\"\n\nI was faint and sick, true enough; for I had touched nothing save a\nbiscuit and a glass of wine since the morning; but my stomach seemed\nto loathe food; and though I drew to the table, not wishing to offend\nthe good people, I felt as if to swallow a morsel would choke me.\nJones cut up the cold ham and chicken in approved style, whilst his\nwife busied herself with slicing off thin rounds of bread and butter;\nbut I toyed with my knife and fork, and could not eat. Not so Jones;\nhe took down incredible quantities of all that was before him with the\nzest of a man who knows he is going to achieve luck's victory.\nPresently he threw down his tools, and looked hard at me.\n\n\"This'll never do, sir; you _must_ eat.\"\n\nI shook my head and smiled.\n\n\"Jane,\" said he to his wife, \"bring out Black Peter; no one ever\nneeded him more than Mr. Kavanagh.\"\n\nMrs. Jones opened a cupboard and brought forth a tapery-necked bottle,\nout of which her husband very carefully poured some liquid into a\nwineglass, and then as carefully corked it up again.\n\n\"Drink this, sir; I've never known it to fail yet.\"\n\nI lifted the glass to my lips. \"Why, it's the primest Cura\u00e7oa!\" I\ncried.\n\n\"That it may be, sir, for all I know. A poor German, to whom I once\nrendered a service, sent me two bottles, and I've found it the best\ncordial I ever tasted. I call it Black Peter--his name was Peter, and\nhe was uncommonly black, to be sure--but I never heard its right name\nbefore. Drink it off, sir, and you'll feel a world better presently.\"\n\nI did, and the effects were as Jones prognosticated. The cold, sick\nshivering left me, and I was able in a little while to take some food.\n\n\"Now, Jane,\" said the good man to his wife, when he saw I was getting\non all right, \"shut up your ears; Mr. Kavanagh and I are going to talk\nbusiness.\"\n\nMrs. Jones laughed, picked up some needle-work, and sat down to a\nsmall table by the fire.\n\n\"My wife's a true woman, sir, in every thing but her tongue; she\n_don't_ talk: I'll back her against Sir Richard himself for keeping\ndark on a secret case. Now, sir, will you please to tell me, if you\ncan, why you are anxious to find out about this Mr. de Vos?\"\n\nI related to him about my meeting De Vos at my sister's, what I had\nheard and witnessed in Swain's Lane, the impressions made upon me\nthen, and how I had caught sight of the man outside the police-court\non the preceding day. Jones listened very attentively, and made notes\nof it all.\n\n\"Exactly,\" said he, when I ended by saying that Mr. Wilmot had denied\nall knowledge of De Vos and the rendezvous in Swain's Lane. \"Just what\nI expected. Of course he would.\"\n\n\"What! Do you think he did know, and that it was Wilmot's voice I\nheard?\"\n\n{613}\n\n\"I think nothing, sir\" said be, with a curious smile; \"but I guess a\ngood deal. We have a terribly-tangled skein to unravel; but I think in\nfollowing up this man we have got the right end of it. I must now tell\nyou how I stumbled upon him to-day. I heard from inspector Keene that\nhe was engaged by Mr. Merrivale to see into this murder of old Mr.\nThorneley; and knowing how partial I was to Mr. Atherton--good reason\ntoo--he asked me if I'd like to help him, and if so, he'd speak about\nme to Sir Richard Mayne. I said I would, above all things, for I'd had\na hand in taking him, though I believed he was innocent; and now I'd\ngive much to help him back to his liberty again. To cut short with the\nstory, it was settled I should hang about the house to-day during the\ninquest in disguise, to pick up any stray information that might be\nlet drop; for there's a deal more known, sir, about rich folks and\ntheir households by such people as those who were crowded round the\nhouse today than ever you'd think for; and we gather much of our most\nvaluable information by mixing in these crowds unknown, and listening\nto the casual gossip that goes on in them. So I made myself up into a\ndecent old guy, and took my way to Wimpole street. Whilst waiting to\ncross Oxford street two men came up behind me, and I heard a few words\ndrop which made me turn round to look at them. Sure enough, one\nanswered most perfectly your description of this Mr. De Vos. I thought\nto myself, 'Here's game worth following;' and I did follow, and heard\nthem make an appointment for to-night on this side the water. Now,\nsir, do you see why I asked you to meet me?'\n\n\"I do. We must be present at the meeting.\"\n\n\"Just so, sir; and we have no time to lose, for the hour mentioned was\nsoon after ten o'clock. If you'll take nothing else we will go. We\nmust go made up; and you'll trust entirely to me.\"\n\n\"You mean disguised?\"\n\n\"I do, sir; if you'll come up-stairs, I'll give you what is\nnecessary.\"\n\nUp-stairs we went, and Jones produced from a chest of drawers a rough\ncommon seaman's jacket, a pair of duck trowsers, a woollen comforter,\na tarpaulin hat, and a false black beard, in which he rigged me out;\nand then proceeded to make similar change in his own attire, with the\nexception of a wig of shaggy red hair and a pair of whiskers to match.\n\n\"Leave your watch, sir, and any little articles of jewelry you may\nhave about you, in my wife's charge; keep your hat well slouched over\nyour face and your hands in your pockets, give a swing and swagger to\nyour walk, and you'll do.\"\n\n\"Why, where upon earth are we going, Jones?\"\n\n\"To Blue-Anchor Lane, sir, if you know where that very fashionable\nquarter lies.\"\n\nI did not know exactly where it was, saying from police-reports, which\nnamed it as one of the lowest parts of that low district lying between\nBermondsey and Rotherhithe. I had been somewhere near it once, having\noccasion to call on one of the clergy belonging to the Catholic Church\nin Parker's Row; but that was quite an aristocratic part, for a\nwonder, compared with Blue-Anchor Lane. Yes, Parker's Row I had\nvisited; and, thanks to my having grown and \"gentlefolked\" to the\nheight of six feet odd, I had managed to pull the bell and get\nadmitted to the convent behind the church, where dwell the good\nSisters of Mercy, walled-in all tight and trim. But down Blue-Anchor\nLane I had never penetrated; and I asked Jones if it were not\nconsidered a favorite haunt for characters of the worst description.\n\n\"It is so, sir; and we must be careful and cautious to-night in all we\ndo.\" I noticed that he put his staff and alarum in his pocket, and\nfurnished me with similar implements. \"In case of necessity, sir,\" he\nsaid, {614} laughing, \"you must act as special constable with me. I\nwouldn't take you into the smallest danger; but, you see, I don't know\nbut what your presence is of absolute necessity, and that you may be\nable to gather a clue in this case quicker than I should. Not that I\nyield in quickness at twigging most things to any man,\" said Detective\nJones, with a bit of professional pride quite pardonable; \"but you\nmust identify the man for certain yourself, sir, before I can act in\nthe matter with anything like satisfaction.\"\n\nIt was just upon ten o'clock when we left King street, and proceeded\nto London Bridge; whence we took the train to Spa Road. It takes, as\nevery one knows, but a few minutes in the transit; and leaving that\ndark, dismal, break-neck hole of a station, we turned to the left up\nSpa Road, down Jamaica Row, and so into Blue-Anchor Lane. It is\nneedless to describe what that place is at night; it is needless to\npicture in words all the degrading vice that walks forth unmasked in\nsome of the streets of this capital, which ranks so high amidst the\ngreat cities o the world. Is our exterior morality to be so far\nbehind, so infinitely below, that of tribes and nations on whom we\nstoop to trample? Can such things be, and we not waken from our\nlethargic sleep, remembering what our account will one day be? Can our\nrulers so calmly eat and drink, take their pleasure, hunt their game,\npursue their gentlemanlike sports, knowing, as assuredly they do too\nwell, that thousands of their people are living lives more degraded,\nmore brutal, more shamelessly inhuman, more full of sin, ignorance,\nand every kind of squalor and misery, than the wildest savages we have\nset our soldiers to hunt out of the lands in which God placed them?\n\n\"What can the man be doing in such a place as this?\" I whispered to\nJones, as he stopped before the door of a small low-looking house of\nentertainment, half coffee-shop and half public-house, that rejoiced\nin the name of \"Noah's Ark.\"\n\n\"That's just what we've got to find out, sir. Somehow it strikes me\nhe's better acquainted with such haunts as these than you and I are\nwith Regent street or Piccadilly. If I haven't seen his face before,\nand that not ten yards from the Old Bailey, I'm blest if I was ever\nmore mistaken in my life. But hush! here he is.\"\n\nAnd swaggering along, with his hat stuck on one side, and murmuring a\nverse of \"Rory O'Moore,\" came Mr. de Vos, my sister Elinor's\n\"treasure-trove,\" evidently somewhat airy in the upper regions, and\nelated by good cheer. Jones had taken out a short clay pipe, and\nwhilst seemingly intent on filling it I saw he was watching De Vos\nwith a keen observant glance. The latter gentleman was far from being\nintoxicated; he was merely what is called \"elevated,\" and quite wide\nawake enough to be wary of anything going on around him. I saw him\nstart perceptibly as his eye fell upon me, though my slouched hat and\nhigh collar must have gone a good way toward concealing my features.\n\n\"Fine night, mate,\" said Jones in a bluff, loud voice, lighting and\npulling vigorously at his pipe.\n\n\"Deed and it is so,\" answered De Vos, halting just opposite to us, and\nonce more turning his scrutiny upon me. \"Are you game for a dhrop of\nwhiskey?\" addressing himself especially to me.\n\nI was about to answer in feigned tones, when Jones took the word out\nof my mouth, and replied: \"No use asking him--he's too love-sick just\nnow to care for drink; he's parted with his sweetheart, and is off for\nthe West-Indies by five in the morning from the Docks.\"\n\nSomething now seemed to attract De Vos's attention to Jones, for he\nbecame suddenly very grave.\n\n\"I've not seen you here before,\" said he, peering into the detective's\nface.\n\n{615}\n\n\"May be you have, may be you haven't. I don't need to ask any man's\nleave to drink a pint at 'Noah's Ark,' and watch a game of skittles.\"\n\nThis, as Jones told me afterward, was quite a random shot; however, it\ntook effect.\n\n\"I believe you,\" said De Vos with all the boastfulness of his nature.\n\"You'll not see a betther bowler through the country entirely than\nmeself. I'll back the odds against any man this side the Channel, and\nbedad to it. I dare say now it's here on Monday last you were to see\nme play?\"\n\n\"Ay, ay, mate,\" sang out Jones; \"right enough.\"\n\n\"Ah! thin it was small shiners I went in for then; but I'll lay a\ncouple of fivers now against a brad, and play you fair to-morrow\nagainst any of them in there,\" with a back-handed wave to the house,\nwhence unmistakable sounds of noisy mirth were proceeding. \"Is it\ndone?\"\n\n\"I'll consider your offer--shiver my timbers but I will!\" said Jones,\nwith a burst of Jack-tar-ism--\"and let you know in the morning.\"\n\n\"Just as you please; you pays your money and you takes your choice;\"\nand nodding to Jones, who responded to the salute in approved style,\nDe Vos passed into the tap-room of the \"Ark.\"\n\n\"Is it he?\" hurriedly whispered Jones when he was out of hearing.\n\n\"Yes, without doubt,\" answered I, in the same tones.\n\n\"Then follow me, sir; and keep silent unless I speak to you;\" and we\nlikewise entered through the swing-doors of the gayly-lighted bar.\n\nA glance sufficed to show us that the man we sought was not there; but\nJones was far from being disconcerted; indeed he seemed most\nthoroughly up to the mark in the task before him, and threw himself\ninto the part he had assigned himself with all the genius and facility\nof a Billington or Toole. Three or four men with physiognomies that\nwould not have disgraced the hangman's rope were drinking, smoking,\nand exchanging low _badinage_ with a flashy-looking young woman, who\nstood behind the bar-counter. Woman, did I say? Angels pity her! There\nwas little of womanly nature left in the fierce glitter of her eyes,\nin the hard lines of premature age which dissipation and sin and woe\nhad left carved upon her forehead and around her mouth. Little enough\nof this though, no doubt, thought Detective Jones, intent upon his own\npurposes, as he quickly made up to her, and asked with all the\nswaggering audacity of a \"jolly tar,\" for two stiff glasses of the\nprimest pine-apple rum-and-water.\n\nJones extracted a long clay pipe from the lot standing before us in a\nbroken glass, and passed it to me, and handed his pouch of tobacco,\nwith an expressive glance that told me I was to smoke. Whilst filling\nthe pipe and lighting it, the woman returned with the rum-and-water,\nwhich she placed ungraciously before us with a bang and clatter that\ncaused the liquid to spill out of the glasses.\n\n\"Look here, miss,\" said Jones in his most insinuating tones; \"I'll\nforgive you for upsetting the grog, and give you five bob to buy a\nblue ribbon for your pretty hair, if you'll manage to get me and my\nmate a snug comer inside there,\" pointing to a door on the left,\nwhence issued voices; \"for we've a bit of money business to settle\nto-night, and he's off first thing in the morning for the Indies.\"\n\nThe woman seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then holding out her\nhand for the promised tip, she beckoned us to pass inside the bar, and\nled the way to the door. Before she opened it she said in a low voice:\n\n\"I am doing as much as my place is worth; but I want the money; take\nthe table in the corner at the top here; keep yourselves quiet, and\ndon't take no notice of nobody, least of all of him who'll be next\nyou.\"\n\n{616}\n\nShe now opened the door, and I saw Jones slip some more money into her\nhand, which she received with a short grunt and a nod, and then closed\nthe door upon us.\n\nThe room was divided like that of an ordinary coffee-shop into box\ncompartments; the one in the right-hand corner by the door was empty,\nand we entered it, carrying our glasses and pipes with us. We seated\nourselves at the end of the two benches opposite each other, and then\nglanced round. In the box _vis-\u00e0-vis_ were two rough-looking fellows,\nwhom I took to be real followers of our pretended calling--the sea.\nThey returned our gaze suspiciously enough, and we could hear one\nwhisper to the other, \"Who's them coves?\" and the answer \"Dunno; none\nof _us_.\" But the next moment my attention was diverted to the voices\nin the box next to ours.\n\n\"Did you see _her_?\" It was De Vos who spoke, I felt sure.\n\n\"Not I, my God! not I,\" answered a deep hoarse voice. \"It's ten years\nsince she and I met, and I'd go to my grave sooner than we should meet\nagain. Mind you, the day when her cold cruel eyes rest on me will be a\nfatal day for me. Faugh! I've passed through as much bloodshed as it's\never given one man to encounter in his life, and never flinched; but I\ntell you, Sullivan, the thought of meeting her face to face seems to\nfreeze the life-blood of my heart.\"\n\n\"Do you think she had a hand in this, O'Brian?\"\n\n\"Who can tell? She did not pause once; what should stop her again?\"\n\n\"The fear of you.\"\n\n\"She sees no reason to fear. She believes I'm still over _there_,\nwhere she sent me.\"\n\n\"And the young fellow, _my_ man, does he know anything?\"\n\n\"Again how can I tell? But I should say not. How could _she_ enlighten\n_him_?\"\n\n\"Then he is--\"\n\n\"Their son.\"\n\nA pause succeeded. Meanwhile Jones had engaged in a sort of dumb-show\nwith me to throw the men opposite off the scent, by passing papers and\nmoney backwards and forwards, and apparently making calculations with\nhis pencil; in reality I saw he was taking notes. Presently De Vos\nspoke again.\n\n\"Well, let's drink to the heir, old boy; and so long as I can make him\nplay the piper, why thin it's myself that will, and bedad to him.\"\n\nHis Irishisms, be it observed, were intermittent.\n\n\"Long life to the heir!\" cried the two voices simultaneously; and\nthere was a clash of glasses.\n\n\"What's the time of day by your ticker?\" asked De Vos a few moments\nafterward.\n\n\"Just upon eleven. The lad was to be here by then, wasn't he?\"\n\n\"Yes, by eleven. I'd like to know what he wants with me now.\"\n\nJones here took up his cap, buttoned his coat, quietly opened the\ndoor, and went out; I following him, of course. He threw a\ngood-humored nod to the woman, who still stood behind the bar, and I\ndid the same; but he never spoke until we were some yards from \"Noah's\nark.\"\n\n\"You may be thankful, sir,\" he then said in a low voice, \"to have got\nout safely and unmolested. That's the worst haunt of some of the worst\ncharacters in London; and they're banded together so as to shut out\nevery one as don't belong to them. There's been a Providence, sir, in\nit all,\" raising his cap, \"depend upon it. Now we must see if we can\nstop this lad whom they are expecting. We'll talk the matter over\nafterward.\"\n\nJust then a boy came up running at full speed.\n\n\"Halt!\" cried Jones, laying his hand on the lad's shoulder. \"What\nmakes you so late?\"\n\n\"What's the odds to you? Let me go,\" replied the boy, with a mixture\nof impudence and cunning in his face. \"I'm not not bound for you.\"\n\n\"You're bound for 'Noah's Ark,' though.\"\n\n{617}\n\n\"Are you Mr. Sullivan?\"\n\n\"Of course I am.\"\n\n\"Oh! then here's the letter, and you're to see if it's all right.\"\n\n\"All right,\" said Detective Jones, opening the note and glancing at\nits contents; \"tell the gentleman I'll be there. Here's for you, young\nCodlings,\" dropping a half-crown into the boy's hand.\n\n\"Five shillings, and not a stiver less, is my fare.\"\n\n\"Here you are then, you small imp of iniquity;\" and another coin of\nsimilar value found its way into the ragamuffin's pocket.\n\nHe cut a caper, turned head over heels, and was gone.\n\nAnd now Jones tore on breathlessly till we were safe out of\nBlue-Anchor Lane and had reached Paradise Row, where a policeman was\nstanding at the corner. Jones took him aside for a minute, and then\nrejoined me.\n\n\"We'll hail the first cab, sir, in Spa Road, and drive to your home,\nif you've no objection.\"\n\nThis we did; and as soon as we had started he took a small\ncandle-lantern from his pocket, lit it, and then handed me the note to\nread which he had taken from the boy. It contained but few words; no\nnames used, no address, no signature, and simply desired the person\naddressed to meet the writer the following day at the usual place and\nhour. What clue was there in that to the dark mystery we were bent on\nsolving? Only this, and I put it into words:\n\n\"Great heavens! it is Lister Wilmot's handwriting!\"\n\n\n\nTO BE CONTINUED.\n\n------\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nTHE MARTYR.\n\n\n  Serene above the world he stands,\n    Uplift to heaven on wings of prayer:\n  Across his breast his folded hands\n    Recall the cross he loved to bear.\n\n  Upon his upturned brow the light\n    Flows like the smile of God: he sees\n  A flash of wings that daze his sight,\n    He hears seraphic melodies.\n\n  In vain the cruel crowd may roar,\n    In vain the cruel flames may hiss:\n  Like seas that lash a distant shore,\n    They faintly pierce his sphering bliss.\n\n  He hears them, and he does not hear--\n    His fleshly bonds are loosened all--\n  No earthly sound can claim the ear\n    That listens for his Father's call.\n\n  It comes--and swift the spirit spurns,\n    His quivering lips and soars away;\n  The blind crowd roars, the  blind fire burns,\n    While God receives their fancied prey.\n\nD. A. C.\n\n------\n\n{618}\n\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nECCE HOMO.  [Footnote 131]\n\n  [Footnote 131: \"Ecce homo.\" A Survey of the Life and Work of Jesus\n  Christ. Macmillan. 1866.]\n\n  [The London _Reader_ says the following article is from the pen of\n  the Very Rev. Dr. Newman.--Ed. C.W.]\n\nThe word \"remarkable\" has been so hacked of late in theological\ncriticism--nearly as much so as \"earnest\" and \"thoughtful\"--that we do\nnot like to make use of it on the present occasion without an apology.\nIn truth, it presents itself as a very convenient epithet, whenever we\ndo not like to commit ourselves to any definite judgment on a subject\nbefore us, and prefer to spread over it a broad neutral tint to\npainting it distinctly white, red, or black. A man, or his work, or\nhis deed, is \"remarkable\" when he produces an effect; be he effective\nfor good or for evil, for truth or for falsehood--a point which, as\nfar as that expression goes, we leave it for others or for the future\nto determine. Accordingly it is just the word to use in the instance\nof a volume in which what is trite and what is novel, what is striking\nand what is startling, what is sound and what is untrustworthy, what\nis deep and what is shallow, are so mixed up together, or at least so\nvaguely suggested, or so perplexingly confessed, which has so much of\noccasional force, of circumambient glitter, of pretence and of\nseriousness, as to make it impossible either with a good conscience to\npraise it, or without harshness and unfairness to condemn. Such a book\nis at least likely to be effective, whatever else it is or is not; and\nif it is effective, it may be safely called remarkable, and therefore\nwe apply the epithet \"remarkable\" to this \"Ecce Homo.\"\n\nIt is remarkable, then, on account of the sensation which it has made\nin religious circles. In the course of a few months it has reached a\nthird edition, though it is a fair-sized octavo and not an over-cheap\none. And it has received the praise of critics and reviewers of very\ndistinct shades of opinion. Such a reception must be owing either to\nthe book itself or to the circumstances of the day in which it has\nappeared, or to both of these causes together. Or, as seems to be the\ncase, the needs of the day have become a call for some such work; and\nthe work, on its appearance, has been thankfully welcomed, on account\nof its professed object, by those whose needs called for it. The\nauthor includes himself in the number of these; and, while providing\nfor his own wants, he has ministered to theirs. This is what we\nespecially mean by calling his book \"remarkable.\"\n\nDisputants may maintain, if they please, that religious doubt is our\nnatural, our normal state; that to cherish doubts is our duty that to\ncomplain of them is impatience; that to dread them is cowardice; that\nto overcome them is inveracity; that it is even a happy state, a state\nof calm philosophic enjoyment, to be conscious of them--but after all,\nnecessary or not, such a state is not natural, and not happy, if the\nvoice of mankind is to decide the question. English minds, in\nparticular, have too much of a religious temper in them, as a natural\ngift, to acquiesce for any long time in positive, active doubt. For\ndoubt and devotion are incompatible with each other; every doubt, be\nit greater or less, stronger or weaker, involuntary as well as\nvoluntary, acts upon {619} devotion, so far forth, as water sprinkled,\nor dashed, or poured out upon a flame, Real and proper doubt kills\nfaith, and devotion with it; and even involuntary or half-deliberate\ndoubt, though it does not actually kill faith, goes far to kill\ndevotion; and religion without devotion is little better than a\nburden, and soon becomes a superstition. Since, then, this is a day of\nobjection and of doubt about the intellectual basis of revealed truth,\nit follows that there is a great deal of secret discomfort and\ndistress in the religions portion of the community, the result of that\ngeneral curiosity in speculation and inquiry which has been the growth\namong us of the last twenty or thirty years.\n\nThe people of this country, being Protestants, appeal to Scripture,\nwhen a religious question arises, as their ultimate informant and\ndecisive authority in all such matters; but who is to decide for them\nthe previous question, that Scripture is really such an authority?\nWhen, then, as at this time, its divine authority is the very point to\nbe determined, that is, the character and extent of its inspiration\nand its component parts, then they find themselves at sea, without\npossessing any power over the direction of their course. Doubting\nabout the authority of Scripture, they doubt about its substantial\ntruth; doubting about its truth, they have doubts concerning the\nobjects which it sets before their faith, about the historical\naccuracy and objective reality of the picture which it presents to us\nof our Lord. We are not speaking of wilful doubting but of those\npainful misgivings, greater or less, to which we have already alluded.\nReligious Protestants, when they think calmly on the subject, can\nhardly conceal from themselves that they have a house without logical\nfoundations, which contrives indeed for the present to stand, but\nwhich may go any day--and where are they then?\n\nOf course Catholics will tell them to receive the canon of Scripture\non the authority of the church, in the spirit of St. Augustine's\nwell-known words: \"I should not believe the gospel, were I not moved\nby the authority of the Catholic Church.\" But who, they ask, is to be\nvoucher in turn for the church and St. Augustine? is it not as\ndifficult to prove the authority of the church and her doctors as the\nauthority of the Scriptures? We Catholics answer, and with reason, in\nthe negative; but, since they cannot be brought to agree with us here,\nwhat argumentative ground is open to them? Thus they seem drifting,\nslowly perhaps, but surely, in the direction of scepticism.\n\nIt is under these circumstances that they are invited, in the volume\nbefore us, to betake themselves to the contemplation of our Lord's\ncharacter, as it is recorded by the evangelists, as carrying with it\nits own evidence, dispensing with extrinsic proof, and claiming\nauthoritatively by itself the faith and devotion of all to whom it is\npresented. Such an argument, of course, is as old as Christianity\nitself; the young man in the Gospel calls our Lord \"Good Master,\" and\nSt. Peter introduces him to the first Gentile converts as one who\n\"went about doing good;\" and in these last times we can refer to the\ntestimony even of unbelievers in behalf of an argument as simple as it\nis constraining. \"Si la vie et la mort de Socrate sont d'un sage,\"\nsays Rousseau, \"la vie et la mort de J\u00e9sus sont d'un Dieu.\" And he\nclenches the argument by observing, that, were the picture a mere\nconception of the sacred writers, \"l'inventeur en serait plus \u00e9tonnant\nque le h\u00e9ros.\" Its especial force lies in its directness; it comes to\nthe point at once, and concentrates in itself evidence, doctrine, and\ndevotion. In theological language, it is the _motivum credibilitatis_,\nthe _objectum materiale_ and the _formale_, all in one; it unites\nhuman reason and supernatural faith in one complex act; and it comes\nhome to all men, educated and ignorant, young and old. And it is the\npoint to which, after all {620} and in fact, all religious minds tend,\nand in which they ultimately rest, even if they do not start from it.\nWithout an intimate apprehension of the personal character of our\nSaviour, what professes to be faith is little more than an act of\nratiocination. If faith is to live, it must love; it must lovingly\nlive in the author of faith as a true and living being, _in Deo vivo\net vero_; according to the saying of the Samaritans to their\ntowns-woman: \"We now believe, not for thy saying, for we ourselves\nhave heard him.\" Many doctrines may be held implicitly; but to see him\nas if intuitively is the very promise and gift of him who is the\nobject of the intuition. We are constrained to believe when it is he\nthat speaks to us about himself.\n\nSuch undeniably is the characteristic of divine faith viewed in\nitself; but here we are concerned, not simply with faith, but with its\nlogical antecedents; and the question returns on which we have already\ntouched, as a difficulty with Protestants--how can our Lord's life, as\nrecorded in the Gospels, be a logical ground of faith, unless we set\nout with assuming the truth of those Gospels; that is, without\nassuming as proved the original matter of doubt? And Protestant\napologists, it may be urged--Paley for instance--show their sense of\nthis difficulty when they place the argument drawn from our Lord's\ncharacter only among the auxiliary evidences of Christianity. Now the\nfollowing answer may fairly be made to this objection; nor need we\ngrudge Protestants the use of it, for, as will appear in the sequel,\nit proves too much for their purpose, as being an argument for the\ndivinity not only of Christ's mission, but of that of his church also.\nHowever, we say this by the way.\n\nIt may be maintained then, that, making as large an allowance as the\nmost sceptical mind, when pressed to state its demands in full, would\ndesire, we are at least safe in asserting that the books of the New\nTestament, taken as a whole, existed about the middle of the second\ncentury, and were then received by Christians, or were in the way of\nbeing received, and nothing else but them was received, as the\nauthoritative record of the origin and rise of their religion. In that\nfirst age they were the only account of the mode in which Christianity\nwas introduced to the world. Internal as well as external evidence\nsanctions us in so speaking. Four Gospels, the book of the acts of the\nApostles, various Apostolic writings, made up then, as now, our sacred\nbooks. Whether there was a book more or less, say even an important\nbook, does not affect the general character of the religion as those\nbooks set it forth. Omit one or other of the Gospels, and three or\nfour Epistles, and the outline and nature of its objects and its\nteaching remain what they were before the omission. The moral\npeculiarities, if particular, of its Founder are, on the whole,\nidentical, whether we learn them from St. Matthew, St. John, St.\nPeter, or St. Paul. He is not in one book a Socrates, in another a\nZeno, and in a third an Epicurus. Much less is the religion changed or\nobscured by the loss of particular chapters or verses, or even by\ninaccuracy in fact, or by error in opinion, (supposing _per\nimpossible_ such a charge could be made good,) in particular portions\nof a book. For argument's sake, suppose that the three first Gospels\nare an accidental collection of traditions or legends, for which no\none is responsible, and in which Christians put faith because there\nwas nothing else to put faith in. This is the limit to which extreme\nscepticism can proceed, and we are willing to commence our argument by\ngranting it. Still, starting at this disadvantage, we should be\nprepared to argue, that if, in spite of this, and after all, there be\nshadowed out in these anonymous and fortuitous documents a teacher\n_sui generis_, distinct, consistent, and original, then does that\npicture, thus accidentally resulting, for the very reason {621} of its\naccidental composition, only become more marvellous; then he is an\nhistorical fact and again a supernatural or divine fact--historical\nfrom the consistency of the representation, and because the time\ncannot be assigned when it was not received as a reality; and\nsupernatural, in proportion as the qualities, with which he is\ninvested in those writings, are incompatible with what it is\nreasonable or possible to ascribe to human nature viewed simply in\nitself. Let these writings be as open to criticism, whether as to\ntheir origin or their text, as sceptics can maintain; nevertheless the\nrepresentation in question is there, and forces upon the mind a\nconviction that it records a fact, and a superhuman fact, just as the\nreflection of an object in a stream remains in its definite form,\nhowever rapid the current, and however many the ripples, and is a sure\nwarrant to us of the presence of the object on the bank, though that\nobject be out of sight.\n\nSuch, we conceive, though stated in our own words, is the argument\ndrawn out in the pages before us, or rather such is the ground on\nwhich the argument is raised; and the interest which it has excited\nlies, not in its novelty, but in the particular mode in which it is\nbrought before the reader, in the originality and preciseness of\ncertain strokes by which is traced out for us the outline of the\ndivine teacher. These strokes are not always correct; they are\nsometimes gratuitous, sometimes derogatory to their object; but they\nare always determinate; and, being such, they present an old argument\nbefore us with a certain freshness, which, because it is old, is\nnecessary for its being effective.\n\nWe do not wonder at all, then, at the sensation which the volume is\nsaid to have caused at Oxford, and among the Anglicans of the Oxford\nschool, after the wearisome doubt and disquiet of the last ten years;\nfor it has opened the prospect of a successful issue of inquiries in\nan all-important province of thought, where there seemed to be no\nthoroughfare. Distinct as are the liberal and catholicising parties in\nthe Anglican Church, both in their principles and their policy, it\nmust not be supposed that they are as distinct in the members that\ncompose them. No line of demarcation can be drawn between the one\ncollection of men and the other, in fact; for no two minds are\naltogether alike, and, individually, Anglicans have each his own shade\nof opinion, and belong partly to this school, partly to that. Or,\nrather, there is a large body of men who are neither the one nor the\nother; they cannot be called an intermediate party, for they have no\ndiscriminating watch-words; they range from those who are almost\nCatholic to those who are almost liberals. They are not liberals,\nbecause they do not glory in a state of doubt; they cannot profess to\nbe \"Anglo-Catholics,\" because they are not prepared to give an eternal\nassent to all that is put forth by the church as truth of revelation.\nThese are the men who, if they could, would unite old ideas with new;\nwho cannot give up tradition, yet are loth to shut the door to\nprogress; who look for a more exact adjustment of faith with reason\nthan has hitherto been attained; who love the conclusions of Catholic\ntheology better than the proofs, and the methods of modern thought\nbetter than its results; and who, in the present wide unsettlement of\nreligious opinion, believe indeed, or wish to believe, scripture and\northodox doctrine, taken as a whole, and cannot get themselves to avow\nany deliberate dissent from any part of either, but still, not knowing\nhow to defend their belief with logical exactness, or at least feeling\nthat there are large unsatisfied objections lying against parts of it,\nor having misgivings lest there should be such, acquiesce in what is\ncalled a practical belief, that is, believe in revealed truths, only\nbecause belief in them is the safest course, because they are\nprobable, and because belief in {622} consequence is a duty, not as if\nthey felt absolutely certain, though they will not allow themselves to\nbe actually in doubt. Such is about the description to be given of\nthem as a class, though, as we have said, they so materially differ\nfrom each other, that no general account of them can be applied\nstrictly to any individual in their body.\n\nNow, it is to this large class which we have been describing that such\na work as that before us, in spite of the serious errors which they\nwill not be slow to recognize in it, comes as a friend in need. They\ndo not stumble at the author's inconsistencies or shortcomings; they\nare arrested by his professed purpose, and are profoundly moved by his\nsuccessful hits (as they may be called) toward fulfilling it. Remarks\non the gospel history, such as Paley's they feel to be casual and\nsuperficial; such as Rousseau's, to be vague and declamatory: they\nwish to justify with their intellect all that they believe with their\nheart; they cannot separate their ideas of religion from its revealed\nobject; but they have an aching dissatisfaction within them, that they\napprehend him so dimly, when they would fain (as it were) see and\ntouch him as well as hear. When, then, they have logical grounds\npresented to them for holding that the recorded picture of our Lord is\nits own evidence, that it carries with it its own reality and\nauthority, that his \"revelatio\" is \"revelata\" in the very act of being\na \"revelatio,\" it is as if he himself said to them, as he once said to\nhis disciples, \"It is I, be not afraid;\" and the clouds at once clear\noff, and the waters subside, and the land is gained for which they are\nlooking out.\n\nThe author before us, then, has the merit of promising what, if he\ncould fulfil it, would entitle him to the gratitude of thousands. We\ndo not say, we are very far from thinking, that he has actually\naccomplished so high an enterprise, though he seems to be ambitious\nenough to hope that he has not come far short of it. He somewhere\ncalls his book a treatise; he would have done better to call it an\nessay; nor need he have been ashamed of a word which Locke has used in\nhis work on the Human Understanding. Before concluding, we shall take\noccasion to express our serious sense, how very much his execution\nfalls below his purpose; but certainly it is a great purpose which he\nsets before him, and for that he is to be praised. And there is at\nleast this singular merit in his performance, as he has given it to\nthe public, that he is clear-sighted and fair enough to view our\nLord's work in its true light, as including in it the establishment of\na visible kingdom or church. In proportion, then, as we shall\npresently find it our duty to pass some severe remarks upon his\nvolume, as it comes before us, so do we feel bound, before doing so,\nto give some specimens of it in that point of view in which we\nconsider it really to subserve the cause of revealed truth. And in the\nsketch which we are now about to give of the first steps of his\ninvestigation, we must not be understood to make him responsible for\nthe language in which we shall exhibit them to our readers, and which\nwill unavoidably involve our own corrections of his ailment, and our\nown coloring.\n\nAmong a people, then, accustomed by the most sacred traditions of\ntheir religion to a belief in the appearance, from time to time, of\ndivine messengers for their instruction and reformation, and to the\nexpectation of one such messenger to come, the last and greatest of\nall, who should also be their king and deliverer as well as their\nteacher, suddenly is found, after a long break in the succession and a\nperiod of national degradation, a prophet of the old stamp, in one of\nthe deserts of the country---John, the son of Zachary. He announces\nthe promised kingdom as close at hand, calls his countrymen to\nrepentance, and institutes a rite symbolical of it. The people seem\ndisposed to take him for the destined Saviour; but he points out to\nthem a {623} private person in the crowd which is flocking about him;\nand henceforth the interest which his own preaching has excited\ncentres in that other. Thus our Lord is introduced to the notice of\nhis countrymen.\n\nThus brought before the world, he opens his mission. What is the first\nimpression it makes upon us? Admiration of its singular simplicity\nboth as to object and work. Such of course ought to be its character,\nif it was to be the fulfilment of the ancient, long-expected promise;\nand such it was, as our Lord proclaimed it. Other men, who do a work,\ndo not set about it as their object; they make several failures; they\nare led on to it by circumstances; they miscalculate their powers; or\nthey are drifted from the first in a direction different from that\nwhich they had chosen; they do most where they are expected to do\nleast. But our Lord said and did. \"He formed one plan and executed\nit,\" (p. 18). Next, what was that plan? Let us consider the force of\nthe words in which, as the Baptist before him, he introduced his\nministry; \"The kingdom of God is at hand.\" What was meant by the\nkingdom of God? \"The conception was no new one, but familiar to every\nJew,\" (p. 19.) At the first formation of the nation and state of the\nIsraelites the Almighty had been their king; when a line of earthly\nkings was introduced, then God spoke by the prophets. The existence of\nthe theocracy was the very constitution and boast of Israel, as\nlimited monarchy, liberty, and equality are the boast respectively of\ncertain modern nations. Moreover, the gospel proclamation ran,\n\"Poenitentiam agite; for the kingdom of heaven is at hand;\" here again\nwas another and recognized token of a theophany; for the mission of a\nprophet, as we have said above, was commonly a call to reformation and\nexpiation of sin. A divine mission, then, such as our Lord's, was a\nfalling back upon the original covenant between God and his people;\nbut next, while it was an event of old and familiar occurrence, it\never had carried with it in its past instances something new, in\nconnection with the circumstances under which it took place. The\nprophets were accustomed to give interpretations, or to introduce\nmodifications of the letter of the law, to add to its conditions and\nto enlarge its application. It was to be expected, then, that now,\nwhen the new prophet, to whom the Baptist pointed, opened his\ncommission, he too, in like manner, would be found to be engaged in a\nrestoration, but in a restoration which should also be a religious\nadvance; and that the more if he really was the special, final prophet\nof the theocracy, to whom all former prophets had looked forward, and\nin whom their long and august line was to be summed up and perfected.\nIn proportion as his work was to be more signal, so would his new\nrevelations be wider and more wonderful.\n\nDid our Lord fulfil these expectations? Yes, there was this\npeculiarity in his mission, that he came not only as one of the\nprophets in the kingdom of God, but as the king himself of that\nkingdom. Thus his mission involves the most exact return to the\noriginal polity of Israel, which the appointment of Saul had\ndisarranged, while it recognizes also the line of prophets, and\ninfuses a new spirit into the law. Throughout his ministry our Lord\nclaimed and received the title of king, which no prophet ever had done\nbefore. On his birth, the wise men came to worship \"the king of the\nJews;\" \"thou art the Son of God, thou art the king of Israel,\" cried\nNathanael after his baptism; and on his cross the charge recorded\nagainst him was that he professed to be \"king of the Jews.\" \"During\nhis whole public life,\" says the author, \"he is distinguished from the\nother prominent characters of Jewish history by his unbounded personal\npretensions. He calls himself habitually king and master. He claims\nexpressly the character of that divine Messiah for which the ancient\nprophets had directed the nation to look,\" (page 25.)\n\n{624}\n\nHe is, then, a King, as well as a Prophet; but is he as one of the old\nheroic kings, David or Solomon? Had such been his pretension, he had\nnot, in his own words, \"discerned the signs of the times.\" It would\nhave been a false step in him, into which other would-be champions of\nIsrael, before and after him, actually fell, and in consequence\nfailed. But here this young Prophet is from the first distinct,\ndecided, and original. His contemporaries, indeed, the wisest, the\nmost experienced, were wedded to the notion of a revival of the\nbarbaric kingdom. \"Their heads were full of the languid dreams of\ncommentators, the impracticable pedantries of men who live in the\npast,\" (p. 27.) But he gave to the old prophetic promises an\ninterpretation which they could undeniably bear, but which they did\nnot immediately suggest; which we can maintain to be true, while we\ncan deny them to be imperative. He had his own prompt, definite\nconception of the restored theocracy; it was his own, and not\nanother's; it was suited to the new age; it was triumphantly carried\nout in the event.\n\nIn what, then, did he consider his royalty to consist? First, what was\nit not? It did not consist in the ordinary functions of royalty; it\ndid not prevent his payment of tribute to Caesar; it did not make him\na judge in questions of criminal or of civil law, in a question of\nadultery, or in the adjudication of an inheritance; nor did it give\nhim the command of armies. Then perhaps, after all, it was but a\nfigurative royalty, as when the Eridanus is called \"fluviorum rex,\" or\nAristotle \"the prince of philosophers.\" No; it was not a figurative\nroyalty either. To call one's self a king, without being one, is\nplaying with edged tools--as in the story of the innkeeper's son, who\nwas put to death for calling himself \"heir to the crown.\" Christ\ncertainly knew what he was saying. \"He had provoked the accusation of\nrebellion against the Roman government: he must have known that the\nlanguage he used would be interpreted so. Was there then nothing\nsubstantial in the royalty he claimed? Did he die for a metaphor?\" (p.\n28.) He meant what he said, and therefore his kingdom was literal and\nreal; it was visible; but what were its visible prerogatives, if they\nwere not those in which earthly royalty commonly consists? In truth he\npassed by the lesser powers of royalty, to claim the higher. He\nclaimed certain divine and transcendent functions of the original\ntheocracy, which had been in abeyance since that theocracy had been\ninfringed, which even to David had not been delegated, which had never\nbeen exercised except by the Almighty. God had created, first the\npeople, next the state, which he deigned to govern. \"The origin of\nother nations is lost in antiquity,\" (p. 33;) but \"this people,\" runs\nthe sacred word, \"have I formed for myself.\" And \"He who first called\nthe nation did for it the second work of a king: he gave it a law,\"\n(p. 34) Now it is very striking to observe that these two\nincommunicable attributes of divine royalty, as exemplified in the\nhistory of the Israelites, are the very two which our Lord assumed. He\nwas the maker and the lawgiver of his subjects. He said in the\ncommencement of his ministry, \"_Follow_ me;\" and he added, \"and I will\nmake you\"--you in turn--\"fishers of men.\" And the next we read of him\nis, that his disciples came to him on the Mount, and he opened his\nmouth and _taught_ them. And so again, at the end of it, \"Go ye, make\n_disciples_ of all nations, _teaching_ them.\" \"Thus the very words for\nwhich the [Jewish] nation chiefly hymned their Jehovah, he undertook\nin his name to do. He undertook to be the father of an everlasting\nstate, and the legislator of a world-wide society,\" (p. 36;) that is,\nshowing himself, according to the prophetic announcement, to be\n\"_Admirabilis, consiliarius, pater futuri saeculi, princeps pacis_.\"\n\n{625}\n\nTo these two claims he adds a third: first, he chooses the subjects of\nhis kingdom; next, he gives them a law; but thirdly, he judges\nthem--judges them in a far truer and fuller sense than in the old\nkingdom even the Almighty judged his people. The God of Israel\nordained national rewards and punishments for national obedience or\ntransgression; he did not judge his subjects one by one; but our Lord\ntakes upon himself the supreme and final judgment of every one of his\nsubjects, not to speak of the whole human race (though, from the\nnature of the case, this function cannot belong to his visible\nkingdom.) \"He considered, in short, heaven and hell to be in his\nhand,\" (p, 40.)\n\nWe shall mention one further function of the new King and his new\nkingdom: its benefits are even bound up with the maintenance of this\nlaw of political unity. \"To organize a society, and to bind the\nmembers of it together by the closest ties, were the business of his\nlife. For this reason it was that he called men away from their home,\nimposed upon some a wandering life, upon others the sacrifice of their\nproperty, and endeavored by all means to divorce them from their\nformer connections, in order that they might find a new home in the\nchurch. For this reason he instituted a solemn initiation, and for\nthis reason he refused absolutely to any one a dispensation from it.\nFor this reason, too . . . he established a common feast, which was\nthrough all ages to remind Christians of their indissoluble union,\"\n(p. 92.) But _cui bono_ is a visible kingdom, when the great end of\nour Lord's ministry is moral advancement and preparation for a future\nstate? It is easy to understand, for instance, how a sermon may\nbenefit, or personal example, or religious friends, or household\npiety. We can learn to imitate a saint or a martyr, we can cherish a\nlesson, we can study a treatise, we can obey a rule; but what is the\ndefinite advantage to a preacher or a moralist of an external\norganization, of a visible kingdom? Yet Christ says, \"Seek ye _first_\nthe kingdom of God,\" as well as \"his justice.\" Socrates wished to\nimprove men, but he laid no stress on their acting in concert in order\nto secure that improvement; on the contrary, the Christian law is\npolitical, as certainly as it is moral. Why is this? It arises out of\nthe intimate relation between him and his subjects, which, in bringing\nthem all to him as their common Father, necessarily brings them to\neach other. Our Lord says, \"Where two or three are gathered together\nin my name, I am in the midst of them.\" Fellowship between his\nfollowers is made a distinct object and duty, because it is a means,\naccording to the provisions of his system, by which in some special\nway they are brought near to him. This is declared, still more\nstrikingly than in the text we have just quoted, in the parable of the\nvine and its branches, and in that (if it is to be called a parable)\nof the Bread of Life. The Almighty King of Israel was ever, indeed,\ninvisibly present in the glory above the Ark, but he did not manifest\nhimself there or anywhere else as a present cause of spiritual\nstrength to his people; but the new king is not only ever present, but\nto every one of his subjects individually is he a first element and\nperennial source of life. He is not only the head of his kingdom, but\nalso its animating principle and its centre of power. The author whom\nwe are reviewing does not quite reach the great doctrine here\nsuggested, but he goes near it in the following passage: \"Some men\nhave appeared who have been as 'levers to uplift the earth and roll it\nin another course.\" Homer by creating literature, Socrates by creating\nscience, Caesar by carrying civilization inland from the shores of the\nMediterranean, Newton by starting science upon a career of steady\nprogress, may be said to have attained this eminence. {626} But these\nmen gave a single impact like that which is conceived to have first\nset the planets in motion. Christ claims to be a perpetual attractive\npower, like the sun, which determines their orbit. They contributed to\nmen some discovery, and passed away; Christ's discovery is himself. To\nhumanity struggling with its passions and its destiny he says, cling\nto me--cling ever closer to me. If we believe St. John, he\nrepresented himself as the light of the world, as the shepherd of the\nsouls of men, as the way to immortality, as the vine or life-tree of\nhumanity,' (p. 177.) He ends this beautiful passage, of which we have\nalready quoted as much as our limits allow, by saying that \"He\ninstructed his followers to hope for life from feeding on his body and\nblood.\"\n\n_O si sic omnia!_ Is it not hard, that, after following with pleasure\na train of thought so calculated to warm all Christian hearts, and to\ncreate in them both admiration and sympathy for the writer, we must\nend our notice of him in a different tone, and express as much dissent\nfrom him and as serious blame of him as we have hitherto been showing\nsatisfaction with his object, his intention, and the general outline\nof his argument? But so it is. In what remains to be said we are\nobliged to speak of his work in terms so sharp that they may seem to\nbe out of keeping with what has gone before. With whatever abruptness\nin our composition, we must suddenly shift the scene, and manifest our\ndisapprobation of portions of his book as plainly as we have shown an\ninterest in it. We have praised it in various points of view. It has\nstirred the hearts of many; it has recognized a need, and gone in the\nright direction for supplying it. It serves as a token and a hopeful\ntoken, of what is going on in the minds of numbers of men external to\nthe church. It is substantially a good book, and, we trust, will work\nfor good. Especially, as we have seen, is it interesting to the\nCatholic as acknowledging the visible church as our Lord's own\ncreation, as the direct fruit of his teaching, and the destined\ninstrument of his purposes. We do not know how to speak in an\nunfriendly tone of an author who has done so much as this; but at the\nsame time, when we come to examine his argument in its details, and\nstudy his chapters one by one, we find, in spite of, and mixed up with\nwhat is true and original, and even putting aside his patent\ntheological errors, so much bad logic, so much of rash and gratuitous\nassumption, so much of half-digested thought, that we are obliged to\nconclude that it would have been much wiser in him if, instead of\npublishing what he seems to confess, or rather to proclaim, to be the\njottings of his first researches upon sacred territory, he had waited\ntill he had carefully traversed and surveyed and mapped the whole of\nit. We now proceed to give a few instances of the faults of which we\ncomplain.\n\nHis opening remarks will serve in illustration. In p. 41 he says, \"We\nhave not rested upon _single_ passages, nor drawn from the _fourth\ngospel_.\" This, we suppose, must be his reason for ignoring the\npassage in Luke ii. 49, \"Did you not know that I must be about my\nfather's business?\" for he directly contradicts it, by gratuitously\nimagining that our Lord came for St. John's baptism with the same\nintention as the penitents around him; and that, in spite of his own\nwords, which we suppose are to be taken as another \"single passage,\"\n\"So it becometh us to fulfil all justice,\" (Matt. iii. 15.) It must be\non this principle of ignoring single passages such as these, even\nthough they admit of combination, that he goes on to say of our Lord,\nthat \"in the agitation of mind caused by his baptism, and by the\nBaptist's designation of him as the future prophet, he retired into\nthe wilderness,\" and there \"he matured the plan of action which we see\nhim executing from the moment of his return into society,\" (p. 9;) and\nthat not till then was he \"conscious of miraculous power,\" {627} (p.\n12.) This neglect of the sacred text, we repeat must be allowed him,\nwe suppose, under color of his acting out his rule of abstaining from\nsingle passages and from the fourth gospel. Let us allow it; but at\nleast he ought to adduce passages, single or many, for what he\nactually does assert. He must not be allowed arbitrarily to add to the\nhistory, as well as cautiously to take from it. Where, then, we ask,\ndid he learn that our Lord's baptism caused him \"agitation of mind,\"\nthat he \"matured his plan of action in the wilderness,\" and that he\nthen first was \"conscious of miraculous power\"? But again: it seems he\nis not to refer to \"single passages or the fourth gospel;\" yet,\nwonderful to say, he actually does open his formal discussion of the\nsacred history by referring to a passage from that very gospel--nay,\nto a particular text, which is only not a \"single\" text, because it is\nhalf a text, and half a text, such that, had he taken the whole of it,\nhe would have been obliged to admit that the part which he puts aside\njust runs counter to his interpretation of the part, which he insists\non. The words are these, as they stand in the Protestant version:\n\"Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.\" Now,\nit is impossible to deny that \"which taketh away,\" etc., fixes and\nlimits the sense of \"the Lamb of God;\" but our author notices the\nlatter half of the sentence, only in order to put aside the light it\nthrows upon the former half; and instead of the Baptist's own\ninterpretation of the title which he gives to our Lord, he substitutes\nanother, radically different, which he selects for himself out of one\nof the psalms. He explains \"the lamb\" by the well-known image, which\nrepresents the Almighty as a shepherd and his earthly servants as\nsheep--innocent, safe, and happy under his protection. \"The Baptist's\nopinion of Christ's character, then,\" he says, \"is summed up for us in\nthe title he gives him--the Lamb of God, taking away the sins of the\nworld. There _seems_ to be, in the last part of this description, an\nallusion to the usages of the Jewish sacrificial system; and, in order\nto explain it fully, it would be necessary to anticipate much which\nwill come more conveniently later in this treatise. _But_ when we\nremember that the Baptist's mind was _doubtless_ full of imagery drawn\nfrom the Old Testament, and that the conception of a lamb of God makes\nthe subject of one of the most striking of the psalms, _we shall\nperceive what he meant to convey, by this phrase,_\" (pp. 5, 6.) This\nis like saying, \"Isaiah declares, 'mine eyes have seen the king, the\nlord of hosts;' _but_, considering that doubtless the prophet was well\nacquainted with the first and second books of Samuel, and that Saul,\nDavid, and Solomon are the three great kings there represented, we\nshall easily perceive that by 'seeing the king,' he meant to say that\nhe saw Uzziah, king of Judah, in the last year of whose reign he had\nthe vision. As to the phrase 'the lord of hosts,' which seems to refer\nto the Almighty, we will consider its meaning by and by:\"--but, in\ntruth, it is difficult to invent a paralogism, in its gratuitous\ninconsecutiveness parallel to his own.\n\nWe must own, that, with every wish to be fair to this author, we never\nrecovered from the perplexity of mind which this passage, in the very\nthreshold of his book, inflicted on us. It needed not the various\npassages which follow it in the work, constructed on the same\nargumentative model, to prove to us that he was not only an\n_incognito_, but an enigma. \"Ergo\" is the symbol of the logician--what\nscience does a writer profess, whose symbols, profusely scattered\nthrough his pages, are \"probably,\" \"it must be,\" \"doubtless,\" \"on the\nhypothesis,\" \"we may suppose,\" and \"it is natural to think,\" and that\nat the very time that he pointedly discards the comments of school\ntheologians? Is it possible that he can mean us to set aside the\nglosses of all who went {628} before in his own favor, and to exchange\nour old lamps for his new ones? Men have been at fault, when trying to\ndetermine whether he was an orthodox believer on his road to\nliberalism, or a liberal on his road to orthodoxy: this doubtless may\nbe to some a perplexity; but our own difficulty is, whether he comes\nto us as an investigator or a prophet, as one unequal or superior to\nthe art of reasoning. Undoubtedly, he is an able man; but what can he\npossibly mean by startling us with such eccentricities of\nargumentation as are familiar with him? Addison somewhere bids his\nreaders bear in mind, that if he is ever especially dull, he always\nhas a special reason for being so; and it is difficult to reconcile\none's imagination to the supposition that this anonymous writer, with\nso much deep thought as he certainly evidences, has not some recondite\nreason for seeming so inconsequent, and does not move by some deep\nsubterraneous processes of argument, which, if once brought to light,\nwould clear him of the imputation of castle-building.\n\nThere is always a danger of misconceiving an author who has no\nantecedents by which we may measure him. Taking his work as it lies,\nwe can but wish that he had kept his imagination under control; and\nthat he had more of the hard head of a lawyer and the patience of a\nphilosopher. He writes like a man who cannot keep from telling the\nworld his first thoughts, especially if they are clever or graceful;\nhe has come for the first time upon a strange world, and his remarks\nupon it are too obvious to be called original, and too crude to\ndeserve the name of freshness. What can be more paradoxical than to\ninterpret our Lord's words to Nicodemus, \"Unless a man be born again,\"\nand of the necessity of external religion, as a lesson to him to\nprofess his faith openly and not to visit him in secret? (p. 86.) What\ncan be more pretentious, not to say gaudy and even tawdry, than his\nparaphrase of St. John's passage about the woman taken in adultery?\n\"In his burning embarrassment and confusion,\" he says, \"he stooped\ndown so as to hide his face. . . . They had a glimpse perhaps of the\nglowing blush upon his face, etc.\" (p. 104.)\n\nWe should be very sorry to use a severe word concerning an honest\ninquirer after truth, as we believe this anonymous writer to be; and\nwe will confess that Catholics, kindly as they may wish to feel toward\nhim, are scarcely even able, from their very position, to give his\nwork the enthusiastic reception which it has received from some other\ncritics. The reason is plain; those alone can speak of it from a full\nheart, who feel a need, and recognize in it a supply of that need. We\nare not in the number of such; for they who have found have no need to\nseek. Far be it from us to use language savoring of the leaven of the\nPharisees. We are not assuming a high place, because we thus speak, or\nboasting of our security. Catholics are both deeper and shallower than\nProtestants; but in neither case have they any call for a treatise\nsuch as this \"Ecce Homo.\" If they live to the world and the flesh,\nthen the faith which they profess, though it is true and distinct, is\ndead; and their certainty about religious truth, however firm and\nunclouded, is but shallow in its character, and flippant in its\nmanifestations. And in proportion, as they are worldly and sensual\nwill they be flippant and shallow. But their faith is as indelible as\nthe pigment which colors the skin, even though it is skin-deep. This\nclass of Catholics is not likely to take interest in a pictorial \"Ecce\nHomo.\" On the other hand, where the heart is alive with divine love,\nfaith is as deep as it is vigorous and joyous; and, as far as\nCatholics are in this condition, they will feel no drawing toward a\nwork which is after all but an arbitrary and unsatisfactory dissection\nof the object of their devotion. That individuals in their body maybe\n{629} harassed with doubts, particularly in a day like this, we are\nnot denying; but, viewed as a body, Catholics from their religious\ncondition, are either too deep or too shallow to suffer from those\nelementary difficulties, or that distress of mind, in which serious\nProtestants are so often involved.\n\nWe confess, then, as Catholics, to some unavoidable absence of cordial\nfeeling in following the remarks of this author, though not to any\nwant of real sympathy; and we seem to be justified in our\nindisposition by his manifest want of sympathy with us. If we feel\ndistant toward him, his own language about Catholicity, and (what may\nbe called) old Christianity, seems to show that that distance is one\nof fact, one of mental position, not any fault in ourselves. Is it not\nundeniable, that the very life of personal religion among Catholics\nlies in a knowledge of the Gospels? It is the character and conduct of\nour Lord, his words, his deeds, his sufferings, his work, which are\nthe very food of our devotion and rule of our life. \"Behold the Man,\"\nwhich this author feels to be an object novel enough to write a book\nabout, has been the contemplation of Catholics from that first age\nwhen St. Paul said, \"The life that I now live in the flesh, I live in\nthe faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and delivered himself for\nme.\" As the Psalms have ever been the manual of our prayer, so have\nthe Gospels been the subject-matter of our meditation. In these latter\ntimes especially, since St. Ignatius, they have been divided into\nportions, and arranged in a scientific order, not unlike that which\nthe Psalms have received in the Breviary. To contemplate our Lord in\nhis person and his history is with us the exercise of every retreat,\nand the devotion of every morning. All this is certainly simple matter\nof fact; but the writer we are reviewing lives and thinks at so great\ndistance from us as not to be cognizant of what is so patent and so\nnotorious a truth. He seems to imagine that the faith of a Catholic is\nthe mere profession of a formula. He deems it important to disclaim in\nthe outset of his work all reference to the theology of the church. He\neschews with much preciseness, as something almost profane, the\ndogmatism of former ages. He wishes \"to trace\" our Lord's \"biography\nfrom point to point, and accept those conclusions--not which church\ndoctors or even Apostles have sealed with their authority--but which\nthe facts themselves, critically weighed, appear to warrant.\"\n(Preface.) Now, what Catholics, what church doctors, as well as\nApostles, have ever lived on, is not any number of theological canons\nor decrees, but we repeat, the Christ himself, as he is represented in\nconcrete existence in the Gospels. Theological determinations about\nour Lord are far more of the nature of landmarks or buoys to guide a\ndiscursive mind in its reasonings, than to assist a devotional mind in\nits worship. Common-sense, for instance, tell us what is meant by the\nwords, \"My Lord and my God;\" and a religious man, upon his knees,\nrequires no commentator; but against irreligious speculators, Arius or\nNestorius, a denunciation has been passed in ecumenical council, when\n\"science falsely so-called\" encroached upon devotion. Has not this\nbeen insisted on by all dogmatic Christians over and over again? Is it\nnot a representation as absolutely true as it is trite? We had fancied\nthat Protestants generally allowed the touching beauty of Catholic\nhymns and meditations; and after all is there not that in all Catholic\nchurches which goes beyond any written devotion, whatever its force or\nits pathos? Do we not believe in a presence in the sacred tabernacle,\nnot as a form of words, or as a notion, but as an object as real as we\nare real? And if in that presence we need neither profession of faith\nnor even manual of devotion, what appetite can we have for the\nteaching of a writer who not only exalts his first thoughts about our\n{630} Lord into professional lectures, but implies that the Catholic\nChurch has never known how to point him out to her children?\n\nIt may be objected, that we are making too much of so chance a slight\nas his allusion in his preface to \"church doctors\" involves,\nespecially as he mentions apostles in connection with them; but it\nwould be affectation not to recognize in other places of his book an\nundercurrent of antagonism to us, of which the passage already quoted\nis but a first indication. Of course he has quite as much right as\nanother to take up an anti-catholic position, if he will; but we\nunderstand him to be putting forth an investigation, not a polemical\nargument and if, instead of keeping his eyes directed to his own\nproper subject, he looks to the right or left to hit at those who view\nit differently from himself, he is damaging the ethical force of a\ncomposition which claims to be, and mainly is, a serious and manly\nsearch after religious truth. Why cannot he let us alone? Of course he\ncannot avoid seeing that the lines of his own investigation diverge\nfrom those drawn by others, but he will have enough to do in defending\nhimself, without making others the object of his attack. He is\nvirtually opposing Voltaire, Strauss, Renan, Calvin, Wesley, Chalmers,\nErskine, and a host of other writers, but he does not denounce them;\nwhy then does he single out, misrepresent, and anathematize a main\nprinciple of orthodoxy? It is as if he could not keep his hand off us,\nwhen we crossed his path. We are alluding to the following magisterial\npassage:\n\n  \"If he (our Lord) meant anything by his constant denunciation of\n  hypocrites, there is nothing which he would have visited with\n  sterner censure than that _short cut to belief_ which many persons\n  take, when, overwhelmed with the difficulties which beset their\n  minds, and afraid of damnation, they _suddenly_ resolve to strive no\n  longer, but, giving their minds a holiday, to rest content with\n  _saying_ that they believe, and acting as if they did. A melancholy\n  end of Christianity indeed! Can there be such a disfranchised pauper\n  class among the citizens of the New Jerusalem?\" (p. 79.)\n\nHe adds shortly afterward:\n\n  \"Assuredly, those who represent Christ as presenting to man an\n  abstruse theology, and saying to them peremptorily, 'believe or be\n  damned,' have the coarsest conception of the Saviour of the world,\"\n  (p. 80.)\n\nThus he delivers himself; \"Believe or be damned is so detestable a\ndoctrine, that if any man denies it is detestable, I pronounce him to\nbe a hypocrite; to be without any true knowledge of the Saviour of the\nworld; to be the object of his sternest censure; and to have no part\nor place in the holy city, the New Jerusalem, the eternal heaven\nabove.\" Pretty well for a virtuous hater of dogmatism! We hope we\nshall show less dictatorial arrogance than his, in the answer which we\nintend to make to him.\n\nWhether there are persons such as he describes, Catholic or\nProtestants, converts to Catholicism or not--men who profess a faith\nwhich they do not believe, under the notion that they shall be\neternally damned if they do not profess it without believing--we\nreally do not know--we never met with such; but since facts do not\nconcern us here so much as principles, let us, for argument's sake,\ngrant that there are. Our author believes they are not only \"many,\"\nbut enough to form a \"class;\" and he considers that they act in this\npreposterous manner under the sanction, and in accordance with the\nteaching, of the religious bodies to which they belong. Especially\nthere is a marked allusion in his words to the Athanasian creed and\nthe Catholic Church. Now we answer him thus:\n\nPart of his charge against the teachers of dogma is, that they impose\non men as a duty, instead of believing, to \"act as if they did\"\nbelieve; now in fact this is the very {631} kind of profession which,\nif it is all that a candidate has to offer, absolutely shuts him out\nfrom admission into Catholic communion. We suppose, that by belief of\na thing, this writer understands an inward conviction of its truth;\nthis being supposed, we plainly say that no priest is at liberty to\nreceive a man into the church, who has not a real internal belief, and\ncannot say from his heart, that the things taught by the church are\ntrue. On the other hand, as we have said above, it is the very\ncharacteristic of the profession of faith made by numbers of educated\nProtestants, and it is the utmost extent to which they are able to go\nin believing, to hold, not that Christian doctrine is certainly true,\nbut that it has such a semblance of truth, it has such considerable\nmarks of probability upon it, that it is their duty to accept and to\nact upon it as if it were true beyond all question or doubt: and they\njustify themselves, and with much reason, by the authority of Bishop\nButler. Undoubtedly, a religious man will be led to go as far as this,\nif he cannot go further; but unless he can go farther, he is no\ncatechumen of the Catholic Church. We wish all men to believe that her\ncreed is true; but till they do so believe, we do not wish, we have no\npermission, to make them her members. Such a faith as this author\nspeaks of to condemn--(our books call it \"_practical_ certainty\")--\ndoes not rise to the level of the _sine qu\u00e2 non_, which is the\ncondition prescribed for becoming a Catholic. Unless a convert so\nbelieves that he can sincerely say, \"after all, in spite of all\ndifficulties, objections, obscurities, mysteries, the creed of the\nChurch undoubtedly comes from God, and is true, because he is the\ntruth,\" such a man, though he be outwardly received into her fold,\nwill receive no grace from the sacraments, no sanctification in\nbaptism, no pardon in penance, no life in communion. We are more\nconsistently dogmatic than this author imagines; we do not enforce a\nprinciple by halves; if our doctrine is true, it must be received as\nsuch; if a man cannot so receive it, he must wait till he can. It\nwould be better, indeed, if he now believed; but, since he does not as\nyet, to wait is the best he can do under the circumstances. If we said\nanything else than this, certainly we should be, as the author thinks\nwe are, encouraging hypocrisy. Nor let him turn round on us and say\nthat by thus proceeding we are laying a burden on souls, and blocking\nup the entrance into that fold which was intended for all men, by\nimposing hard conditions on candidates for admission; for we have\nalready implied a great principle, which is an answer to this\nobjection, which the gospels exhibit and sanction, but which he\nabsolutely ignores.\n\nLet us avail ourselves of his quotation. The Baptist said, \"Behold the\nLamb of God.\" Again he says, \"This is the Son of God.\" \"Two of his\ndisciples heard him speak, and they followed Jesus.\" They believed\nJohn to be \"a man sent from God\" to teach them, and therefore they\nbelieved his word to be true. We suppose it was not hypocrisy in them\nto believe in his word; rather they would have been guilty of gross\ninconsistency or hypocrisy, had they professed to believe that he was\na divine messenger and yet had refused to take his word concerning the\nStranger whom he pointed out to their veneration. It would have been\n\"saying that they believed,\" and _not_ \"acting as if they did;\" which\nat least is not better than saying and acting. Now, was not the\nannouncement which John made to them \"a short cut to belief\"? and what\nthe harm of it? They believed that our Lord was the promised prophet,\nwithout making direct inquiry about him, without a new inquiry, on the\nground of a previous inquiry into the claims of John himself to be\naccounted a messenger from God. They had already accepted it as truth\nthat John was a prophet; but again, what a prophet said must be true;\n{632} else he would not be a prophet; now, John said that our Lord was\nthe Lamb of God; this, then, certainly was a sacred truth.\n\nNow it might happen, that they knew exactly and for certain what the\nBaptist meant in calling our Lord \"a Iamb;\" in that case they would\nbelieve him to be that which they knew the figurative word meant, as\nused by the Baptist. But, as our author reminds us, the word has\ndifferent senses; and, though the Baptist explained his own sense of\nit on the first occasion of using it, by adding, \"that taketh away the\nsin of the world,\" yet when he spoke to the two disciples he did not\nthus explain it. Now let us suppose that they went off, taking the\nword each in his own sense, the one understanding by it a sacrificial\nlamb, the other a lamb of the fold; and let us suppose that, as they\nwere on the way to our Lord's home, they discovered this difference in\ntheir several interpretations, and disputed with each other which was\nthe right interpretation. It is clear that they would agree so far as\nthis, namely, that, in saying that the proposition was true, they\nmeant that it was true in that sense in which the Baptist spoke it;\nmoreover, if it be worth noticing, they did after all even agree, in\nsome vague way, about the meaning of the word, understanding that it\ndenoted some high character, or office, or ministry. Any how, it was\nabsolutely true, they would say, that our Lord was a lamb, whatever it\nmeant; the word conveyed a great and momentous fact, and if they did\nnot know what that fact was, the Baptist did, and they would accept it\nin its one right sense, as soon as he or our Lord told them what it\nwas.\n\nAgain, as to that other title which the Baptist gave our Lord, \"the\nSon of God,\" it admitted of half a dozen senses. Wisdom was \"the only\nbegotten;\" the angels were the sons of God; Adam was a son of God; the\ndescendants of Seth were sons of God; Solomon was a son of God; and so\nis \"the just man.\" In which of these senses, or in what sense, was our\nLord the Son of God? St. Peter knew, but there were those who did not\nknow--the centurion who attended the crucifixion did not know, and\nyet he confessed that our Lord was the Son of God. He knew that our\nLord had been condemned by the Jews for calling himself the Son of\nGod, and therefore he cried out, on seeing the miracles which attended\nhis death, \"indeed this _was_ the Son of God.\" His words evidently\nimply: \"I do not know precisely what he meant by so calling himself;\nbut what he said he was, that he is; whatever he meant, I believe him;\nI believe that his word about himself is true, though I cannot prove\nit to be so, though I do not even understand it; I believe his word,\nfor I believe _him_.\"\n\nNow to return to the passage which has led to these remarks. Our\nauthor says that certain persons are hypocrites, because they \"take a\nshort cut to belief, suddenly resolving to strive no longer, but to\nrest content with saying they believe.\" Does he mean by \"a short cut,\"\nbelieving on the word of another? As far as our experience goes of\nreligious changes in individuals, he can mean nothing else; yet how\n_can_ he mean this with the gospels before him? He cannot mean it,\nbecause the very staple of the sacred narrative is a call on all men\nto believe what is not proved to them, merely on the warrant of divine\nmessengers; because the very form of our Lord's teaching is to\nsubstitute authority for inquiry; because the very principle of his\ngrave earnestness, the very key to his regenerative mission, is the\nintimate connection of faith with salvation. Faith is not simply trust\nin his legislation, as this writer says; it is definitely trust in his\nword, whether that word be about heavenly things or earthly; whether\nit is spoken by his own mouth, or through his ministers. The angel who\nannounced the Baptist's birth said, \"Thou shalt be dumb because thou\nbelievest not my words.\" The {633} Baptist's mother said of Mary,\n\"Blessed is she that believed.\" The Baptist himself said, \"He that\nbelieveth on the Son hath everlasting life; and he that believeth not\nthe Son shall not see life, but the wrath of God abideth on him.\" Our\nLord, in turn, said to Nicodemus, \"We speak that we do know, and ye\nreceive not our witness; he that believeth not is condemned already,\nbecause he hath not believed in the name of the only-begotten Son of\nGod.\" To the Jews, \"He that heareth my word, and believeth on him that\nsent me, shall not come into condemnation.\" To the Capharnaites, \"he\nthat believeth on me hath everlasting life.\" To St Thomas, \"Blessed\nare they that have not seen and yet have believed.\" And to the\napostles, \"Preach the gospel to every creature; he that believeth not\nshall be damned.\" How is it possible to deny that our Lord, both in\nthe text and in the context of these and other passages, made faith in\na message, on the warrant of the messenger, to be a condition of\nsalvation; and enforced it by the great grant of power which he\nemphatically conferred on his representatives? \"Whosoever shall not\nreceive you,\" he says, \"nor hear your words, when ye depart, shake off\nthe dust of your feet.\" \"It is not ye that speak, but the spirit of\nyour Father.\" \"He that heareth you, heareth me; he that despiseth you,\ndespiseth me; and he that despiseth me, despiseth him that sent me.\"\n\"I pray for them that shall believe on me through their word.\" \"Whose\nsins ye remit they are remitted unto them; and whose sins ye retain,\nthey are retained.\" \"Whatsoever ye shall bind on earth shall be bound\nin heaven.\" \"I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven;\nand whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and\nwhatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.\" These\ncharacteristic and critical announcements have no place in this\nauthor's gospel; and let it be understood, that we are not asking why\nhe does not determine the exact doctrines contained in them--for that\nis a question which he has reserved (if we understand him) for a\nfuture volume--but why he does not recognize the principle they\ninvolve--for that is a matter which falls within his present subject.\n\nIt is not well to exhibit some sides of Christianity, and not others;\nthis we think is the main fault of the author we have been reviewing.\nIt does not pay to be ecclectic in so serious a matter of fact. He\ndoes not overlook, he boldly confesses that a visible organized church\nwas a main part of our Lord's plan for the regeneration of mankind.\n\"As with Socrates,\" he says, \"argument is every thing, and personal\nauthority nothing; so with Christ personal authority is all in all and\nargument altogether unemployed,\" (p. 94.) Our Lord rested his\nteaching, not on the concurrence and testimony of his hearers, but on\nhis own authority. He imposed upon them the declarations of a divine\nvoice. Why does this author stop short in the delineation of\nprinciples which he has so admirably begun? Why does he denounce\n\"short cuts,\" as a mental disfranchisement, when no cut can be shorter\nthan to \"believe and be saved\"? Why does he denounce religious fear as\nhypocritical, when it is written, \"He that believeth not shall be\ndamned\"? Why does he call it dishonest in a man to sacrifice his own\njudgment to the word of God, when, unless he did so, he would be\navowing that the Creator knew less than the creature? Let him\nrecollect that no two thinkers, philosophers, writers, ever did, ever\nwill, agree in all things with each other. No system of opinions, ever\ngiven to the world, approved itself in all its parts to the reason of\nany one individual by whom it was mastered. No revelation is\nconceivable, but involves, almost in its very idea, as being something\nnew, a collision with the human intellect, and demands, accordingly,\nif it is to be accepted, a sacrifice of private judgment. {634} If a\nrevelation be necessary, then also in consequence is that sacrifice\nnecessary. One man will have to make a sacrifice in one respect,\nanother in another, all men in some. We say, then, to men of the day,\ntake Christianity, or leave it; do not practise upon it; to do so is\nas unphilosophical as it is dangerous. Do not attempt to halve a\nspiritual unit. You are apt to call it a dishonesty in us to refuse to\nfollow out our reasonings, when faith stands in the way; is there no\nintellectual dishonesty in your own conduct? First, your very\naccusation of us is dishonest; for you keep in the back-ground the\ncircumstance, of which you are well aware, that such a refusal on our\npart is the necessary consequence of our accepting an authoritative\nrevelation; and next you profess to accept that revelation yourselves,\nwhile you dishonestly pick and choose, and take as much or as little\nof it as you please. You either accept Christianity or you do not: if\nyou do, do not garble and patch it; if you do not, suffer others to\nsubmit to it as a whole.\n\n------\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nHOLY SATURDAY.\n\n\n  Through that Jewish Sabbath day,\n  Through our Holy Saturday,\n          Thus he lay:\n  In his linen winding-sheet,\n  Wrapped in myrrh and spices sweet,\n  Angels at his head and feet;\n  Angels, duteous alway,\n  Watched the wondrous beauteous clay\n          As he lay.\n  Through that Jewish Sabbath day,\n  Through our Holy Saturday.\n\n          Thus he lay\n  And our mother Church this day\n  Doth with solemn Office keep\n  That strange day's mysterious sleep;\n  Her \"Exultet\" breaks the sadness\n  With triumphant strains of gladness;\n  Paschal hope presaging morn,\n  As in east just streaks the dawn;\n  Darkest night ere brightest day;\n  Such is Holy Saturday.\n\n------\n\n{635}\n\n\nTranslated from the \u00c9tudes Religieuses,\nHistoriques et Litt\u00e9raires.\n\nEAST-INDIAN WEDDINGS.\n\nLETTER FROM FATHER GUCHEN OF THE MADURA  MISSION.\n\n\nA very days ago I blessed a marriage in which great pomp was\ndisplayed, and I will describe the festival to you, that you may have\nan idea of what takes place on such occasions, for the same ceremonial\nis always scrupulously observed. Indeed, every action of an Indian's\nlife from the cradle to the grave is irrevocably ordered by custom.\n\nThe solemnity I am speaking of now is called here, \"a grand marriage.\"\nMy Christians are generally too poor to have to do with any but\n\"little marriages,\" which are performed very quietly, though with some\nattendant circumstances that perhaps deserve a slight notice.\n\nA remarkable peculiarity, and one that belongs to both kinds of\nmarriage, is that the bride and bridegroom do not know each other, do\nnot even see or speak to each other, until it is too late to draw\nback. This is the decision of custom, and has its good and bad side,\nlike many other things in this world. \"Why have you come here?\" I\nasked the other day of a little girl hardly twelve years old, who was\nled into church. \"My father said I was to be married, so I came,\" she\nreplied. A few hours later arrived the young man, pale, exhausted, and\nwrithing in the grasp of pangs unutterable. Begging me to serve him\nfirst in the quality of physician, he told me his story: \"I had just\ndone dinner and was going out to my palm-trees, when my father told me\nto go to the church, and be married; so I took my bath of oil\nimmediately, which interfered with my digestion and caused my\nillness.\"\n\nThe bath of oil is a necessary preliminary on these occasions. That\nover, the bridegroom arrays himself in his finest garments. Two\ncloths, about one foot three inches wide, and four or five times as\nlong, ornamented with a fringe, compose his costume; one covers his\nloins and the other is wrapped around him; a red kerchief is rolled\nabout his head, and three pendants, nearly two inches long, and wide\nin proportion, adorn each ear. If he is too poor to own these jewels,\nhe borrows them of his neighbors, and thus apparelled, goes to the\nchurch and presents himself before the sonami, (missionary.)\n\nThe maiden also lavishes oil or butter upon her toilette, but on the\nwedding day, she is so completely swathed in the ten or eleven yards\nof cloth that form her raiment, that neither her jewels nor her face\ncan be distinguished. Not only is she invisible, but she is supposed\nto see nothing herself, and when she wishes to change her place, the\nperson who accompanies her, often a poor old woman hardly able to\nstand leads her by clasping her round the waist. I have sometimes\nbeheld the singular spectacle of a score of little girls from twelve\nto fifteen years of age, muffled in cloth and crouched against the\nwall of the church, repeating their prayers to satiety as they waited\nfor me to come and hear them recite.\n\nThey pass their examination; both bride and bridegroom know\nfaultlessly the pater, ave, credo, the commandments of God and the\nchurch, the act of contrition, the confiteor, etc.; they {636} recite\nthe seven chapters, that is to say the little catechism, quite well; I\nhear their confessions, and the next morning at mass I bless their\nunion, following in every respect the rubrics of the church, so that\nthere is nothing especial to notice excepting that the married pair\nhave no wedding-ring. In its place they have a golden jewel, rather\nclumsy in form, through which passes a cord intended to be fastened\nround the bride's neck. This jewel is called _tali_. It is the sign of\nmatrimonial union, and every married woman wears one; when her husband\ndies, the relations assemble, and remove the _tali_ from the widow's\nneck by breaking the cord.\n\nBut pardon me for carrying you without transition from a wedding to a\nfuneral--let us leave the graveyard and return to the church. Having\nblessed the _tali_, applying to it the prayer indicated in the ritual\nfor the blessing of the ring, I return it to the young man who\npresents it to the maiden; she receives it on her out-stretched hands,\nand her companion, or if the latter is too old, any other woman\npresent, fastens it about her neck. Mass is celebrated; the bride and\nbridegroom receive communion and the benediction, and then withdraw.\nThe bride remains hooded through the whole of the festive day; on the\nnext day after she shows her face, and the husband can for the first\ntime behold her features: a young man of my acquaintance learned\ntwenty-four hours after marriage, that his wife had but one eye.\n\nI forgot to mention another custom, which is quite generally observed,\nand seems to me charming. The bridegroom buys a _nuptial cloth_, which\nis blessed by the priest at the same time with the _tali_, and in this\nthe bride arrays herself, when the marriage ceremonial is ended. She\nwears this cloth during the days of festivity, but the husband gives\nher no other garments, and the parents continue to furnish their\ndaughter's wardrobe until she brings her first child into the world.\n\nBut it is time I arrived at the ceremonies of the _grand marriage_\nthat I blessed on the eleventh of this month.\n\nThe young man belonged to Anacarei, and the maiden to Santancoulam, a\nlittle town where we have a Christian settlement. As she had been\nbaptized only two years before, she still numbered many pagans among\nher circle, a fact which made me willingly accede to the desire of her\nparents that the marriage should be celebrated in the presence of her\nfamily.\n\nEven before dawn, two bands of musicians, making their instruments\nresound in noble emulation of each other, announced to the whole town\nthat on that day there was to be a grand festival in the Catholic\nChurch. On their side, with one accord, the Christians devoted\nthemselves to the preparation of the church and altar; the only outlay\nin decoration was upon flowers, but of those there were enough to load\na coach. At last all was ready, and wearing the alb and stole, I went\nforward to receive the consent of the betrothed, who were accompanied\nby their relations and friends. They joined their right hands, and I\npronounced over them the sacramental words, after which the _tali_ was\nblessed and given first to the bridegroom and by turn to the bride,\nbut without being fastened about her neck, as that ceremony was to\ntake place afterward at home. I began mass. In the lectern, two\nchanters were shaking the walls of the church with a clamor most\ndelightful to Indian ears, for singing is valued here in proportion to\nthe volume of voice brought to bear upon it. Indeed never before at\nSantancoulam had anything so admirable been heard.\n\nAfter mass the husband and wife withdrew in different directions, and\nthe whole day was spent in festive preparations. In the house of the\nyoung girl a great tent was built of the branches and leaves of trees,\ndraped with cloth of various colors. In the middle of this tent, which\nis called the _Pandel_, upon a mound a {637} foot and a half in\nheight, and about eight square feet in extent, arose an elegantly\ndecorated pavilion supported on four little columns. It was truly an\nexhibition of painted cloth and parti-colored paper of every hue and\nevery shade, surpassing the rainbow in brilliancy. There, upon this\nmound and under this pavillion, the bridegroom was to give the _tali_\nto his bride.\n\nIn the mean time a palanquin had been constructed elsewhere, even more\nelegant and magnificent than the pavilion of the _Pandel_. At ten\no'clock in the evening, by the light of thirty or forty blazing\ntorches, the bridegroom entered the palanquin, and, borne upon the\nshoulders of four men, made the tour of the town, a band of music\nopening the way and summoning the curious who hastened at the call.\nAfter promenading the principal streets with slow steps for two or\nthree hours, they turned toward the bride's home. The young man\nascended the mound and seated himself, upon the ground, you\nunderstand, for among Indians there are neither chairs nor lounges.\nBut do not be afraid that he soiled his fine clothes--a litter of\nstraw covered the whole surface of the mound. In this country they\nknow no better way of making an apartment presentable, and all Indian\n_parquets_ are polished after this fashion. The bride came in her\nturn, her father leading her by the hand. When he had seated her face\nto face with the young man who had been his son-in-law for twenty-four\nhours, he declared in a loud, clear voice that he had given his\ndaughter in marriage to so and so, living in such and such a place,\nthat he announced it to her relations and friends, begging them to\ngive their consent. The assistants standing about the mound extended\ntheir hands in succession, and touched the _tali_ with the tips of the\nfingers in token of approval. The catechist intoned the litany of the\nBlessed Virgin, to which the Christians made the responses, then he\ngave the _tali_ to the husband, who held it near his wife's neck, and\nthe bride's sister-in-law, standing behind her, took the cord and tied\nit. The ceremonies and festivities were ended for that night, and\nevery one withdrew to take a little repose.\n\nThe next evening there was a grand wedding collation, after which the\nfestival, properly speaking, the grand festival, began. The newly\nmarried pair seated themselves in the palanquin, facing each other,\nbut separated by a little curtain. The bride, freed from her veil now,\nheld the curtain with both hands, trying to conceal her face with it.\nBy the light of torches even more numerous than the night before, and\nto the sound of music quite as vociferous, they went to the church,\nwhere all the candles were lighted. The chanters and myself intoned\nthe litany of the Blessed Virgin and the _salve regina_; the catechist\nrecited a few prayers. I gave the benediction to the assembly with a\ncrucifix, having no statue of the Blessed Virgin, and the ceremony\nclosed with a _tamoul_ chant. The husband and wife re-entered the\npalanquin, and then began in the streets a veritable triumphal march\ncalled here _patana-pravesam_ (entrance into the town,) which ended\nonly when the day began.\n\nWhat lends to this march a character of beauty and originality is the\n_calliel_, a dance accompanied by songs and the clashing of little\nstaves, and performed before the palanquin for the whole length of the\nmarch. Do not imagine anything resembling a French ball; here dancing,\nso called, is a disgrace, and is only permitted to the Bayad\u00e8res\nengaged in the service of the pagodas. The _calliel_ is quite another\nthing. Fancy a dozen well-formed, robust young people, with turbaned\nheads, and loins girt with a long strip of cloth draped like a scarf,\nsome of them wearing rings of bells upon their arms and legs, and all\ncarrying in each hand a little staff about a foot long, with which\nthey strike the staves of the dancers, whom they meet face to face. On\nleaving the church, our young dancers begged me to {638} witness their\ngambols in the presence of the bride and bridegroom, who were looking\ndown upon the assembly from their high palanquin. The clashing cadence\nof the staves, the monotonous but purely harmonious chant of the\ndancers, their free, elastic bounds and graceful twirls, the passing\nand repassing of this troop, who spring forward and draw back, falling\nand rising as they drop on their knees and rear themselves up again,\nthis whirlwind where all is ordered, timed, and measured---all\npresents a spectacle that enchants Hindoos and may well delight a\nFrenchman.\n\nMeanwhile the big drum, tambourine, tam-tam, clarionet, bagpipe, etc,\netc., announced with joyous din that the crowd must turn their steps\nelsewhere, and show to others all this paraphernalia of rejoicing. The\npalanquin was borne toward the streets. From time to time the march\nwas suspended, the music ceased, and the young dancers resumed and\ncontinued for nearly an hour their agile feats of strength.\n\nSo the night passed, and the first rays of the sun announced that it\nwas time to end it all. The husband and wife descended from the\npalanquin to hear mass, and then entered upon real life; the wedding\nwas over. In the evening a car drawn by two magnificent oxen,\ntransported the bride, accompanied by several relatives, to the\nvillage of her husband, who escorted the family, mounted upon a pretty\nwhite horse.\n\nAMACAREI, Sept 29th, 1865.\n\n------\n\nFrom the Dublin Review\n\n\nROME THE CIVILIZER OF NATIONS.\n\n\n1. _Le Parfum de Rome_. Par Louis Veuillot. 3me edition. Paris: Gaume\nFr\u00e8res. 1862.\n\n2. _Rome et la Civilisation_. Par EUGENE MAHON DE MONAGHAN. Paris:\nCharles Douniol. 1863.\n\nThe useful little work which stands at the head of this article, by M.\nMahon de Monaghan, (whose name would, perhaps, be more correctly\nprinted M. MacMahon de Monaghan,) may be regarded as a supplement to\nthe more important volume of the Abb\u00e9 Balmez. \"The study of church\nhistory in its relations with civilization,\" _he_ told us, \"is still\nincomplete;\" and the writer before us seems to have taken this as a\nhint, and to have conceived the laudable plan of pursuing further some\nof the Spanish divine's arguments, and strengthening them by new\nillustrations gathered from history. \"Le Parfum de Rome\" is a work of\nanother description, but bearing on the same subject. It consists of\nmany discursive reflections on Rome, as the residence of the Vicar of\nChrist, and is full of point, brilliancy, and humor.\n\nWhen a Catholic, who has enjoyed the advantage of a good education,\nand is accustomed to habits of reflection, arrives for the first time\nin Rome, he is usually overwhelmed by the multitude of objects offered\nto his attention, and requires time to select, arrange, and analyze\nthem. The light is too vivid, the colors are too varied, the perfume\nis too strong. Two thousand years, richly laden with historic events,\ncrowd his memory; the united {639} glories of the past and the present\nkindle his imagination; the sublime mysteries of religion,\nmarvellously localized, exercise his faith; long galleries thronged\nwith the rarest productions of art court his gaze, and a presence\npeculiar to the spot, which he feeds, but cannot yet define, completes\nhis pleading bewilderment in heart and brain. By degrees the tumult of\nthought subsides, and order begins to rise out of chaotic beauty. The\ntraveller is resolved to render his sensations precise, and he asks\nhimself emphatically, \"Whence springs the resistless charm of Rome?\nWherein does the true glory of Rome consist? What _is_ this nameless\npresence that mantles all things with divinity? Where does the\nShekinah reside?\"\n\nThen more and more clearly, the voice of Rome herself is heard in\nreply: \"This is the home of the vicar of Christ, the throne of the\nfisherman, the seat of that long line of pontiffs who, like a chain of\ngold, bind our erring globe to Emmanuel's footstool. This garden is\nfertilized by the blood of Peter and Paul, and of thirty Popes: hence\nall its amazing produce; hence its exquisite fragrance and perennial\nbloom. These are the head-quarters of the commander-in-chief of the\nchurch militant; and Christ himself is present here in the person of\nhis viceroy, promulgating a law above all human laws, inflexible,\nuniform, merciful, and strict. _He_ diffuses this grateful perfume;\n_he_ colors every object with rainbow tints; _he_ sheds this dazzling\nlight which causes Rome to shine like a gem with a myriad facets. The\nLord loveth the gates of Rome more than of old he loved the gates of\nZion; he lives in the solemn utterances of his high priest, and speaks\nby him as of old he spoke by the Urim and Thummim that sparkled on\nAaron's breast. Here he so multiplies sacraments, that all you see\nbecomes sacramental; and here you find, in the father of the faithful,\nthe most perfect representation of your Incarnate God, and the most\ncertain pledge of his resurrection.\"\n\nIf the peculiar presence of Christ thus hallows Christian Rome, it\ncannot be matter of surprise that she also should be an enigma to the\nworld, and have a twofold character; that she should be one thing to\nthe eye and another to the mind; one thing to Gibbon and Goethe,\n[Footnote 132] and another thing altogether to Chateaubriand and\nSchlegel; that she should have her seasons of gloom and jubilee, of\npersecution and triumph; should require in each to be interpreted by\nfaith; and that every page of her history should share in this double\naspect. Thus Rome resembles Christ; and in this resemblance lies her\nglory and her strength. Other glories she has which do not directly\ncome from him. She had them of old before he came; the inroad of\nbarbaric hordes, age after age, could not trample them out, and they\nendure abundantly to this day. These the world understands; these she\nextols with ceaseless praises, and sends her children from every clime\nin troops to do homage at their ancient shrines. The worldling,\nenamoured of these, exclaims:\n\n  \"O Rome! my country! city of the soul!\n  The orphans of the heart must turn to thee,\n  Lone mother of dead empires.\"  [Footnote 133]\n\n  [Footnote 132: Parfum de Rome, p. 7]\n\n  [Footnote 133: Childe Harold, canto iv.]\n\nBut the orphan who turns to her as Byron did, remains an orphan. Rome\nis no mother to him, and he finds no father in the patriarch who rules\nthere. To the devout Catholic she is the mother of arts and sciences\nas truly as the Pope is the father of the Christian family. She is,\nand has been for eighteen hundred years, the centre of true\ncivilization, because she is the central depository of the faith. From\nher, as from a fountain, the streams of salvation have flowed through\nall lands, and, having the promise both of this life and that which is\nto come, they have indirectly produced a large amount of material\nwell-being, and also an infinity of {640} artistic and scientific\nresults. Rome civilizes as Christ civilized, by sowing the seeds of\ncivilization. She does not aim directly at material well-being; she\ndoes not any more than he teach astronomy or dynamics; she propounds\nno system of induction; she invents neither printing-press,\nsteam-engines, nor telegraphs; but she so raises man above the brute,\ncurbs his passions, improves his understanding, instils into him\nprinciples of duty, and a sense of responsibility, so hallows his\nambition and kindles his desire for the good of his kind and the\nprogress of humanity, that under her influence he acquires insensibly\nan aptitude even for the successful pursuit of physical science, such\nas no other teacher could impart. He looks abroad into the spacious\nfield of nature, and finds in every star and in every drop of dew an\nunfathomable depth of creative design. His heart quickens the energies\nof his brain, and he says, smiling, \"My Father made them all; he made\nthem that I may, to the best of my feeble powers, investigate and\nclassify them, and that he may be glorified in science as in\nreligion.\" He rises to higher studies than those of physical science;\nhe looks within, and analyzes his complex nature. He sees that human\nminds in the aggregate are capable of indefinite development as time\ngoes on, and he concludes that, as the works of nature can be\ninvestigated to the glory of the Creator, so may the mind of man be\ndeveloped to the glory of its Redeemer--be trained in philosophy, and\nexercised also in the application of science to the wants and usages\nof social life. Thus, to his apprehension, the links are clear which\nconnect Rome--the centre of civilization--with matters which appear\nat first sight absolutely distinct from religion, with sewing-machines\nand electric cables, with Huyghens's undulatory theory of light, and\nGuthrie's researches into the relative sizes of drops and of bubbles.\n\nBut here, perhaps, we shall be met by an objection. \"Science,\" it will\nbe said, \"surely not merely _appears_, but _is_ independent of\nreligion, as the experience of ancient and modern times will show.\nStill more is independent of Papal Rome, which has always been on the\nalert to check its progress, condemned Bishop Virgil for teaching the\nexistence of the antipodes, and Galileo for maintaining the\nheliocentric system. Egypt under the Ptolemies, Etruria and Mexico,\nAristotle, Lord Bacon, and Sir Isaac Newton, alike scatter your\nassertion to the winds; and if any doubt on the subject could linger\nin the mind of any one, the late encyclical would the sufficient to\ndisabuse him of his fond delusion.\"\n\nTo this we reply: We will not allow that even in ancient times\nattainments in physical science were made irrespectively of religion.\nWithout religion, man lives in a savage state akin to brutes. Natural\nreligion, on which revealed religion is founded, exalts him in a\ndegree, and qualifies him for intellectual pursuits. Yet, even with\nits assistance, so corrupt is his nature, that philosophy and science\ncan obtain no permanent command over his passions, and his highest\ndegrees of refinement are always succeeded by periods of degradation,\nand no steady advance is made. As natural religion placed the heathen\nin a condition somewhat favorable to the pursuit of science, so\nrevealed religion, or, in other words, Roman Catholicism, did the like\nmore completely, in consequence of its divine origin and perfect\nadaptation to the needs of mankind. It brought society step by step\nout of a state of semi-barbarism, and overcame the resistance offered\nto its social improvements by the Roman people and Emperors, by Huns\nand Vandals, by Islamism, Iconoclasts, and Feudalism. It covered\nEurope with seats of learning, and kindled the student's lamp in the\nmonastic recesses of deep valleys and vast forests. It created a body\nof theological science, and of philosophical in connection with it,\n{641} which the more profound even of infidel thinkers admit to have\nbeen among the most marvellous products of the human mind; and this\nscientific system--over and above its higher purposes--was the very\nbest intellectual training possible under the circumstances of the\nperiod. Then, as time went on, religion accepted gratefully and\nemployed in its own service the art of printing, and prepared the\nhuman mind for those most energetic thoughts and often misdirected\nefforts which have been made, from the fifteenth century downward, for\nthe discovery of physical truth. It is therefore manifest to all whose\nthoughts reach below the surface of things, that the services which\nLord Bacon rendered to philosophy and Newton to Science, were\nindirectly due to the Catholic Church.\n\nRome, the central civilizer of society, exerts an influence far beyond\nher visible domain. The earth is hers, and the fulness thereof.\nWhatsoever things are true and holy in faith and morals among her\ntruants, whatever portions of her divine creed they carry away with\nthem to build up their sects, whatever books or texts of the mutilated\nscriptures they retain, whatever graces shine forth in them, and in\npart redeem their delinquency, are all to be ascribed to her as the\nprimary channel of communication between earth and heaven, and all\nbelong to her as their chartered proprietress, although they have been\nwrested from her hands. \"There is nothing right, useful, pleasing\n(jucundum) in human society, which the Roman pontiffs have not brought\ninto it, or have not refined and fostered (expoliverint et foverint)\nwhen introduced.\"  [Footnote 134] Heresy is always blended with truth,\nand the truth is always Rome's, while the heresy is theirs who have\ncorrupted it. Whatever is good and true in Protestantism is of Rome;\nand as Protestants would have no Bible but for the councils which\nsettled its canon, and the despised monks who transcribed it age after\nage, so Protestant churches would never have been founded if the great\nold church had not overspread Europe. Nay, the _Novum Organon_ and\n_Principia_ would in all probability never have seen the light.\nChristianity, on the whole, keeps science alive; and but for the\npopes, Christianity would soon vanish from the face of the earth. As\nfar as Bacon and Newton are indebted to Christianity for their\nphilosophy, just in so far are they indebted to Rome as its\nfountain-head. Whatever stress is to be laid on the fact of their\nbeing Christians, glorifies Rome indirectly as the source of\ncivilization. It is her very greatness and her perfect system of\ndoctrine which brings her into collision with every form of spiritual\nrebellion; but those who fly off from her authority are still her\nchildren, _in so far_ as they continue members at all of the family of\nGod. The prodigal son, amid all his degradation and wanderings, is\nyearned over by his father, and belongs to his father's house in a\ncertain sense.\n\n  [Footnote 134: Pope Pius IX. Letter to M. Mahon de Monaghan.]\n\nAs to Rome being the enemy of physical science, it is not difficult to\nsee the causes which have led to so extreme a misconception. She has\never protested, and that most energetically, against the prevalent\ntendency to give physics a supremacy over theology, where the two seem\nto clash; and she has also steadfastly resisted the pretension so\nconstantly made by physical science to thrust into a corner some\nhigher branches of human philosophy. Her conduct in the latter case\nhas been simply in accordance with what is now a growing conviction in\nthe philosophical world; while in the former case she has done nothing\nmore than uphold as infallibly certain the doctrinal deposit committed\nto her charge. But with these most reasonable qualifications, she has\never been active in stimulating the keenest physical researches. Well\nmay the present pope say that \"it is _impudently_ bruited abroad that\nthe Catholic {642} religion and the Roman pontificate are adverse to\ncivilization and progress, and therefore to the happiness which may\nthence be expected.\"  [Footnote 135] To harp upon Virgil and Galileo,\nproves how few and slender are the arguments which our accusers can\nadduce in support of their charge. If we defer to facts, and regard\nthe entire history of Christendom, we can certainly name ten persons\ndistinguished for physical discoveries in our own communion, for every\none whom Protestantism can boast. In no Catholic country is such\nscience discouraged, but its professors are, on the contrary,\neverywhere rewarded and honored. Nowhere among us has any recent\nscience, such as geology, been prohibited, or even combated, except by\nindividuals. Its conclusions, when really established, have been\nadmitted by all learned Catholics notwithstanding they appeared at\nfirst sight to run counter to the words of inspiration. Cardinal\nWiseman's \"Lectures on Science and Revealed Religion\" abundantly\nillustrate what is here stated; and his whole life was a refutation of\nthe calumny with which his creed is so often assailed. New arts, which\nare each the visible expression of a corresponding science, have been\nwelcomed abroad as readily as in England; and Belgium could be\ntraversed by steam long before the Great Western line between London\nand Bristol was completed. If it so happened that the greatest English\nastronomer, naturalist, or mathematician, were a Catholic, his\nco-religionists would be the most forward of all Englishmen to extol\nhis genius. His scientific pursuits would never make him an object of\nsuspicion with us, provided his loyalty to the church were complete;\nnor would his zeal be damped by any ecclesiastical authority, so, long\nas his conclusions involved nothing adverse to religion. The Catholic,\nit is true, can never make the claims of science paramount to those of\nfaith, but the restraint thus imposed on him is of the most salutary\nkind, and will be no real check on his liberty of thought; for science\nand revelation, though it may for a while be difficult to harmonize\nsome of their statements, must ever be found to agree strictly on\ncloser examination.\n\n  [Footnote 135: Pius IX.  Letter to M. Mahon de Monaghan.]\n\nIt would be easy to mark the successive stages in European\ncivilization by the pontificates of popes remarkable for their energy\nof character and the brightness of their abilities. The average length\nof the reigns of the first thirty-seven was rather less than ten\nyears; and during this time they had to struggle for something\ninfinitely more important than art and science. They were penetrated\nwith a deep sense of their sublime mission, and neither old age,\ninfirmities, nor persecution, paralyzed their labors. \"They employed\ntheir revenues in maintaining the poor, the sick, the infirm, the\nwidows, orphans, and prisoners, in burying the martyrs, in erecting\nand embellishing oratories, in comforting and redeeming confessors and\ncaptives, and in sending aid of every description to the suffering\nchurches of other provinces.\" [Footnote 136] Thus, in the wise order\nof providence, papal civilization began in the moral world before it\nextended to the intellectual. Yet in the middle of the fourth century,\nthe pope and his coadjutors in different quarters of the globe,\npresented a striking spectacle, when considered merely in their\nintellectual aspect. St. Damasus, the thirty-eighth pope, occupied the\nsee of St. Peter. While he zealously promoted ecclesiastical\ndiscipline, he won for himself general admiration by his virtues and\nhis writings. His taste for letters carried him beyond the sphere of\ntheological labor; he composed verses, and wrote several heroic poems.\n[Footnote 137] He was the light of Rome, while St. Augustine, the\nbrightest star that ever adorned the Catholic episcopate, shone at\nHippo. St. Ambrose, at the same time, was the glory of Milan; St.\nGregory taught at Nyssa; St. Gregory Nazianzen {643} wrote in\nConstantinople; St. Martin evangelized the Gauls; St. Basil composed\nhis \"Moralia\" and his Treatise on the study of ancient Greek authors\nat Caesarea; St. Hilary and St. Paulinus bore witness to the truth in\nPoitiers and Tr\u00e8ves; St. Jerome unfolded the sacred stores of his\nlearning in Thrace, Bithynia, Cappadocia, and Pontus; St. Cyril wrote\nbeside his Saviour's tomb; and St. Patrick converted Ireland from the\ndarkness of Druidic paganism.\n\n  [Footnote 136: J. Chantrel, \"La Royaut\u00e9 Pontifieale,\" p. 74]\n\n  [Footnote 137: St. Jerome, \"De Illustr. Eccles. Script.\"]\n\nEvery faithful prelate at that period--nay, every true Christian;\nhowever humble his condition--stood out more prominently from the mass\nof society than we can now imagine. Christianity has produced among us\na certain general level of morality. But it was not so then. The\nmasses were still heathen, and Christians were often in a very small\nminority. Their principles and conduct, therefore, were so distinct\nfrom those around them, that each attracted attention, and exerted\nmore influence than he was aware of. Each Roman Catholic--for we\njoyfully accept a designation which is erroneously supposed to limit\nour claims--each Roman Catholic was then a light shining in a dark\nplace, and, in his measure, an apostle of civilization. He promoted\nscience, even though he had never heard its name, for he diminished\nthat amount of moral depravity, on the ruins of which alone science\ncan build her gorgeous fanes. He was member of a church, which,\nwherever it was established, protested by its institutions against the\nexcessive indulgence of carnal affections. A celibate priesthood,\nsocieties of monks and nuns, hermits, and vows of chastity observed by\npersons living in the world, like St. Cecilia and St. Scholastica, and\nexpiring in the arms of wife or husband without ever having done\nviolence to the pure intentions which marked their bridal--these\nthings formed a spectacle so extraordinary to the heathen, who had\nbeen accustomed to make sensual indulgence a feature in their\nreligious solemnities, that it could not but excite inquiry, and issue\nin affixing a fresh stamp of divinity on the faith of Christ. What\nwould have become of society by this time if the elements of\ndecomposition which then existed had been allowed to work unchecked by\nthe laws of Christian marriage, the prohibition of divorce, and lastly\nby monasticism--monasticism not forced on any one as a duty, but\nfreely chosen as a privilege--a higher and purer state, best suited\nfor communion with God and activity in his service!\n\nIn the fifth century, the efforts which had been made by Popes\nInnocent, Boniface, Celestine, and Sixtus III. for the conversion of\nthe barbarians who overran the fairest portions of Europe, were\ncontinued with extraordinary perseverance by the great St. Leo. He\nformed the most conspicuous figure in his age. No element of greatness\nwas wanting to his character, and the complicated miseries of the\ntimes only threw into stronger relief the energy of his mind and will.\nHis reign, from first to last, is a chapter in the history of\ncivilization. Attila, crossing the Jura mountains with his numerous\nhordes, fell upon Italy. Valentinian III. fled before him, and Leo\nalone had weight and courage equal to the task of interceding with the\nresistless devastator. On the 11th of June, 452, he set forth to meet\nhim, and found him on the banks of the Mincio. Rome was saved, and\nwith it religion and the hopes of society. Three years after, Genseric\nwith his Vandals stood before its gates; and though Leo could not this\ntime altogether stay the destroyer, he saved the lives of the\ncitizens, and Rome itself from being burnt. If she had not been\npossessed of a hidden and supernatural life, far transcending that\nidea of a civilizing agent which it so abundantly includes, she would\nalready have been razed to the ground, as she was afterward by the\nOstrogoths under Totila, and from neither devastation would she ever\nhave been {644} able to revive. At this moment she would be numbered\nwith Nineveh and Sidon, the foxes would bark upon the Aventine as when\nBelisarius rode through the deserted Forum, and shepherds would fold\ntheir flocks upon the hills where St. Peter's and St. John Lateran now\ndazzle the eye with splendor.  [Footnote 138]\n\n  [Footnote 138: Monsignor Manning, \"The Eternity of Rome.\"--_Lamp_,\n  Nov. 1863.]\n\nHappily great popes never fail. All are great in their power and\ninfluence, and almost all have been good, while from time to time\nProvidence raises up some one also who makes an impression on his age,\nand is acknowledged by friends and foes alike to be gifted with those\nqualities which entitle him to the epithet \"great.\" Pelagus I.\nsupplied the Romans with provisions during a long siege, and after the\nexample of St. Leo, obtained from Totila some mitigation of his\nbarbarous severities; John III. and Benedict I. ministered largely to\nthe Italians who were dying of want, and driven from their homes by\nthe remorseless Lombards; and writers the most adverse to the\npapacy--Gibbon, Daunou,  [Footnote 139] Sismondi--testify to the\ndisinterested benevolence of these and other pontiffs during the\nchurch's struggle with northern devastators. Just a century and a half\nhad elapsed since Leo the Great's elevation, when St. Gregory ascended\nthe papal throne amid the people's acclamation. He was at the same\ntime doctor, legislator, and statesman; and the plain facts of his\npontificate might be so related as to appear a panegyric rather than a\nsober history. In the midst of personal weakness and suffering, the\nstrength of his soul and intellect were felt in every quarter of\nChristendom and while he composed his \"Pastoral\" and his \"Dialogues,\"\nor negotiated with the Lombards in behalf of his afflicted country,\nnews reached him frequently of the success of his missions amongst\ndistant and barbarous people.  [Footnote 140] To one of these we owe\nthe conversion of our Anglo-Saxon forefathers; and the results it\nproduced extort from Macaulay the admission that the spiritual\nsupremacy assumed by the pope effected more good than harm, and that\nthe Roman Church, by uniting all men in a bond of brotherhood, and\nteaching all their responsibility before God, deserves to be spoken of\nwith respect by philosophers and philanthropists.  [Footnote 141]\n\n  [Footnote 139: \"Essai Historique,\" t. i.]\n\n  [Footnote 140: See Chantrel, \"Hist. Populaire des Papes,\" t. v.]\n\n  [Footnote 141: \"Hist. of England,\" chap. i.]\n\nSabinian, Boniface III. and IV., John IV. and VII., Theodore, Martin,\nEugene, and Benedict II., trod firmly in the steps of St. Gregory, and\nencouraged the clergy everywhere in repairing the evils wrought by the\nbarbarians, and in re-establishing law and order.   [Footnote 142] The\nbishops became the natural chiefs of society, and the administration\nof justice was often placed in their hands by common consent. Their\ncounsel was taken by untutored kings, and they gradually impressed\nthem with a sense of the distinction between temporal and spiritual\npower, and of the right of the latter to control the undue exercise of\nthe former. They raised by turns all the great questions that interest\nmankind, and established the independence of the intellectual world.\n[Footnote 143] Such is the impartial testimony of writers unhappily\nprejudiced against the institution they applaud.\n\n  [Footnote 142: Gibbon, \"Decline and Fall,\" chap. ixv.]\n\n  [Footnote 143: Guizot, \"Hist. de la Civilisation en Europe.\" \"Hist.\n  de la Civilisation en France.\" t. ii.]\n\nIn their protracted conflict with Islamism, the Roman pontiffs were\nthe champions of social improvement. It needs only to survey the\nopposite coasts of the Mediterranean, in order to gain some idea of\nthe paralyzing influence which the creed of Mohammed would have\nexerted over human progress, if it had not been vigorously resisted.\nIts prevailing dogma being fatalism, and its main precept sensuality,\nit has, after a lapse of twelve centuries, failed to ameliorate the\ncondition of the tribes who profess it. If, in any respects, they\nenjoy advantages unknown to their forefathers, these are due, not to\nMohammedanism, but to that {645} very anti-Saracenic movement which\nthe popes headed, and which, under different conditions, they carry\nforward to this day. Permanent degradation was all that Islamism could\npromise. The Arabs alone kindled for a while the lamp of learning, but\neven their subtlety and genius did not suffice to keep its flame\nalive. Everywhere, and with all the forces at their command, the popes\nrepelled its encroachments. More than once they girded on the sword,\nand led their warriors to the charge against the Moslem host. During a\nhundred and seventy years--from 1096 to 1270--they roused and united\nthe nations again and again in the common cause. Other statesmen were\nunable to form extensive combinations, but _they_ were often\nsuccessful where diplomacy failed. In eight successive crusades, the\nflower of Europe's chivalry was marshalled on the Syrian plains, and\nif Catholic arms failed in retaining possession of the city of\nJerusalem and the sepulchre of Christ, they at all events saved the\ncause of European civilization, and ultimately drove back the intruder\nfrom the vineyards of Spain and the gates of Vienna, and sank their\nproud galleys in the waves of Lepanto. When the zeal of crusaders died\naway, the Roman pontiffs ever tried to rekindle it, constantly rebuked\nthe princes who made terms with the false prophet, and exhorted them\nto expel the conquered Saracens from their soil. Such was the policy\nof Clement IV., under whom, in 1268, the last crusade was set on foot.\n[Footnote 144] Two centuries later, Calixtus III. was animated with\nthe same sentiments. He was appalled, as his predecessor had been, at\nthe progress the Turks made in Europe after the capture of\nConstantinople, and made a strenuous appeal to the Catholic kingdoms\nagainst the Mussulman invasions. At an advanced age he preserved in\nhis soul the fire of youth, sent preachers in every direction to rouse\nthe slumbering zeal of the faithful, and himself equipped an army of\n60,000 men, which he sent under the command of Campestran, his legate,\nto the help of the noble Hunyad in Hungary. Pius II. succeeded him in\n1458. He was at once theologian, orator, diplomatist, canonist,\nhistorian, geographer, and poet. He struggled hard to organize a\ncrusade against the Ottomans, formed a league to this end with Mathias\nCorvin, king of Hungary, pressed the king of France, the duke of\nBurgundy, and the republic of Venice into the cause, and placed\nhimself at the head of the expedition. He was on the point of\nembarking at Ancona, and in sight of the Venetian galleys, waiting to\ntransport him to the foreign shore, when fever surprised him, and he\ndied. \"No doubt,\" he said, \"war is unsuitable to the weakness of old\nmen, and the character of pontiffs, but when religion is ready to\nsuccumb, what can detain us? We shall be followed by our cardinals and\na large number of bishops. We shall march with our standard unfolded,\nand with the relics of saints, with Jesus Christ himself in the holy\nEucharist.\" The spectacle would certainly have been grand, if Pius II.\nhad thus appeared before the walls of Constantinople; but Providence\nhad not willed it so.\n\n  [Footnote 144: See his letter to the King of Arragon. Fleury, \"Hist,\n  Eccles.\" An. 1266.]\n\nThese are but a few of the great names which lent weight to the appeal\nin behalf of the harassed pilgrims in Palestine, the outraged tomb of\nthe Redeemer, and the Christian lands overran by Saracens and Turkish\nhordes. To whatever causes the worldly-wise historian may attribute\nthe overthrow of the Ottoman power in Europe, the Catholic will\nascribe it without hesitation to the untiring activity of the popes.\nDivided as the petty kingdoms and principalities of the west were by\nmutual jealousy and ceaseless warfare, they would never have been able\nto oppose a compact front to the advances of Islamism, if they had not\nbeen persuaded by popes and prelates, by Peter the hermit, St.\nBernard, and {646} Foulque, to lay aside their miserable disputes, and\nunite against the common enemy. Thus, by the crusades, immediate\nbenefit accrued to European society, and the character of the church\nas a ruler and leader was never borne in upon the minds of men with\ngreater force than when Adh\u00e9mar, the apostolic legate, put himself at\nthe head of the Crusade under Urban II., \"wore by turns the prelate's\nmitre and the knight's casque,\" and proved the model, the consoler,\nand the stay of the sacred expedition.  [Footnote 145] The presence of\nbishops and priests among the soldiery impressed on the Crusades a\nreligious stamp favorable to the enthusiasm and piety of the\ncombatants, and corrective of the evils which never fail to follow the\ncamp.  [Footnote 146] Nations learned their Christian brotherhood,\nwhich former ages had taught them to forget; minds were enlarged by\ntravel, and prejudices were dispelled; civilizing arts were acquired\neven from the infidel, and brought back to western towns and villages\nas the most precious spoil. As Rome had, at an earlier period,\nresisted the superstition and rapacity of Leo the Isaurian,  [Footnote\n147] and rescued Christian art from the hands of the image-breakers,\nso now she opened the way to commerce with the east and rewarded the\nzeal of Catholic populations with the costly bales and rich produce of\nArabia and Syria.\n\n  [Footnote 145: Michaad et Poujouiat, \"Hist. des Croisades.\"]\n\n  [Footnote 146: See Heeren, \"Essai sur l'Influence des Croisades.\"]\n\n  [Footnote 147: \"Parfum de Rome,\" t. i. p. 124.]\n\nHaving turned the feudal system to good account in its conflict with\nMohammedanism, the Church, with Rome for its centre, rejoiced to find\nthat system, at the close of the struggle, considerably weakened. It\nhad grown to maturity in a barbarous age, and was but a milder form of\nthat slavery which had so deeply disgraced the institutions of Pagan\nRome.   [Footnote 148] It perpetuated the distinctions of caste, and\nthe privilege enjoyed by one family of oppressing others. It was\nselfishness exalted by pride--the right of the strong over the weak.\nIt exacted forced tribute, and held in its own violent hands the\nmoral, mental, and material well-being of its subjects. It required\nblind and absolute submission, and often refused to dispense justice\neven at this price. Immobility was its ruling principle, and there was\nnothing on which it frowned more darkly than amelioration and\nprogress. In all these particulars it was at variance with the\nreligion of Christ, and for this reason Rome never ceased to combat\nits manifold abuses.\n\n  [Footnote 148: See \"Rome under Paganism,\" etc., vol. 1. pp. 50-53.]\n\nAt the close of the Crusades the nobles began to learn their proper\nplace. Petty fiefs and small republics disappeared, and one strong and\nregal executive swallowed up a multitude of inferior and vexatious\nmasteries. The barons became the support of the throne whose authority\nthey had so long weakened, and ceased to oppress the people as they\nhad done for ages. Cities multiplied, and rose to opulence; municipal\ngovernments flourished, acquired and conferred privileges, and\nafforded to the industrious abundant scope for wholesome emulation,\nand laudable ambition. All the arts of life were brought into\nexercise, and a new and middling class of society was called into\nbeing. The merchants, the tradesmen, and the gentry obtained their\nrecognized footing in the community, and numberless corporations,\nguilds, and militia testified to the growing importance of the burgess\nas distinguished from the noble and the villain.   [Footnote 149]\n\n  [Footnote 149: See Mably, \"Observations sur l'Histoire de France,\"\n  iii. 7.]\n\nWell-ordered governments on a large scale involved of necessity the\ncultivation of the soil. Myriads of acres which, before the Crusades,\nhad been barren or baneful, now smiled with waving corn, or bore rich\nharvests of luscious grapes. The want of bulky transports to convey\nlarge cargoes of men and munitions to the East had caused great\nalteration and improvement in the construction of ships. {647}\nNavigation and commerce gained fresh vigor; maritime laws and customs\ncame to be recognized, and were reduced, about the middle of the\nthirteenth century, into a manual called _Consolato del mar_,\n[Footnote 150] Venice, Genoa, Pisa, and Marseilles rose to wealth and\nsplendor; sugar and silks were manufactured; stuffs were woven and\ndyed; metals were wrought; architecture was diversified and improved,\nmedicine learned many a precious rule and remedy from Arab leeches;\ngeography corrected long-standing blunders; and poetry found a new\nworld in which to expatiate. None of these results were unforeseen by\nthe prescience of Rome. She knew that it was her mission to renew the\nface of the earth; nor, in pursuing her unwavering policy in reference\nto Islamism, did she ever forget that it was given her from the first\nto suck the breasts of the Gentiles, and to assimilate to her own\nsystem all that is rich and rare in nature, wonderful in science,\nbeauteous in art, wise in literature, and noble in man. The Roman\nChurch had ever been the friend and patron of those slaves whom Cato\nand Cicero, with all their philosophy, so heartily despised.\n[Footnote 151] She did not indeed affirm that slavery was impossible\nunder the Christian law, but she discouraged it. \"At length,\" says\nVoltaire, whose testimony on such a point none will suspect, \"Pope\nAlexander III., in 1167, declared in the name of the Council that all\nChristians should be (_devaient \u00e9tre_) exempt from slavery. This law\nalone ought to render his memory dear to all people, as his efforts to\nmaintain the liberty of Italy should make his name precious to the\nItalians.\"  [Footnote 152] Lord Macaulay has spoken frankly of the\nadvantage to which the Catholic Church shows in some countries as\ncontrasted with our forms of Christianity, and says it is notorious\nthat the antipathy between the European and African races is less\nstrong at Rio Janeiro than at Washington.  [Footnote 153] On the\nauthority of Sir Thomas Smith, one of Elizabeth's most able\ncounsellors, he assures us that the Catholic priests up to that time\nhad used their most strenuous exertions to abolish serfdom. Confessors\nnever failed to adjure the dying noble who owned serfs to free his\nbrethren for whom Christ died. Thus the bondsman became loosened from\nthe glebe which gave him birth; many during the Crusades left their\nplough in the furrow, and their cattle at the trough, and escaped from\nservice they had long detested; and many knights and lords who\nreturned from the Holy Land emancipated their serfs of their own\naccord. Free hirelings took the place of hereditary bondsmen; and the\npeasant's life assumed a pleasant and civilized aspect. In proportion\nas Rome's genuine influence prevails in any country over clergy and\npeople, the traces of the fall diminish, and those of paradise are\nrestored.\n\n  [Footnote 150: E. M. de Monaghan, p. 219. ]\n\n  [Footnote 151: Cic. Orat de Harusp, Resp. xii. ]\n\n  [Footnote 152: Sur les Moeurs, ch. 83. ]\n\n  [Footnote 153: Hist. of England, chap. i.]\n\nThe Roman pontiff have often been accused of interfering in the\nprivate affairs of princes. But the charge is unjust. It is part of\ntheir mission to repress all moral disorders, and especially to punish\nthe licentiousness of sovereigns whose bad example promotes immorality\namong their subjects. Their jurisdiction is fully admitted; their\nright of granting or refusing a divorce no Catholic prince disputes\nany more than their right of inflicting penances in case of adultery\nor incest. To deny them, therefore, the opportunity of investigating\nthe very cases on which they must ultimately decide, would be\nmanifestly inconsistent and absurd. When Lothaire II. of Lorraine\ndrove away from his court the virtuous Teustberghe, and accused her of\ndisgraceful crimes, who can blame Nicholas I. for having espoused the\ncause of this persecuted queen, and excommunicated in council her\nunjust lord? Did the popes \"interfere\" in such matters otherwise than\nin the interests of humanity; and if they had {648} consulted their\nown ease and comfort, would they not have abstained from such\ninterference altogether? Let the world call it papal aggression,\nusurpation, political scheming, or what other hard name it will, the\ntrue Christian will see in it nothing but disinterested devotion to\nthe voice of conscience and the good of society. God himself seems to\nhave declared in favor of Pope Nicholas in the affair alluded to; for\nwhen Louis le Germanique took up arms to avenge his brother, and\nmarched on Rome, the pontiff met his armies with fasting and litanies,\nand with no other standard than the crucifix given by the Empress\nHelena containing a fragment of the true cross. The victorious king\nwas overcome by these demonstrations, and, imploring the pope's\npardon, submitted to all his conditions.  [Footnote 154] We hesitate\nnot to affirm that the \"interference\" of the popes in temporal affairs\nhas more than once saved Europe from Islamism, even as at the present\ntime they are saving her from total infidelity. Whether successful or\nunsuccessful, they struggled with equal constancy and valor against\nthat formidable power. About the year 876 Mussulman hordes infested\nthe country around Rome to such an extent that at last scarcely a\nhamlet or drove of oxen remained to suffer by the widespread disaster.\nThree hundred Saracen galleys menaced the mouth of the Tiber, and John\nVIII., deserted and betrayed by neighboring dukes, implored by letter\nthe aid of Charles the Bald and the Emperor Charles of Germany. Yet he\nfailed, and that not so much through the strength of the Mohammedans\nas through the base conduct of princes called Christian, who cast him\ninto prison, and then drove him to find refuge in France. Often have\nthe popes been obliged to follow the example of John VIII., and look\nforth from their retirement in foreign lands on the tempest they have\nbraved and escaped. His 320 letters show how much temporal affairs\noccupied his attention, because God willed that his spiritual\nauthority should show forth its civilizing tendency in temporal\nintervention. His conflict with Islamism, which seemed unproductive at\nthe time, bore fruit in after ages.\n\n  [Footnote 154: Milman's Hist. of Latin Christianity. ]\n\nThe differences which arose and lasted so long between the popes and\nthe emperors of Germany are constantly misrepresented by writers\nadverse to the Church. Their origin lay in the attachment of the Roman\npontiffs to principles which they can never abandon. The investiture\nquarrel was a long struggle of spiritual authority against imperial\naggression, and the apparent compromise in which it issued left the\ndivine prerogatives of the Holy See intact. Simony was one great\nplague of the middle ages, and but for the popes the princes of Europe\nwould have filled the Lord's temple with impious traffic. But for the\npopes, too, many of them would have been unchecked in their proud\ndreams of universal empire, which, if realized, would have been as\ninjurious to the liberties of mankind as to the free action of the\nchurch. Frederick II., who was born in Italy, and lived to spend long\nyears in its delicious climate, without once visiting his German\ndomains, desired to establish in her the throne of the Caesars. This\nwas the secret of all his disputes with the pope, and this ambitious\nproject every successor of St. Peter felt bound to resist. But amid\nall these struggles, from Gregory VII. to Calistus II., the life of\nthe church was a continual child-bearing, and while the popes battled\nwith crowned princes, they labored also for the souls of the poor. If\nyou would find the inexhaustible mine of that salt which keeps the\nwhole world from corruption, you must seek it in the hill where Paul\nwas buried, and Peter expired on his inverted cross. Proceeding thus\nby regular stages in the work of improvement, the Roman Church had the\nsatisfaction of seeing every formula of enfranchisement signed by\nprince or baron in the name of religion. It was {649} always with some\nChristian idea, some hope of future recompense, some recognition of\nthe equality of all men in the sight of God, that the strong\nvoluntarily loosened the bonds of the weak. Absurd and barbarous\nlegislation was gradually reformed under the same influence; and\ntrials by single combat, oaths without evidence, and passing through\nfire or cold water as a test of innocence, were supplanted by more\nrational processes. M. Gnizot has pointed out the great superiority of\nthe laws of the Visigoths over those of other barbarous people around\nthem; and he ascribes this difference to their having been drawn up\nunder the direction of the Councils of Toledo. They laid great stress\non the examination of written documents in all trials, accepted mere\naffirmation on oath only as a last resource, and distinguished between\nthe different degrees of guilt in homicide, with or without\npremeditation, provoked or unprovoked, and the like. If M. Guizot's\nobservation is well founded in the case of an Arian code, how much\nmore weight would it have, if made in reference to laws framed under\nCatholic influence. Civilization and theology went hand in hand. Every\nquestion was considered in its theological bearing. The habits, the\nfeelings, and the language of men continually bespoke religious ideas.\nBarbaric wisdom was guided by the Star of the East to Bethlehem, and\nmatured in the school of Christ. The public penances imposed by the\nchurch became the form to which penal inflictions were moulded by the\nlaw; the repentance of the culprit, and the fear of offending inspired\nin bystanders, being the twofold object kept in view. The progress\nmade by the nations under such tutelage has been allowed by many\nProtestant historians, and it would be easy to cite the testimony of\nRobertson, Sismondi, Leibnitz, Coquerel, Ancillon,  [Footnote 155] and\nDe Muller,   [Footnote 156] to the truth of our statements. Duels in\nthe middle ages, and even down to the time of Louis XIV., raged like\nan epidemic, produced deadly feuds between families, abolished all\njust decision of disputes, and gave the advantage to the more agile\nand skilful of the combatants. From 1589 to 1607 no less than 4000\nFrench gentleman lost their lives in duels.  [Footnote 157] The genius\nof Sully and Richelieu was unequal to the task of crushing this\ntwo-fold crime of suicide and murder. But the church had never ceased\nto denounce it, and, in the Council of Trent especially, launched all\nher thunders against it.  [Footnote 158] At length temporal princes\nwere guided by her voice in this matter. Charles V. forbade it in his\nvast dominions; in Portugal it was punished with confiscation and\nbanishment to Africa; and in Sweden it was visited with death.\n\n  [Footnote 155: Tableau des R\u00e9volutions.]\n\n  [Footnote 156: Hist. Universelle.]\n\n  [Footnote 157: Bell on Feudalism.]\n\n  [Footnote 158: Sess. xxv. c. 19.]\n\nThe pitiless character of human legislation was exhibited for ages in\nthe practice of refusing those who were condemned to death the\nprivilege of confession; and it was not till the reign of Philip the\nBold, in 1397, that this cruel restriction was removed. The church had\nalways protested against it, and her remonstrances at last prevailed.\nChivalry itself owed something to her inspiration. Mingled as it was\nwith rudeness and violence, it had also many noble elements, which\nreligion encouraged. It was a step toward higher civilization, because\nit vindicated the dignity of womankind; true gallantry sprang from\nhonest purposes and virtuous conduct, and if Sir Galahad said--\n\n  \"My good blade carves the casques of men,\n  My tough lance thrusteth sure,\"\n\nhe added--\n\n  \"My strength is as the strength of ten,\n  _Because my heart is pure_.\"\n\nSir James Stephen, in a paper on St. Gregory VII.,  [Footnote 159] has\navowed his conviction that the centralization of the ecclesiastical\npower did more than counterbalance the isolating tendency of feudal\noligarchies. But for the {650} intervention of the papacy, he says,\nthe vassal of the west, and the serf of eastern Europe would, perhaps\nto this day be in the same state of social debasement, and military\nautocrats would occupy the place of paternal and constitutional\ngovernments. Feudal despotism strove to debase men into wild beasts or\nbeasts of burden, while \"the despotism of Hildebrand,\" whether\nconsistent or no, sought to guide the human race by moral impulses to\nsanctity more than human. If the popes had abandoned the work assigned\nthem by Providence, they would have plunged the church and world into\nhopeless bondage. St. Gregory VII. found the papacy dependent on the\nempire, and he supported it by alliances with Italian princes. He\nfound the chair of the apostles filled, when vacant, by the clergy and\nthe people of Rome, and he provided for less stormy elections by\nmaking the pope eligible by a college of his own nomination. He found\nthe Holy See in subjection to Henry, and he rescued it from his hands.\nHe found the secular clergy subservient to lay influence, and he\nrendered them free and active auxiliaries of his own authority. He\nfound the highest dignitaries of the church the slaves of temporal\nsovereigns, and he delivered them from this yoke, and bound them to\nthe tiara. He found ecclesiastical functions and benefices the spoil\nand traffic of princes, and he brought them back to the control of the\nsovereign pontiff; He is justly celebrated as the reformer of the\nprofane and licentious abuses of his time, and we owe him the praise\nalso of having left the impress of his giant character on the history\nof the ages that followed. Such are the candid admissions of a\nprofessor in the University of Cambridge. The highest eulogies of Rome\nare often to be found in the writings of aliens.\n\n  [Footnote 159: Edinburgh Review, 1845.]\n\nUp to the time of the Reformation the Roman church was manifestly in\nthe forefront of civilization. After that terrible revolution she was\nstill really so, but not always manifestly. Her position was the same,\nbut that of society had changed. It no longer accepted her laws; it\ncavilled at her authority, ort openly spurned it. People forgot their\ndebt of gratitude to the power which had always interfered in behalf\nof the oppressed, and princes jibed at the restraints which the papacy\nimposed on their absolute rule. The printing-press was wrested from\nthe church's hands, and made the chief engine for propagating\nmisbelief. A new and spurious civilization was set up, and was so\nblended with real and amazing progress in many of the sciences and the\narts of life, that when the popes opposed what was corrupt in it and\nof evil tendency, they often appeared adverse to what was genuine. Of\nthis their enemies took every advantage, and constantly represented\nthem as the mortal foes of the liberty, enlightenment, and progress of\nmankind. Pontiff after pontiff protested against this wilful\nmisrepresentation, which has lasted three hundred years, and continues\nin full force to this day. Seldom has it been put forward more\nspeciously than in reference to the recent Encyclical of Pius IX. We\nshall endeavor to show its utter falsity in the remainder of this\narticle.\n\nThrown back in her efforts to evangelize Europe, the church turned\nwith more ardor than ever toward the other hemisphere. Already Alvarez\ndi Cordova had planted the cross in Congo. Idolatry vanished before it\nalmost entirely in the African territory recently discovered, and upon\nits ruins rose the city of San Salvador. The ills inflicted on the\nAmericans by the first Spanish settlers were repaired by the\nBenedictine Bernard di Buil, and other missionaries who trod in his\nsteps. The Dominicans set their faces sternly against reducing the\nIndians to the rank of slaves, and Father Monterino, in the church of\nSt. Domingo, inveighed against it in the presence of the governor,\nwith all {651} the fervor of popular eloquence.  [Footnote 160] The\nlife of Bartholomew de Las Casas was one long struggle against the\ncupidity and cruelty of Spanish masters and in favor of Indian\nfreedom. The labors and successes of St. Francis Xavier are too well\nknown to require recapitulation in this place; it is more to the\npurpose to remark that the missionaries of Rome, from Mexico and the\nPhilippine islands, to Goa, Cochin-China, and Japan, everywhere\nexposed to adverse climate, hardship, and martyrdom, carried with them\nthe two-fold elements of civilization--religion and the arts of life.\nThe Jesuit who started for China was provided with telescope and\ncompass. He appeared at the court of Pekin with the urbanity of one\nfresh from the presence of Louis XIV., and surrounded with the\ninsignia of science. He unrolled his maps, turned his globes, chalked\nout his spheres, and taught the astonished mandarins the course of the\nstars and the name of him who guides them in their orbits.  [Footnote\n161] Buffon,  [Footnote 162] Robertson, and Macaulay have alike\nextolled the missionary zeal of the Jesuit fathers, and have ascribed\nto them, not merely the regeneration of the inward man, but the\ncultivation of barren lands, the building of cities, new high roads of\ncommerce, new products, new riches and comforts for the whole human\nrace.\n\n  [Footnote 160: Robertson, Hist. of America.]\n\n  [Footnote 161: G\u00e9nie du Christianisme.]\n\n  [Footnote 162: Hist. Naturelle de l'Homme.]\n\nIn teaching barbarous nations the arts of life and the elements of\nscientific knowledge, the missionaries acted in perfect accordance\nwith the spirit of the papacy and the example of the religious orders.\nEach of these had its appointed sphere, and each civilized mankind in\nits own way. The templars, the knights of St. John, the Teutonic\nknights, and half a dozen other now forgotten military orders,\ndefended civilization with the sword; the Chartreux, the Benedictines,\nthe Bernardines, in quiet and shady retreats, preserved from decay the\nprecious stores of heathen antiquity, compiled the history of their\nseveral epochs, and gave themselves, under many disadvantages, to the\nstudy of natural philosophy; the Redemptorists, the Trinitarians, and\nthe Brothers of Mercy devoted themselves to the redemption of captives\nand the emancipation of slaves. Voltaire cannot pass them over without\na burst of admiration, when touching on their benevolent career during\nsix centuries.  [Footnote 163] Some orders made preaching and private\ninstruction their special work, and among these were the Dominicans,\nthe Franciscans, the Carmelites, and the Augustines. The pulpit is the\nlever that raises the moral world; and it civilizes city, village, and\nhamlet the more effectually because its work is constant and\nsystematic. It explains, Sunday after Sunday, and festival after\nfestival, the sublimest and deepest of all sciences, while it guides\nsociety, with persuasive might, in the path of moral improvement. With\nall that social science has devised for the comfort and welfare of\nmankind, nothing that it has ever invented is so essentially\ncivilizing, so dignified and lovely, so unpretending and strong, as\nthe self-denying labors of brothers and sisters of charity,\nsacrificing youth, beauty, prospects, tastes, and indulgence, on the\naltar of religion, and passing their days among the lepers and the\nplague-stricken, the ignorant, the degraded, the squalid and the\ninfirm.\n\n  [Footnote 163: Sur les Moeurs, ch. cxx.]\n\nAnd of these orders, none, be it observed, has railed against\nknowledge. By no rule, in any one of them, has ignorance been made a\nvirtue and science a sin. All have admired the beauty of\nknowledge--the fire on her brow--her forward countenance--her\nboundless domain. All have wished well to her cause, and have\nmaintained only that she should know her place; that she is the\nsecond, not the first; that she is not wisdom, but {652} wisdom's\nhandmaid; that she is of earth, and wisdom is of heaven; she is of the\nworld for the church, and wisdom is of the church for the world.\nSevered from religion, they regarded her as some wild Pallas from the\nbrain of demons; but science guided by a higher hand, and moving side\nby side with revelation, like the younger child, they believed to be\nthe most beautiful spectacle the mind could contemplate.\n\nTo repeat these things in the ears of well read Catholics, is to\niterate a thrice-told tale. But there are others who need often to be\nreminded of facts of history which our adversaries are apt to ignore.\nBesides the vast body of priests and religious orders, whose office\nwas to disseminate thought and piety through the world, the papacy\nconstantly sought new vehicles by which to promote science. The\ngreater part of the universities of Europe owe their existence to this\nagency. Oxford, Cambridge, Glasgow, Naples, Padua, Vienna, Upsal,\nLisbon, Salamanca, Toulouse, Montpellier, Orleans, Nantes, Poictiers,\nand a multitude beside, were made centres of human knowledge under the\npatronage of the popes, and Clement V., Gregory IX., Engenius IV.,\nNicholas V., and Pius II., were among the most illustrious of their\nfounders.\n\nThe writings of Leonardo da Vinci were not published till a century\nafter his death, and some of them at a still later period. They are\nmore like revelations of physical truths vouchsafed to a single mind,\nthan the fabric of its reasoning on any established basis. He laid\ndown the principle of Bacon, that experiment and observation must be\nour chief guides in the investigation of nature. Venturi has given a\nmost interesting list of the truths in mechanism apprehended by the\ngenius of this light of the fifteenth century.  [Footnote 164] He was\npossessed in the highest degree of the spirit of physical inquiry, and\nin this department of learning was truly a seer.\n\n  [Footnote 164: Estai sur lea Ouvrages Physico-Math\u00e9matiques de\n  L\u00e9onard de Vinci. Paris. 1797. Hallam's Literary History, vol. i.\n  pp. 222-5.]\n\nLet the reader transport himself in idea to the beautiful borders of\nthe Henares, and there, in the opening of the sixteenth century, look\ndown on the rising University of Alcal\u00e1. Let him admire and wonder at\nthe varied energy of its founder--Ximenes, the prelate, the hermit,\nthe warrior, and the statesman. There, in his sixty-fourth year, he\nlaid the corner-stone of the principal college, and was often seen\nwith the rule in hand, taking the measurement of the buildings, and\nencouraging the industry of the workmen. The diligence with which he\nframed the system of instruction to be pursued, the activity of mind\nhe promoted among the students, the liberal foundations he made for\nindigent scholars and the regulation of professors' salaries, did not\nwithdraw him from the affairs of state, or the publication of his\nfamous Bible, the Complutensian Polyglot. When Francis I., visited\nAlcal\u00e1, twenty years after the university was opened, 7000 students\ncame forth to receive him, and by the middle of the seventeenth\ncentury the revenue bequeathed by Ximenes had increased to 42,000\nducats, and the colleges had multiplied from ten to thirty-five.\n[Footnote 165] Most of the chairs were appropriated to secular\nstudies, and Alcal\u00e1 stands forward as a brilliant refutation of the\ncalumnies against Catholic prelates as the patrons of ignorance.\n\n  [Footnote 165: Quintanilla: Archetype. Prescott's Ferdinand and\n  Isabella, ii. 826.]\n\nThe same country and epoch which produced Ximenes gave birth also to\nColumbus. It was neither accident nor religion, but nautical science\nand the intuitive vision of another hemisphere, that piloted him\nacross the Atlantic to the West-India shores. Amerigo Vespucci\nfollowed in his wake, emulous of like discoveries. He published a\njournal of his earlier voyages at Vicenza in 1507, and gave his name\n{653} to the continent of the western world. Thus, while two great\nnavigators, each of them Catholics, explored new lands on the surface\nof our globe, Copernicus at the same time, and Galileo not many years\nafter, presaged the motion of the planets round the sun, and the\ntwofold rotation of the earth. To Galileo, indeed, far more is due. To\nhim we owe the larger part of experimental philosophy. He first\npropounded the laws of gravity, the invention of the pendulum, the\nhydrostatic scales, the sector, a thermometer, and the telescope. With\nthe last he made numberless observations which changed the face of\nastronomy. Among these, that of the satellites of Jupiter was one of\nthe most remarkable. He came, it is true, into a certain collision\nwith the church, but it is remarkable, that all the provocation given\nby Galileo never reduced authority to the unjustifiable step of\nimpeding the fullest scientific investigation of his theory. Nay,\nthose astronomers who taught on the Copernican _hypothesis_ were more\nfavored at Rome than their opponents. It was at Galileo's request that\nUrban appointed Castelli to be his own mathematician, and the letter\nin which the pontiff recommended Galileo to the notice of the Grand\nDuke of Tuscany, after his condemnation, abounds with expressions of\nsincere friendship. As to the dungeon and the torture, they are simply\nfabulous. During the process Galileo was permitted to lodge at the\nTuscan embassy instead of in the prison of the holy office--a favor\nnot accorded even to princes. His sentence of imprisonment was no\nsooner passed, than the Pope commuted it into detention in the Villa\nMedici, and, after he had resided there some days, he was allowed to\ninstall himself in the palace of his friend, Ascanio Piccolomini,\narchbishop of Sienna. Subsequently he retired to his own house and the\nbosom of his family; for, as Nicolini's correspondence with him\ntestifies, \"his holiness treated Galileo with unexpected and, perhaps,\nexcessive gentleness, granting all the petitions presented in his\nbehalf.\"  [Footnote 166] These facts are surely sufficient to prove\nthat physical science received all due honor at this period in Rome.\nIn due time--long after Galileo's death--his theory was scientifically\nestablished; and not very long afterward the Congregational decree was\nsuspended by Benedict XIV. Galileo's famous dialogue was published\nentire at Padua in 1744 with the usual approbations; and in 1818 Pius\nVII. repealed the decrees in question in full consistory. What could\nthe church do more? It was her duty to guard the Scriptures from\nirreverence and unbelief, and to prohibit the advocacy of theories\nabsolutely unproved which seemed to oppose them. To her physical\nscience is dear, but revealed truth is infinitely dearer. Already she\nhad opposed astrology as a remnant of paganism, and had studied the\nmotions of the moon and planets to fix Easter and reform the Julian\ncalendar. Already Gregory XIII. had brought the calendar which bears\nhis name into use; and the works of Aristotle, translated into Arabic\nand Latin, had become the model of theological methods of disputation\nand treatise. St. Thomas Aquinas had written commentaries on them, and\non Plato; and thus, as well as by his essay on aqueducts and that on\nhydraulic machines, had proved how inseparable is the alliance between\nsound theology and true science. \"The sceptre of science,\" says Joseph\nde Maistre, \"belongs to Europe only because she is Christian. She has\nreached this high degree of civilization and knowledge because she\nbegan with theology, because the universities were at first schools of\ntheology, and because all the sciences, grafted upon this divine\nsubject, have shown forth the divine sap by immense vegetation.\"\n[Footnote 167]\n\n  [Footnote 166: British Review. 1861. Martyrdom of Galileo.]\n\n  [Footnote 167: Soir\u00e9es de St. P\u00e9tersbourg,\n  Xme entretien. ]\n\n{654}\n\nVoltaire has observed that \"the sovereign pontiffs have always been\nremarkable among princes attached to letters,\" and the remark is\nequally true as regards science and art. Silvester II. was so learned\nthat the common people attributed his vast erudition to magic. He\ncollected all the monuments of antiquity he could find in Germany and\nItaly, and delivered them into the hands of copyists in the\nmonasteries. St. Gregory VII. conceived the design of rebuilding St.\nPeter's, and gathered around him all the first architects of his day.\nGregory IX. interfered in behalf of the University of Paris, and, as\nGuillaume de Nangis says, \"prevented science and learning, those\ntreasures of salvation, from quitting the kingdom of France.\" Nicolas\nV. was a great restorer of letters, and Macaulay speaks of him as one\nwhom every friend of science should name with respect. Sixtus IV.\nconferred the title of Count Palatine on the printer Jenson, to\nencourage the noble art, then in its infancy. Pius III. enriched\nSienna with a magnificent library, and engaged Raphael and\nPinturicchio to adorn it with frescoes. Paul V. endowed Rome with the\nmost beautiful productions of sculpture and painting, with splendid\nfountains and enduring monuments. Urban VIII. loved all the arts,\nsucceeded in Latin poetry, and filled his court with men of learning.\nUnder his pontificate \"the Romans,\" as Voltaire says, \"enjoyed\nprofound peace, and shared all the charms and glory which talent sheds\non society.\" Benedict XIV. cultivated letters, composed poems, and\npatronized science. The infidel himself just mentioned paid him\nhomage, and professed profound veneration for him, when sending him a\ncopy of his \"Mahomet.\"  [Footnote 168] Every pope in his turn has been\na Maecenas. Not one in the august line has lost sight of the interests\nof society and the prerogatives of mind. The useful and the beautiful\nwere always present to their thoughts; and even in those few instances\nwhere they failed in good personally, they encouraged in their\nofficial capacity whatsoever things are true, lovely, and of good\nfame.\n\n  [Footnote 168: Letter to Pope Benedict XIV.]\n\nMany names dear to science and religion occur to us in illustration of\nthese remarks--names of men who, in the two last and in the present\ncentury, have devoted their lives to secular learning without losing\ntheir allegiance to the Catholic faith, or confounding it with other\nsciences which lie within human control for their extension and\nmodification. Of these honorable names we will mention a few only by\nway of example, feeling sure that our readers' memory will supply them\nwith many others. Cassini, among the astronomers, enjoyed so high a\nreputation at Bologna that the Senate and the pope employed him in\nseveral scientific and political missions. Colbert invited him to\nParis, where he became a member of the Academy of Sciences, and died\nat a good old age in 1712, crowned with the glory of several important\ndiscoveries, among which were those of the satellites of Saturn and\nthe rotation of Mars and Venus. His son James followed in his\nfootsteps, and bequeathed his name to fame. Andr\u00e9 Amp\u00e8re, again, a\nsincere Catholic, was one of the most illustrious disciples of\nelectro-magnetism. He developed the memorable discovery of Oersted,\nranged over the entire field of knowledge, and acquired a lasting\nreputation by his \"theory of electro-dynamic phenomena drawn from\nexperience.\" When between thirteen and fourteen years of age, he read\nthrough the twenty folio volumes of D'Alembert and Diderot's\nEncyclopaedia, digested its contents wonderfully for a boy and could\nlong afterwards repeat extracts from it. But his reading was not\nconfined to such books. A biography of Descartes, indeed, by Thomas,\ninspired him with his earliest enthusiasm for mathematics and natural\nphilosophy; but his first communion also left an indelible stamp on\nhis memory and character. The love of religion then, once {655} and\nfor ever, took possession of his soul, and fired him through life,\nlike the electric currents into which he made such profound research.\nWhen his days, which were fall of trouble, came to a close at\nMarseilles in 1837, he told the chaplain of the college that he had\ndischarged all his Christian duties before setting out on his journey;\nand when a friend began reading to him some sentences from \"The\nImitation of Christ,\" he said, \"I know the book by heart.\" These were\nhis last words.\n\nBy the lives and labors of such men the church's mission on earth is\neffectually seconded. They inspire the thinking portion of society\nwith confidence in religion, and though, from their constant\nengagement in secular pursuits, they frequently err in some minor\npoint, and cling to some crotchet which ecclesiastical authority\ncannot sanction, yet in consideration of their loyal intentions and\nexemplary practices, the clergy everywhere regard them as able and\nhonorable coadjutors. True civilization, (observe the epithet,) far\nfrom being adverse, must ever be favorable to the salvation of souls.\nMany writers still living, or who have recently passed away, have\nunited happily Catholicism with science. Santarem, in his long exile,\ngave his mind to the history of geography and the discoveries of his\nPortuguese fellow-countrymen on the western coast of Africa. Caesar\nCant\u00f9, in his historical works, uniformly defended the cause of the\npopedom in Italy, and persisted in holding it forward as his country's\nhope. M. Capefigue, among his numerous works on French history, has\nincluded the life of St. Vincent of Paul; and Cardinal Mai has\nrendered incalculable service to the study of Greek MSS. But for his\ndiligence and sagacity, the palimpsests of the Vatican would never\nhave yielded up their all-but obliterated treasures. Saint-Hilaire,\neminent alike as a zoologist and natural philosopher, who demonstrated\nso clearly the organic structure in the different species of animals\nwas destined in his youth for holy orders; but although he preferred a\nscientific career, he retained his affection for the clergy, and saved\nseveral of them, at the risk of his own life, during the massacres of\nSeptember, in 1792. Blainville, another great naturalist, and Cuvier's\nsuccessor in the chair of comparative anatomy, was deeply religious.\nHe felt the importance of rescuing physical science from the hands of\ninfidelity, by which it is so often perverted into an argument against\nrevelation. Epicurus is said to have maintained that our knowledge of\nDeity is exactly commensurate with our knowledge of the works of\nnature, and to have allowed no other measure of our theology out [sic]\nphysics. Lucretius devoted the whole of his beautiful but atheistic\npoem, \"De Rerum Natur\u00e2\" to the task of proving that the soul is\nmortal, that religion is a cheat, and that natural causes sufficiently\naccount for all the phenomena of the universe. In our day the\ndisciples of Epicurus and Lucretius are legion, but they are not\nalways so plain spoken as their masters. Happily they are everywhere\nopposed by men who recall physics to their true place, and make them a\ncorollary of revealed truth--the science of the Creator, as\nCatholicism may be termed the science of the Divine Redeemer and\nRuler. But useful as such laborers in the field of secular learning\nare, the truth cannot be too often repeated, that the vivifying\nprinciple of civilization lies in the cross and the ministry of\nreconciliation, of which the Pope is the head. No man whose knees have\nnever bent on Calvary is truly civilized. If his passions chance to be\ntamed, his reason is rampant, or his conscience is asleep. He has no\nclear perception of things divine, and his views of things earthly and\nhuman are erroneous and confused. Oh! that philosophers would learn\nthat the glory of their intellect consists in its dutiful\nsubordination to the church! Then would she shine forth more\nconspicuously in the sight of all men as the {656} civilizer of\nnations. Then, and then only, should we be able to encourage without\nreserve or misgiving the speculations of science and the enterprises\nof art, and should join with loud voices and full hearts in the ardent\naspirations of the poet:\n\n  Fly, happy happy sails, and bear the Press;\n  _Fly, happy with the mission of the Cross;_\n  Knit land to land, and blowing havenward\n  With silks, and fruits, and spices, clear of toll,\n  Enrich the markets of _the golden year_.\n\nThat which delays the golden year, and prevents the knitting of land\nto land in the bonds of religious brotherhood, is the want of unity\namong nations called Christian. The terrible disruptions effected\nunder Photins, Luther, and Henry VIII., have rendered the conversion\nof the world for the present morally impossible. But if the East and\nWest were again united under their lawful lord and pope; if Protestant\nsects were deprived of regal support, re\u00e4bsorbed into the Catholic\nbody, or so reduced in numerical importance as to be all but inactive\nand voiceless; if the vaunted utility of association were duly\nexemplified; if European populations were emulous of spiritual\nconquests in distant countries; if under the guidance and control of a\ncommon idea each of them launched its missionary ships on the waters\nin quick succession; if each town and university sent its quota of\nzeal and learning to the glorious work; if missionaries in large\nnumbers went forth cheered with the apostolic benediction, and on\nwhatever shore they might converge found other laborers in fields\nalready white for the harvest, speaking with many tongues of one Lord,\none faith, one baptism--then would the heathen no longer be stupefied\nby the feeble front and incongruous claims of those who now call them\nto repentance, nor would infidels scoff and jeer at a religion which\nhas been made the very symbol of disunion; unbelieving nations,\nastonished at the strict coincidence of testimony borne by preachers\narriving from every quarter of the globe, would distrust their\nprophets, desert their idols, and seek admission into the one\nubiquitous fold. Then, also, the moral and intellectual energies of\nEuropean prelates would be no longer engrossed by resisting aggression\nand weeding out disaffection nearer home, but would have leisure to\norganize missions on a large scale, and to fortify them with every\nauxiliary modern art and science can supply. The honor and glory of\ncivilization would then be given to her to whom it belongs of right;\nand the nations, at length disabused of popular fallacies, would\nperceive that Protestantism and spurious liberty really hinder the\nprogress they are supposed to promote.\n\n------\n{657}{658}{659}\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nTHE CURSE OF SACRILEGE.\n\n[In the suburbs of the ancient and curious city of Angers in France is\na beautiful chateau, situated in the midst of extensive and fertile\ngrounds. The chapel contains some very remarkable pieces of statuary,\nnow nearly eight hundred years old. The place was formerly a convent\nof monks, and wrested from them during the great revolution. The\nfamily into whose possession it came, has ever since been afflicted\nwith the sudden death and insanity of its members. The death of the\nlast male heir, a youth of great promise, which occurred but a few\nyears ago, is described in the following verses.]\n\n\n  A youth of twenty summers\n    Sat at his mother's knee;\n  Ne'er saw you a youth more noble,\n    Nor fairer dame than she.\n\n  Half-reclining he swept the lute-strings,\n    Murmuring an olden rhyme;\n  While the clock in the castle tower\n    Rang out a morning chime:\n\n  \"In the bright and happy spring-time\n    Ring the bells merrily;\n  When the dead leaves fall in autumn,\n    Then toll the bell for me.\"\n\n  The face of the lady-mother,\n    Writhed as with sudden pain:\n  \"Oh! sing not, my son, so sadly,\n    Choose thou a happier strain.\"\n\n  Sang the youth, \"When the summer sunshine\n    Falls o'er the lake and lea,\n  And the corn is springing upward,\n    Then you'll remember me.\"\n\n  The matron smiled on the singer:\n    \"My dear and my only one\n  When I shall not remember,\n    The light will forget the sun.\"\n\n  Yet her eyes smiled not, but were standing,\n    Brimful of glimmering tears,\n  Tell-tales of secret anguish,\n    Dead hopes and living fears.\n\n  For he was the heir, and the only\n    Child of the house of La Barre;\n  A name that was known for its sorrows,\n    By all, both near and far.\n\n  Lay in a charming valley\n    Its rich and fair domain;\n  But a curse seemed to hang around it,\n    Worse than the curse of Cain.\n\n  For this was a holy convent\n    Of monks in olden time;\n  From God men had dared to wrest it,\n    Nor recked the awful crime.\n\n  The mild men of God were driven\n    Houseless and homeless afar:\n  And he who rifled their cloister,\n    Became the Lord of La Barre.\n\n  But a curse came down on his household,\n    That time did not abate:\n  And ne'er did the mourning hatchment\n    Pass from the castle gate\n\n  The Lord of La Barre fell suddenly\n    Dead in his banquet-hall;\n  And madness seized his first-born,\n    Bearing the funeral pall.\n\n  Calamity sudden and fearful.\n    Haunted the sacred place.\n  Striking the lords and their children,\n    And blighting their hapless race.\n\n  One is thrown from his saddle,\n    Dashing his brains on the ground;\n  One in his bridal chamber.\n    Dead by his bride is found;\n\n  One is caught by the mill-wheel.\n    And cruelly torn in twain;\n  One is lost in the forest,\n    Ne'er to return again.\n\n  Death-traps for wolves, the herdsmen\n    Set in the woods with care;\n  The wolves devour the master,\n    Caught in the fatal snare.\n\n  Killed by the fork\u00e8d lightnings;\n    Drowned in the flowing Loire;\n  Crushed by some falling timbers;\n    Conquered and slain in war.\n\n  Idiots and still-born children,\n    Come as the first-born heirs.\n  Those are seized with madness,\n    Whom death a few years spares.\n\n  Thus did they all inherit\n    A curse with the rich domain,\n  Who dared on the holy convent\n    To lay their hands profane.\n\n  The autumn winds are blowing\n    Across the lake and lea,\n  As the youth of twenty summers\n    Sings at his mother's knee.\n\n  He ceased, and from him casting\n    His lute upon the floor,\n  Listened, as sounds from the court-yard\n    Came through the open door.\n\n  Hearing the dogs' loud barking,\n    As their keeper his bugle wound;\n  \"To-day I go a hunting,\"\n    Said he, \"with hawk and hound.\"\n\n  The rustling of dead leaves only\n    Heard the Lady of La Barre,\n  And thought of her lordly husband\n    Drowned in the flowing Loire.\n\n  The autumn winds were moaning\n    Among the yellow trees,\n  \"Stay, Ernest,\" said she sadly,\n    \"My soul is ill at ease.\n\n  \"Shadows of dire mischances\n    Fall on my widowed heart;\n  I could not live if danger\n    Thy life from mine should part.\"\n\n  \"Fear not,\" said he, while laughing\n    He kissed her sad fair face;\n  \"I hear the hounds' loud baying\n    All eager for the chase.\n\n  \"Over the hill by the river\n    I'll bring the quarry down,\n  And homeward pluck the roses\n    To weave for thee a crown.\"\n\n  \"The rose-crown, my child, will wither,\n    'Tis but a passing toy;\n  But thou art the crown of thy mother--\n    Her only life and joy.\n\n  \"Follow the hunt to-morrow--\n    With me, love, stay to-day;\n  For dark and sad forebodings\n    My anxious heart affray.\"\n\n  The autumn winds are blowing,\n    The dead leaves downward fall,\n  The lawn and flowers covering\n    Like a funeral pall.\n\n  But he heedeth not the warning,\n    And hies with haste away.\n  The lady seeks the chapel,\n    With heavy heart, to pray.\n\n  \"May God and his blessed Mother\n    Spare me my only one.\n  Yet teach me and strengthen me ever\n    To say, Thy will be done!\"\n\n  Well may the lady tremble,\n    Hearing the wind again;\n  The dead leaves are falling in showers\n    Like to a summer rain.\n\n  Hark! a sound from the court-yard\n    Blanches the lady's cheek--\n  The huntsmen call not surely\n    In such a fearful shriek!\n\n  Say, \"Thy will be done,\" O lady!\n    As thou e'en now hast said,\n  For the last of thy race is lying\n    Stark in the court-yard, dead.\n\n------\n\n{660}\n\nTranslated from the Spanish\n\n\nPERICO THE SAD; OR,\nTHE ALVAREDA FAMILY.\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nAutumn had shortened the days, and winter was knocking at the door\nwith fingers of ice. It was the hour when laborers return to their\nhomes, and the sun casts a last cold glance upon the earth he is\nabandoning.\n\nPerico came slowly, preceded by his ass, and followed by Melampo, who\nrivalled his ancient friend and companion in gravity. The latter still\nremembered with horror the entry of the French, though six years had\npassed since; for the flight of her masters caused her the wildest\ngallop she had taken in her whole life. She had not yet recovered from\nthe fatigue.\n\nWhen they entered their street, two little children, brother and\nsister, ran to meet Perico, but at the moment they reached him, the\ndeep and solemn sound of a bell called to prayer. Perico stood still\nand uncovered his head. The ass and the dog, that from long habit knew\nthe sound, stopped also, and the little ones remained immovable. When\ntheir father had concluded the prayers of the mystery of the\nannunciation, the children drew near and said--\n\n\"Your hand, father.\"\n\n\"May God make you good!\" answered Perico, blessing his children.\n\nThe boy, who was impatient to be mounted on the ass, asked his father\nwhy people must be still when the bell rung for prayer.\n\n\"Don't you remember,\" said his sister Angela, \"what Aunt Elvira tells\nus, that when it strikes this hour dedicated to the Blessed Virgin,\nour guardian angels stand still, and if we go on then, we shall be\nalone--without them?\"\n\n\"That is true, sister,\" answered the boy, giving, with all his little\nmight, a blow to the ass upon which his father had placed him, a blow\nof which, fortunately, the patient creature took not the least notice.\n\nSix years had passed since the occurrence of the sorrowful events we\nhave related. To make the remembrance of them still more sorrowful,\nthe unhappy Marcela, who witnessed from her hiding-place the insult to\nher {661} father, the terrible vengeance taken by her brother, and the\nflight of the latter, had gone mad.\n\nNo tidings of Ventura had ever been received, and all believed that he\nwas dead. Notwithstanding, in their tenderness for Elvira and their\nfriendship for Pedro, the others spoke to them in the words of a hope\nwhich did not exist in their own hearts.\n\nTime, the great dissolvent, in which joys and griefs alike are\nlost--as in water disappear both the sugar and the salt--had made\nthose memories, if not less bitter, at least more endurable. Only from\nPedro's lips, instead of his lively songs and habitual jokes, was\noften heard, \"My poor son! my poor daughter!\"\n\nElvira, alone, was excepted from this influence of time. She was\nwasting in silence, like those light clouds in the sky, which, instead\nof falling to the earth in noisy torrents, rise softly and gradually\nuntil they are lost from sight. She never complained, nor did the name\nof Ventura, of him upon whom she had looked as the companion the\nchurch would give her, pass her lips.\n\n\"A worm is gnawing at her heart,\" said Anna to her son; \"the rest do\nnot see it, but it is not hidden from me.\"\n\n\"But, mother,\" he answered, \"where do you see it? She complains\nperhaps?\"\n\n\"No, my son, no: but, Perico, a mother hears the voice of the dumb\ndaughter,\" replied Anna with sadness.\n\nRita and Perico were happy, because Perico, with his loving heart, his\nsweet temper, and his conciliatory character, made the happiness of\nboth. A year after their marriage, Rita had given birth to twins. On\nthat occasion, she was at death's door, and owed her life to the\ntender care of her husband and his family. She remained for a long\ntime feeble and ailing, but at the moment in which we take up the\nthread of our story, she was entirely restored, and the roses of youth\nand health bloomed more brightly than ever upon her countenance.\n\nWhen they were reunited that evening, Maria exclaimed: \"Blessed\nmother, what a fearful storm we had last night! I was so frightened\nthat my very bed shook with me! I recalled all my sins and confessed\nthem to God. I prayed so much that I think I must have awakened all\nthe saints: and I prayed loud, for I have always heard say that the\nlightning loses its power from where the voice of praying reaches. To\nthe Moors! To the Moors! I said to the tempest, go to the Moors, that\nthey may be converted and tremble at the wrath of God! Not until\nday-break, when I saw the rainbow, was I consoled: for it is the sign\nGod gives to man that he will not punish the world with another flood.\nWhy do men not fear when they see these warnings of God!\"\n\n\"And why would you have them tremble, mother, for a thing which is\nnatural,\" said Rita.\n\n\"Natural!\" retorted Maria. \"Perhaps you will also tell me that\npestilence and war are natural! Do you know what the lightning is? For\nI heard a farmer say that it is a fragment of the air set on fire by\nthe wrath of God. And where does not the air enter? And where is the\nplace the wrath of God does not reach? And the thunder--the thunder,\nsaid a certain preacher, is the voice of God in his magnificence; and\nthat God is to be feared above all when it thunders.\"\n\n\"The rain has been welcome, Mamma Maria, for the ground is thirsty,\"\nsaid Perico.\n\n\"The ground is always thirsty,\" observed Rita, \"as thirsty as a sot.\"\n\n\"Father,\" said Angela, \"hear what I sung to-day when I saw the pewets\nrunning to the pools,\" and the little girl began to sing:\n\n  \"Open your windows, God of Christians!\n  Let the rain come down,\n  See the Blessed Virgin comes riding\n  From the inn of the little town;\n  Riding a horse of snowy whiteness.\n  Over the fields so brown,\n  Lighting all the fields with the brightness\n  Of the glory which shines around.\n  Blessing the fields, the fields of the king:\n  Ring from the big church, let all the bells ring!\"\n\n{662}\n\nAngel, not wishing to let his sister, who was the brighter of the two,\ngain the palm--instantly said: \"And I, father, sung:\n\n  'Rain, my God,\n  I ask it from my heart.\n  Have pity on me,\n  For I am little, and I ask for bread.'\"\n\n\"Enough, enough,\" cried Rita, \"you are as noisy as two cicadas, and\nmore tiresome than frogs.\"\n\n\"May we play a game, mother?\" said the boy.\n\n\"Play with the cat's tail,\" responded Rita.\n\n\"Mamma Maria,\" said the girl, \"I will say the catechism to you, if you\nwill tell us a story. Now hear me: 'The enemies of the soul are three,\nthe devil, the world, and the flesh.'\"\n\n\"I like that enemy,\" said the boy.\n\n\"Hush, little one; it don't mean the flesh in the stew.\"\n\n\"What then?\" asked the boy.\n\n\"Learn the words now,\" answered his grandmother, \"and when you know\nmore, apply what you have learned. For the present, I will tell you\nthat your flesh, that is to say, your appetite, tempts you to be so\ngluttonous, and that gluttony is a mortal sin.\"\n\n\"They are seven,\" said the girl quickly, and recited them.\n\n\"I, Mamma Maria,\" said Angel, \"know the Three Persons, the Father who\nis God, the Son who is God, and the Holy Ghost, who is a dove.\"\n\n\"How stupid you are!\" exclaimed his mother.\n\n\"Daughter,\" remarked Maria, \"no one is born instructed. Child,\" she\ncontinued, \"the Dove is a symbol, the Holy Spirit is God, the same as\nthe Father and the Son.\"\n\nEach child pulling at its grandmother as it spoke:\n\n\"I know the commandments of God,\" said one.\n\n\"And I, those of the church,\" said the other.\n\n\"I the sacraments.\"\n\n\"And I the gifts of the Holy Spirit.\"\n\n\"I--\"\n\n\"Enough, and too much,\" exclaimed Rita; \"you are going to say the\nwhole catechism; or perhaps this is an infant school! What a pleasant\ndiversion!\"\n\n\"Is it possible,\" said Maria, grieved, for she had been in her glory\nlistening to the children, \"is it possible, Rita, that you do not love\nto hear the word of God, and that it does not delight you in the\nmouths of your children? I remember how I cried for joy, the first\ntime you said the whole of Our Father.\"\n\n\"That is so,\" said Rita; \"you are capable of crying at a fandango.\"\n\nThe poor mother did not answer; but, turning to the children, said: \"I\nam so pleased with you because you know the catechism so well, that I\nam going to tell you the prettiest story I know.\"\n\nThe children seated themselves on a low bench in front of their\ngrandmother, who began her story thus:\n\n\"When the angel warned the holy patriarch Joseph to flee into Egypt,\nthe saint got his little ass and set the mother and child upon it.\nThen they started on their journey through woods and briery fields.\nOnce, when they were in the thickest part of a forest, the lady was\nafraid because the way was so dark and lonesome. By and by they came\nto a cave. Out of it ran a band of robbers and surrounded the holy\nfamily. When the mother and child were going to get down from the ass,\nthe captain of the band, whose name was Demas, looked at the child; as\nhe looked, his heart smote him, and he turned to his companions and\nsaid: 'Whoever touches as much as a thread of this lady's garment will\nhave me to do with,' and then he said to the holy pair: 'The night is\ncoming on stormy; follow me, and I will shelter you.' They went with\nthe robber, and he gave them to eat and drink, and the holy pair\naccepted what he offered them, for God himself receives the worship of\nall the bad as well as {663} the good. And for this reason, children,\nnever cease to pray, even though you should be in mortal sin; for this\nrobber, when at last he was taken and condemned to die, found\nrepentance and pardon on the cross itself, which served him for\nexpiation, as it served our Lord for sacrifice. He was converted and\nwas the first of all to enter into glory, as Christ promised him when\nhe was dying for him.\" Meantime, the wind howled without in prolonged\ngusts. The doors shook, moved by an invisible hand. The old\norange-tree murmured in the court, as if remonstrating with the wind\nfor disturbing its calm.\n\n\"Listen,\" said Perico, \"the very nettles will be swept from the\nground.\"\n\n\"And how it rains!\" added Pedro. \"The clouds are torn to bits. The\nriver is going to overflow the fields.\"\n\n\"Did you see how the clouds ran this afternoon?\" said Angela to her\nbrother. \"They looked like greyhounds.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the boy, \"and where were they going?\"\n\n\"To the sea for water.\"\n\n\"Is there so much water in the sea?\"\n\n\"Yes indeed, and more than there is in Uncle Pedro's pond.\"\n\n\"The voice of the wind seems to me like the voice of the evil spirit,\nthat comes leading fear by the hand,\" said Maria.\n\n\"You are always frightened, mother,\" remarked Rita. \"I don't know when\nyour spirit will rest. Look here, lazy-bones,\" she proceeded, giving a\npush to the boy who had reclined against her, \"lean upon what you have\neaten.\"\n\nThe child, being half asleep, lost his balance. Elvira gave a cry, and\nPerico, springing forward, caught him in his arms. Anna dropped her\ndistaff, but took it up again without a word.\n\n\"If you ever lose your son,\" said Pedro, indignant, \"you will not weep\nfor him as I do for mine. You have that advantage over me.\"\n\n\"She is so quick, so hasty,\" said Maria, always ready to excuse and\nslow to blame, \"that she keeps me in hot water.\"\n\n\"So, then, Mamma Maria,\" Perico hastened to say, \"yon are afraid of\neverything--and witches?\"\n\n\"No; oh! no, my son! The church forbids the belief in witches and\nenchanters. I fear those things which God permits to punish men, and,\nabove all, when they are supernatural.\"\n\n\"Are there any such things? Have you seen any?\" asked Rita.\n\n\"If there are any? And do you doubt that there are extraordinary\nthings?\"\n\n\"Not at all. One of them is the day you do not preach me a sermon. But\nthe supernatural I don't believe in. I am like Saint Thomas.\"\n\n\"And you glory in it! It is a wonder you do not say also that you are\nlike Saint Peter in that in which he failed!\"\n\n\"But, madam, have you seen anything of the kind, or is it only because\nyou can swallow everything, like a shark?\"\n\n\"It is the same, to all intents, as if I had seen it.\"\n\n\"Aunt, what was it?\" asked Elvira.\n\n\"My child,\" said the good old woman, turning toward her niece, \"in the\nfirst place, that which happened to the Countess of Villaoran. Her\nladyship herself told it to me when we were superintending her estate\nof Quintos. This lady had the pious custom of having a mass said for\ncondemned criminals at the very hour they were being executed. When\nthe infamous Villico was in those parts, committing so much iniquity,\nshe allowed herself to say that if he should be taken, she would not\nsend to have a mass said for him, as she had for others. And when he\nwas executed, she kept her word.\n\n\"Not long alter, one night when she was sleeping quietly, she was\nawakened by a pitiful voice near the head of her bed, calling her by\nname. She sat up in bed terrified, but saw {664} nothing, though the\nlamp was burning on the table. Presently she heard the same voice,\neven more pitiful than at first, calling her from the yard, and before\nshe had fairly recovered from her surprise, she heard it a third time,\nand from a great distance, calling her name. She cried out so loudly\nthat those who were in the house ran to her room, and found her pale\nand terrified. But no one else had heard the voice.\n\n\"On the following day, hardly were the candles lighted in the churches\nwhen a mass was being offered for the poor felon, and the countess, on\nher knees before the altar was praying with fervor and penitence, for\nthe clemency of God, which is not like that of men, excludes none. And\nnow Rita, what do you think?\"\n\n\"I think she dreamed it.\"\n\n\"Goodness, goodness! what incredulity,\" said Uncle Pedro. \"Rita will\nbe like that Tucero, who, the preachers say, separated from the\nchurch.\"\n\n\"Ave Maria! Do not say that, Pedro,\" exclaimed Maria, \"even in\nexaggeration! Mercy! you may well say, what perverseness, for she\ntalks so just to be contrary.\"\n\nA noise in the direction of the door which opened into the back-yard,\ncaused Maria's lips to close suddenly.\n\n\"What is that?\" she said.\n\n\"Nothing, Mamma Maria,\" answered Perico, laughing; \"what would it be?\nThe wind which goes about to-night moving everything.\"\n\n\"Mother,\" said Angela, \"hold me in your lap, as father does Angel, for\nI am afraid.\"\n\n\"This is too much,\" exclaimed Rita, who was in bad humor. \"Go along\nand sit on the lap of earth, and don't come back till you bring\ngrandchildren.\"\n\n\"I should like to know,\" said Pedro, \"if those who laugh at that which\nothers fear have never felt dread.\"\n\n\"Perico! Perico!\" cried Maria, in terror, \"there is a noise in the\nyard.\"\n\n\"Mamma Maria, you are excited and frightened. Don't you hear that it\nis the water in the gutter?\"\n\n\"I, for my part,\" said Pedro, in a low voice, as if to himself, \"ever\nsince there was a stain of blood in my house--\"\n\n\"Pedro! Pedro! are we always to go back to that? Why will you make\nyourself wretched? Of what use is it to return to the past, for which\nthere is no remedy?\" said Anna.\n\n\"The truth is, Anna, what I suffer at times overwhelms me, and I must\ngive it vent. Often at night, when I am alone in my house, it falls\nupon me. Anna, believe me, many a night, when all is still and sleep\nflies from me, I see him; yes, I see him--the grenadier my son slew. I\nsee him just as I saw him alive, in his grey capote and fur cap, rise\nout of the well and come into the room where he was killed, to look\nfor the stains of his own blood. I sec him before my eyes, tall,\nmotionless, terrible.\"\n\nAt this moment the door opened, and a figure, tall, motionless,\nterrible, with a grey capote and a grenadier's cap stood upon the\nthreshold.\n\nAll remained for an instant confounded and fixed in their places.\n\n\"God protect us!\" exclaimed Maria. Angel clung to his father's breast,\nAngela to the skirts of her grandmother.\n\n\"Ventura!\" murmured Elvira, as her eyes closed and her head fell upon\nher mother's bosom.\n\nThe woman for whom there had been no forgetfulness, had recognized\nhim.\n\nPedro rose impetuously and would have fallen, the poor old man not\nhaving strength to sustain himself; but Ventura, who had thrown off\nhis cap and capote, sprung forward and caught him in his arms. The\nscene which followed, a scene of confusion, of broken words, of\nexclamations of surprise and delight, of tears and fervent thanks to\nheaven, is more easily comprehended than described.\n\nWhen Ventura had freed himself from the embrace of his father, who was\nlong in undoing his arms from {665} the neck of the son whom he could\nhardly persuade himself he held in them, he fixed his eyes upon\nElvira. She was still supported by her mother, who held to her\nnostrils a handkerchief wet with vinegar. But she was no longer the\nElvira he had left at his departure. Pale, attenuated, changed, she\nappeared as if bidding farewell to life. Ventura's brilliant eyes\nbecame softened and saddened with an expression of deep feeling, and,\nwith the frank sincerity of a countryman, he said to her:\n\n\"Have you been sick, Elvira? You do not look like yourself.\"\n\n\"Now she will be better,\" exclaimed Pedro, in whom joy had awakened\nsome of the old festive teasing humor. \"Your absence, Ventura, and not\nhearing from you, nothing less, has brought her to this. Why, in\nheaven's name, did you not send us a letter, to tell us where you\nwere?\"\n\n\"Why, our sergeant wrote at least six for me,\" replied Ventura, \"and\nbesides, I have been in France, I have been a prisoner. All that is\nlong to tell--But how well you look, Rita,\" he said, regarding the\nlatter, who, from the moment he entered, had not taken her eyes from\nthe gallant youth, whom the moustache, the uniform, and the military\nbearing became so well. \"Bless me! but you have become a fine woman!\nThe good care Perico takes of you--and you Perico, always digging? Are\nthese your children? How handsome they are! God bless them! Hey! come\nhere, I am not a Frenchman nor a bluebeard.\"\n\nVentura sat down to caress the children. Maria, coming behind him at\nthis moment, caught his head in her hands, and covered his face with\ntears and kisses--Ventura in the mean while saying, \"Maria, how much\nyou have prayed for me! I suppose you have made a hundred novenas, and\nmore than a thousand promises.\"\n\n\"Yes, my son, and to-morrow I shall sell my best hen, to have said in\nSaint Anna's chapel the thanksgiving mass I have promised.\"\n\n\"Aunt Anna is the one who has nothing to say,\" observed Ventura. \"Are\nyou not glad to see me, madam?\"\n\n\"Yes my son, yes; I was minding my Elvira. God knows,\" she continued,\nobserving the pallid countenance of her child, \"how glad I am of your\nreturn, and what thanks I give him for it, if it is for the best.\"\n\n\"And why not,\" exclaimed Pedro, \"for the best? for all except my kids\nand your fowls, which are going to give up the ghost within a month,\nthe time it will take to publish the bans.\"\n\n\"Don't be so hasty,\" answered Anna, smiling, \"a wedding, neighbor, is\nnot a fritter to be turned, tossed, and fried in a moment.\"\n\n\"Well, 'every owl to his own olive,'\" said Pedro after a while. \"Good\npeople, there is a wicket in the street that is tired of being\nsolitary.\"\n\n\"To-night, Uncle Pedro,\" said Rita, laughing, \"the horrors will go to\nthe bottom of the well with the Frenchman, never to return.\"\n\n\"Amen, amen. I hope so,\" responded the good old man.\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nThe next evening, Ventura brought with him to their reunion a small\nblack water-dog, called Tambor. Never before had a strange dog been\npermitted at one of those meetings, so that he had hardly entered,\nwagging his tail, well washed, well combed, and with all the\nconfidence of an exquisite, when Melampo, who held these graces to be\nof very little consequence, and an idler in lowest estimation, flew at\nhim with might and main, and with a single blow of his paw flattened\nthe creature; but without the remotest ambition to affect in this\naction, either the attitude or the air of the lion of Waterloo.\n\n\"In the first place,\" said Perico, \"will you tell me, Ventura, how you\nmanaged to appear here yesterday, as if you had leaked through the\nroof, without any one's opening the door to you?\"\n\n{666}\n\n\"Well, it is difficult to guess,\" answered Ventura. \"When I arrived I\nwent to the house, and Aunty Curra, to whom my father gives a home for\ntaking care of him, opened the door, and to get here sooner, and take\nyou all by surprise, I jumped over the wall of the yard, as I used to\nwhen I was a boy.\"\n\n\"I was sure last night,\" observed Maria, \"that I heard the door of the\nenclosure, and some one walking in the yard.\"\n\n\"Now,\"' said Perico, \"tell us what has happened to you. Have you been\nwounded?'\n\n\"He has been wounded,\" cried Uncle Pedro. \"Look at his breast, and you\nwin see a hole, which is the scar left by a ball that he received\nthere, and that did not lay him dead, thanks to this button which\ndeadened its force. See how it is flattened and hollowed out like the\npan of a fire-lock. Look at his arm; look at the wound--\"\n\n\"And what matter, father,\" interrupted Ventura, \"since they are cured\nnow?\"\n\n\"When I ran,\" he continued, \"I took my course down river, reached\nSanl\u00e1car, and embarked for Cadiz. There I enlisted in the regiment of\nguards commanded by the Duke del Infantado. I struck up a friendship\nwith a young man of noble family, who was serving as a private, and we\nloved each other like brothers. We soon embarked for Tarifa, for the\npurpose of approaching the French in the rear, while the English\nattacked them in front. The result was the battle of Barrosa, from\nwhich the French fled to Jerez, and we took possession of their camp.\n\n\"In the midst of the fight, I said to my friend, 'Come, let us take\nfrom that Frenchman the eagle he carries so proudly, it is continually\nvexing my eyes, come;' and without recommending ourselves to God, we\nthrew ourselves upon the bearer, killed him, and took the ugly bird;\nbut as we turned we found ourselves surrounded by Frenchmen, friends\nof the eagle. 'Comrades,' said we, 'it's of no use; as for the bird,\nhe is caged and shall not go out even if Pepe Botellas   [Footnote\n169] or Napoleon himself, the big thief, should come for him.'\n\n  [Footnote 169: Pepe Botellas, Bottle Joe; Joseph Napoleon was so\n  called by the people, because, they said, he used to get drunk.]\n\n\"We set it up against a wild olive, and placed ourselves before it,\nand now, we said, Come and get him--and they came, for those demons,\nthe worse the cause the more impetuous they are. They killed my poor\nfriend, and had nearly killed me, for they were many. What I felt at\nthe thought of losing the bird! but it was the will of heaven that it\nshould never sing the _mambrui_   [Footnote 170] in French, for our\nmen came and drove them back. They conducted me with my trophy before\nthe colonel, who said that I had behaved well, and should receive the\ncross of San Fernando, for having captured the eagle. 'I did not\ncapture it, my colonel,' I answered, 'it was my friend, the young\nnoble, who is killed. And I fainted. When came to, I found myself in\nthe hospital and without the cross.\"\n\n  [Footnote 170: Mambrui, a humorous military song, popular among the\n  Spanish soldiers.]\n\n\"That was your own fault,\" said Rita. \"Why did you tell the colonel it\nwas not you?\"\n\nVentura looked at her as if he could not comprehend what she was\nsaying.\n\n\"You did your duty,\" said Pedro.\n\nA tear ran down Elvira's cheek.\n\n\"I was hardly convalescent when we embarked for Huelra, and I found\nmyself in the battle of Albuera against the division of Marshal Soult.\nI was soon after taken prisoner; made my escape, and joined the army\nof Granada, commanded by the Duke del Paryne, in which I remained,\npursuing the enemy beyond the Pyrenees. Then I returned to Madrid,\nwhere I have been waiting until now for my dismissal.\"\n\n{667}\n\n\"Goodness! Ventura,\" said Maria, in astonishment, \"you have been\nfurther than the storks fly!\"\n\n\"I--no,\" answered Ventura, \"but I know one, and he indeed, he had been\nwith General La Romana, far in the north, where the ground is covered\nwith snow so deep that people are sometimes buried under it.\"\n\n\"Maria Santissima! said Maria, shuddering.\n\n\"But they are good people, they do not carry knives.\"\n\n\"God bless them!\" exclaimed Maria.\n\n\"In that land there is no oil, and they eat black bread.\"\n\n\"A poor country for me,\" observed Anna, \"for I must always eat the\nbest bread, if I eat nothing else.\"\n\n\"What kind of _gazpachos_  [Footnote 171] can they make with black\nbread, and without oil?\" asked Maria, quite horrified.\n\n  [Footnote  171: Gazpacho. Dish made of bread, oil, onions, vinegar,\n  salt and red-pepper mixed together in water.]\n\n\"They do not eat gazpacho,\" replied Ventura.\n\n\"Then what do they eat?\"\n\n\"They eat potatoes and milk,\", he answered.\n\n\"Much good may it do them, and benefit their stomachs.\"\n\n\"The worst is, Aunt Maria, that in all that land there are neither\nmonks nor nuns.\"\n\n\"What are you telling me, my son?\"\n\n\"What you hear. There are very few churches, and those look like\nhospitals that have been plundered, for they are without chapels,\nwithout altars, without images, and without the blessed sacrament.\"\n\n\"Mercy, mercy!\" exclaimed all, except Maria, who remained as if turned\nto stone with surprise. But presently crossing her hands, she\nexclaimed, with satisfied fervor.\n\n\"Ah my sunshine! Ah my white bread! My church! My blessed Mother! My\ncountry, my faith, and my God in his sacrament! Happy a thousand\ntimes, I, who have been born, and through divine mercy, shall die\nhere! Thank God, my son, that yon did not go to that country, a land\nof heretics! How dreadful!\"\n\n\"And is heresy catching, mother, like the itch?\" asked Rita\nironically.\n\n\"I do not say that, God forbid,\" answered the good Maria; \"but--\"\n\n\"Everything is catching, except beauty,\" said Pedro, \"and one is\nbetter off in his own country. I will bet my hands that those who have\nbeen there, will bring us nothing good.\"\n\n\"What do not the poor soldiers have to pass through!\" sighed Elvira.\n\n\"That must be the reason why I have always been so fond of them,\"\nadded Maria. \"That, and because they defend the faith of Christ. And\ntherefore, I am also very devoted to San Fernando, that pious and\nvaliant leader. I have him framed in my parlor, and around him on the\nwall, I have stuck little paper soldiers, thinking it would be\npleasing to the saint, who all his life saw himself surrounded by\nsoldiers. When Rita was about twelve years old, I went to Sevilla, and\nshe gave me a shilling to buy her a little comb. I passed by the shop\nof an old man who had a lot of little paper soldiers exposed for sale.\nWhat a guard for my saint, I thought; but my quarters were all spent.\nI had nothing left but Rita's shilling. The price of the set was a\nshilling. Go along, said I to myself, it is better that Rita should do\nwithout the bauble than my saint without his guard; and I bought them.\nI told Rita, and it was the truth, that my money did not hold out. The\nnext day when I was taking them out to stick them up around the\npicture of the king, Rita came into the room. 'So then,' she said,\n'you had money enough to buy these dirty soldiers, and not enough for\nmy little comb,' and she snatched them from my hands to throw them out\nof the window. 'Child,' I screamed, 'you are throwing my heart into\nthe street with the soldiers!' And seeing that she paid me no\nattention, I caught up the broom and beat her. The only time I ever\nbeat her in my life.\"\n\n{668}\n\n\"It would have been better for you,\" said Pedro, \"if you had left the\nmarks of your fingers upon her sometimes.\"\n\n\"Who can please you, Uncle Pedro?\" said Rita. \"My mother erred in not\nchastising her child, and I err in not spoiling mine.\"\n\n\"Daughter!\" replied Pedro, \"neither Hei! till they run away, nor Whoa!\ntill they stop short.\"\n\n\"But since you like soldiers so much, mother,\" proceeded Rita, \"why\ndid you take such trouble to prevent my cousin Miguel from becoming\none?\"\n\n\"I love soldiers because they suffer and pass through so much, and for\nthe same reason, I wished to save my nephew.\"\n\n\"How I laughed then!\" continued Rita, directing her conversation to\nVentura. \"Her grace burned lights to all the saints while the lots\nwere being drawn. As she had not candlesticks, she stuck empty shells\nto the walls with cement; put wicks in them; filled them with oil, and\nbegan to pray. While she was praying, in came Miguel's mother, and\ntold her that he had been drafted. My mother, on hearing that, put out\nthe lights, as if to say to the saints, 'Stay in the dark now, I need\nyou no longer!'\"\n\n\"How you talk, Rita,\" answered the good Maria. \"I trust that God does\nnot so judge our hearts. I resigned myself, my daughter. I resigned\nmyself, because he had made known his pleasure, and when God will not,\nthe saints cannot.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nThe joy of Elvira was as brief as it had been keen. What can escape\nthe eyes of one who loves? Is it not known that there are things,\nwhich, like the wind of Guadarrama, though scarce a breath, yet kill.\nBefore either Rita or Ventura had acknowledged even to their own\nconsciousness, the mutual attraction which they exercised upon each\nother, Elvira was offering to God, for the second time, the pangs of\nher lost love. This time, however, without a remote hope. The prudent\nand patient girl looked upon a rupture as the sure forerunner of some\ncatastrophe, and, like a martyr, endured without daring to repulse\nthem, the evidences of an affection as pale and feeble as she was\nherself; an affection that was vanishing before the vivid flame of a\nnew love, which already sparkled, active, brilliant, and beautiful\nlike the object that inspired it. While the visits at the grating\nbecame every night colder and less' prolonged, there was no occasion\nthat did not, by gesture, look, or word, bring into contact those two\nbeings, who, like moths, took pleasure in approaching the flame, drawn\nby an instinctive impulse, which they obeyed, but did not pause to\ndefine; of which no one warned them, because among the people, a\nmarried woman unfaithful to her duties, or a lover neglectful of his,\nis an anomaly; and one which, in the family whose history we are\nrelating, would have been looked upon as incredible to the point of\nimpossibility. But Rita acknowledged no rein, and the life of a\nsoldier had been a school of evil habits to Ventura. One day Perico,\non setting out for the field, found Elvira in the yard, and said to\nher:\n\n\"Here is money, sister, to buy yourself colored dresses. You have\nfulfilled your promise to wear the habit of our Lady of Sorrows till\nVentura came back, and now I wish to see your face, your\ndress--everything about you gay.\"\n\nElvira answered, with difficulty repressing her tears:\n\n\"Keep your money, brother, every day I feel myself worse. It is better\nfor me to think of making my peace with God, than of buying wedding\nclothes, or of changing the colors which are to wrap me in the\ncoffin.\"\n\n{669}\n\n\"Do not say that, sister!\" exclaimed Perico. \"You break my heart! It\nhas become a habit with you to be melancholy. When you and Ventura are\nas happy as Rita and I, when you have two little ones like these of\nours, to occupy you, your apprehensions will fly away. Come,\" he\nadded, catching the children, \"come and play with your aunt.\"\n\nElvira's eyes followed her brother. Her heart was torn with grief;\ngrief all the more agonized and profound for being repressed. She\nconsidered that a complaint from her would be like an indiscreet cry\nof alarm at an inevitable misfortune.\n\n\"Aunt,\" said Angel, \"nothing can keep Melampo when father goes.\"\n\n\"He does what he ought, like the good dog he is,\" answered Elvira.\n\n\"And why is he called Melampo?\" the child continued, with that zeal\nfor asking questions which older people ridicule, instead of\nrespecting and encouraging.\n\n\"He is called so,\" answered Elvira, \"because Melampo is the name of\none of the dogs that went to Bethlehem with the shepherds to see the\nchild Jesus. There were three of them, Melampo, Cubilon, and Tobina,\nand the dogs that bear these names never go mad.\"\n\n\"Aunt,\" said Angela, running after a little bird, \"I can't catch this\nswallow.\"\n\n\"That is not a swallow. Swallows do not come till spring, and these\nyou must never catch nor molest.\"\n\n\"Why not, aunt?\"\n\n\"Because they are friends to man, they confide in him and make their\nnests under his eaves. They are the birds that pulled the thorns out\nof the Saviour's crown when he hung upon the cross.\"\n\nAt this moment Angel fell and began to cry. Rita rushed impetuously\nout of her room and snatched him up, exclaiming:\n\n\"What has he done to himself? what is the matter with mother's glory?\"\nWiping his face, which was dirty, with her apron, she continued:\n\n\"What is the matter? Sweet little face, covered with mud. Bless his\npretty eyes and his mouth, and his poor little hands!\"\n\nAnd covering him with kisses, passionate caresses, she took him and\nhis sister into her mother's house. Returning presently she went into\nthe back-yard to wash.\n\nIt has already been said that this yard was next to that of uncle\nPedro, separated from it by a low wall.\n\nRita according to the popular custom began to sing.\n\nAmong the people of Andalucia, one can hardly be found whose memory is\nnot a treasury of couplets; and these are so varied that it would be\ndifficult to suggest an idea, for the expression of which a suitable\nverse would not immediately be found.\n\nA fine voice, well modulated and dear, answered Rita from the\nadjoining yard; in this manner a musical colloquy was carried on,\nconcluded by the male voice in this couplet, which indicated the wings\nthat the preceding one had given to his desires:\n\n  \"With no loss of time,\n  To succeed I intend;\n  Without sigh to the air,\n  Or complaint to the wind.\"\n\nIn the mean time Elvira sat sewing beside her mother. Her sweet and\nplacid countenance betrayed none of the pain and anguish of her heart.\nNevertheless, Anna looked at her with the penetrating eyes of a\nmother, and thought, \"Will the hopes fail which I placed in Ventura's\nreturn? Does our Lord want her for himself?\"\n\nAt this moment the children rushed in, wild with delight.\n\n\"Mamma Anna! Aunt Elvira!\" they shouted. \"Uncle Pedro says the ass had\na little colt last night. She is in the stable with it, and we did not\nknow it here. Come and see it! come and see it!\"\n\nAnd one pulling at the grandmother and the other at the aunt, they\nwent, to the yard and threw the door wide open.\n\n{670}\n\nWhat a two-edged dagger for the heart of Anna, the honorable woman,\nthe loving mother! Ventura was there with Rita!\n\nQuick as lightning Ventura stepped upon the wheel of a cart which\nstood close to the wall, and with one spring disappeared.\n\nRita, enraged, continued her washing, and with unparalleled effrontery\nbegan to sing:\n\n  \"No mother-in-law plagued Eve;\n  No sister-in-law worried Adam;\n  Nor caused their souls to grieve,\n  For in Eden they never had them.\"\n\nThe children had run on to the stable without stopping. Anna led her\ndaughter, almost fainting, into the house, and there upon the bosom of\nher mother, from whom the cause of her grief was no longer a secret,\nElvira burst into sobs.\n\n\"And you knew it,\" said her mother; \"silent martyr to prudence. Weep,\nyes, weep, for tears are like the blood which flows from wounds, and\nrenders them less mortal. I knew what she was and warned him. I knew\nthat reprobation must follow the union of kindred blood, and I told\nhim so. He would not listen. It would have been better to let him go\nto the war. But the heart errs as well as the understanding.\"\n\nIn the mean time the impudent woman went on singing:\n\n  \"Mothers-in-law, and sisters-in-law,\n  See a cargo passing go;\n  What a famous load 'twould be.\n  For Satan's regions down below.\"\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nAfter a night of sleepless anguish, Anna rose, apparently more\ntranquil; drawing some slight hope from the determination she had\ntaken to speak with Rita; show her the precipice toward which she was\nrunning blindly, and persuade her to recede.\n\nAnna had a dignity that would have impressed any one in whom the noble\nquality of respect had not been suffocated by pride--the worst enemy\nof man because the most daring; no other like it elevates itself in\nthe presence of virtue; no other is so obstinate and so lordly; no\nother so hides perversity under forms of goodness; no other so\nfalsifies ideas and qualifies and condemns as servile that sentiment\nof respect which entered into the world with the first benediction of\nGod. Pride sometimes wishes to elevate itself into dignity, but\nwithout success, for dignity never seeks to set itself up at the cost\nof another, but leaves and maintains everything in its own place; its\nattitude being even more noble when it honors than when it is honored.\nDignity owes its place neither to riches nor knowledge, and least of\nall is it indebted to pride. It is the simple reflection of an\nelevated soul which feels its strength. It is natural, like the flush\nof health; not put on like the color of those who paint. But there are\nbeings who place themselves above everything else, and rest with\nportentous composure upon a fake and insecure base, parading an\nintrepidity and an arrogance which they do not assume who rest on the\nfirm rock of infallible justice and eternal truth. Rita, treading a\ncrooked path with fearless step and serene countenance, was one of\nthese beings.\n\nThe good sense of the villager, who felt profoundly what we have\nexpressed, and understood perfectly the character of both women,\ndefined it better in their concise laconism when, in speaking of Anna,\nthey said, \"Aunt Anna teaches without talking;\" and of Rita, \"She\nfears neither God nor the devil.\"\n\nRita was sewing when Anna entered. The latter deliberately drew the\nbolt of the door and sat down facing her daughter-in-law.\n\n\"You already know, Rita,\" she said calmly, \"That I was never pleased\nwith your marriage.\"\n\n\"And have you come to receive my thanks?\"\n\nWithout noticing the question Anna continued:\n\n\"I had penetrated your character.\"\n\n\"It was not necessary to be a seer to do that,\" replied Rita, \"I am\nperfectly open and frank. I say what I think.\"\n\n{671}\n\n\"The evil is not in saying what you think, but in thinking what you\nsay.\"\n\n\"It is plain that it would be better for me to play the dead fox, or\nstill water, like some who appear flakes of snow, but are in reality\ngrains of salt.\"\n\nThis was a fling at Elvira which Anna fully understood, but of which\nshe took no notice, and proceeded.\n\n\"Notwithstanding, I was deceived. I had not entirely fathomed you.\"\n\n\"Go on,\" said Rita, \"there is a squall to-day.\"\n\n\"I never thought that what has come to pass would happen.\"\n\n\"Now it escapes and rains pitchforks,\" said Rita.\n\n\"Since,\" proceeded Anna, \"you do not fear to deceive my son--\"\n\n\"Ho, is that the matter?\" said Rita coolly.\n\n\"And kill my poor daughter--\"\n\n\"That will do,\" interrupted Rita, \"there is where the shoe pinches;\nbecause Ventura does not want to marry a spectre, that to go out has\nto ask permission of the gravedigger, I must answer for it. And for no\nother reason than because he is gay and likes better to jest with one\nwho is cheerful like me than to drink herb-tea with her, can I help\nit?\"\n\nAnna allowed Rita to conclude, her countenance showing no alteration\nexcept a mortal paleness.\n\n\"Rita,\" she said, when the latter had finished, \"a woman cannot be\nfalse to her marriage vows with impunity.\"\n\n\"What are you saying!\" exclaimed Rita, springing to her feet and\nthrowing away her work, her cheeks and eyes on fire. \"What have you\nsaid, madam? I fake to my marriage vows? To that which your eyes did\nnot see you have brought in your hand! I false! I! You have always\nborne me ill-will, like a mother-in-law in fact, and a bad\nmother-in-law, but I never knew before that the saint-eaters bore\n_such_ testimony.\"\n\n\"I do not say that you are so,\" replied Anna, in the same grave and\nmoderate tone which she had observed from the beginning, \"but that you\nare in the way, that you are going to be false if God does not prevent\nit by opening your eyes.\"\n\n\"Now, as formerly, and always a prophetess, Jonah in person, and\" (she\nadded between her teeth) \"may the whale swallow you also.\"\n\n\"Yes, Rita, yes,\" said Anna, \"and I have come--\"\n\n\"To threaten me?\" asked Rita, with an air of bold defiance.\n\n\"No, Rita, no, my daughter; I have come to beg of you in the name of\nGod, for the love of my son, for the sake of your children, and for\nyour own sake, to consider what you are doing, to examine your heart\nwhile there is yet time.\"\n\n\"Did Perico send you?\"\n\n\"No, my dear son suspects nothing, God forbid that we should awaken a\nsleeping lion.\"\n\n\"Well, then, why do you put yourself into so wide a garment? Go along!\nThe one who is being hanged does not feel it but the witness feels it!\nPerico, madam, is not and never has been jealous; neither does he\nsuspect the fingers of his guests, or go in quest of trouble. He is no\ndirty hypocrite, crying to heaven because people joke, and he does not\nbully because somebody draws a few buckets of water for his wife when\nshe is washing. Do you think that I shall lose my soul for that?\"\n\n\"Rita, Rita, do not trifle with men.\"\n\n\"Nor you with women. Good heavens! it would seem that I am\nscandalizing the town.\"\n\n\"Consider, Rita,\" continued Anna with increased severity, \"that with\nmen an affront is often the cause of bloodshed.\"\n\n\"You would bathe in rose-water,\" responded Rita \"if matters seemed to\nbe running a little toward the fulfilment of those predictions of\nyours about _kindred blood not harmonizing_, and others of the same\nkind, by which you wished to prevent your son from marrying; and you\nwere disappointed; {672} and you will be now if you attempt, as I see\nyou are attempting, to make trouble between us. I know what I am\ndoing; Perico is a lover of quiet, and knows the wife he has. Leave us\nin peace, and we will live so, if you do not heat your son's skull by\nyour meddling; you take care of the wedding finery of your daughter,\nthe flower of the family.\"\n\nAt this string of taunts and insults, the prudent long-suffering of\nthat respectable matron, wavered for an instant; but the angel of\npatience that God sends to women from the moment they become mothers,\nto help them bear their crosses, vanquished, and Anna went out,\nlooking at Rita with a sad smile, in which there was as much or more\ncompassion than contempt.\n\nThe worthy woman remained in a state of depression and anguish, on\naccount of the failure of the step she had taken, and determined to\nopen her heart to Pedro, in order to have him send his son away.\nFinally there was a guard wanting at the estate on which Ventura had\nserved, and he was called to fill the place. This absence, though\ninterrupted by frequent visits to the village, gave some respite to\nthe afflicted Anna, who said to herself, \"a day of life is life.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII.\n\nIn the mean time the happy Christmas holidays arrived. They had\narranged for the children a beautiful birth-place, which occupied the\nwhole front of the parlor, covering it with aromatic pistachio,\nrosemary, lavender, and other odorous plants and leaves. Perico\nbrought these things from the field with all the pleasure of a lover\nbringing flowers to his bride.\n\nOn Christmas day, Perico heard mass early, and went to take a walk to\nhis wheat-field, having been told that there were goats in the\nneighborhood.\n\nHe returned home about ten o'clock, and found the children alone.\n\n\"How glad we are, father, that you have come,\" they shouted, running\njoyfully toward him. \"They have all gone and left us.\"\n\n\"Where then are Mamma Anna, and Aunt Elvira?\"\n\n\"They went to high mass.\"\n\n\"Who staid with you?\"\n\n\"Mother.\"\n\n\"And where is she?\"\n\n\"How do we know? We were in the parlor with her grace, dancing before\nthe birth-place. Ventura came in, and mother told us to go somewhere\nelse with the music, for it made her head ache, and when we were going\nout Ventura told her, I heard it, father, that she did right to put\nthe door between, for the little angels of God were the devil's little\nwitnesses. Is it true, father, are we the devil's little witnesses?\"\n\nTo whom has it not happened, at some time in his life, in great or in\nless important circumstances, that a single word has been the key to\nopen and explain; the torch to illuminate the present and the past; to\nbring out of oblivion and light up a train of circumstances and\nincidents which had transpired unperceived, but which now unite, to\nform an opinion, to fix a conviction or to root a belief? Such was the\neffect upon Perico of the words, which the decree of expiation seemed\nto have put into the mouth of innocence.\n\nLate, but terrible, the truth presented itself to the eyes which good\nfaith had kept closed, and doubt took possession of the heart so\nhealthy and so shielded by honor that a suspicion had never entered\nit.\n\n\"Father, father!\" cried the children, seeing him tremble and turn\npale. Perico did not hear them.\n\n\"Mamma Anna,\" they exclaimed, as the latter entered, \"hurry, father is\nsick!\"\n\n{673}\n\nAs he heard his mother enter, Perico turned his perplexed eyes toward\nher, and seemed to read again in her severe countenance the terrible\nsentence she had once pronounced upon a future from which her loving\nforesight would have preserved him: \"A bad daughter will be a bad\nwife.\" Overwhelmed, he rushed out of the house, muttering a pretext\nfor his flight which no one understood.\n\nAnna put her head out of the window, and felt relieved as she saw that\nhe went toward the fields.\n\n\"Could any one have told him that goats have broken into the wheat?\"\n\n\"It is very likely, mother; he suspected it yesterday,\" answered\nElvira. But dinner-time came, and Perico did not appear.\n\nIt was strange, on Christmas day; but to country people, who have no\nfixed hours, it was not alarming.\n\nIn the evening Maria arrived at the usual time.\n\n\"Did Ventura not come to the village to-day?\" asked Anna.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Pedro, \"but there is an entertainment, and his friends\ncarried him off. He has always been so fond of dancing that he would\nat any time leave his dinner, for a fandango.\"\n\n\"And Rita,\" said Elvira, \"was she not at your house. Aunt Maria?\"\n\n\"She came there, my daughter, but wanted to go with a neighbor to the\nentertainment. I told her she had better stay at home, but as she\nnever minds me--\"\n\n\"And you told her right, Maria,\" added Pedro, \"an honest woman's place\nis in the house.\"\n\nThey were oppressed and silent when Perico abruptly entered.\n\nThe light was so deadened by the lamp-shade that they did not perceive\nthe complete transformation of his face. Dark lines, which appeared\nthe effect of long days of sickness, encircled his burning eyes, and\nhis lips were red and parched like those of a person in a fever. He\nthrew a rapid glance around, and abruptly asked, \"Where is Rita?\"\n\nAll remained silent; at length Maria said timidly,\n\n\"My son, she went for a little while to the feast with a neighbor--she\nmust be here soon--she took it into her head--and as it was Christmas\nday--\"\n\nWithout answering a word, Perico turned suddenly, and left the room.\nHis mother rose quickly and followed, but did not overtake him.\n\n\"I tell you, Maria,\" said Pedro, \"that Perico ought to beat her well.\nI would not say a word to stop him.\"\n\n\"Don't talk so, Pedro,\" answered Maria, \"Perico is not the one to\nstrike a woman. My poor little girl! we shall see. What harm is there\nin giving two or three hops? Old folks, Pedro, should not forget that\nthey have been young.\"\n\nAt this moment Anna entered, trembling.\n\n\"Pedro,\" she said, \"go to the feast!\"\n\n\"I?\" answered Pedro; \"you are cool! I am out of all patience with that\nsame feast. If Perico warms his wife's ribs, he will be well employed;\nshe shall not dry her tears upon my pocket-handkerchief.\"\n\n\"Pedro, go to the feast!\" said Anna again, but this time with such an\naccent of distress, that Pedro turned his head and sat staring at her.\n\nAnna caught him by the arm, obliged him to rise, drew him aside, and\nspoke a few rapid words to him in a low voice.\n\nThe old man as he listened gave a half-suppressed cry, clasped his\nhands across his forehead, caught up his hat and hastily left the\nhouse.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nVentura and Rita were dancing at the feast, animated by that which\nmounts to heads wanting in age or wanting in sense; by that which\nblinds the eyes of reason, silences prudence, and puts respect to\nflight; that is to say, wine; a love entirely material, a voluptuous\ndance, executed without restraint, amid foolish drunken applauses.\n\n{674}\n\nIn truth they were a comely pair. Rita moved her charming head,\nadorned with flowers, and tossed her person to and fro with that\ninimitable grace of her province, which is at will modest or free. Her\nblack eyes shone like polished jet, and her fingers agitated the\ncastanets in defiant provocation. She had in Ventura a partner well\nsuited to her. Never was the fandango danced with more grace and\nsprightliness.\n\nThe excited singers improvised (according to custom) couplets in\npraise of the brilliant pair:\n\n  \"Throw roses, red roses,\n  The belle of the ball,\n  For her beauty and grace\n  She merits them all\n  And to-night in the feast,\n  By public acclaim.\n  To her and Ventura\n  Is given the palm.\"\n\nDuring the last changes when the clappings and cheers were redoubled,\nPerico arrived and stopped upon the threshold.\n\nOccupied as all were with the dance, no one noticed his arrival, and\nVentura conducting Rita to a room where there were refreshments passed\nclose beside him as he stood in shadow, without being aware of his\npresence. As they passed he heard words between them which confirmed\nthe whole extent of his misfortune; all the infamy of the wife he\nloved so fondly, of the mother of his children; all the treachery of a\nfriend and brother.\n\nThe blow was so terrible that the unhappy man remained for a moment\nstunned; but recovering himself, he followed them.\n\nRita stood before a small mirror arranging the flowers that adorned\nher head.\n\n\"Withered,\" said Ventura, \"why do you put on roses? Is it not known\nthat they always die of envy on the head of a handsome woman?\"\n\n\"Look here, Ventura,\" said one of his friends, \"you appear to like the\nforbidden fruit better than any other.\"\n\n\"I,\" responded Ventura, \"like good fruit though it be forbidden.\"\n\n\"That is an indignity,\" said a friend of Perico's.\n\nOne of those present took the speaker by the arm, and said to him, as\nhe drew him aside.\n\n\"Hush, man! don't you see that he is drunk? Who gave you a candle for\nthis funeral? What is it to you if Perico, who is the one interested,\nconsents?\"\n\n\"Who dares to say that Perico Alvareda consents to an indignity?\" said\nthe latter presenting himself in the middle of the room, as pale as if\nrisen from a bier.\n\nAt the sound of her husband's voice, Rita slid like a serpent among\nthe bystanders and disappeared.\n\n\"He comes in good time to look after his wife,\" said some hair-brained\nyouths, who formed a sort of retinue to the brilliant dancer and\nvaliant young soldier, bursting into a laugh.\n\n\"Sirs,\" said Perico, crossing his arms upon his breast with a look of\nsuppressed rage, \"have I a monkey show in my face?\"\n\n\"That or something else which provokes laughter,\" answered Ventura, at\nwhich all laughed.\n\n\"It is lucky for you,\" retorted Perico, in a choked voice, \"that I am\nnot armed.\"\n\n\"Shut your mouth!\" exclaimed Ventura, with a rude laugh. \"How bold the\n_pet lamb_ is getting! Leave off bravado, pious youth; don't be\npicking quarrels, but go home and wipe your children's noses.\"\n\nAt these words Perico precipitated himself upon Ventura. The latter\nrecoiled before the sudden shock, but immediately recovered himself,\nand with the strength and agility which were natural to him, seized\nPerico by the middle, threw him to the ground, and put his knee upon\nhis breast.\n\nFortunately Perico did not carry a knife, and Ventura did not draw\nhis; but instead the latter clenched both hands upon Perico's throat,\nrepeating furiously:\n\n{675}\n\n\"You! You! that I can tear to pieces with three fingers; do you lay\nyour hands upon me? You! a killer of locusts, a coward, a chicken,\nbrought up under your mother's wing. You to me! to me!\"\n\nAt this instant Pedro entered.\n\n\"Ventura!\" he shouted, \"Ventura! What are you doing? what are you\ndoing, madman?\"\n\nAt the sight of his father, Ventura loosed his grasp upon Perico and\nstood up.\n\n\"You are drunk,\" continued Pedro, beside himself with indignation and\ngrief. \"You are drunk, and with evil wine.  [Footnote 172] Go home,\"\nhe added pushing Ventura by the shoulder, \"go home, and go on before\nme.\"\n\n  [Footnote 172: \"Drunk with evil wine,\" said when the drunken person\n  is ill-tempered.]\n\nVentura obeyed without answering, for with Pedro's words, it was not\nalone the voice of his father that reached his ears, it was the voice\nof reason, of conscience, of his own heart. His noble instincts were\nawakened, and he blushed for the affair which had just taken place,\nand for the cause which had occasioned it. Therefore he lowered his\nhead as in the presence of all he respected, and went out, followed by\nhis father.\n\nIn the mean while they had raised Perico, who was gradually recovering\nfrom the vertigo caused by the pressure of Ventura's fingers.\n\nHe passed his hand across his forehead, cast upon those who surrounded\nhim the glance of a wounded and manacled lion, and left the room,\nsaying in a hollow voice,\n\n\"He has destroyed us both.\"\n\nAs Ventura had gone, accompanied by his father, those present allowed\nPerico to leave without opposition.\n\n\"This is not the end,\" said one, shaking his head.\n\n\"That is clear,\" said another. \"First deceived, and afterward beaten;\nwho is the saint that could bear it?\"\n\nPerico went home muttering in disjointed and broken\nsentences--\"Chicken!\" \"Coward!\" \"Something in my face which provokes\nlaughter!\" \"And he tells me so, he!\" \"Pet lamb!\" \"No one cast a doubt\nupon my honor until you spat upon it and trampled it under your feet!\nOh! we shall see!\" He entered his room and seized his gun.\n\n\"Father!\" called the little voice of Angela from the next apartment,\n\"father, we are alone.\"\n\n\"You will be yet more alone,\" murmured Perico, without answering her.\n\nThe children's voices kept on calling \"Father, father!\"\n\n\"You have no father!\" shouted Perico, and went out into the court. He\nplaced his gun against the trunk of the orange-tree, in order to take\nout ammunition to load it, but, as if the ancient protector of the\nfamily repulsed the weapon, it slid and fell to the ground. The leaves\nof the tree murmured mournfully. Were they moved by some dismal\npresentiment?\n\nPerico was leaving the court when he found himself face to face with\nhis mother, who, made watchful by her inquietude, had heard her son\nenter.\n\n\"Where are you going, Perico?\" she asked.\n\n\"To the field. I have told you already that there were goats around.\"\n\n\"Did you go to the feast?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"And Rita?\"\n\n\"Was not there. Mamma Maria dotes.\"\n\nAnna breathed more freely; still, the unusual roughness of her son's\ntone and the asperity of his replies surprised the already alarmed\nmother.\n\n\"Don't go now to the field, my child,\" she said in a supplicating\nvoice.\n\n\"Not go to the field, and why?\"\n\n\"Because I feel in my heart that you ought not, and you know that my\nheart is true.\"\n\n\"_Yes, I know it_!\" he answered, with such acerbity and bitterness\nthat Anna began to fear that although he might not have found Rita at\nthe feast, he had, nevertheless, his suspicions.\n\n\"Well, then, since you know it, do not go,\" she said.\n\n{676}\n\n\"Madam,\" answered Perico, \"women sometimes exasperate men by trying to\ngovern them. They say that I have been brought up _under your wing_. I\nintend now to fly alone,\" and he went toward the gate.\n\n\"Is this my son?\" cried the poor mother. \"Something is the matter with\nhim! Something is wrong!\"\n\nAs Perico opened the gate, his faithful companion, the good Melampo,\ncame to his side.\n\n\"Go back!\" said Perico, giving him a kick.\n\nThe poor animal, little used to ill treatment, fell back astonished,\nbut immediately, and with that absence of resentment which makes the\ndog a model of abnegation in his affection, as well as of fidelity,\ndarted to the gate in order to follow his master. It was already shut.\nThen he began to howl mournfully, as if to prove the truth of the\ninstinct of these animals when they announce a catastrophe by their\nlamentations.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nOn the following day, when sleep had dispelled from Ventura's brain\nthe remaining fumes that confused his reason, he rose as deeply\nashamed as he was sincerely penitent. He, therefore, listened to the\njust and sensible charges which his father made against his\nproceedings, past and present, without contradicting them.\n\n\"All you say is true, father,\" he answered, \"and I can only tell you\nthat I did not know what I was doing, but I feel it enough now! The\nwine, the cursed wine! I will ask Perico's pardon before all the\nvillage. I owe it more to myself than even to him I have offended.\"\n\n\"You promise, then, to ask his pardon?\"\n\n\"A hundred times, father.\"\n\n\"You will marry Elvira?\"\n\n\"With all my heart.\"\n\n\"And treat her well?\"\n\n\"By this cross,\" said Ventura making the sign with his fingers.\n\n\"You and she will go to Alcal\u00e1?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, if it were to Pe\u00f1on.\"  [Footnote 173]\n\n  [Footnote 173: Gibraltar, in other words, to the end of the world.]\n\nPedro looked at him a moment with deep emotion, and said:\n\n\"Well, then, God bless you, my son.\"\n\nBoth went to Anna's in search of Perico, but he had gone out, Anna\ntold them. At sight of them, but still more on noticing the joy and\nsatisfaction which shone in Pedro's face, Anna's vague but distressing\nfears were tranquillized, and, more than all, Ventura's manner filled\nher with hope, for she saw that he approached Elvira and talked to her\nwith interest and tenderness, while Pedro said, with a mysterious air\nand winking toward Ventura, \"That young fellow is in a hurry to be\nmarried. You mustn't take so long to prepare the wedding things,\nneighbor; young people are not so sluggish as we old ones.\"\n\nThey soon left, Ventura for the hacienda at which he was employed;\nPedro, who was going to his wheat-field, accompanied him, their road\nbeing the same. The wheat was very fine, not full of weeds.\n\n\"The weeds are awake,\" said Ventura.\n\n\"Give them time,\" replied Pedro, \"and they will vanquish the wheat,\nbecause they are the legitimate offspring of the soil. The wheat is\nits foster child. But, with the favor of God, wheat will not be\nlacking in the house for us and for more that may come.\"\n\nThey separated and Ventura disappeared in the olive-grove. Pedro\nremained looking after him.\n\n\"Not even a king,\" he said to himself, \"has a son like mine. Nor is\nthere his equal in all Spain. If he is noble in person, he is more\nnoble in soul.\"\n\nVentura had advanced but few steps into the grove when he saw Perico\nat a little distance, coming from behind a tree with his gun.\n\n{677}\n\n\"I have something in my face, thanks to you,\" he shouted, \"that\nprovokes laughter. I have also something in my hand that stops\nlaughter. I am a coward and a killer of locusts, but I know how to rid\nmyself of the reproach you have put upon me.\"\n\n\"Perico, what are you doing?\" cried Ventura, running toward him to\narrest the action. But the shot had been sent on its dreadful errand,\nand Ventura fell mortally wounded. Pedro heard the report and started.\n\n\"What is that?\" he exclaimed, \"but what would it be?\" he added upon\nreflection. \"Ventura has perhaps shot a partridge. It sounded near. I\nwill go and see.\"\n\nHe hurriedly follows the path his son has taken, sees a form lying\nupon the ground; approaches it--God of earth and heaven! It is a\nwounded man! and that man is his son! The poor old man falls down\nbeside him.\n\n\"Father,\" Ventura says, \"I have some strength left; calm yourself and\nhelp me get to the hacienda; it is not far and let them send for a\nconfessor, for I wish to die like a Christian.\"\n\nThe God of pity gives strength to the poor old man. He raises his son,\nwho, leaning upon his shoulder walks a few steps, repressing the\ngroans which anguish wrings from his breast.\n\nAt the hacienda, they hear a pitiful voice calling for succor; all run\nout and see, coming along the path, the unfortunate father supporting\nupon his shoulder his dying son. They meet and surround them.\n\n\"A priest! a priest!\" moans the exhausted voice of Ventura.\n\nA suitable person, mounted on the fleetest horse, leaves for the\nvillage.\n\n\"The surgeon, bring the surgeon!\" calls the father.\n\n\"And the magistrate!\" adds the superintendent.\n\nIn this manner passes an hour of agony and dread.\n\nBut now they hear the swift approach of horses' feet, and the\nmessenger comes accompanied by the priest. The aid which arrives first\nis that of religion.\n\nThe priest enters, carrying in his bosom the sacred host. All\nprostrate themselves. The wretched father finds relief in tears.\n\nThey leave the priest with the dying man, and through the house,\nbroken only by the sobs of Pedro, reigns a solemn silence.\n\nThe minister of God comes out of the room. A sweet calm has spread\nitself over the face of the reconciled. The surgeon enters, probes the\nwound, and turns silently with a sad movement of his head toward those\nwho are standing by. Pedro awaiting, with hands convulsively clasped,\nthe sentence of the man of science, falls to the floor, and they carry\nhim away.\n\n\"Sir magistrate,\" the surgeon says, \"he is not capable of making a\ndeclaration, he is dying.\"\n\nThese words rouse Ventura. With that energy which is natural to him,\nhe opens his eyes and says distinctly: \"Ask, for I can still answer.\"\n\nThe scribe prepares his materials and the magistrate asks:\n\n\"What has been the cause of your death?\"\n\n\"I myself,\" distinctly replied Ventura.\n\n\"Who shot you?\"\n\n\"One whom I have forgiven.\"\n\n\"You then forgive your murderer?\"\n\n\"Before God and man.\"\n\nThese were his last words.\n\nThe priest presses his hand and says, \"Let us recite the creed.\" All\nkneel, and the guardian angel embraces as a sister, even before\nhearing the divine sentence, the parting soul of him who died\nforgiving his murderer.\n\n{678}\n\nCHAPTER XV.\n\nThe women were together in Anna's parlor, and although not one of\nthem, except Rita, knew of the events of the night before, they sat in\noppressive silence, for even Maria was wanting in her accustomed\nloquacity.\n\n\"I don't know why,\" she said at last, \"nor what is the matter with me,\nbut my heart to-day feels as though it could not stay in its place.\"\n\n\"It is the same with me,\" said Elvira, \"I cannot breathe freely. I\nfeel as if a stone lay on my heart. Perhaps it is the air. Is it going\nto rain, Aunt Maria?\"\n\n\"My poor child,\" thought Anna, \"the remedy comes too late. Earth is\ncalling her body and heaven her soul.\"\n\n\"Well, I feel just as usual,\" said Rita, who was in reality the one\nthat could hardly sit still for uneasiness.\n\nAngela had made her a rag baby, which she was rocking in a hollow tile\nby way of cradle, and the painful silence which followed these few\nwords was only broken by the gentle voice of the little girl as she\nsung, in the sweet and monotonous nursery melody to which some mothers\nlend such simple enchantment, and such infinite tenderness, these\nwords:\n\n  \"I hold thee in my arms,\n  And never cease to think.\n  What would become of thee, my angel,\n  If I should be taken from thee.\n  The little angels of heaven--\"\n\nThe childish song was interrupted by a heavy solemn stroke of the\nchurch bell. Its vibration died away in the air slowly and gradually,\nas if mounting to other regions.\n\n\"_His Majesty!_\" said all, rising to their feet.\n\nAnna prayed aloud for the one who was about to receive the last\nsacraments.\n\n\"For whom can it be?\" said Maria. \"I do not know of any one that is\ndangerously sick in the place.\"\n\nRita looked out of the window and asked of a woman that was passing,\nwho was the sick person?\n\n\"I do not know,\" she answered, \"but it is some one out of the\nvillage.\"\n\nAnother woman cried as she approached, \"Mercy! it is a murder, for the\nmagistrate and the surgeon have followed the priest as fast as they\ncould!\"\n\n\"God help him!\" they all exclaimed, with that profound and terrible\nemotion which is excited by those awful words, a murder!\n\n\"And who can it be?\" asked Rita.\n\n\"No one knows,\" answered the woman.\n\nThen the bell tolled for the passing soul; solemn stroke; stroke of\nawe; voice of the church, which announces to men that a brother is\nstriving in weariness, anguish, and dismay, and is going to appear\nbefore the dread tribunal--momentous voice, by which the church says\nto the restless multitude, deep in frivolous interests which it deems\nimportant, and in fleeting passions which it dreams will be eternal:\nStand still a moment in respect for death, in consideration of your\nfellow-being who is about to disappear from the earth, as you will\ndisappear tomorrow.\n\nThey remained plunged in silence, but nevertheless deeply moved, as\nhappens sometimes with the sea, when its surface is calm, but its\nbosom heaves with those deep interior waves which sailors call a\nground-swell.\n\nAnd not they alone. The whole village was in consternation, for death\nby the hand of violence always appalls, since the curse which God\npronounced upon Cain continues, and will continue, in undiminished\nsolemnity throughout all generations.\n\n\"How long the time is!\" said Maria, at length. \"It seems as if the day\nstood still.\"\n\n\"And as if the sun were nailed in the sky,\" added Elvira. \"Suspense is\nso painful. Perhaps robbers have done it.\"\n\n\"It may have been unintentional,\" answered Maria.\n\n\"Mamma Anna, who has killed a man, and what made him do it?\" asked the\nlittle Angela.\n\n\"Who can tell,\" replied Anna, \"what is the cause, or whose the daring\nhand that has anticipated that of God in extinguishing a torch which\nhe lighted.\"\n\n{679}\n\nAt that instant they heard a distant rumor. People moved by curiosity\nare running through the street, and confused exclamations of\nastonishment and pity reach their ears.\n\n\"What is it?\" asked Rita, approaching the window.\n\n\"They are bringing the dead man this way,\" was the answer.\n\nElvira felt herself irresistibly impelled to look out.\n\n\"Come away, Elvira,\" said her mother, \"you know that you cannot bear\nthe sight of a corpse.\"\n\nElvira did not hear her, for the crowd, that drawn by curiosity,\nsympathy, or friendship, had surrounded the body and its attendants,\nwas coming near. Anna and Maria, also placed themselves at the\ngrating. The corpse approached, lying across a horse and covered with\na sheet. An old man follows it, supported by two persons. His head is\nbowed upon his breast. They look at him--merciful God! it is Pedro!\nand they utter a simultaneous cry.\n\nPedro hears it, lifts his head and sees Rita. Despair and indignation\ngive him strength. He frees himself violently from the arms that\nsustain him, and precipitates himself toward the horse, exclaiming:\n\"Look at your work, heartless woman! Perico killed him.\" Saying this,\nhe lifts the sheet and exposes the body of Ventura, pale, bloody, and\nwith a deep wound in the breast.\n\n------\n\nFrom the Dublin University Magazine.\n\nIRISH FOLK BOOKS OF THE LAST CENTURY.\n\n\nIn the eighteenth century Ireland did not possess the boon of\nCommissioners to prepare useful and interesting school books. However,\nas the mass of the peasantry wished to give their children the only\neducation they could command, namely, that afforded by the hedge\nschools, and as young and old liked reading stories and popular\nhistories, or at least hearing them read, some Dublin, Cork, and\nLimerick printers assumed the duties neglected by senators, and\npublished \"Primers,\" \"Reading-made-easie's,\" \"Child's-new-play-thing,\"\nand the widely diffused \"Universal Spelling Book\" of the magisterial\nDaniel Fenning, for mere educational purposes. These were \"adorned\nwith cuts,\" but the transition from stage to stage was too abrupt, and\nthe concluding portions of the early books were as difficult as that\nof the \"Universal Spelling Book\" itself, which the author, in order to\nrender it less practically useful, had encumbered with a dry and\ndifficult grammar placed in the centre of the volume.\n\nTwo Dublin publishers, Pat. Wogan, of Merchants' quay, and William\nJones, 75 Thomas street, were the educational and miscellaneous\nAlduses of the day, and considered themselves as lights burning in a\ndark place for the literary guidance of their countrymen and\ncountrywomen, of the shop-keeping, farmer, and peasant classes. In the\nfrontispiece of some editions of the spelling-book grew the tree of\nknowledge, laden with fruit, each marked with some letter, and ardent\nclimbers plucking away. Beneath was placed this inscription:\n\n  \"The tree of knowledge here you see.\n  The fruit of which is A, B, C.\n  But if you neglect it like idle drones,\n  You'll not be respected by William Jones.\"\n\n{680}\n\nThat portion of the work containing \"spells\" and explanations was\nthoroughly studied by the pupils. The long class was arranged in line\nin the evening, every one contributed a brass pin, and the boy or girl\nfound best in the lesson, and most successful at the hard \"spells\"\ngiven him or her by the others, and most adroit in defeating them at\nthe same exercise, got all the pins except two, the portion of the\nsecond in rank, (_the queen_,) and one, the perquisite of the third,\n(_the prince_.)\n\nEvery neighborhood was searched carefully for any stray copies of\nEntick's or Sheridan's small square dictionaries, (pronounced\n_Dixhenry's_ by the eager students,) for hard spells and difficult\nexplanations to aid them in their evening tournaments.\n\nThe grave Mr. Fenning was censuruble for admitting into some editions\nthe following jest (probably imported from Joe Miller) among his\nedifying fables and narratives:\n\n  \"A gay young fellow once asked a parson for a guinea, but was\n  stiffly refused. 'Then,' said he,  give me at least a crown.' 'I\n  will not give thee a farthing,' answered the clergyman. 'Well,\n  father,' said the rake, 'let me have your blessing at all events.'\n  'Oh I yes: kneel down, my son, and receive it with humility.' 'Nay,'\n  said the other, 'I will not accept it, for were it worth a farthing\n  you would not have offered it.'\"\n\nWe cannot, however, quit the school-books without mention of the\nreally valuable treatise on arithmetic, composed by Elias Vorster, a\nDutchman naturalized in Cork, and subsequently improved by John Gough,\nof Meath street, one of the society of Friends. \"Book-keeping by\nDouble Entry,\" written by Dowling and Jackson, was so judiciously\narranged that it is still looked on as a standard work.\n\nThe same followers _longo intervallo_ of Stephens and Elzevir\npublished, besides prayer and other devout books, a series of stories\nand histories, and literary treatises such as they were, printed with\nworn type, on bad grey paper, cheaply bound in sheep-skin, and sold by\nthe peddlers through the country at a _tester_ (6-1/2d.) each. Of\nhistory, voyages, etc., the peddler's basket was provided with \"Hugh\nReilly's History of Ireland,\" \"Adventures of Sir Francis Drake,\" \"The\nBattle of Aughrim,\" and \"Siege of Londonderry,\" (the two latter being\ndramas,) \"Life and Adventures of James Freney the Robber,\" \"The Irish\nRogues and Rapparees,\" \"The Trojan Wars,\" and \"Troy's Destruction,\"\n\"The Life of Baron Trenck,\" and \"The Nine Worthies--Three Jews, Three\nHeathens, and Three Christians.\"\n\nThe fictional department embraced, chiefly in an abridged state, \"The\nArabian Nights,\" \"The History of Don Quixote,\" \"Gulliver's Travels,\"\n\"Esop's Fables,\" \"Adventures of Robinson Crusoe,\" \"Robin Hood's\nGarland,\" \"The Seven Champions of Christendom,\" \"The History of\nValentine and Orson,\" \"The Seven Wise Masters and Mistresses of Rome,\"\n\"Royal Fairy Tales,\" etc., etc.\n\nIn the department of the Belles Lettres may be classed, \"Lord\nChesterfield's Letters to his Son,\" \"The Academy of Compliments,\" \"The\nFashionable Letter Writer,\" \"Hocus Pocus, or the Whole Art of\nLegerdemain,\" \"Joe Miller's Jest Book,\" etc.\n\nThe list would not be complete without mention of the books of\nballads. These were sold in sheets, each forming 8 pages, 18mo, and\nadorned with cuts, never germain to the ballads they illustrated. Some\nof these sheets contained only one production, the \"Yarmouth Tragedy,\"\nor some early English ballad sadly disfigured. One related how a\n\"servant-man\" was accused by an envious liveried brother, of being a\nconfirmed card-player. On being examined he obtained a complete\nvictory over the informer, convincing his master that what he, the\nmaster, called cards, was to him a prayer-book, a catechism, a\ncalendar, and what not. The different numbers reminded him of the six\ndays of the creation, the seven churches of Asia, the ten\ncommandments, the twelve Apostles, etc. The {681} king recalled to him\nthe duty he owed that supreme magistrate, the ace of hearts, the love\ndue to God and our neighbor. \"How, is it,\" said the master, \"that you\nhave always passed over the knave in your reckoning?\" \"Ah! I wished to\nspeak no ill of that crooked disciple that went to backbite me to your\nhonor.\" The reader anticipates the victory of the ingenious rogue.\n\nThe purchasers of these sheets sewed them as well as they could in a\nbook form, but they were so thumbed and abused, that it is at this\ndate nearly impossible to procure one of those repertories of song\nprinted toward the close of the last or the beginning of the present\ncentury.\n\nOf all these works that we delight in most at present, (it was not so\nwhen we were young,) is the unmatched \"Academy of Compliments,\" which\nwas the favorite of boys and girls just beginning to think of\nmarriage, or its charming preliminary, courtship. Very feelingly did\nthe writer in his preface insist on the necessity of eloquence. \"Even\nquick and attractive wit,\" as he thoughtfully observed, \"is often\nfoiled for want of words, and makes a man or woman seem a _statute_ or\none dumb.\" He candidly acknowledges that several treatises like his\nhave been published, \"but he assures the _courteous reader_ that none\nhave arrived to the perfection of this, for good language and\ndiversion.\"\n\nThis is the receipt for accosting a lady, and entering into\nconversation; with her:\n\n  \"I believe Nature brought you forth to be a scourge to lovers, for\n  she hath been so prodigal of her favor toward you, that it renders\n  you as admirable as you are amiable.\"\n\nAnother form:\n\n  \"Your presence is so dear to me, your conversation so _honest_, and\n  your humour so pleasing, that I could desire to be with you\n  perpetually.\"\n\nThe author directs a slight departure from this form, in case the\ngentleman has never seen the lady before, and yet has fallen\npassionately in love with her.\n\n  \"If you accuse me of temerity, you must lay your own beauty in\n  fault, with which I am so taken, that my heart is ravished from me,\n  and wholly subjected to you.\"\n\nDecent people would scarcely thank us for troubling them with many of\nthe \"witty questions and answers for the improvement of conversation.\"\nA few must be quoted, however, with discreet selection.\n\n  \"Q. What said the tiler to the man when he fell through the rafters\n  of his house?\n\n  \"A. Well done, faith; I like such an assistant as thou art, who can\n  go through his work so quickly.\n\n  \"Q. What said the tailor's boy to the gentleman who, on his\n  presenting his bill, said tartly, he was not running away?\n\n  \"A. If you are not, sir, I am sorry to say my master is.\n\n  \"Q. Why is a soldier said to be of such great antiquity?\n\n  \"A. Because he keeps up the old fashions when the first bed was upon\n  the bare ground.\"\n\n\nTHE BATTLE OF AUGHRIM.\n\nIt may appear strange that \"The Battle of Aughrim,\" written by an\nadherent to the Hanoverian succession, should so long have continued a\npopular volume among the Roman Catholic peasantry. This has, perhaps,\nbeen due to the respectful style in which the author treated the\nofficers of Irish extraction. All his contempt and dislike were\nlevelled at St. Ruth, the French General, and his masters, English\nJames and French Louis. Though the style of the rhymed play is turgid\nenough, there are in it occasional passages of considerable vigor and\nbeauty, and a brisk movement in the conduct of the piece; and\nsentimental youth have an opportunity of shedding a tear over the ill\nstarred love of _Godfrey_ and _Jemima_. It was scarcely fair of the\nauthor to represent St. Ruth as a stabber in cold blood, but hear the\nmoving periods he makes Sarsfield utter:\n\n  \"O heavens! can nature bear the shocking sound\n  Of death or slavery on our native ground.\n  Why was I nurtured of a noble race,\n  And taught to stare destruction in the face?\n  Why was I not laid out a useless _scrub_,\n  And formed for some poor hungry peasant's cub.\n  To hedge and ditch, and with unwearied toil\n  To cultivate for grain a fertile soil,\n  To watch my flocks, and range my pastures through,\n  With all my locks wet with the morning dew,\n  Rather than being great, give up my fame,\n  And lose the ground I never can regain?\"\n\n{682}\n\nThose Irishmen, who, like ourselves, have read and enjoyed this drama\nin early boyhood, before the birth of the critical faculty, will find\nit out of their power to divest themselves of early impressions when\nendeavoring to form a just estimate of its merits. We vainly strive to\nforget the image of a comely and intelligent country housewife,\nspiritedly reciting the interview of the Irish and English officers\nafter the day was decided, and bravely holding out the tongs at the\npoint where Sarsfield presents his weapon. Talmash, Mackay, and Sir\nCharles Godfrey confront the Irish chiefs, Dorrington, O'Neil, and\nSarsfield, and Talmash courteously addresses them.\n\n  \"Take quarters, gentlemen, and yield on sight.\n  Or otherwise prepare to stand the fight.\n  Yet pray, take pity on yourselves and yield.\n  For blood enough has stained the sanguine field.\n  'Tis Britain's glory, you yourselves can tell,\n  To use the vanquished hospitably well.\n\n  _Sarsfield--_ Urge not a thought, proud victor, if you dare.\n  So far beneath the dignity of war.\n  I am a peer, and Sarsfield is my name.\n  And where this sword can reach I dare maintain.\n  Life I contemn, and death I recommend;\n  He breathes not vital air who'd make me bend\n  My neck to bondage, so, proud foe, decline\n  The length of this, (_extending his sword_,) because the spot is mine.\n\n  _Talmash_.--If you are Sarsfield, as you bravely show,\n  You're that brave hero whom I longed to know,\n  And wished to thank you on the reeking plain\n  For that great feat of blowing up our train.\n  Then mark, my lord, for what I here contend;\n  'Tis Britain's holy church I now defend.\n  Great William's right, and Mary's crown, these three.\n\n  _Sarsfield_.--Why, then fall on--Louis and James for me. (_They fight_.)\n\nSarsfield's declaration ends the animated discussion rather lamely;\nbut what poet has maintained a uniform grandeur or dignity? The writer\nwas a certain Robert Ashton. The play when printed was dedicated,\ncirca 1756, to Lord Carteret, and if peasant tradition can be trusted,\nit was only acted once. The Jacobite and Hanoverian gentlemen in the\npit drew their swords on one another, probably at the scene just\nquoted, and bloodshed ensued. This is not confirmed by the written\nannals of the time.\n\n\"The Siege of Londonderry\" was, and still is bound up with \"The Battle\nof Aughrim,\" but there is nothing whatever in it to recommend it to\nthe sympathies of the populace. There is nothing but mismanagement and\nbad feeling on the part of the native officers from beginning to end;\nand if fear or disloyalty shows itself in one of the besieged, his\nvery wife cudgels him for it.\n\nThere is something very na\u00efve and old-fashioned in the observation\ninserted at the end of the list of the _dramatis personae:_\n\n\"Cartel agreed upon--No exchange of prisoners, but hang and quarter on\nboth sides.\"\n\n\nDON BELLIANIS OF GREECE; OR THE HONOR OF CHIVALRY.\n\nThe re-perusal of portions of this early favorite of ours has not been\nattended with much pleasure or edification. There is a sad want of\nstyle, accompanied by a complete disregard of syntax, orthography, and\npunctuation. The objects to be attained are so many and so useless,\none adventure branches off into so many others, and there arc so many\nknights and giants to be overcome, and emperors so carelessly leave\ntheir empresses in the dark woods exposed to so many dangers, while\nthey go themselves to achieve some new and futile exploit that the\nnarrative has scarcely more continuity and consistence than a dream.\n\nThe author had ten times as many separate sets of adventures to\nconduct simultaneously as ever had the estimable G. P. R. James. So he\nwas frequently obliged to suspend one series, and take up another, a\nmode of composition which all novelists who read this article, are\nadvised to eschew. Leaving Don Bellianis investing the emperor of\nTrebizond, who stoutly disputed the possession of the fair\nFlorisbella's hand with him, he proceeds to tell what happened at the\njoustings of Antioch in consequence of the happy union of Don Brianel\nand the peerless Aurora. Thither came {683} Peter, the knight of the\nKeys, from Ireland. He was son to the king of Monster, and, being\nanxious to seek foreign adventures, embarked at _Carlingford_, and\nperformed prodigies of valor in Britain and France, and then sailed\nfor Constantinople. Being within sight of that city, a storm forced\nhis ship away and drove it to Sardinia, where Peter won the heart of\nthe fair princess, Magdalena, by his success in the tournament, and\nhis beauty of features when he removed his helmet after the exercise.\nThe princess has a claim upon our indulgence, for as the text has it,\n\"he looked like Mars and Venus together.\" The knights of those happy\ntimes being as distinguished for modesty as courage, the princess ran\nno risk in desiring an interview with the peerless Peter, and they\nvowed constancy to each other till death.\n\nA neighboring king demanding the hand of the lady for his son, the\nlovers decamp, and find themselves on a strange island in a day or\ntwo. Peter having given the princess a red purse containing some\njewels, she happened to let it fall by her, and it was at once picked\nup by a vulture, on the supposition of its being a piece of raw meat.\nFlying with it to a tree overhanging the river, and finding his\nmistake, he dropped it into the water, and there it lay on the sandy\nbottom in sight of the lovers.\n\nThe knight, arming himself with a long bough, and getting into the\nboat, would have fished up the purse, only for the circumstance of\nbeing unprovided with oars. The tide having turned, he was carried out\nto sea, and by the time he had got rid of his armor he was nearly out\nof sight of the poor princess, now left shrieking behind, who was\nconveyed away after a day and a night's suffering, in a ship bound for\nIreland, where she took refuge in a nunnery, and in time became its\nsuperioress. This was near the palace of her lover's parents, and to\nmatch this strange coincidence by another equally strange, their cook,\none day preparing a codfish for dinner, discovered within it the\nidentical purse of jewels carried away by their son, and lost in the\nmanner described in the distant Mediterranean. They gave him up then\nfor lost, but he was merely searching through the world for his\nmistress, jousting at Antioch, killing a stray giant here or there,\nand rescuing from the stake at Windsor an innocent countess accused of\na _faux pas_--all these merely to keep his hand in practice. Don\nClarineo with whom he had fraternized at Antioch is also engaged on\nthe same quest, and comes to Ireland in the course of his rambles. In\nthat early time Owen Roe O'Neill was chief king, MacGuire, father of\nPeter, was king of Munster as before stated, Owen Con O'Neill and Owen\nMacO'Brien ruled two of the other provinces, but the territory claimed\nby each is not pointed out. The compiler was probably not well up in\nthe old chronicles; he would else have given O'Brien the territory of\nMunster, and settled MacGuire somewhere near Loch Erin.\n\nBe that as it may, the reigning king of Ulster refusing his fair\ndaughter to the prince of Connaught, was minded to bestow her on the\nterrible giant Fluerston, whose inhospitable abode was in the\nmountains of Carlingford. The father of the rejected prince determined\nto resist this \"family compact,\" sent out knights and squires to\nimpress every knight errant they met into his service. Being rather\nmore earnest than polite on meeting with Don Clarineo, he slew about a\nscore of them, and after he succeeded in learning their business with\nhim he was inclined to slay another score for their stupidity in not\nbeing more explicit at the beginning, whereas he would have devoted\nten lives if he had them to the cause of prince _versus_ giant.\n\nHaving easily massacred the Carlingford ogre, he began to bestir\nhimself in his quest for the lost princess, and so quitted the\nConnaught court which according to our author was held at that era in\nDublin, and his {684} loyalty was suitably rewarded in discovering his\nown true love.\n\nIt was originally written in Spanish, and part translated into French\nby Claude de Beuil, and published by Du Bray, Paris, 1625 in an 8vo.\n\n\nTHE NEW HISTORY OF THE TROJAN WARRIORS AND TROY'S DESTRUCTION.\n\nThe compiler of this _Burton_ did not share in Homer's excusable\nprejudices in favor of his countrymen; he was a Trojan to the\nbackbone. This might be excused in compliment to the noble and\npatriotic Hector, but he disturbs commonly received notions of family\nrelationship among the ancients, a thing not to be pardoned.\n\nAfter proposing the true histories of Hercules, Theseus, the\ndestruction of Ilion, and other equally authentic facts, he proceeds\nto relate--\n\n  \"How Brute, King of the Trojans, arrived in Britain, and conquered\n  Albion and his giants, building a new Troy where London now stands,\n  in memory of which the effigies of two giants in Guildhall were set\n  up, with many other remarkable and very famous passages, to revive\n  antiquity out of the dust, and give those that shall peruse this\n  elaborate work, a true knowledge of what passed in ancient times, so\n  that they may be able readily to discourse of things that had been\n  obliterated from the memories of most people, and gain a certainty\n  of the famous deeds of the renowned worthies or the world.\"\n\nOur truthful historian then relates with many corrections of the\nlegendary accounts of the lying Greeks, the histories of Hercules,\nTheseus, Orpheus, Jason, and the other Ante-Trojan heroes; and either\nthrough mere whim, or better information, tells us that Proserpine at\nthe time she was snatched away to hell, was the bride of the enamored\nOrpheus, and the wicked King Pluto putting armor on his equally wicked\nfollowers--the giant Cerberus and others--and festal garments over\nthe armor, carried her away despite the resistance of the bridal\nparty. Orpheus obtained her, as mentioned by the fabulists, but\nlooking back, Cerberus, who was close behind arrested her progress,\nand the unfortunate husband returned to upper air half-dead. Thereupon\nTheseus and Pirithous tried the adventure, but the giant Cerberus slew\nthe last named, and would have slain Theseus, but Hercules closely\nfollowing, gave the giant such a knock of his club as left him lying\nin a swoon for some hours. Advancing to the throne of the black\ntyrant, he administered another crushing blow on his helm, and leaving\nhim for dead, conducted the trembling but delighted Proserpine to her\nmother and husband in the pleasant vales of Sicily, and \"if they\ndidn't live happy that we may!\" As for the traitor Cerberus, he was\npresented to Hippodamia, the disconsolate widow of the murdered\nPirithous, who found a melancholy satisfaction in putting him to death\nafter first subjecting him to well-deserved tortures.\n\nIn the rest of the history of Hercules our compiler does not think it\nnecessary to depart from the statements of the early writers. He gives\nhim indeed as second wife, _Joel_, daughter of King Pricus, neither of\nwhose names we recollect.\n\nOur authority being keenly alive to the injustice done by Homer to the\nTrojans, corrects his statements on sundry occasions. Well disposed as\nwe are to rectify prejudices, he has not convinced us that the knights\non both sides, mounted, armed in plate, and setting their strong\nspears in rest, charged each other in full career in the manner of\nCranstoun and William of Deloraine. These are his words:\n\n  \"Hector and Achilles advanced in the front of either army, and ran\n  at each other with great fury with their spears, giving such a shock\n  as made the earth to tremble, with which Achilles was thrown from\n  his horse; whereupon the noble Hector scorning to kill a dismounted\n  man, passed on, making lanes through the enemy's troops, and paving\n  his way with dead bodies, so that in a fearful manner they fled\n  before him.\n\n{685}\n\n  \"By this time Achilles being remounted by his Myrmidons, a second\n  time encountered the victorious Hector, who notwithstanding his\n  utmost efforts, again bore him to the earth, and went on making a\n  dreadful havoc as before.\"\n\nIt is probable that this  account of the death of Hector will prove\nthe least digestible of his emendations to the admirers of the early\nGreek poets. The version here given appears to depend on the sole\nauthority of our  compiler, and we do not feel here at liberty to\ninterpose in the literary quarrel sure to arise on the publication of\nthis article:\n\n  \"Hector, having taken prisoner Menesteus, Duke of Athens, who had on\n  a curious silver armor, he was conveying him out of the battle when\n  thinking himself secure, and being overheated with action, he threw\n  his shield behind him, and left his bosom bare.\n\n  \"Achilles, spying this opportunity, ran with all his might his spear\n  at the breast of the hero, which piercing his armor, entered his\n  undaunted heart, and he fell down dead to the earth. And this not\n  satisfying the ungenerous Greek, he fastened his dead body to the\n  tail of his horse, and dragged him three times round the city of\n  Troy in revenge for the many foils and disgraces he had received of\n  him.\"\n\nThe rest of the narrative corresponds tolerably with the old accounts,\nbut we have not heart to accompany the author through the burning of\nTroy, the adventures of Eneas, and those of Brutus in his descent on\nBritain, and his victory over Albion, Gog, and Magog. Besides, the\ndeath of the \"Guardian Dog of Troy\" has disturbed our equanimity, for\nwe acknowledge as great an esteem for Hector and as strong a dislike\nto the ruthless Achilles, as was ever entertained by the compiler of\nthe \"New History of the Trojan Wars.\"\n\nThe prejudices of the romancers of the middle and later ages in favor\nof the Trojans were probably due to the history of the war supposed to\nhave been written by Dares, a Phrygian priest mentioned by Homer. It\nis in Greek, and the work of some ingenious person of comparatively\nrecent times. It was translated by Postel into French, and published\nin Paris 1553. The first edition in Greek came out at Milan in 1477.\nAnother spurious book on the same subject in Latin, was attributed to\nDictys, a follower of Idomeneus, King of Crete. The first edition of\nit was printed at Mayence, but without date.\n\n\nTHE IRISH ROGUES AND RAPPAREES.\n\nThe literary caterers for our peasantry, young and old, hare been\nblamed for submitting to their inspection the lives of celebrated\nhighwaymen, tories, and \"rapparees.\" Without undertaking their defence\nwe cannot help pointing out a volume appropriated to gentry of the\nsame class in the _Family Library_ issued by John Murray, whom no one\ncould for a moment suspect of seeking to corrupt the morals of\nfamilies or individuals. We find in Burns' and Lambert's cheap popular\nbooks, another given up to these minions without an apprehension of\ndemoralization ensuing among the poor or the young who may happen to\nread it. So it is probable that J. Cosgrave contemplated no harm to\nhis generation by publishing his \"Irish Rogues and Rapparees.\" It were\nto be wished that the motto selected for his work had either some\nattic salt or common-sense to recommend it:\n\n  \"Behold here's truth in every page expressed;\n  O'Darby's all a sham in fiction dressed,\n  Save what from hence his treacherous master stole,\n  To serve a knavish turn, and act the fool.\"\n\nThe reader will please not confound the terms \"tory\" and \"rapparee.\"\nThe tories, though that generic for Irish robbers is as old as\nElizabeth, are yet most familiarly known as legacies left us by the\nCromwellian wars, and chiefly consisted of those rascals who,\npretending to assist the parliamentary cause, plundered the mere Irish\nfarmers, and every one of both sides who had anything worth taking.\nThey were a detestable fraternity. The rapparees were the Irish\noutlaws in the Jacobite and Williamite wars, including many a\nscoundrel no doubt, but many also who, while they supported themselves\nin outlawry, at the expense of those who in their eyes were\ndisaffected to the rightful king, yet kept their hands unstained by\n{686} vulgar theft or needless bloodshed. Many who at first kept to\nthe hills and the bogs as mere outlaws, and exacted voluntary and\ninvoluntary black mail for mere support, according as the assessed\nfolk were Jacobites or Williamites, gradually acquired a taste for the\nexcitement and license of their exceptional life, and became _bona\nfide_ plunderers, preferring (all other things being equal) to wasting\nthe _Sassenach_ rather than the _Gael_, and that was all.\n\nSuch a gentleman-outlaw was Redmond Count O'Hanlon, who flourished\nafter the conclusion of the Cromwellian wars. Redmond was worthy of a\nplace beside Robin Hood and Rob Roy, and has been made the hero of two\nstories, one by William Carleton and the other by W. Bernard M'Cabe.\n\nWe now proceed to quote a few of the exploits of those troublesome\nindividuals of high and low degree, who disturbed their country in the\nend of seventeenth and first half of the eighteenth century and\nfurnished amusement to the peasantry and their children, during the\ngolden days of the peddlers.\n\nThe great Captain Power of the South travelled northward to meet and\ntry the skill of Redmond, and they had a shrewd encounter with\nbroadswords for nearly half an hour, neither gaining a decided\nadvantage. They swore to befriend each other in all future needs, and,\nin consequence, Redmond rescued his brother from the soldiers when\nthey were conducting him to execution.\n\nPower coming into Leinster, lodged at the house of a small farmer,\nwhom he observed to be very dejected all the evening. On inquiry he\nfound that his landlord and the sheriff were expected to make a\nseizure next day for rent and arrears amounting to \u00a360. After some\nfurther discourse, Power offered to lend him the sum on his note of\nhand, and the offer was gratefully accepted. Next day the farmer,\nafter much parleying, acknowledged that he had \u00a360 given him to keep,\nand that he would produce it rather than have his little property\ndistrained, and trust to God's goodness to be enabled to put it\ntogether again. The landlord, after sufficiently abusing him, gave him\na receipt in full, and, parting company with the sheriff's posse,\nreturned home. In a lonely part of the way, he was set on by Power and\nrobbed of the \u00a360 and his watch and other valuables. In a day or two\nthe robber called on the farmer, said he was going away, and the\npromissory note would be of no use to him. So he took it out and tore\nit in pieces.\n\nHow the unreflecting hearts of the fireside group glow over such\nquasi-generous deeds of robbers, and how little they think on the\nselfish and abandoned and iniquitous portions of the lives of their\nfavorites! \"Bah! they took from the rich that could afford it, and\ngave to the poor that wanted it. Dickens a bit o' me 'ud betray\nRedmond O'Hanlon or Captain Power if I got a stocken' o' goold by it.\"\n\nStrong John MacPherson is admitted among the Irish worthies by Mr. J.\nCosgrave, though he was more probably a Highlandman. There was much of\nthe milk of human kindness about strong John. If a horseman would not\nlend, (John merely requested a loan,) he never used the ugly words\n\"stand and deliver,\" he pulled him off his horse and gave him a\nsqueeze. If that failed, he carried him away from the highway, giving\nthe horse his liberty, and rifled him in some quiet nook. Being set on\none night by a crowd in an inn kitchen, he threw the hostess over his\nshoulder, and no better shield could be. Making his escape, he laid\nher on the ground, set his foot apparently on her body--it was only on\nher gown, however--and extorted twenty pieces from her friends before\nhe released her.\n\nStrong John was in no instance guilty of murder. He never even struck\nbut in self-defence, and always betook himself to defence by a woman\nwhen practicable. He met the usual destiny of his tribe about 1678.\n\n{687}\n\nWill Peters, born among the romantic scenery of the Slieve Bloom\nmountains, might have lived and died a respectable man, or at least\nhave acquired the fame of a highwayman, had it not been for two\ntrifling impediments. His father was a receiver of stolen cattle,\nwhich, being commonly kept in a neighboring field, whose owner\nremained out of sight, the crime could not be brought home to him. The\nother mischance consisted in his staying at school only till he had\nmastered \"Reynard the Fox.\" It was the opinion of Mr. J. Cosgrave that\nif he had got through \"Don Bellianis,\" the \"Seven Champions,\" and\n\"Troy's Destruction,\" he would have arrived at the honors of the\nhigh-road. After a few mistakes in his cattle-stealing apprenticeship,\nhe became acquainted with the renowned \"Charley of the Horse,\" and\nthus made use of him. He was placed in durance for stealing a sorrel\nhorse with a bald face and one white foot, and committed to Carlow\njail, the horse being intrusted to the care of the jailer. Peters'\n_pere_, on hearing of the ugly mistake, revealed the family sorrow to\nthe great Cahir, and he being fully informed of the marks, color,\netc., of the beast, sent a trusty squire of his to the assize town a\nfew days before the trial, mounted on a mare with the same marks as\nthose above noted. The jailer's man took the horse down to the\nBarrow's edge every morning to drink, and the agent, making his\nacquaintance, invited him to take a glass at a neighboring \"shebeen\"\nthe morning before the trial. While they were refreshing themselves,\nthe squire's double mounted on the mare approached where the horse was\ntied outside, substituted his own beast, and rode off on the other.\nThe refreshed man, on coming out, observed nothing changed, and rode\nthe new-comer home to the stable.\n\nThe trial coming on, the prosecutor swore home to his property, but\nMr. William Peters said he was as innocent of the theft as the lord\nlieutenant. \"My lord,\" said he, \"ax him, if you plase, what did I\nsteal from him.\" The answer came out that was expected, \"a sorrel\nhorse, such and such marks.\" \"It wasn't a sorrel mare you lost?\" \"No.\"\n\"My lord, will you plase to send for the baste, and if it's a horse,\nlet me be swung, as high as Gildheroy.\" The animal was sent for, the\nwhole court burst into a roar, and Will Peters demanded compensation,\nbut did not get it.\n\nBeing taken up again he was executed, as far as hanging for fifteen\nminutes could effect it. However, being at once taken away by his\npeople, he was resuscitated. Once more he was seized and conveyed to\nKilmainham, whence he escaped rather than be transported.\n\nBeing at last secured in Kilkenny for running away with a roll of\ntobacco from a poor huckster-woman, he was once more placed on the\ndrop and hung.\n\nSuch were the unedifying subjects presented to the consideration of\nthe young in Mr. J. Cosgrave's collection. He certainly had no evil in\nhis mind when composing it, but its moral effect was at best\nquestionable. It would be a book very ill suited for rustic fire-side\nreading in our day. The same may be said of the \"Wars of Troy,\" though\nno indication of evil intention is apparent. We subjoin the names of\nthose books that still continue in print. Why they should still find\nbuyers seems strange, when such care is expended in supplying useful,\npleasant, and harmless reading for the lower classes. However, any\nevil inherent in them is slight compared to that of _some_ of the\nLondon halfpenny and penny journals. The following still form portions\nof the peddler's stock: \"The Academy of Compliments,\" \"The Arabian\nNights,\" \"The Battle of Aughrim,\" \"Esop,\" \"Gulliver,\" \"O'Reilly's\nIreland,\" \"Hocus Pocus,\" \"Irish Rogues,\" \"James Freney,\" \"Robin Hood's\nGarland,\" \"Seven Champions,\" \"Tales of the Fairies,\" \"The Trojan\nWars,\" \"Valentine and Orson,\" and the \"Seven Wise Masters and\nMistresses of Rome,\" some of them absolutely harmless.\n\n{688}\n\nIn the whole  collection, there was not one volume racy of the Irish\nsoil, or calculated to excite love of the country, or interest in its\nancient history, or literature, or legends. The eighteenth century was\ncertainly a dreary one in many respects. Formality, affectation, and\ncynicism prevailed in the manners and literature of the upper classes,\nand the lower classes were left to their own devices for mental\nimprovement. It says something for the sense of modesty inherent in\nthe Celtic character, that there were so few books of a gross or evil\ncharacter among their popular literature.\n\n------\n\nTranslated from the French.\n\n\n\nASSES, DOGS, CATS, ETC\n\nI.\n\nI am not a member of the society for the prevention of cruelty to\nanimals, but I deserve to be; for no one has praised the worthy\nefforts of these gentlemen more than I have; and no one sees with\ngreater satisfaction, how justice sometimes gets hold of those brutal\ndrivers who wreak their uncontrolled anger upon their poor steeds,\nguilty only of not being able to help themselves. And if, even, in\nplace of their being condemned to pay a paltry fine, they were paid\nback in kind for the undeserved blows which these afflicted animals\nreceive from their hands, I for one would make not the slightest\nobjection.\n\nIt would be contrary to the progress and civilization of the\nnineteenth century, I agree, but it would not be contrary to justice,\ncivilized or uncivilized.\n\nHowever, who knows how things may turn out? Considering the miseries\nand sufferings of those uncomplaining creatures when they are\nunfortunate enough to get under the lash of the unfeeling boors who\nought to be in their place, it would not surprise me over much, if it\nshould turn out that--\n\nThat--what?\n\nWait a moment, I'll tell you. One day, as I happened to be out walking\nalong a certain road, I noticed an ass tied to a post, around which,\nwithin the full length of his rope, there was not a single blade of\ngrass to crop. The poor fellow was slabsided, and his skin scraped,\nand half tanned by the frequent application of bark on the living\nwood; evidently getting few caresses of a softer kind, but enjoying in\nthe most complete sense of the word, \"the right to work.\" Naturally, I\nstopped a moment to bid him good-day and ask after his ass-ship's\nhealth, after which I plucked a fine thistle growing within\ntantalizing reach of his rope, and gave it to him. He gobbled it down\nwith great gusto.\n\n\"How do you like that, my old chap?\" said I to him, mechanically.\n\n\"First rate,\" said he, \"hand us another.\"\n\nI jumped back in astonishment.\n\n\"What! you can talk, can you, my Bucephalus, and in English too? That\nis something new.\"\n\n\"Not so new as you think, my dear sir, for I will let you into a\nlittle bit of a secret. Ass as I am, and as you see me to be, I was a\nman in my time and a butcher by trade. I had an ass that I treated\nmost scurvily, just as they do me now; giving him his bellyful of\nblows and kicks, but of very little {689} else. Poor Jack--that was\nhis name--kept Lent all the year round, it being in the interest of\nmy customers, as I often said to myself, to quiet the qualms of\nconscience when I gave him but half what he could eat. Let him stuff\nhimself said I, and he will get fat and lazy, the meat will come late\nto the cook, the cook will be late with the dinner, and the hungry\nfamily will lose their temper, and I shall lose their custom, while\ngood doses of the oil of strap will help his digestion wonderfully,\nand keep him lively. However, this last end was not attained, for the\npoor ass kicked the traces--professional term, you understand--and\nwent to the bone-boilers before his time. When it came to my turn to\ntie up--again professional--and go off the cart, my soul was\ncondemned to go into an ass's body to suffer for a certain time the\npunishment of retaliation. Drubbing for drubbing, kicks of hobnailed\nshoes for kicks of peg boots, I got what I gave, and good measure too,\nI assure yon. Do you see that half starved, thin-flanked old horse\nover there? Well, he is a companion in misery to me. In his time he\nwas a hack-driver, and many a time in his fits of anger and\ndrunkenness, he made an anvil of the backbone or the jaws of his\nhorses. Only in those times, now and then, you understand, but those\ntimes happened often enough, say once an hour or so, every day. As to\nhay and oats, he tried to teach them, but without success, to go\nwithout those articles of luxury. When his turn came to pay up old\ndebts, his soul was condemned to go into that sorry old carcass, in\nwhich he passes many a miserable quarter of an hour. He is a\nragpicker's property now. How do you like that specimen of 'the\nnoblest conquest that man has ever made'? As to me, Sawney, at your\nservice, I think the end of my punishment is not far off. It was given\nme to understand that when a benevolent gentleman would offer me a\nthistle for friendship's sake, it would end, and it is to you I owe\nthis act of kindness, my dear Mr. Miller.\"\n\n\"Good again, you are a wiser ass than I took you for. How do you know\nmy name, master Sawney?\"\n\n\"This way, sir. The other day I chanced to be tied to a post, near a\nhedge, on the other side of which, in a meadow, some folks were having\na little picnic on the grass. After a while a tall lady in spectacles\ntook out some papers and began to read for the company. She seemed to\nbe reading, from what I could make out, in some magazine or other. I\nsoon understood that the subject was asses, and then of course I\ncocked up my ears to their full height. It was true, it was about us,\nabused and misunderstood beasts that we are. The articles read by the\ntall lady were so full of kindness, and contained such flattering\nremarks upon our species, that it almost brought the tears to my eyes.\nThe name signed to those articles was Jeremiah Miller. Oh! said I to\nmyself, that is a man whom one could call a man. There is one at least\nwho understands us and loves us; I promise myself that if I ever have\nthe good fortune to meet him I will give him--in lieu of anything\nbetter--my blessing. You see that when you spoke to me just now so\nkindly, I said to myself, I wonder if this be not Mr. Jeremiah Miller,\nand then I called you by that name, and I see that I have just hit\nit.\"\n\n\"But\"--my reader will say \"of course you don't tell this story for a\ntrue one! You would never have the face to ask us to believe that this\nbrayer actually spoke to you?\"\n\nAnd, pray, why not? But, after all it is possible I fell asleep on a\nmossy bank, in a meadow, near where an ass was tied, and that I\ndreamed what I have told you. But dreams with the eyes shut are not\nalways so very unlike the dreams we sometimes have when our eyes are\nopen. As for myself, whenever I see a poor beast of burden brutally\nmaltreated by another beast, who strikes and kicks as if he {690}\nmeant murder, I allow my fancy to be tickled with a vision of this\nlatter brute obliged to creep into the skin of a horse or ass, and\ntake his turn at being unjustly whipped, without having any attention\npaid to his bray or his neigh of expostulation or defence. You see\nthat I am in every respect worthy of figuring among the members of the\nsociety for the prevention, etc., etc., but--\n\n\n\nII.\n\nBut--I hold to the great principles of '76, and first of all to that\nof equality. If we must have a law for the protection of domestic\nanimals against the men who torment _them_, I would like to see a law\ndevised to protect men against the animals who are a pest to poor\nhumanity, for the shoe sometimes gets on the other foot.\n\nFor example; look at that pack of dogs of all sizes, of all tastes, (I\nmean human,) and in every stage of canine civilization, which their\nmasters permit to run at large in the streets of our city, even in the\nworst of the dog days, without counting the free and independent dogs\nwho know no master but themselves. You have a friend who is a diligent\nreader of the chapter of accidents in the daily papers. He tells you\nabout this or that dog who was seen running mad, that he had bitten\ntwo or three persons, one of whom has since died of hydrophobia, and\nadds with a peculiar relish that \"the dangerous animal is still at\nlarge!\" These gentlemen--I mean the owners of the dogs--are\nprovokingly careless and indifferent about the muck which their dogs\nare running in the midst of a population biteable to any extent. You\nare kindly informed that if you happen to get bitten by some\nsuspicious-looking cur--and what cur is not of a suspicious character\nin these days--it will be necessary to squeeze the wound, wash it,\nthen cauterize it with a red hot iron, or cut it out, and then, etc.,\netc. These are most excellent recipes, I have no doubt, but I think I\nknow of a better, which would be to prevent the bites altogether.\n\nBut, you say, there is the proclamation of his Honor, the Mayor, and\nthere is the police, etc., etc. Dogs at large are to be muzzled or\nheld by a chain. Oh! yes; very fine, indeed, when they are. The\nproclamation is very good, but since the dog owners pay so little heed\nto it, it is not surprising that the dogs themselves pay no more\nrespect to it than they do to the proclamations of patent medicines\npasted on the lamp-posts or fences. As to the country places outside\nof the city, whither we of the heated streets and close shops fly to\nget a breath of fresh air, and a moment of repose--there you will see\nfat men and thin ladies who never dream, either asleep or awake, of\nmuzzling their favorite bull-dogs, lap-dogs, pointers, setters, tan\nterriers or greyhounds. Muzzle _their_ dogs! that would make the poor\ndogs, and their owners too, very uncomfortable. A pretty piece of\nimpudence indeed for a village constable to presume to carry out the\nlaw against the dog, errant in delicto, which is the property of a Mr.\nor a Mrs. or a Miss who is a \"somebody,\" as if they were nobodies. Mr.\nConstable knows better than that, and so does Mr. Puffer, the\nmagistrate.\n\nBesides, there is a learned doctor of the society for the prevention,\netc., who deplores with astonishment mingled with grief, etc., etc.,\nthat any one should be so inhumane as to gag \"man's companion and\nfriend\" for the sake of the prevention of a few despicable cases of\nhydrophobia. He has never been bitten by a mad dog, and don't expect\nto be. He does not see why anybody else need expect to be.\n\nThen there are our nurses and the children, whose daily promenade is\nembittered by the sight and often the attacks of some Snarleyow. \"It\nwas as good as a play,\" says Snarleyow's master; \"Snarley nearly\nfrightened them to death, I thought I should die of laughter to see\nthem {691} scamper. It was great fun for Snarley.\" Very well,\ngentlemen, there is also something which is great fun for me too, and\nthat is to kick Snarley whenever he presumes to be too \"playful\" with\nme or my particular friends the children.\n\nProtect your \"friends of man\" if you will, gentlemen, but don't let\nthem interfere with my friends, or---\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nPermit me here to make a digression, which is not altogether one;\n\nMan is defined, a reasonable animal.\n\nNow the question arises whether woman is included in this definition.\nDon't get angry, ladies--the horrid men, you know, are so curious!\n\n\nIV.\n\nFrom the friend of man let us pass to the subject of the friend of\nwoman. And here I find myself face to face with a celebrated document\nwhich produced such a deep, or rather such a lively impression upon\nthe public, a few weeks since. Who is there in the whole five parts of\nthe world that has not heard of the noted \"cat trial\"? That learned\ndecision and sentence given by Squire Pouter, justice of the peace in\nDullville, is yet ringing in my ears, by which were avenged, as far as\na fine from five cents to a dollar could avenge, a litter of fifteen\ncats illegally drowned. Illegally!--that at least was the opinion of\nthe wise magistrate, who rendered his judgment at great length, and\nafter his well known comprehensive style, citing his authors,\ncomplimenting the one, and refuting the others, bringing under\ncontribution the code of Justinian, the English common law, the state\nstatutes, and the discussions of the Legislature at Albany. In short,\nour modern Solon decided as follows: The cat, in its nature, is both a\ndomestic and wild animal. As a wild animal, it is true, it is lawful\ngame for the hunter; but, as a domestic animal, it has a right to\nlive, and is under the august protection of the law. Now, since the\nwild part of its nature revolts against captivity, it has a right to\ncome and go according to its instinctive desire for daily exercise,\nand housekeepers are not bound in conscience to make a raid upon them\nin their tender feline infancy under pretence that some day or other\nthey will make a raid upon their pantry. Raids of prevention in the\ntimes of peace are unheard of in the history of the republic.\nTherefore they are condemned (the raiders, in the present case, not\nthe cats) to pay such and such fines, for the benefit of the fifteen\nvictims, or their heirs or assigns. Yes, indeed, this splendid\njudgment made a good deal of noise, and well it might. I, who am\nspeaking to you reside in my own house, and have no evil intentions\ntoward any one, but--there are three cats who come each evening from\nas many points of the compass for the purpose of making strategic\nattacks upon my eatables. Infinite are the precautions that I am\nforced to take to save my daily bread from the enemy. I must keep up\nan incessant fight, and a running fire, not to speak of the difficulty\nI experience in vain attempts to sleep with one eye open and my ear,\nwhich is not on the pillow, on the alert. I will not speak of their\ndefiant caterwauling and spiteful spitting when they find my\nbarricades impassable; it is too painful a subject for me to dwell\nupon.\n\nWho are the victims of oppression, most eminent and sage magistrate?\nIs civilized man positively to be given over in the name of the\nsociety for the prevention, etc., as a victim to the instincts and\ncaprices of cats? Not at all, not at all, O illustrious Pouter! I will\nsee you and the cats--well--some distance, if not further, first.\nBring on your grimalkins, for my soul burns to avenge the rights of\nman!\n\n{692}\n\nIt is not all. Here, for example, next door, lives Miss Lambkin; age\nunknown. She, by some unexplained perversion of taste, is keeping\nsomething in her house which is either an old sheep or a middle-aged\ngoat. This cud-chewer, who lapses into ennui despite the charms of its\nmistress, bleats incessantly three times a minute, several thousands\nof times in the twenty-four hours. Is such an eternal see-saw of sound\nbearable? Is not my life a burden to me? Is not my liberty to think,\nto play my violin, to take my usual nap after dinner abridged by the\nliberty of Miss Lambkin's detestable foster child? And if I happen to\nbe sick, or suffering from the tooth-ache or the headache, or\nmelancholy, or perchance am sentimental, this beast, I suppose, must\nnot be thwarted in its monotonous sing-song. _Mister_ Pouter, is there\nliberty for wolves? for most assuredly I shall soon play the part of\none!\n\nI have not finished yet. Since the first of May a family has come to\nlive in the house on the other side of mine. With father, mother and\nfurniture comes a tall, wasp-waisted damsel who now passes hours, yes,\nhours banging upon an aged piano. It is her method of bleating, and it\nis full as amusing as the other, if not a little less. Will the\npresident of the society for the prevention, etc., inform us if there\nis any protection for aged pianos? A society for the _protection_ of\nmen and pianos would find in me one of its most eloquent orators,\ndiffuse writers, and active members. I would have all wandering Jews\nof unmuzzled dogs executed on the spot, knocked on the head or\ndrowned, at choice. These at least have not the fifty cents in their\npockets to pay for a living release.\n\nAs to the cats, I intend to memorialize the supreme court to declare\nthe decision of our immortal justice of the peace non-constitutional.\nI wish it to be \"legal\" to kill, drown, or otherwise destroy any cat\nor cats found on strange premises, understood, of course that they are\nto be buried at the killer's expense, and the government not to be\nmade liable to pay handsomely for public obsequies with military\nprocession.\n\nBleating goats, or sheep, or parrots, _et tutti quanti_, to be invited\nto keep still, and not to speak until spoken to.\n\nLastly, as to the piano-bangers, I acknowledge the case is a little\ndelicate, and any remedy whatsoever has its difficulties. I am not\nmalicious, and am inclined to the side of resignation and toleration.\nFor after all, you know, they are ladies, and when you say that, it is\nenough. Without association you cannot accomplish anything nowadays;\nand where in the world could be found a sufficient number of men to\nform a society for their protection against _them_. After that, I do\nnot see that it is necessary I should say anything further.\n\n\n--------\n\n\nFrom the Dublin University Magazine\n\nCAROL FROM CANCIONERO.\n\n\"Vista ciegs, luz occura\"--_Cancionero General_. Valencia, 1511.\n\n\n  Lightsome darkness, seeing blindness.\n  Life in death, and grief in gladness,\n  Cruelty in guise of kindness,\n  Doubtful laughter, joyful sadness,\n  Honeyed gall, embittered sweetness,\n      Peace whose warfare never endeth,\n  Love, the type of incompleteness,\n      Proffers joy, but sorrow sendeth.\n\n------\n\n{693}\n\n\nTranslated from the French\n\n\nTHE PEARL NECKLACE.\n\n\nThere lived at Cordova, many years ago, an old Jew who had three\npassions: he loved science, he loved gold, he loved his only child,\nwho bore the sweet name of Rachel. He loved science, not for its own\nsake, not because it was the means of the acquisition of truth, but\nfor himself, that is to say, through pride.\n\nHe loved gold, a little perhaps because it was gold, very much because\nit gave him the means of providing luxuries for his darling child,\ngreatly also because without it he could not have made the costly\nexperiments necessary in the pursuit of science.\n\nHe loved his daughter alone, with the pure and disinterested, but\npassionate tenderness of paternal love. In a word he was a savant, a\nfather, a Jew.\n\nHis name was Rabbi Ben-Ha-Zelah, and he practised medicine. He wrought\nsuch wonderful cures that very soon his fame spread throughout Spain,\nand from all parts of the kingdom the people came in crowds to consult\nhim. He received his patients in the afternoon. In the morning he\nslept, it was said; but how his nights were passed none knew, and many\nwere the speculations concerning it. This only was known, that they\nwere passed in a secret chamber, of which he alone possessed the key,\nand it had been observed that this mysterious apartment was sometimes\nilluminated with many-colored flames, blue, or red, or green, while a\ndense smoke issued from the chimney.\n\nThe police of the kingdom at length resolved to penetrate the mystery,\nwhich seemed to them very suspicions. _Everything_ is suspicious to\nthe police of _all_ countries.\n\nOne evening, Rabbi Ben-Ha-Zelah saw two dark, grave men watching his\nhouse. He listened and heard these words of sinister import:\n\n\"To-morrow, at dawn, we will know whether this wretch is a\nmoney-coiner or a magician.\"\n\nThe conscience of the poor old Jew did not reproach him, for his life\nwas pure and innocent; but he had had great experience of the world,\nand held as on axiom that innocence is worth absolutely nothing in a\ncourt of justice. He went still further, he considered it an\naggravating circumstance. He often quoted the old Arabian proverb: \"If\nI were accused of having stolen and pocketed the grand mosque at\nMecca, I would immediately run off as fast as I could.\" He said that\njustice was a game of cards--and he was no player.\n\nWhat misanthropic ideas! How different would his conclusions have been\nhad he lived nowadays! However, as he had not the happiness of living\nin that Eden of justice, France of 1866, he put the philosophy of the\nproverb into practice, and left Cordova that very night, taking with\nhim all his treasures. The next morning at dawn the two dark, grave\nmen, found an uninhabited, dismantled dwelling; which made them still\nmore dark and grave.\n\n\n\nII.\n\nRabbi Ben-Ha-Zelah, disguised as a merchant and mounted on a strong\nmule, passed rapidly through Spain. On either side of his saddle, and\nsecurely fastened to it was a long wicker {694} basket, in the shape\nof a cradle. Ben-Ha-Zelah looked from time to time at these baskets\nwith satisfaction, mingled with sadness, and then urged on his mule,\ncasting many a backward glance, to be quite sure he was not pursued.\nIn one of the baskets were his treasures and his books; in the other\nslept peacefully the young daughter of the fugitive. Having reached a\nsmall seaport town, the old Jew took passage in a vessel which was\nabout to sail for Egypt.\n\nRabbi Ben-Ha-Zelah had often heard of the caliph Achmet Reschid, who\nwas celebrated throughout the East for his love of science, and the\nhigh consideration in which he held scientific men. As for impostors,\ncharlatans and empirics, he held them in sovereign contempt and took\nreal pleasure in impaling them.\n\nThis good prince reigned in Cairo. Thither Ben-Ha-Zelah bent his\nsteps; for he believed himself, and with reason, to be a true savant.\n\nThe profound and extensive acquirements of the old Jew, together with\nhis astonishing skill in everything appertaining to the healing art,\nsoon made him as famous in Cairo as he had been in Cordova, and he was\nat once made court physician.\n\nThe caliph Achmet Reschid was never weary of admiring the almost\nuniversal knowledge of the old man, and often invited him to the\npalace to converse with him for hours upon the secrets and marvels of\nnature. Suddenly a terrible plague broke out in the city, and\nthreatened to decimate the population. Ben-Ha-Zelah compounded a\nwonderful lotion, which cured six times in seven. He contended that in\nnothing could evil be conquered in a greater proportion than this;\nthat a seventh was a minimum of disorder, of sorrow, of vice, in the\nimperfect organization of this world, and that when the proportion of\nevil in the human body, in the soul, in society, in nature, had been\nreduced to a seventh, all the progress possible in this world had been\nmade.\n\nHowever that may be, he was summoned one night in great haste to the\npalace; the wife and son of the caliph were stricken down by the\npestilence. Ben-Ha-Zelah applied the miraculous lotion and the son was\nrestored to health--but the wife died.\n\nThe caliph Achmet Reschid was overcome with gratitude for so signal a\nservice and throwing himself into the arms of the old physician,\nexclaimed: \"Venerable old man I to thee I owe the life of my son and\nmy happiness! As a proof of my gratitude, I appoint thee Grand\nVizier!\"\n\nThe old Jew prostrated himself on the ground before his generous\nbenefactor.\n\n\"Yes,\" continued the caliph, who had a truly noble heart; \"yes, I need\na friend in whom I can confide, as I have, one after another, beheaded\nall those whom I had in a moment of impulse honored with that title.\"\n\n\"Thanks, mighty caliph!\" humbly replied Ben-Ha-Zelah. \"How shall I\nfind fitting words to thank my gracious prince for such unmerited\ncondescension! Surely never did kindness like this rejoice the earth!\"\n\n\"Thou sayest well and truly, child of Jacob,\" answered the puissant\ncaliph.\n\nTime, far from diminishing the love of the caliph for Ben-Ha-Zelah,\nonly increased it. The jealousy of the courtiers had always succeeded\nin poisoning the mind of the caliph against any one on whom he had\nconferred the dignity of Grand Vizier; but the prudence of the old Jew\nbaffled all their schemes, and Achmet Reschid had learned how to guard\nagainst calumniators. At the first word breathed against the new\nfavorite that benevolent prince and faithful friend ordered the rash\nslanderer to be beheaded, and very soon the courtiers vied with each\nother in their praises of the Grand Vizier. The good caliph, seeing\nthe harmony of feeling among his people with regard to the new\nfavorite, congratulated himself on his firmness.\n\n{695}\n\n\"I knew very well,\" said he, \"that the whole court would at last do\nhim justice. I talk of him with every one and no man says aught\nagainst him.\"\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nAs for Ben-Ha-Zelah, he seemed to be perfectly indifferent to the\nimmense power which his favor with the caliph gave him in the state.\nIn vain did the courtiers try to entangle him in the intrigues of the\ncourt. In vain did the noblemen of the kingdom, in hopes of gaining\nhis protection, lay costly gifts at his feet. He gently refused them\nall. Devoid of ambition, and prudent to excess, the old Jew withdrew\nas much as possible from public affairs. He even begged the caliph to\nexcuse his attendance at the palace, except at certain hours of the\nday, that he might devote himself more uninterruptedly to scientific\npursuits. The love of the caliph grow day by day, and the courtiers as\nwell as the common people, seeing the humility and disinterestedness\nof the Grand Vizier, acknowledged him to be indeed a sage.\n\nAt court, as everywhere else, he was clad in a coarse brown robe, and\nwas in no way distinguishable from the crowd, had not the intellectual\nexpression of his face, and the strange brilliancy of his eyes,\nrevealed at a glance a superior mind. He might often be seen in the\nstreets of Cairo, carrying in his own hands the metals, stones or\nmedicinal plants, which he bought in the bazaars, or gathered in his\nsolitary rambles. Wherever he went he heard his own praise; but never\ndid he in any way betray that it was agreeable to him.\n\n\"No one is so poor and humble,\" said the common people to each other,\n\"as the Grand Vizier of our high and mighty caliph.\"\n\nThe truth was, however, that with the exception of Achmet Reschid, no\none in Cairo possessed such vast riches as the \"poor\" Vizier; but\nafter the manner of the Jews he carefully concealed them, and lived in\na very modest mansion situated outside the walls of the city. This\nhumble dwelling was completely hidden by the palm and cedar trees\nwhich surrounded it, and for still greater security was enclosed by a\nhigh wall.\n\nIn this quiet and mysterious retreat, where he admitted no guests, he\nhad centered all that made his life; there dwelt his child, the young\nRachel, just budding into womanhood.\n\nWhen, after passing weary hours in the unmeaning ceremonial of the\ncourt, he reached his garden gate, and stealthily opened it, his\nusually impassive face was suddenly illumined as with a sunbeam. It\nwas as if he had passed from death unto life.\n\nHis daughter, clad like a queen of the east, ran to meet him, and\nembraced him so tenderly that it seemed as if a portion of her young\nlife was breathed into the worn and exhausted frame of the aged\nfather. Ben-Ha-Zelah forgot his sorrows and his cares, and seemed to\nrevive as with the breath of spring. \"I gave thee life, my daughter;\nthou dost restore it to me!\" murmured the old man.\n\nRachel was just entering her sixteenth year. Her hair was of the\nbeautiful golden color which people love. Her eyes, her voice, her\nsmile, her bearing, carried with them an irresistible charm. She\nlooked, it was a ray of light; she spoke, it was a strain of music;\nshe smiled, it was the opening of a gate of Paradise. Her heart was\npure and innocent as was that of the Rachel of old, whom Jacob loved.\nCan we wonder that the heart of her father was bound up in her? Who\nindeed, could help loving a being so pure and bright?\n\n\n\nIV.\n\nBen-Ha-Zelah was old, but his was a vigorous old age--and the young\ndaughter and aged father, as they walked under the grand old trees of\nthe garden, made a beautiful picture. The long white head, piercing\neyes, {696} eagle nose, and broad brow of the old man, formed a\nstriking contrast to his humble dress, and when no longer under\nconstraint, it revealed a mysterious and profound satisfaction in his\nown personality and intelligence. There was so much _pride_ that there\nwas no place for _vanity_ in his soul.\n\nWhat cared he for the admiration or contempt of others, the vain\nclamors of the multitude, whom he considered infinitely his inferiors?\nWhen he said to himself, \"I am Ben-Ha-Zelah,\" the rest of the world no\nlonger existed for him.\n\nHis pride was like that of Lucifer: it was not relative but absolute;\nhe contemplated himself with a terrible satisfaction. Thence his\ndisdain for all the miserable trifles which gratify the self-love of\ninferior men. The pride of _seeming_ comes when the pride of _being_\nis not absolute.\n\nWhence then came the gigantic pride of the old Jew?\n\nRabbi Ben-Ha-Zelah was the most learned man of his time.\n\nHe had carried his investigations far beyond those of the most\nscientific men of the age; he was well versed in physics, mechanics,\ndynamics, arithmetic, music, astronomy, medicine, surgery, and botany;\nbut the science he most loved, was that which, at first known under\nthe name of alchemy, was destined to become the greatest science of\nmodern times--chemistry.\n\nHe passed night after night shut up in his laboratory, as he had\nformerly done at Cordova, seeking to penetrate one after the other all\nthe mysteries of nature. There, bending over his glowing furnaces,\nsurrounded with retorts and crucibles of strange shapes, filled with\nmetals in a state of fusion, by all sorts of instruments and alembics,\nold Ben-Ha-Zelah interrogated matter and demanded the mystery of its\nessence; he pursued it from form to form, he tore it with red-hot\npincers; he melted it in the glowing fires of his furnaces; he made it\nsolid only to reduce it again to a liquid state, decomposing it a\nhundred times in a hundred different ways. He tortured it, as does the\nlawyer the prisoner at the bar, that he may wring from him his most\nhidden secrets.\n\nMatter, thus pursued by the indefatigable alchemist, had revealed more\nthan one of its mysterious laws, which he had made useful in the\npractice of his profession, so that he was considered in Cairo little\nless than a demi-god. However, in his labors he sought not the good of\nhis fellow-men, but the barren satisfaction of the passion which was\nconsuming him, _the pride of knowledge_; he sought to penetrate the\nsecrets of the most high God. The promise of the tempter to our first\nparents; _Eritis sicut dei, scientes_, \"You shall be as gods, knowing\ngood and evil,\" had penetrated his soul; and he desired to plant in\nhis garden that fatal tree to which the first-born of our race\nstretched out their guilty hands. Like his ancestor Jacob, he wrestled\nwith Jehovah.\n\nOne can readily understand that the old man, absorbed in this gigantic\nstruggle, was dead to all vanity, so far as men were concerned. He had\nreached such dizzy heights that he had almost lost sight of them. To\nhim they were like the brute beasts which crossed his path; he\nbelieved them to be of an inferior nature to him, who had been gifted\nwith such vast genius--such indefatigable industry. His high thoughts\nwere not for such miserable pigmies.\n\nSometimes seating himself in dreamy mood in his garden, at the foot of\na grand old cedar, his favorite seat, and taking in his hand a pebble,\na blade of grass or a flower he was plunged in profound meditation.\n\nWhat makes this \"a body\" thought he. This \"body\" is brown, heavy,\nhard, square, or has many other properties which come under my notice.\nBut it is evident that neither the color, weight, cohesion, nor form\nconstitute its _essence_. They are its manner of beings--not its\nbeing. If I modify it, destroy it even, it will still {697} be the\nsame body, and I shall, after all, have only attacked its manner of\nbeing; the essence which heretofore has always escaped me--_the soul\nof the body_, if I may say so--will have suffered no change. It is as\nif I were suddenly to become hunchback, lame, idiotic--I would still\nbe the same man. I must discover the substance _quod sub stat_; in the\nfirst place, what causes this to be; in the second place, what\nconstitutes it a body; and finally, what makes it this particular body\nwhich I hold in my hand and not another.\n\nThe problem was formidable; it was the mystery of the omnipotence of\nthe God who created the world, and nevertheless this unknown\nPrometheus shrank not from the task, and flattered himself he could\nwring from created matter the secrets of its Creator.\n\nIn his experiments' Ben-Ha-Zelah had started with the axiom that all\nbodies were formed from certain elements which were invariable, but\ncombined in different ways. Moreover, his researches had proved to him\nthat many elements, formerly believed to be primary, were composed of\ndifferent elements into which they might again be readily resolved. So\nthat seeing their number decrease as his investigations became more\nabstruse and his analyses more delicate, he had arrived at the\nconclusion that there existed an original and absolute substance of\nwhich all bodies, even those apparently the most different, were only\nvariations.\n\nHe affirmed the identity of the base under the infinite variety of the\nforms. This primary substance which he considered as co\u00ebternal with\nGod, was, he thought, that on which Jehovah breathed in the beginning,\nand in his Satanic pride he believed two things--first that the\nAlmighty had combined the atoms of matter in so wondrously complex a\nmanner only to conceal from man the secret of its creation--and\nsecondly, that the Rabbi-Ben-Ha-Zelah would be able to baffle the\nprecautions of the Almighty, and by analysis after analysis, at length\nsucceed in finding the simple primary substance from which all things\nwere originally formed.\n\nSuch were the thoughts which continually filled his mind--such the\ngigantic plan he had conceived. Again and again he said to himself\nthat by taking from a body one after the other its contingent\nqualities, as one takes the bark from a nut, he would succeed at\nlength in penetrating its most hidden depths, to that _matter essence_\nfrom which was made, as he believed, all that existed in the universe.\n\nHe had inscribed on the door of his laboratory _Materia, mater_. And\nas soon as he should be able to imprison in his alembics this primary\nmatter he could at will, disposing it after certain forms, make in\nturn bronze, stone, wood, or gold. Nay more, he hoped to surprise with\nthe same blow the mystery of life--and then, thought he in his impious\npride, I shall be a creator, like unto Him before whom every knee\nbends in adoration. I shall be God! _Eritis sicut dei_.\n\nThe old man, lost in the vain search for the absolute basis of matter,\nlittle suspected that the final word of all science is; \"The essence\nof matter is immaterial.\"\n\nHowever, he devoted himself most zealously to the great work he had\nundertaken, and passed night after night in the recesses of his\nlaboratory which would have reminded one of the entrance to the\ninfernal regions but for the sweet presence of the young and lovely\nRachel, who glided in and out, bringing order out of confusion, and in\nthe evening beguiled the long hours by singing to her father snatches\nof the old Hebrew songs of which such touching and beautiful fragments\nhave come down to us.\n\n\n\n{698}\n\nV.\n\nOne night, Ben-Ha-Zelah, regardless of fatigue, was still bending over\nhis glowing furnaces. For more than a week he had allowed himself no\nsleep, nor had he permitted his eyes to wander from the vast crucible\nwhich had been heated to white beat for six consecutive months. He had\ndiscovered phenomena hitherto unknown. His bony hands clutched\nconvulsively the handle of the bellows, and his eager, care-worn face\nwas illuminated with a two-fold radiance, that from the purple light\nof the furnace and from the interior flame which consumed his soul. He\nwas motionless from intensity of emotion. At last then he was about to\nattain the aim and desire of his whole life!\n\nThe primary substance, the absolute essence of matter, he was about to\nseize it--to be its lord. The old man still watched; a whitish vapor\nrose slowly from the crucible; matter decomposed in this crucible\nseemed to be a prey to a fearful travail--to struggle in an internal\nconflict.\n\nThe old man raised his tall form to its full height and at that moment\nappeared like a second Lucifer. He shouted in triumph, \"I have\ncreated!\"\n\nThen rushing to the casement he gazed upward to the starry heavens,\nnot in prayer, but in defiance.\n\n\"I have created!\" he repeated, \"I have created! I have conquered! I am\nthe equal of God!\"\n\nA noise, slight in reality, but to the excited senses of Ben-Ha-Zelah,\nlouder than the crash of thunder, was heard behind him. He turned with\nagitated countenance. The crucible, unwatched during his delirium of\npride, had fallen, and was shivered to atoms. All was lost; the\ncreation of him who aspired to an equality with the Most High was but\na heap of ashes.\n\nBen-Ha-Zelah was stunned by this unlooked-for calamity. He fell back\nfainting, as if, while he rashly sought to penetrate the mystery of\nlife, pale death, entering his dwelling had touched him with her\nsombre wing.\n\n\n\nVI.\n\nWhen consciousness returned, the fire of the furnace, which had been\nfed with so much care for six weary months, was extinguished. Through\nthe open casement he saw myriads of stars blazing in the firmament.\nThe majestic silence of the night hovered over the unchanged\nimmensity.\n\nThe old man was seized with an indefinable terror. He understood that\nhe was punished for his pride, and he had a presentiment that the\nsudden failure of the labor and research of so many years was but the\nbeginning of his punishment. It seemed to him that in the midst of the\nthick darkness the living God had looked into the depths of his guilty\nsoul and had stretched out his all-powerful hand to smite him.\nSuddenly, as by a revelation, there came to him a knowledge of the\npoint where God was about to strike him.\n\n\"My child! my child!\" cried he, in a voice broken by terror and\nremorse.\n\nHe ran to the chamber of his daughter.\n\nThe old man opened the door gently, taking, in spite of his terror, a\nthousand paternal precautions not to awaken the sleeper. The trembling\nlight of a small alabaster lamp cast its faint rays about the\napartment. Gently he drew back the curtains of the bed and gazed\nfondly upon his child.\n\nRachel slept profoundly, her breathing was as peaceful as innocence.\nBen-Ha-Zelah looked upon the sweet, calm face with a transport of\ndelight. The tranquillity of this peaceful sleep of childhood was\ncommunicated to him, and for a moment stilled the agitation of his\nsoul.\n\nHe leaned fondly over the sleeping form; listened joyfully to the calm\nbreathing of his darling child, to the regular beating of her heart;\nthen stooping, imprinted a kiss of fatherly love on the beautiful\nbrow.\n\nRachel remained immovable, and her sleep was unbroken. \"It is strange\nshe has not awakened,\" said the old man to himself looking at her\nagain. \"Sleep is so like death.\"\n\n{699}\n\nAs he allowed this thought to take form a vague terror took possession\nof him.\n\n\"Bah! she sleeps! I hear her breathing,\" said he aloud.\n\nThe secret indefinable fear which he could not banish, and for which\nhe could not account, still remained; he could no longer contain\nhimself.\n\n\"Rachel!\"' cried he in a loud voice. The young girl slept on.\n\n\"Rachel! my child!\" he cried again, at the same time shaking her\ngently by the arm.\n\nStill the calm sleep was unbroken; and the peaceful breathing which at\nfirst had delighted the fond father now seemed like a fatal spell.\n\n\"Rachel! Rachel!\"\n\nHe took her in his arms; he placed her on a couch; he tried to make\nher walk; and in vain essayed with his trembling fingers to open the\nsealed eyelids.\n\nThe young girl slept on; her respiration as calm, and the rhythm of\nher heart still preserved its frightful monotone. All the efforts of\nthe despairing father were vain. Day dawned, night came, the next day,\nand weeks and months, and Rachel awoke not.\n\n\n\nVII.\n\nThe distracted father, remembering that he was a physician, sought in\nmedical science a remedy for this strange malady. He tried every known\nmedicine, he essayed new ones; but nothing could break the fearful\nsleep. He no longer went to the palace of the caliph, but his days and\nnights were passed in his laboratory as they had formerly been at\nCordova; his researches, however, were no longer to feed his pride.\nSorrow concentrated his mighty genius on one thought--to discover a\nremedy for his idolized child. Bitterly did be expiate the old\nanxieties of his pride by the torturing perplexities of this new\nsorrow.\n\nMore than six months passed thus. A last and desperate remedy to which\nhe had recourse, had, like all the others failed; Ben-Ha-Zelah on a\nnight like that on which this weight of sorrow had come upon him, was\nin his laboratory bending as ever over his retorts. He had made every\nresearch, every experiment that genius, quickened by affection, could\nsuggest, and had failed in all. Rachel still slept. Then the\nbroken-hearted old man, convinced of his own impotence, let fall his\narms at his sides and burst into tears.\n\nAt that moment he heard a voice which seemed to come at once from the\ndepths of immensity, and from the inmost recesses of his own heart.\n\n\"All thy efforts are vain,\" said the voice. \"Thou wilt cure thy child,\nonly by passing about her neck, a pearl necklace, not the pearls which\nbountiful nature gives, and God makes, but pearls which thou thyself\nhast fashioned. Thou thoughtest thyself the equal of God, the equal of\nHim who created the world; and he punishes thee, by condemning thee to\ncreate only a few pearls, and he is willing to lend thee all the\nriches and treasures of his beautiful world. Go and seek! And when\nthou hast made enough of these pearls to fill the box beside thee,\nmake a necklace of them. Put it on the neck of thy child, and she will\nawake.\"\n\nIt was not an illusion. The old man had seen no one, but the box was\nthere beside him. It was a little box, of a wood unknown to him, which\nexhaled a delicious odor. On the lid inscribed in letters of gold, was\na Hebrew word, meaning \"Treasure of God.\"\n\nBen-Ha-Zelah, re-kindled the fires of his furnaces and again applied\nhimself to explore the arcana of alchemy. He took from his coffers all\nthe pearls he possessed, and after having analyzed them, tried in vain\nto form them again; but the secret of omnipotence which he attempted\nto grasp, fled from him. He decomposed precious stones and succeeded\nonly in making a gross calcareous substance. Again and again he\nflattered himself, he had penetrated the mystery of the Creator; but\nall his hopes ended in nothingness. {700} Nature, which he had once\nattempted to conquer to satisfy his pride as a savant, he now wooed in\nvain to still the passionate yearnings of his fatherly heart.\n\nOne day he said to himself: \"My knowledge is very little; and with the\nvery little I know, I shall never succeed in solving this problem, and\nnevertheless it is possible!\"\n\nThe voice which spoke to me is a voice which does not deceive.\n\nThen an inspiration came to him which lighted with a pale ray of hope,\nthe sorrowful face long unused to happiness. The idea occurred to him,\nthat if he should go and study the shells of the Persian gulf where\npearls are formed, he might succeed in winning from nature the mystery\nwhich he had so much interest in learning.\n\nHe set out the next morning on his long and wearisome journey, leaving\nhis child to the faithful care of the old Jewish slave who had been so\nmany years in his service, and in whom he reposed the most perfect\nconfidence. She had been the nurse of Rachel, and loved her almost\nwith a mother's love. He spent two months in studying the pearl oyster\nof the Persian gulf; but there, as in his laboratory, all his efforts\nwere vain.\n\nProvidence, thought he, (he no longer said \"nature,\") Providence has\nsecrets which will never be known to mortals!\n\nConvinced of the utter folly of his painful researches--anxious,\nmoreover, to see his poor child again. He sadly turned his face\nhomeward.\n\n\n\nVIII.\n\nAs he slowly and sadly pursued his way toward Egypt, he saw on the\nsecond day of his journey across the desert, a group in the distance,\napparently just in his route; continuing to advance, he saw a dead\ncamel covered with blood, beside him the dead body of a knight,\npierced with sabre-strokes; on the road-side a woman, apparently\ndying, holding in her arms a young infant.\n\nBen-Ha-Zelah, moved with compassion, approached and accosted the\nwoman. She told him that in crossing the desert with her husband and\nchild, they had been attacked by brigands, who had killed her husband,\nleft her mortally wounded, and had rifled them of all their treasures;\neven their water-bottles--more precious than all in the desert.\n\n\"I am dying,\" said she, \"but my bitterest sorrow is in leaving my poor\nlittle babe, who must perish thus alone in the desert.\"\n\nThe poor mother for one moment thought of asking the kind old man to\ntake her child, but she saw that one of his water-bottles had been\nbroken by some accident, and that he had hardly enough water to cross\nthe desert.\n\nBen-Ha-Zelah had had the same thought, but he calculated the quantity\nof water remaining to him, and and to himself that it was impossible.\n\nThe woman was dying.\n\nThere, in the presence of the mother's despair, with the wail of the\ninfant so soon to be an orphan, in his ears, he thought of his own\nchild.\n\n\"Woman,\" said he, \"I will take your babe, and will care for him as for\nmy own. I will save his life, even at the cost of my own.\"\n\nThe mother died, invoking blessings on his head.\n\nBen-Ha-Zelah resumed his journey across the desert, placing before him\non the saddle, the infant, who at first wept, then laughed in\ninfantile glee, then amused himself by teasing the patient nurse,\npulling his beard, or tangling the reins of the camel. The old man who\nhad become as gentle as a mother, sought every means which affection\ncould suggest to amuse the helpless little creature, so strangely\ngiven to his charge--sometimes with the gold tassels of his bridle,\nsometimes with his bright fire-arms, sometimes by rattling in his ears\nthe gold sequins in his purse. Again he would sing to him a lullaby,\nlong-forgotten. {701} The child was pleased with each new amusement\ndevised by the old savant, but it was only for a few moments, and was\nagain looking about for something he had not yet seen.\n\nHow much we all resemble children!\n\nPoor old Ben-Ha-Zelah knew not what to do to satisfy this restless\ncraving for amusement. Suddenly he thought of the beautiful little\nbox, which the child had not seen, and drew it out from the folds of\nhis robe.\n\nThe child eagerly grasped this new plaything and turned it about in\nevery possible way.\n\nTo the amazement of the old Jew, there was a slight sound, as of some\nsmall object rolling about in the box.\n\nThe child shouted with delight. The old man was breathless and\ntrembling. He grasped the box convulsively from the hands of the\ninfant, who held it out to him, smiling. He opened it. His blood froze\nin his veins, with an emotion not of terror but of joy and hope.\n\nHe beheld in the box a pearl, pure and more beautiful than any he had\never seen.\n\nSpeechless with emotion he could only raise his eyes to heaven in a\nwordless prayer of gratitude.\n\nThen he heard a voice which seemed to fill the immensity of the\ndesert, and nevertheless, was as low and sweet as the loving murmur of\na fond mother.\n\n\"O Ben-Ha-Zelah! every tear which thou shalt dry, is a pearl which\nthou dost create.\"\n\nBen-Ha-Zelah looked about him. All around him was the desert. Before\nhim, in his arms, the little babe, suddenly grown calm, and smiling in\nhis face.\n\nA few more days and his journey through the desert was ended. But many\nwere the privations he endured that the helpless little infant, now so\ndear to him, might not want.\n\nBen-Ha-Zelah was rich, and now he was good. His goodness made use of\nhis riches to dry the tears of misfortune--there are as many, alas! in\nthis world of suffering, as there are dewdrops on a summers morning--\nand very soon his box was quite full.\n\nWhen he again saw his child, the mysterious sleep was unbroken. She\ncame not to welcome him, but he put the pearl necklace about her\nbeautiful throat, and she awoke, smiling.\n\n\"Oh! what a lovely necklace, papa,\" she cried.\n\n\"It is the first I have ever given thee, my darling,\" said the happy\nfather, \"but I hope it may not be the last. My pearl-casket is now\nempty, but I trust in God that I may fill it many times before I die.\"\n\n------\n\n{702}\n\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\n\nTHE GIPSIES.  [Footnote 174]\n\n  [Footnote 174: \"A History of the Gipsies: with Specimens of the\n  Gipsy Language.\" By Walter Simson. Edited, with preface,\n  introduction, and notes, and a disquisition on the past, present,\n  and future of Glpsydom. By James Simson. 12mo, pp. 575. New York: M.\n  Doolady. London: Sampson Low, Son, & Marston. 1866.]\n\n\nAbout the beginning of the 15th century there appeared in Germany a\nstrange mysterious people, such as had never been seen in Europe\nbefore;\n\n  A vagrant crew, far straggled through the glade,\n  With trifles busied, or in slumbers laid.\n\nNo man knew who they were or whence they came. Their swarthy\ncomplexions, long black hair, sharp eyes, high cheek-bones, narrow\nmouths and fine white teeth, were marks of an eastern origin. They\nspoke a language which had never been heard in Europe before, and\nfollowed a strange way of life, which savored more of the rude nomadic\nhabits of primitive Asia, than the comparatively civilized customs of\nthe country into which they had come. They travelled about in bands or\ntribes, each under the command of a leader, slept at night in tents or\nabandoned out-houses, and occupied themselves by day in a simple sort\nof smith work, basket-weaving, tinkering, fortune-telling, juggling,\nand stealing. Vagabonds as they were, filthy in their habits, and\naddicted to the eating of carrion and other disgusting things, they\nwere fond of wearing gay dresses, whenever they could beg, buy, or\nsteal them, and many of the women, with their lithe and agile figures,\nwere not without a certain dark sort of beauty which found many\nadmirers.\n\nWhether they knew anything about their own origin or not, is doubtful;\nbut if they did, they kept it so carefully' secret, that the knowledge\nhas been completely lost. At all events they made their first\nappearance in France in 1427, with a great lie in their months, and a\nforged confirmation of it in their pockets. They called themselves\nChristian pilgrims from Lower Egypt, who had been expelled by the\nSaracens. They had unfortunately committed a few sins on the way, and\nhaving confessed to Pope Martin V., his holiness had enjoined upon\nthem as a penance to traverse the world for seven years without\nsleeping in beds. In support of this story they exhibited documents\npurporting to be issued by the holy see, but they had probably\nmanufactured these testimonials themselves. However, the world was not\nvery wise in those days, and the mysterious strangers were accepted\nfor what they professed to be; and for some years the wandering\npenitents pursued a brilliant career of theft and imposture, while\ntheir leaders galloped over the continent with the high-sounding\ntitles of dukes, counts, and lords of Little Egypt. When they first\ncame to Paris they had among them a duke, a count, and ten lords. The\nauthorities would not let them enter the city, but assigned them\nquarters at La Chapelle near St. Denis, where they were consulted on\noccult matters by great numbers of the citizens. But our Egyptian\npilgrims were soon found to be such incorrigible rascals that the\nbishop of Paris caused them to be removed, and excommunicated those\nwho had consulted them. Similar treatment was shown them in other\nparts of Europe. For a time their forged credentials had enabled them\nto obtain passports and letters of {703} security from various\nEuropean potentates; but the wanderers everywhere made themselves\nnuisances, and were banished under threats of the severest\npunishments. Fortunately for them, however, these edicts were not\npublished simultaneously all over Europe, so that they were not\nexactly driven into the ocean, but only exiled from one part of the\ncontinent to another. In Germany they were called _Zigeuner_, or\nwanderers; in Holland, _Haydens_, or heathens, in Spain, _Gitanos_; in\nItaly, _Zingari_; in France, Bohemians, because they entered that\ncountry from Bohemia. The name of gipsy, by which they were known in\nEngland and Scotland, is evidently a corruption of their self-chosen\nappellation Egyptians.\n\nMore than four hundred years have passed since these swarthy penitents\nmade their seven years' pilgrimage of cheating and pilfering through\nEurope, and they are still a people as distinct from all other races\nin their essential characteristics as they were on the day they first\nhumbugged our ancestors. The general improvement of society all over\nthe world has compelled them to abandon many of their vagabond ways.\nThey have no longer that complete organization in tribes and companies\nwhich they used to preserve; they no longer claim the privilege of\ngoverning themselves in all things by their own laws, and their earls\nand captains no longer exercise the authority of life and death over\ntheir subjects. A large gipsy encampment is a rare sight nowadays, and\neven the gipsy features, owing to frequent intermarriages between the\ntribes and the European race, are in a fair way of being obliterated.\nBut there are still many thousands of gipsies roaming about Europe in\nsmall companies; they still preserve their ancient customs in secret;\nand under all the restraints of civilization, even the most orderly of\nthem cherish their old vagabond propensities. The Gipsy physiognomy is\nquite as marked as the Jewish, and the gipsy race is far more\ndistinctly separated from the rest of the world than are the children\nof Abraham. Their speech, which is not, as some people suppose, a mere\nfarago of slang or thieves' latin, but a genuine language, has been\nhanded down from mother to child, and is still a living tongue--a fact\nwhich is not a little remarkable, because the language has no\nliterature, and can only be perpetrated by tradition. The gipsies have\nno written characters. And yet it would be hard to find a gipsy who\ncannot speak the language, though few of them are willing to\nacknowledge it.\n\nThe problem of the origin of this strange people has exercised learned\nbrains ever since the civilized world became civilized enough to\nperceive that there was a mystery about their presence in the midst of\nChristendom. It seems to be pretty well agreed that they came into\nEurope from Hindostan; but why they came, and why they called\nthemselves Egyptians are matters of dispute. Grellman in Germany, and\nHoyland and Borrow in England have hitherto been the most esteemed\nauthorities on the subject of gipsies; but we have now a new work, by\nWalter and James Simson, which promises to shove the older books\naside. It is a rather outlandish production, but on that very account\nperhaps more appropriate to its subject, Mr. Walter having spent some\nseventeen years poking about gipsy encampments, peeping into their\nhuts, studying their cookery, scraping up odds and ends of their\nlanguage, learning how they picked pockets, told fortunes, robbed\nhen-roosts, stole horses, married their wives and divorced them,\nfought with each other, protected their friends, and pursued their\nenemies with unrelenting vengeance; having gathered up a great store\nof interesting anecdotes and historical notes, and got to know, in\nfine, more about the gipsies of Scotland than any other man, probably,\nwho ever lived--having done all this, Mr. Walter Simson died one day\nand left an ill-digested manuscript {704} book on his pet subject,\nwhich Mr. James Simson took up, annotated, enlarged, and published.\nMr. Walter's book, if it was not a model of literary neatness, was\nunpretentious, entertaining, and full of valuable information. Mr.\nJames, however, must needs add to it, first an advertisement, then a\npreface, then an introduction, and lastly a long-drawn disquisition,\nall of which are tiresome to the last degree, and not worth a tenth of\nthe space they fill. Besides, Mr. James Simson has a bad temper, and\nit is not pleasant to read his arguments, even when he argues against\nan imaginary adversary. He has a theory of his own about the origin of\nthe gipsies, to which we do not purpose to commit ourselves; but it is\ncurious enough to be stated, so that our readers may judge of it for\nthemselves.\n\nAn intelligent gipsy once told Mr. Simson that his race sprang from a\nbody of men-a cross between the Arabs and Egyptians--who left Egypt in\nthe train of the Jews. Now we read in Exodus xii. 38, that \"a mixed\nmultitude went up also with them,\" [_i.e._, with the Jews out of\nEgypt;] and from the fact stated in Numbers xi. 4, that \"the mixed\nmultitude that was among them fell a lusting\" for flesh, it would\nappear that these refugees had not amalgamated with the Jews, but only\njourneyed in company with them. Since this multitude were not children\nof the promise, and had no call from God to go out from among the\nEgyptians and journey to a land of peace and plenty, their condition\nin Egypt must have been a hard one, or they would not have entered\nupon a long and painful wandering to escape from it. No doubt, says\nMr. Simson, they were slaves, like the Jews; probably descendants of\nthe Hyksos, or \"Shepherd Kings,\" who possessed the land before its\nconquest by the Pharaohs; perhaps descendents of these Hyksos by\nEgyptian women. God had promised Canaan, however, only to the\nIsraelites; the \"mixed multitudes\" could have no share in the\ninheritance; so they probably separated from the Jews in the\nwilderness, and wandered eastward into Hindostan. Coming into that\ncountry from a long servitude, they would naturally have been timid of\nmixing with the native inhabitants, disposed to cling together for\nmutual protection, loose in their notions of right and wrong and the\nlaws of property. Every man's hand would have been against them, and\nthey would have been no man's friend. The lawless and migratory habits\nengendered by their isolation would soon have become fixed and\nhereditary; and so, to hasten to a conclusion, the mixed multitude of\nEgyptians would have grown to be, in the course of a few hundreds of\ngenerations, more or less, a race of horse-thieves and\nfortune-tellers.\n\nThis theory accounts for the fact that the gipsies call themselves\nEgyptians, while their language and many other peculiarities are\nstrongly redolent of Hindostan. It is true that no Egyptian words have\nbeen detected in their speech, while its resemblance to Hindostance\ndialects is very strong; but then just think what an unconscionably\nlong time it is since they came away from Egypt, and how easy it would\nhave been for them, in the absence of an alphabet and a literature, to\nforget the language of captivity and acquire that of freedom.\n\nWhy they came out of Hindostan into Europe, or why they waited to come\nuntil the fifteenth century, is purely matter of conjecture. But that\nHindostan was their last abiding place before their appearance in\nGermany, about 1417, there is, for various reasons which we need not\nhere enumerate, no reasonable doubt.\n\nOf their history and character in continental Europe, Mr. Simson tells\nus but little, and that little is not new. We pass at once therefore\nto the portion of his book which is devoted to the Scottish gipsies;\nand when we have read that, we shall have a pretty clear idea of the\npeculiarities of the race all over the world.\n\n{705}\n\nIt is not certain when they first appeared in Great Britain; but they\nwere in Scotland at least as early as 1506 in which year they so far\nimposed upon King James IV., that his majesty addressed a letter of\ncommendation to the King of Denmark, in favor of \"Anthonius Gawino,\nEarl of Little Egypt, and the other afflicted and lamentable tribe of\nhis retinue,\" who, having been \"pilgriming\" by command of the pope,\nover the Christian world, were now anxious to cross the ocean into\nDenmark. \"But,\" concluded the Scottish monarch, with beautiful\nsimplicity, \"we believe that the fates, manners, and race of the\nwandering Egyptians are better known to thee than to us, because Egypt\nis nearer thy kingdom.\" We see from this that the vagabonds still kept\nup the fiction of a penitential pilgrimage, though it must have seemed\na long seven years' wandering which, beginning about 1417, was not\nfinished in 1506. In 1540 a still more remarkable document appears on\nrecord, being nothing less than a sort of league or treaty between\nJames V. and his \"loved John Faw, Lord and Earl of Little Egypt,\"\nwhereby the officers of the realm were commanded to assist the said\nJohn Faw \"in execution of justice upon his company and folk, conform\nto the laws of Egypt, and in punishing of all them that rebel against\nhim.\" But this state of things did not last long. James, as we all\nknow, liked to go a masquerading now and then, in the character of\n\"the Gaberlunzie Man,\"  [Footnote 175] or \"the Guid Man of\nBallangiegh,\" and on one occasion, while in this dignified disguise,\nhe fell in with a gang of gipsies carousing in a cave, near Wemyss, in\nFifeshire. His majesty heartily joined in the revels; but before long\na scuffle ensued, in the course of which one of the men \"came crack\nover the royal head with a bottle.\" Nor was this indignity enough, for\nsuspecting that the \"guid man\" was a spy, the trampers treated him\nwith the utmost harshness, and when they resumed their march compelled\nhim to go along with them, loaded with their budgets and wallets, and\nleading an ass. The king passed several days in this disgusting\ncaptivity, but at length found an opportunity to send a boy with a\nwritten message to some of his nobles at Falkland. He was then\nrescued. Two of the gipsies he caused to be hanged at once; a third,\nwho had treated him with some kindness, he let go free; and he caused\nan edict to be published banishing the whole race from the kingdom\nunder penalty of death. James died the next year, however, and the\nedict was never enforced; nor were subsequent laws, of equal severity,\nable either to got the gipsies out of the country or to check their\nwandering and thievish propensities. A great many of the race attached\nthemselves, nominally as clansmen, to chieftains and noblemen, who\nwere willing and able to afford them protection. But a great many were\nnevertheless hanged merely for being \"by habit and repute Egyptians.\"\nSo they got to look upon themselves as a persecuted race. They learned\nto deny their origin, to keep their language a secret, and to resent\nwith all the savage fierceness of their fiery natures, the slightest\nattempt on the part of the \"gorgios,\" (as they called the Europeans\namong whom they had cast their lot) to pry into the hidden mysteries\nof gipsy life.\n\n  [Footnote 175: i.e. \"Ragged begger.\"]\n\nIn this country we know little about gipsies except what we have\nlearned from novels, and from those curious books by Mr. Borrow, on\nthe gipsies of Spain, in which tact and fiction are so strangely\nblended that it is difficult to tell them apart. The gipsy, to the\naverage American mind, is a dark-featured woman in a red skirt, and\nwith a shawl drawn over her head; who tells fortunes and steals little\nbabies; who lives in a tent and cooks her meals in the open air, with\nthe aid of an iron pot suspended from two crossed sticks. And the\npicture is not very far from the truth after all; for all the actions\nit paints, the gipsies have many a time performed. {706}\nChild-stealing, however, they are not so much given to as we commonly\nsuppose; for they have too many children of their own to indulge in\nsuch a costly luxury; nor do many of them profess palmistry, although\nthe few who do lay claim to a knowledge of the mysterious art drive a\nthriving business in it. We purpose to collect from Mr. Simson's book\non account of the Scottish gipsies as he found them; but we ought to\nwarn our readers that the author wrote many years ago, and that the\nprogress of society in Scotland has made great changes in the\ncondition of the tribe. If wandering gipsies, however, are not so\nnumerous as they were, and if they do not practice their peculiar arts\nand customs so openly as they formerly did, they are very far from\nbeing extinct; and, according to Mr. James Simson, have merely carried\nunsuspected, into the bosom of orderly and respectable society, the\nvagabond propensities, itching palms, savagery, wickedness, appetite\nfor loathsome carcasses--nay, even that dark unwritten language,\nspoken by none but a gipsy of the true blood--which characterized them\nin the days of Meg Merrilies or the Gaberlunzie man.\n\nThe Scottish gipsies almost always traversed the country in bands of\ntwenty, thirty, or more, though so many were seldom seen together on\nthe road. While travelling they broke up into parties of twos and\nthrees, having according to all appearance no connection with each\nother, and at night they used to meet in some spot previously agreed\nupon. It was not their general custom to sleep in tents. They\npreferred for their lodgings deserted kilns, or barns or out-houses.\nThe usual way was for one of the women to precede them, if possible\nwith a child in her arms, and coax from some tender-hearted farmer\npermission to shelter herself for the night in one of the farm\nbuildings. When the family awoke in the morning they were pretty sure\nto find the one miserable vagrant surrounded by a gang of sturdy\ntrampers, and some twenty or thirty asses tethered on the green. For\ntwenty-four hours after their arrival they expected to receive food\ngratis from the family on whose land they halted. After that, no\nmatter how long they remained, they provided for themselves. The\nfarmers generally found it for their interest to treat the gipsies\nkindly, for these curious people never robbed their entertainers. A\nfarmer's wife whom Mr. Simson knew, on granting the customary\nprivilege of lodging to one of the tribe, added by way of caution:\n\"But ye must not steal anything from me then.\" \"We'll no play any\ntricks on you, mistress,\" was the reply; \"but others will pay for\nthat.\" The men of the band seldom or never set foot within the door of\nthe farmhouse, but kept aloof from observation. They employed\nthemselves in repairing broken china, and utensils of copper, brass,\nand pewter; and making horn spoons, wool-cards, smoothing-irons, and\nsole-clouts for ploughs, which the women then disposed of. A good deal\nof their time was passed in athletic exercises. They were famous\nleapers and cudgel players, and despite their instinct of retirement\nthey could rarely resist a temptation \"to throw the hammer,\" cast the\nputting-stone, or beat the farm laborers at quoits, golf, and other\ngames. They were musicians, too, and their skill with the violin and\nthe bagpipes often assured them a night's lodging or a hearty welcome\nat fairs, weddings, and other country merry-makings. Working in horn\nwas their favorite and most ancient occupation, and such was the care\nthey bestowed upon it that one tribe could always distinguish the\nhandiwork of another. Their devotion to the art of tinkering obtained\nfor them the name of Tinklers, by which they are generally known in\nScotland. They were also great horse-dealers, or, what in their case\nmeant very nearly the same thing, horse-thieves. They were not\nscrupulous as to how they obtained {707} the animals, but they were\nrare hands at selling them to advantage, though when a customer\ntrusted to their honor many of them would serve him with strict\nhonesty.\n\nThe women concerned themselves in domestic cares and in helping the\nmen to sell the articles they had made. It was the women who managed\nall their intercourse with the farmers and other country people, and\nwho did most of the begging. In this art they displayed an aptitude\nwhich partook of the character of genius. They never closed a bargain\nwithout demanding a present of victuals and drink, which they called\n\"boontith\"; and as they were ready enough to take by foul means what\nthey could not get by fair, the closest-fisted housewife in Scotland\nseldom resisted their importunities very long. The fortune-telling, of\ncourse, fell to the women.\n\nBut petty larceny, after all, was their principal means of support.\nThey were expert pickpockets and daring riflers of hen-roosts. The\nbolder spirits rose to the dignity of highwaymen, coiners, and cattle\nthieves. The children were trained from infancy to thievish pursuits,\nand almost every gipsy encampment was a school of practice like that\nkept by Fagin the Jew, to which poor little Oliver Twist was\nintroduced by the Artful Dodger. When legitimate business was dull,\nthey picked each other's pockets in a friendly way, just for the sake\nof keeping their hands in. Sometimes a pair of breeches was hung aloft\nby a string, and the children were required to abstract money from the\npockets without moving the garments. If the young rascal succeeded, he\nwas praised and rewarded; if he failed, he was beaten. Having passed\nthrough this stage of his probation, the neophyte was admitted to a\nhigher degree. A purse was laid down in an exposed part of the\nencampment, in plain view of all the gang, and while the older members\nwere busied in their daily pursuits, the children exercised all their\ningenuity and patience to carry off the purse without being perceived.\nThe instructor in this training-school was generally a woman. By the\ntime he was ten years old, the gipsy boy was thought fit to be let\nloose upon the community, and became a member of an organized band of\nthieves. The captains, whose dignity was usually hereditary, dressed\nwell, carried themselves gallantly, and could not be taken for what\nthey really were, especially as they never showed themselves in the\ncompany of their men. The inferior thieves travelled to fairs, singly,\nor at most two together, and as fast as they collected their booty\nrepaired with it to the headquarters of their chief. This latter\npersonage always had some ostensible business--such as that of a\nhorse dealer--and it was easy for the gang to communicate with him\nunder cover of a bargain, without arousing suspicion! For ripping\npockets open they had a short steel blade attached to a piece of\nleather, like a sail-maker's palm, and concealed under their sleeves;\nor the women wore upon their forefingers large rings containing sharp\nsteel instruments which were made to dart forth by the pressure of a\nspring, when the hand was closed. Of the dexterity of these\nlight-fingered gentry Mr. Simson tells the following story:\n\n  \"A principal male gipsy, of a very respectable appearance, whose\n  name it is unnecessary to mention, happened, on a market day, to be\n  drinking in a public house, with several farmers with whom he was\n  well acquainted. The party observed from the window a countryman\n  purchase something at a stand in the market, and, after paying for\n  it, thrust his purse into his watch-pocket, in the band of his\n  breeches. One of the company remarked that it would be a very\n  difficult matter to rob the cautious man of his purse, without being\n  detected. The gipsy immediately offered to bet two bottles of wine\n  that he would rob the man of his purse, in the open and public\n  market, without being perceived by him. The bet was taken, and the\n  gipsy proceeded about the difficult and delicate business. Going up\n  to the unsuspecting man, he requested as a particular favor, if he\n  would ease the stock about his neck, which buckled behind--an\n  article of dress at that time in {708} fashion. The countryman most\n  readily agreed to oblige the stranger gentleman--as he supposed him\n  to be. The gipsy, now stooping down, to allow his stock to be\n  adjusted, placed his head against the countryman's, stomach, and,\n  pressing it forward a little, he reached down one hand, under the\n  pretense of adjusting his shoe, while the other was employed in\n  extracting the farmer's purse. The purse was immediately brought\n  into the company, and the cautious, unsuspecting countryman did not\n  know of his loss, till he was sent for, and had his property\n  returned to him.\"\n\nAt one time the gipsies had all Scotland divided into districts, each\nof which was assigned to a particular tribe, and wo to the Tinkler who\nattempted to plunder within the limits of any other territory than his\nown! The chieftains issued tokens to the members of their respective\nhordes when they scattered themselves over the face of the country,\nand these tokens protected the bearers within their proper districts.\nA safe-guard from the Baillie family, who held a royal rank among the\ngipsies, was good all over Scotland.\n\nBesides their common Scottish Christian and surnames, they had names\nin their own language, as well as various pseudonyms which they\nassumed from time to time in different parts of the country. When they\nwere travelling they used to take new names every morning, and retain\nthem till money was received in one way or another by every member of\nthe company, or at least until noon-tide; for they considered it\nunlucky to set out out on a journey under their own names.\n\nThey appear never to have at a loss for \"the best of eating and\ndrinking,\" and might sometimes be seen seated at their dinner on the\nsward, and passing about their wine, for all the world like gentlemen.\nSir Walter Scott's father was once forced to accept the hospitality of\na party of gipsies carousing on a moor, and found them supplied with\n\"all the varieties of game, poultry, pigs, and so forth.\" That rich\nand savory decoction known to the modern cuisine as _potage \u00e0 la Meg\nMerrilies de Derncleugh_, is a soup of gipsy invention, composed of\nmany kinds of game and poultry boiled together. Their style of cookery\nseems rather barbarous, but we must admit that it is admirably adapted\nto the wants of a rude and barbarous people, among whom ovens, spits,\npots, and stew-pans are unknown and often unattainable luxuries. To\ncook a fowl, they wind a strong rope of straw tightly around the body\nof the bird, just as it has been killed, with its feathers on and its\nentrails untouched. It is then covered with hot peat ashes, and a slow\nfire is kept up around it till it is sufficiently done. When taken\nout, the half-burnt straw and feathers peel off like a shell, and\nthose who have tasted the food thus prepared, say it is very\npalatable. One advantage the method certainly has: it affords a safe\nway of cooking a stolen fowl unperceived. Meat is roasted in a similar\nmanner. The flesh is covered with a wrapping of rags, and then encased\nin well-wrought clay. Being now covered with hot ashes or turned\nbefore a fire, it stews in its own juices, which, being saved from\nescape by the clay, combine with the rags, Mr. Simson says, to form a\nthick sauce or gravy. A gipsy has a keen zest for this juicy dish; but\nwe doubt whether most people would devour it with a very good\nappetite. Their favorite viand of all, however, can certainly not be\nrelished outside of the tribe. This is a kind of mutton called\n_braxy_, being nothing less than the flesh of a sheep which has died\nof a certain disease. It has a _sharp_ flavor which tickles their\npalates amazingly. So fond of it are they, that Mr. Simson attributes\nthe great number of gipsies in Tweed-dale partly to the abundance of\nsheep in that district, and the consequent plenty of braxy. \"The flesh\nof a beast which God kills,\" say the gipsies, \"must be better than\nthat of one which man kills.\" Nevertheless they are not loath, on\noccasion, to take the killing into their own hands, by stuffing wool\ndown a sheep's throat, so that {709} it may die as if by disease; and\nthen they beg the carcass from the owner.\n\nAs far as can be ascertained, the gipsies have no religious sentiments\nwhatever, so that an old proverb runs: \"The gipsy church was built of\nlard and the dogs ate it.\" They have a word in their language for\ndevil, but none for God. Of late years it has been common for them to\nhave their children baptized, and sometimes they attend the service\nwhich seems to be most in repute in the place where they happen to be;\nbut this is only because they do not want to be known as gipsies. They\nmarry very young, seldom remaining single beyond the age of twenty.\nTheir courtship used to be performed somewhat after the Tartar\nfashion, the most approved way of getting a wife being to steal one;\nnot that the girl was unwilling, but they seemed to have a natural\npropensity to carry their dishonest practices into all the relations\nof life. One Matthew Baillie, a celebrated chieftain of the tribe in\nthe latter part of the 18th century used to say that the toughest\nbattle he ever fought (and he fought many) was when he stole his bride\nfrom her mother. The ceremonies of marriage are very curious, and\nalso, we must add, very disgusting. The marital relation seems to have\nbeen on the whole pretty well respected, though there is an old\nreprobate named George Drummond, mentioned in Mr. Simson's book, who\nused to travel about the country with a number of wives in his\ncompany, and chastise them with a cudgel, so that the blood followed\nevery blow. Sometimes, after he had knocked them senseless to the\nground, he would call out to them, \"What the deevil are ye fighting\nat--can ye no' 'gree? I'm sure there's no sae mony o' ye!\" Divorces,\nhowever were very common, and were attended with great parade and many\ncurious ceremonies. The act of separation took place over the body of\na horse sacrificed for the occasion. The rites were performed if\npossible at noon, \"when the sun was at his height.\" A priest for the\nnonce was chosen by lot, and the horse, which must be without blemish\nand in no manner of way lame, was then led forth.\n\n  \"The priest, with a long pole or staff in his hand,  [Footnote 176]\n  walks round and round the animal several times; repeating the names\n  of all the persons in whose possession it has been, and extolling\n  and expatiating on the rare qualities of so useful an animal. It is\n  now let loose, and driven from their presence to do whatever it\n  pleases. The horse, perfect and free, is put into the room of the\n  woman who is to be divorced; and by its different movements is the\n  degree of her guilt ascertained. Some of the gipsies now set off in\n  pursuit of it, and endeavor to catch it. If it is wild and\n  intractable, kicks, leaps dykes and ditches, scampers about and will\n  not allow itself to be easily taken hold of, the crimes and guilt of\n  the woman are looked upon as numerous and heinous. If the horse is\n  tame and docile, when it is pursued, and suffers itself to be taken\n  without much trouble, and without exhibiting many capers, the guilt\n  of the woman is not considered so deep and aggravated; and it is\n  then sacrificed in her stead. But if it is extremely wild and\n  vicious, and cannot be taken without infinite trouble, her crimes\n  are considered exceedingly wicked and atrocious; and my informant\n  said instances occurred in which both horse and woman were\n  sacrificed at the same time; the death of the horse, alone, being\n  then considered insufficient to atone for her excessive guilt. The\n  individuals who catch the course bring it before the priest. They\n  repeat to him all the faults and tricks it had committed; laying the\n  whole of the crimes of which the woman is supposed to have been\n  guilty to its charge; and upbraiding and scolding the dumb creature,\n  in an angry manner, for its conduct. They bring, as it were, an\n  accusation against it, and plead for its condemnation. When this\n  part of the trial is finished, the priest takes a large knife and\n  thrusts it into the heart of the horse; and its blood is allowed to\n  flow upon the ground till life is extinct. The dead animal is now\n  stretched out upon the ground. The husband then takes his stand on\n  one side of it, and the wife on the other; and, holding each other\n  by the hand, repeat certain appropriate sentences in the gipsy\n  language. They then quit hold of each other, and walk three times\n  round the body of the horse, contrariwise, passing and crossing each\n  other, at certain points, as they proceed in opposite directions. At\n  certain parts of the animal, {710} (the _corners_ of the horse, was\n  the gipsy's expression,) such as the hind and fore feet, the\n  shoulders and haunches, the head and tail, the parties halt, and\n  face each other; and again repeat sentences, in their own speech, at\n  each time they halt. The two last stops they make, in their circuit\n  round the sacrifice, are at the head and tail. At the head, they\n  again face each other, and speak; and lastly, at the tail, they\n  again confront each other, utter some more gipsy expressions, shake\n  hands, and finally part, the one going north, the other south, never\n  again to be united in this life.  [Footnote 177] Immediately after\n  the separation takes place, the woman receives a token, which is\n  made of cast-iron, about an inch and a half square, with a mark upon\n  it resembling the Roman character, T. After the marriage has been\n  dissolved, and the woman dismissed from the sacrifice, the heart of\n  the horse is taken out and roasted with fire, then sprinkled with\n  vinegar, or brandy, and eaten by the husband and his friends then\n  present; the female not being allowed to join in this part of the\n  ceremony. The body of the horse, skin and every thing about it,\n  except the heart, is buried on the spot; and years after the\n  ceremony has taken place, the husband and his friends visit the\n  grave of the animal to see whether it has been disturbed. At these\n  visits, they walk round about the grave, with much grief and\n  mourning.\n\n  [Footnote 176: It appears all the gipsies, male as well as female,\n  who perform ceremonies for their tribe, carry long staffs. In the\n  Institutes of Menu, page 23, it is written: \"The staff of a priest\n  must be of such a length as to reach his hair; that of a soldier to\n  reach his forehead; and that of a merchant to reach the nose.\"]\n\n  [Footnote 177: That I might distinctly understand the gipsy, when he\n  described the manner of crossing and wheeling round the corners of\n  the horse, a common sitting-chair was placed on its side between us,\n  which represented the animal lying on the ground.]\n\n  \"The husband may take another wife whenever he pleases, but the\n  female is never permitted to marry again.  [Footnote 178] The token,\n  or rather bill of divorce, which she receives, must never be from\n  about her person. If she loses it, or attempts to pass herself off\n  as a woman never before married, she becomes liable to the\n  punishment of death. In the event of her breaking this law, a\n  council of the chiefs is held upon her conduct, and her fate is\n  decided by a majority of the members; and if she is to suffer death,\n  her sentence must be confirmed by the king, or principal leader. The\n  culprit is then tied to a stake, with an iron chain, and there\n  cudgelled to death. The executioners do not extinguish life at one\n  beating, but leave the unhappy woman for a little while, and return\n  to her, and at last complete their work by despatching her on the\n  spot.\n\n  [Footnote 178: Bright, on the Spanish gipsies, says: \"Widows never\n  marry again, and are distinguished by mourning-veils, and black\n  shoes made like those of a man; no slight mortification, in a\n  country where the females are so remarkable for the beauty of their\n  feet.\" It is most likely that _divorced female gipsies_ are\n  confounded here with _widows_.--Ed.]\n\n  \"I have been informed of an instance of a gipsy falling out with his\n  wife, and, in the heat of his passion, shooting his own horse dead\n  on the spot with his pistol, and forthwith performing the ceremony\n  of divorce over the animal, without allowing himself a moments's\n  time for reflection on the subject. Some of the country-people\n  observed the transaction, and were horrified at so extraordinary a\n  proceeding. It was considered by them as merely a mad frolic of an\n  enraged Tinkler. It took place many years ago, in a wild,\n  sequestered spot between Galloway and Ayrshire.\"\n\nThe burial ceremonies of the tribes are not very fully described; but\nwe are told that the funeral is, or used to be, preceded by a wake,\nduring which furious feasting and carousing went on for several days.\nIn England, at one time, the gipsies burned their dead, and they still\nkeep as close as they can to that ancient practice, by burning the\nclothes and some of the other effects of the deceased. It is the\ncustom of some of them to bury the corpse with a paper cap on its\nhead, and paper around its feet. All the rest of the body is bare\nexcept that upon the breast, opposite the heart, is placed a cockade\nof red and blue ribbons.\n\n\n\nThe country people stood in dreadful awe of the savage hordes, and in\nmany places the magistrates themselves were afraid to punish them.\nTheir honors did not disdain now and then to share a convivial bowl\nwith the wandering Tinklers, and the man who sat to-day with his legs\nunder the provost's mahogany, may have slept last night in a deserted\nlime-kiln, and dined yesterday off a \"sharp\"-flavored joint of\n\"braxy.\" As we have said already, the farmers knew it was safer to be\nthe friend of the gipsy than his enemy, for he was equally generous to\nthose he liked, and vindictive toward those he hated. Mr. Simson tells\nmany an anecdote of favors shown by the tribe to their neighbors and\nfavorites. A widow who had often given shelter to a chief named\nCharlie Graham, was in great distress for want of money to pay her\nrent. Charlie lent her the amount required, then stole it back again\nfrom the agent to whom it had been pad, and gave {711} the widow a\nfull discharge for the sum she had borrowed of him. This same Graham\nwas hanged at last, and when asked before his execution if he had ever\nperformed any good action to recommend him to the Mercy of God,\nreplied that he remembered none but the incident we have just\nnarrated. A dissolute old rogue of a gipsy, named Jamie Robertson, had\nbeen often befriended by a decent man named Robert or Robin Gray. One\nday a countryman passed him on the road, and as he trudged along was\nsinging \"Auld Robin Gray,\" which unfortunately Jamie had never heard\nbefore. The only Robin Gray he knew of was his kind-hearted friend,\nand he made no doubt the song was intended as an insult. When the\nunconscious stranger came to the words \"Auld Robin Gray was a kind man\nto me,\" the gipsy started to his feet with a volley of oaths, felled\nthe poor man to the ground, and nearly killed him with repeated blows.\n\"Auld Robin Gray was a kind man to him, indeed,\" exclaimed Jamie in\nhis wrath; \"but it was not for him to make a song on Robin for that!\"\nThe gipsy chieftains often gave safeguards to their particular\nfriends, which never failed to protect them from robbery or violence\nat the hands of any of the gang. These passports were generally\nknives, tobacco-boxes, or rings bearing some peculiar mark. To those\nwho had ever injured them or their people, and to vagrants of another\nrace who were found poaching on their allotted district, they were\nsavagely vindictive. A man named Thomson, who had offended them by\nencroaching on one of their supposed privileges--that of gathering\nrags through the country, was roasted to death on his own fire.\n\n\"But the most terrible instances of gipsy ferocity were witnessed in\ntheir frequent battles among themselves--battles by the way, in which\nthe women bore their full share of wounds and glory. It was in an\nengagement of this sort in the shire of Angus, where the Tinklers\nfought with Highland dirks, that the celebrated gipsy Lizzie Brown met\nwith the mishap which spoiled her once comely face, and obtained for\nher the sobriquet of \"Snippy.\" When her nose was struck off by the\nsweep of a dirk, she clapped her hand to the wound, as if little had\nbefallen her, and cried out in the heat of the scuffle to those\nnearest her: \"But in the middle of the meantime, where is my nose?\" In\nthe spring of the year 1772 or 1773 an awful battle was fought between\ntwo tribes at the bridge of Hawick:\n\n  \"On the one side, in this battle, was the celebrated Alexander\n  Kennedy, a handsome and athletic man, and head of his tribe. Next to\n  him, in consideration, was little Wull Ruthven, Kennedy's\n  father-in-law. This man was known all over the country by the\n  extraordinary title of the Earl of Hell,  [Footnote 179] and,\n  although he was above five feet ten inches in height, he got the\n  appellation of Little Wull to distinguish him from Muckle William\n  Ruthven, who was a man of uncommon stature and personal strength.\n  [Footnote 180] The earl's son was also in the fray. These were the\n  chief men in Kennedy's band. Jean Ruthven, Kennedy's wife, was also\n  present, with a great number of inferior members of the clan, males\n  as well as females, of all ages, down to mere children. The opposite\n  band consisted of old Rob Tait, the chieftain of his horde, Jacob\n  Tait, young Rob Tait, and three of old Rob Tait's sons-in-law. These\n  individuals, with Jean Gordon, old Tait's wife, and a numerous train\n  of youths of both sexes and various ages, composed the adherents of\n  old Robert Tait. These adverse tribes were all closely connected\n  with one another by the ties of blood. The Kennedys and Ruthvens\n  were from the ancient burgh of Lochmaben.\n\n  [Footnote 179: This seems a favorite title among the Tinklers. One\n  of the name of Young, bears it at the present time. But the gipsies\n  are not singular in these terrible titles. In the late Burmese war,\n  we find his Burmese majesty creating one of his generals \"King of\n  Hell, Prince of Darkness.\"--See _Constable's Miscellany_.]\n\n  [Footnote 180: A friend, in writing me, says: \"I still think I see\n  him (Muckie Wall) bruising the charred peat over the flame of his\n  furnace, with hands equal to two pair of hands of the modern day,\n  while his withered and hairy shackle-bones were more like the\n  postern joints of a sorrel cart-horse than anything else.\"]\n\n{712}\n\n  \"The whole of the gipsies in the field, females as well as males,\n  were armed with bludgeons, excepting some of the Taits, who carried\n  cutlasses and pieces of iron hoops notched and serrated on either\n  side, like a saw, and fixed to the end of sticks. The boldest of the\n  tribe were in front of their respective bands, with their children\n  and the other members of their clan in the rear, forming a long\n  train behind them. In this order both parties boldly advanced, with\n  their weapons uplifted above their heads. Both sides fought with\n  extraordinary fury and obstinacy. Sometimes the one band gave way,\n  and sometimes the other; but both, again and again, returned to the\n  combat with fresh ardor. Not a word was spoken during the struggle;\n  nothing was heard but the rattling of the cudgels and the strokes of\n  the cutlasses. After a long and doubtful contest, Jean Ruthven, big\n  with child at the time, at last received, among many other blows, a\n  dreadful wound with a cutlass. She was cut to the bone above and\n  below the breast, particularly on one side. It was said the slashes\n  were so large and deep that one of her breasts was nearly severed\n  from her body, and that the motions of her lungs, while she\n  breathed, were observed through the aperture between her ribs. But,\n  notwithstanding her dreadful condition, she would neither quit the\n  field nor yield, but continued to assist her husband as long as she\n  was able. Her father, the Earl of Hell, was also shockingly wounded;\n  the flesh being literally cut from the bone of one of his legs, and,\n  in the words of my informant, 'hanging down over his ankles, like\n  beefsteaks.' The earl left the field to get his wounds dressed, but,\n  observing his daughter, Kennedy's wife, so dangerously wounded, he\n  lost heart, and, with others of his party, fled, leaving Kennedy\n  alone to defend himself against the whole of the clan of Tait.\n\n  \"Having now all the Taits, young and old, male and female, to\n  contend with, Kennedy, like an experienced warrior, took advantage\n  of the local situation of the place. Posting himself on the narrow\n  bridge of Hawick, he defended himself in the defile, with his\n  bludgeon, against the whole of his infuriated enemies. His handsome\n  person, his undaunted bravery, his extraordinary dexterity in\n  handling his weapon, and his desperate situation, (for it was\n  evident to all that the Taits thirsted for his blood and were\n  determined to dispatch him on the spot,) excited a general and\n  lively interest in his favor among the inhabitants of the town who\n  were present and had witnessed the conflict with amazement and\n  horror. In one dash to the front, and with one powerful sweep of his\n  cudgel, he disarmed two of the Taits, and, cutting a third to the\n  skull, felled him to the ground. He sometimes daringly advanced upon\n  his assailants and drove the whole band before him pell-mell. When\n  he broke one cudgel on his enemies, by his powerful arm, the town's\n  people were ready to hand him another. Still the vindictive Taits\n  rallied and renewed the charge with unabated vigor, and every one\n  present expected that Kennedy would fall a sacrifice to their\n  desperate fury. A party of messengers and constables at last arrived\n  to his relief, when the Taits were all apprehended and imprisoned,\n  but as none of the gipsies were actually slain in the fray, they\n  were soon set at liberty.  [Footnote 181]\n\n  [Footnote 181: This gipsy battle is alluded to by Sir Walter Scott,\n  in a postscript to a letter to Captain Adam Ferguson, 16th April,\n  1819.\n\n  \"By the by, old Kennedy, the tinker, swam for his life at Jedburgh,\n  and was only, by the sophisticated and timed evidence of a seceding\n  doctor, who differed from all his brethren, saved from a\n  well-deserved gibbet. He goes to botanize for fourteen years. Pray\n  tell this to the Duke, (of Buccleuch,) for he was an old soldier of\n  the duke and the duke's old soldier. Six of his brethren were, I am\n  told, in the court, and kith and kin without end. I am sorry so many\n  of the clan are left. The cause of the quarrel with the murdered man\n  was an old feud between two gipsy clans, the Kennedys and Irvings,\n  which, about forty years since gave rise to a desperate quarrel and\n  battle at Hawick-green, in which the grandfather of both Kennedy and\n  the man whom he murdered were engaged.\"--_Lockhart's Life of Sir\n  Walter Scott._ Alexander Kennedy was tried for murdering Irving at\n  Yarrows-ford.\n\n  This gipsy fray at Hawick is known among the English gipsies as \"the\n  Battle of the Bridge.\"--Ed. ]\n\n  \"In this battle, it was said that every gipsy, except Alexander\n  Kennedy, the brave chief, was severely wounded, and that the ground\n  on which they fought was wet with blood. Jean Gordon, however, stole\n  unobserved from her band, and, taking a circuitous road, came behind\n  Kennedy and struck him on the head with her cudgel. What astonished\n  the inhabitants of Hawick the most of all, was the fierce and\n  stubborn disposition of the gipsy females. It was remarked that,\n  when they were knocked down senseless to the ground they rose again,\n  with redoubled vigor and energy, to the combat. This unconquerable\n  obstinacy and courage of their females is held in high estimation by\n  the tribe. I once heard a gipsy sing a song which celebrated one of\n  their battles, and in it the brave and determined manner in which\n  the girls bore the blows of the cudgel over their heads was\n  particularly applauded.\n\n  \"The battle at Hawick was not decisive to either party. The hostile\n  bands a short time afterward came in contact in Ettrick Forest, at a\n  place on the water of Teema called Deephope. They did not, however,\n  engage here, but the females on both sides, at some distance from\n  one another, with a stream between them, scolded and cursed, and,\n  clapping their hands, urged the males again to fight. The men,\n  however, more cautious, only observed a sullen and gloomy silence at\n  this meeting. Probably both parties, from experience, were unwilling\n  to renew the fight, being aware of the consequences which would\n  follow should they again close in battle. The two clans then\n  separated, each taking different roads, but both keeping possession\n  of the disputed district. In the course of a few days, they again\n  met in Eskdale moor, when a second desperate conflict ensued. The\n  Taits were here completely routed and driven {713} from the\n  district, in which they had attempted to travel by force.\n\n  \"The country people were horrified at the sight of the wounded\n  Tinklers after these sanguinary engagements. Several of them, lame\n  and exhausted in consequence of the severity of their numerous\n  wounds, were, by the assistance of their tribe, carried through the\n  country on the backs of asses, so much were they cut up in their\n  persons. Some of them, it was said, were slain outright, and never\n  more heard of. Jean Ruthven, however, who was so dreadfully slashed,\n  recovered from her wounds, to the surprise of all who had seen her\n  mangled body, which was sewed in different parts by her clan.\"\n\nThe Ruthvens mentioned in this extract belonged to a distinguished\nfamily among the gipsies. Their male head, in those days, was a man\nover six feet in height, who lived to the age of one hundred and\nfifteen. In his youth he wore a white wig, a ruffled shirt, a blue\nScottish bonnet, scarlet breeches and waistcoat, a fine long blue\ncoat, white stockings, and silver shoe-buckles. The male gipsies at\nthat time were often very handsomely dressed, and so too were the\nwomen. A favorite color with them was green. Mary Yorkston, or\nYowston, the wife of the same Matthew Baillie, whose rough manner of\ncourting we mentioned just now, went under the appellation of \"my\nlady,\" and \"the duchess,\" and bore the title of queen among her tribe.\nHer appearance on the road, when she was pretty well advanced in life,\nis thus described: She was full six feet in height, of a stout figure,\nwith harsh, strongly-marked features, and altogether very imposing in\nher manner. She wore a large black beaver hat tied down over her ears\nwith a handkerchief; a short dark blue cloak, of Spanish cut;\npetticoats of dark blue camlet, barely reaching to her calves; dark\nblue worsted stockings, flowered and ornamented at the ankles with\nscarlet thread; and silver shoe-buckles. Sometimes instead of this\ngarb she wore a green gown trimmed with red ribbons. All her garments\nwere of excellent, substantial quality, and there was never a rag or\nrent to be seen about her person. Her outer petticoat was folded up\nround her haunches for a lap, with a large pocket dangling at each\nside; and below her cloak she carried, between her shoulders, a small\npack containing her valuables. She bore a largo clasp-knife, with a\nlong, broad blade, like a dagger, and in her hand was a pole or\npike-staff that reached a foot above her head. The male branches of\nthe royal gipsy family of the Baillies, a hundred years ago, used to\ntraverse Scotland on the best horses to be found in the country,\nbooted and spurred, and clad in the finest scarlet and green, with\nruffles at their wrists and breasts. They wore cocked hats on their\nheads, pistols at their belts, and broad-swords by their sides; and at\ntheir horses' heels followed greyhounds and other dogs of the chase.\nThey assumed the manners and characters of gentlemen with wonderful\nart and propriety. The women attended fairs in the attire of ladies,\nsitting their ponies with all the grace and dignity of  high-bred\nwomen. Two chieftains of inferior degree to the Baillies were\nAlexander McDonald and James Jamieson, brothers-in-law, remarkable for\ntheir fine personal appearance and almost incredible bodily strength.\nThey were often attired in the most elegant and fashionable manner,\nand McDonald frequently changed his dress three or four times in one\nmarket-day. Now he would appear in the best of tartan, as a Highland\ngentleman in full costume. Again he might be seen on horseback, with\nboots, spurs, and ruffles, like a body of no little importance. And\nnot infrequently he wandered through the fair in his own proper garb,\nas a travelling Tinkler. He had a piebald horse which he had trained\nto help him in his depredations. At a certain signal it would crouch\nto the ground like, a hare, and so conceal itself and its rider in a\nditch or a hollow, or behind a hedge. There was a gallant gipsy in the\nseventeenth century named John Faa, {714} who, if tradition is to be\ntrusted, won the heart of a fair countess of Cassilis, so that she\nabsconded with him. Many years later there was an extensive mercantile\nhouse at Dunbar, the heads of which, named Fall, were descendants of\nthis same gay deceiver. One of the Misses Fall married Sir John\nAnstruther, of Elie, baronet, but her prejudiced Scottish neighbors\ncould not forget that she carried Tinkler blood in her veins, and poor\n\"Jenny Faa,\" as they persisted in calling her, was exposed to many an\ninsult. Sir John was once a candidate for election to Parliament, and\nwhenever Lady Jenny entered the burghs during the canvass, the streets\nresounded with the old song of \"Johnny Faa, the gipsy laddie,\" which\nrecounts how--\n\n  \"The gipsies came to my Lord Cassilis' yett,\n    And oh! but they sang bonnie;\n  They sang sae sweet, and sae complete.\n    That down came our fair ladie.\"\n\nIt was not all a romance of love, and fine dresses, and free ranging\nup and down the realm, this life of the gipsies. Magistrates were\nfound pretty often, not only to punish their repeated crimes of\nrobbery and murder, but even to put in force the old savage law\nagainst \"such as were by habit and repute Egyptians\"--namely, that\n\"their ears be nailed to the tron or other tree, and cut off.\" It is\nan odd fact that in this act were denounced not only gipsies, but\n\"_such as make themselves fools_,\" strolling bards, and \"vagabond\nscholars of the universities of St. Andrew's, Glasgow, and Aberdeen,\nnot licensed by the rector and dean of faculty to ask alms.\" There was\nan old John Young, an uncle of the Charlie Graham before mentioned,\nwho had seven sons, and when asked where they were, he used to say\n\"They are all hanged.\" It was a pretty family record, but a just one.\nPeter, one of the seven, was captain of a band of thieves whose\nexploits were long remembered in the north of Scotland. He was several\ntimes taken and sentenced to the gallows, but managed to escape. Once\nbeing recaptured at a distance from the jail out of which he had\nbroken, the authorities were about to hang him on the spot, when some\none in the crowd cried out, \"Peter, deny you are the man;\" whereupon\nhe insisted that his name was John Anderson. Strange as it may appear,\nhe managed to get off by this device, as there was no one present who\ncould or would identify him.\n\nAlexander Brown, a dashing fellow, but a dreadful rascal, and one of\nthe principal members of Charlie Graham's band, after repeated\nescapes, was hanged at last at Edinburgh, together with his\nbrother-in-law, Wilson. Martha Brown, the mother of one of the\nprisoners, and mother-in-law of the other, was apprehended in the act\nof stealing a pair of sheets, while attending their execution. When\nCharlie Graham was hanged, it was reported that the surgeons meant to\ndisinter his body and dissect it. To prevent this his wife or\nsweetheart filled the coffin with hot lime, and then sat on the grave,\nin a state of beastly intoxication, until the corpse was destroyed.\n\nThe last part of the volume before us, namely, the editor's\ndisquisition, we approach in fear and trembling. Old Mr. Walter Simson\nseems to have been a good sort of a gentleman, for whom we cannot help\nfeeling a kindness, even though he did not write quite as well as\nAddison; but this Mr. James Simson, editor, is a terrible fellow. He\nassures us that all creation is full of unsuspected gipsies, who have\ncrept into every circle of society, insidiously intruded themselves\ninto the most respectable trades and professions; and contaminated the\nbest blood in Christendom. No matter where we live now, or where our\nancestors came from; it is quite possible--we are not sure that Mr.\nJames does not consider it almost as good as certain--that we may all\nof us have some of that dark blood in our veins. Our\ngreat-grandfathers may have been {715} hanged for horse-stealing, and\nour grand-mothers, horrible thought! May have eaten \"braxy.\"\n\nEngland, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, France, Spain, Germany, and\nItaly, all have contributed their quotas to the gipsy population of\nthe world, and even America itself is infested with descendants of the\nvagabond tinklers of the last century. It is only about a fortnight\nsince the newspapers told us of the arrival of a band of wandering\n\"Egyptians\" at Liverpool, on their way to the United States, fugitives\nfrom the advancing civilization of Scotland, to the new settlements\nand free woods and plains of the great west. Now and then, though not\nvery often, gipsy encampments of the old orthodox kind are seen in\nthis country, and there have been tented gipsies near Baltimore, says\nMr. Simson, for the last seventy years. He adds that a colony of them\nhas existed in New England for a hundred years, and \"has always been\nlooked upon with a singular feeling of distrust and mystery by the\ninhabitants, who are the descendants of the early emigrants, and who\ndid not suspect their origin till lately. . . . They follow pretty\nmuch the employments and mode of life of the same class in Europe; the\nmost striking feature being that the bulk of them leave the homestead\nfor a length of time, scatter in different directions, and reunite\nperiodically at their quarters, which are left in charge of some of\nthe feeble members of the band.\" Pennsylvania and Maryland contain a\ngreat many Hungarian and German gipsies, who leave their farms to the\ncare of hired hands during the summer, and proceed South with their\ntents.\n\n  \"In the State of Pennsylvania, there is a settlement of them, on the\n  J---- river, a little way above H----, where they have sawmills.\n  About the Alleghany mountains, there are many of the tribe,\n  following somewhat the original ways of the race. In the United\n  States generally there are many gipsy peddlers, British as well as\n  continental. There are a good many gipsies in New York, English,\n  Irish, and continental, some of whom keep tin, crockery, and basket\n  stores; but these are all mixed gipsies, and many of them of fair\n  complexion. The tin-ware which they make is generally of a plain,\n  coarse kind; so much so, that a gipsy tin store is easily known.\n  They frequently exhibit their tin-ware and baskets on the streets,\n  and carry them about the city. Almost all, if not all, of those\n  itinerant cutlers and tinklers, to be met with in New-York, and\n  other American cities are gipsies, principally German, Hungarian,\n  and French. There are a good many gipsy musicians in America.\n  'What!' said I to an English gipsy, 'those organ-grinders!' 'Nothing\n  so low as that Gipsies don't _grind_ their music, sir; they _make_\n  it.' But I found in his house, when occupied by other gipsies, a\n  _hurdy-gurdy_ and tambourine; so that gipsies sometimes _grind_\n  music, as well as _make_ it. I know of a Hungarian gipsy who is a\n  leader of a negro musical band, in the city of New-York; his brother\n  drives one of the avenue cars. There are a number of gipsy musicians\n  in Baltimore, who play at parties, and on other occasions. Some of\n  the fortune-telling gipsy women about New-York will make as much as\n  forty dollars a week in that line of business. They generally live a\n  little way out of the city, into which they ride in the morning to\n  their places of business. I know of one, who resides in New-Jersey,\n  opposite New-York, and who has a place in the city, to which ladies,\n  that is, females of the highest classes, address their cards, for\n  her to call upon them.\"\n\nWe forbear quoting more about the American gipsies: the information\nbecomes fearfully suggestive, and it is all the more terrifying\nbecause these people never acknowledge their descent, and however\nsharply we may suspect them, we have no way  of bringing the offence\nhome to them. The friend who shakes our hand today may be the grandson\nof a vagabond who camped on our grandfather's farm, stole our\ngrandmother's eggs and poultry, and picked our great-uncle's pocket.\nThe ancestor of that beautiful girl we danced with at the last ball\nmay have had his ears nailed to the tree and then cut off, and the\ngentleman who asks us to dinner to-morrow, may purpose entertaining us\nwith \"sharps\"-flavored mutton and a savory stew of beef juice and old\nrags.\n\n------\n\n{716}\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\nTHIRTY YEARS OF ARMY LIFE ON THE BORDER.\nComprising descriptions of the Indian Nomads of the Plains;\nexplorations of new territory; a trip across the Rocky Mountains in\nthe winter; descriptions of the habits of different animals found in\nthe West, and the methods of hunting them; with incidents in the life\nof different frontier men, etc., etc. By Colonel R. B. Marcy, U.S.A.,\nauthor of \"The Prairie Traveller.\" With numerous illustrations.\nNew-York: Harper & Brothers. 1866.\n\nColonel Marcy, as appears from the title of his book, has passed the\ngreater portion of his life among the trappers and Indians of the\nfrontier. His descriptions are consequently authentic, and his lively,\npicturesque style makes them also extremely interesting and agreeable.\nWhen we add to this the pleasant accompaniment of fine typographical\nexecution and numerous spirited illustrations, we have said enough to\nrecommend the book to the lovers of information combined with\nentertainment, and will leave the following specimen to speak for the\nwhole work.\n\nTHE COLORADO CA\u00d1ON.\n\nI refer to that portion of the Colorado, extending from near the\nconfluence of Grand and Green rivers, which is known as the \"Big Ca\u00f1on\nof the Colorado.\" This ca\u00f1on is without doubt one of the most\nstupendous freaks of nature that can be found upon the face of the\nearth. It appears that by some great paroxysmal, convulsive throe in\nthe mysterious economy of the wise laws of nature, an elevated chain\nof mountains has been reft asunder, as if to admit a passage for the\nriver along the level of the grade at the base. The walls of this\nmajestic defile, so far as they have been seen, are nearly\nperpendicular; and although we have no exact data upon which to base a\npositive calculation of their altitude, yet our information is amply\nsufficient to warrant the assertion that it far exceeds anything of\nthe kind elsewhere known.\n\nThe first published account of this remarkable defile was contained in\nthe works of Castenada, giving a description of the expedition of Don\nFrancisco Vasquez de Coronado in search of the \"seven cities of\nCibola\"--in 1540-1.\n\nHe went from the city of Mexico to Sonora, and from thence penetrated\nto Cibola; and while there despatched an auxiliary expedition, under\nthe command of Don Garcia Lopez de Cardenas, to explore a river which\nemptied into the Gulf of California, called \"_Rio del Tison,_\" and\nwhich, of course, was the _Rio Colorado_.\n\nOn reaching the vicinity of the river, he found a race of natives, of\nvery great stature, who lived in subterranean tenements covered with\nstraw or grass. He says, when these Indians travelled in very cold\nweather, they carried in their hands a firebrand, with which they kept\nthemselves warm.\n\nCaptain Sitgreaves, who in 1862 met the Mohave Indians on the Colorado\nriver, says \"they are over six feet tall;\" and Mr. R. H. Kern, a very\nintelligent and reliable gentleman, who was attached to the same\nexpedition, and visited the lower part of the great ca\u00f1on of the\nColorado, says: \"The same manners and customs (as those described by\nCastenada) are peculiar to all the different tribes inhabiting the\nvalley of the Colorado, even to the use of the brand for warming the\nbody. These Indians, as a mass, are the largest and best-formed men I\never saw, their average height being an inch over six feet.\"\n\nThe Spanish explorer says he travelled for several days along the\ncrest of the lofty bluff bordering the ca\u00f1on, which he estimated to be\nthree leagues high, and he found no place where he could pass down to\nthe water from the summits. He once made the attempt at a place where\nbut few obstacles seemed to interfere with the descent, and started\nthree of his most active men. They were gone the greater part of the\nday, and on their return informed him that they had only succeeded in\nreaching a rock about one third the distance down. This rock, he says,\nappeared from the top of the ca\u00f1on about six feet high, but they\ninformed him that it was as high as the spire of the cathedral at\nSeville in Spain.\n\nThe river itself looked from the summit of the ca\u00f1on, to be something\nlike a fathom in width, but the Indians assured him it was half a\nleague wide.\n\nAntoine Lereux, one of the most reliable and best informed guides in\nNew Mexico, told me in 1858, that he had once been at a point of this\nca\u00f1on where he estimated the walls to be _three miles high_.\n\n{717}\n\nMr. Kern says, in speaking of the Colorado: \"No other river in North\nAmerica passes through a ca\u00f1on equal in depth to the one alluded to.\nThe description (Castenada's) is made out with rare truth and force.\nWe had a view of it from the San Francisco mountain, N. M., and\njudging from our own elevation, and the character of the intervening\ncountry, I have no doubt the walls are at least fire thousand feet in\nheight.\"\n\nThe mountaineers in Utah told me that a party of trappers many years\nsince built a large row-boat, and made the attempt to descend the\nriver through the defile of the ca\u00f1on, but were never heard from\nafterward. They probably dashed their boat in pieces, and were lost by\nbeing precipitated over sunken rocks or elevated falls.\n\nIn 185- Lieutenant Ives of the United States Engineers, was ordered to\npenetrate the ca\u00f1on with a steamer of light draught. He ascended the\nriver from the gulf as high as a little above the mouth of the gorge,\nbut there encountered rapids and other obstacles of so serious a\ncharacter that he was forced to turn back and abandon the enterprise,\nand no other efforts have since been made under government auspices to\nexplore it.\n\nA thorough examination of this ca\u00f1on might, in my opinion, be made by\ntaking small row-boats and ascending the river from the debouche of\nthe gorge at a low stage of water. In this way there would be no\ndanger of being carried over dangerous rapids or falls, and the boats\ncould be carried round difficult passages. Such an exploration could\nnot, in my judgment, prove otherwise than intensely interesting, as\nthe scenery here must surpass in grandeur any other in the universe.\n\nWherever we find rivers flowing through similar formations elsewhere,\nas at the \"_dalles_\" of the Columbia and Wisconsin rivers, and in the\ngreat ca\u00f1ons of Red and Canadian rivers, although the escarpments at\nthose places have nothing like the altitude of those upon the\nColorado, yet the long continued erosive action of the water upon the\nrock, has produced the most novel and interesting combinations of\nbeautiful pictures. Imagine, then, what must be the effect of a large\nstream like the Colorado, traversing for two hundred miles a defile\nwith the perpendicular walls towering five thousand feet above the bed\nof the river. It is impossible that it should not contribute largely\ntoward the formation of scenery surpassing in sublimity and\npicturesque character any other in the world. Our landscape painters\nwould here find rare subjects for their study, and I venture to hope\nthat the day is not far distant when some of the most enterprising of\nthem may be induced to penetrate this new field of art in our only\nremaining unexplored territory. I am confident they would be\nabundantly rewarded for their trouble and exposure, and would find\nsubjects for the exercise of genius, the sublimity of which the most\nvivid imaginations of the old masters never dreamed of.\n\nA consideration, however, of vastly greater financial and national\nimportance than those alluded to above, which might and probably would\nresult from a thorough exploration of this part of the river, is the\ndevelopment of its mineral wealth.\n\nIn 1849 I met in Santa F\u00e9 that enterprising pioneer, Mr. F. X. Aubrey,\nwho had just returned from California, and en route had crossed the\nColorado near the outlet of the _Big Ca\u00f1on_, where he met some\nIndians, with whom, as he informed me, he exchanged leaden for golden\nrifle-balls, and these Indians did not appear to have the slightest\nappreciation of the relative value of the two metals.\n\nThat gold and silver abound in that region is fully established, as\nthose metals have been found in many localities both east and west of\nthe Colorado. Is it not therefore probable that the walls of this\ngigantic crevice will exhibit many rich deposits? Companies are formed\nalmost daily, and large amounts of money and labor expended in sinking\nshafts of one, two, and three hundred feet with the confident\nexpectation of finding mineral deposits; but here nature has opened\nand exposed to view a continuous shaft two hundred miles in length,\nand five thousand feet in depth. In the one case we have a small shaft\nblasted out at great expense by manual labor, showing a surface of\nabout thirty-six hundred feet, while here nature gratuitously exhibits\nten thousand millions of feet, extending into the very bowels of the\nearth.\n\nIs it, then, at all without the scope of rational conjecture to\npredict that such an immense development of the interior strata of the\nearth--such a huge gulch, if I may be allowed the expression,\nextending so great a distance through the heart of a country as rich\nas this in the precious metals, may yet prove to be the _El Dorado_\nwhich the early Spanish explorers so long and so fruitlessly sought\nfor; and who knows but that the government might here find a source of\nrevenue sufficient to liquidate our national debt?\n\nRegarding the exploration of this river as highly important in a\nnational aspect, I in 1858 submitted a paper upon the subject to the\nWar Department, setting forth my views somewhat in detail, and\noffering my services to perform the work; but there was then no\nappropriation which could be applied to that object, and the Secretary\nof War for this reason declined ordering it.\n\nCHRISTINE; A TROUBADOUR'S SONG,\nand other Poems. By George H. Miles. New York: Lawrence Kehoe. 1866.\n\nMr. Miles's poem, \"Christine,\" has {718} been already before our\nreaders, in the pages of the Catholic World, and we are sure that its\nappearance in book form will be welcomed by all who have perused its\nbeautiful verses.\n\nIt is the work of an artist, and as such, one likes to have it, as it\nwere, completely under view, and not scattered in fragments amidst\nother productions which intrude upon our vision, and interrupt its\ncontinuity.\n\nMr. Miles has given us a poem of no ordinary merit. Powerfully\ndramatic, it not only paints the scenes of the story in strong, vivid\ncolors, but brings the actors into a living reality as they pass\nbefore us. Few writers of our day possess much dramatic power, and\nthis accounts for their short-lived fame. He who would write for fame\nmust give us pictures of real life, and not pure reflective sentiment.\n\nPoetry and its more subtle-tongued sister, music, are as much nobler\nand worthier of immortality than are painting or sculpture, as the\nreality is superior to the image. Poetry and music are the true\nclothed in the beautiful, whilst painting and sculpture can only give\nus beautiful yet lifeless images of the true. The Psalms of David\nremain, but the Temple of Solomon and all its glory is departed.\nPoetry, the purest form of language, is also the best expression of\ndivine, living and eternal truth, in so far as humanity can express\nit. Being the expression of absolute truth, poetry and music are the\ntruly immortal arts which will live in heaven. No one ever yet\nimagined that the blessed, in presence of the Unveiled Truth, will\nexpress their beatitude in painted or sculptured images; but the\nrevealed vision of the inspired poet, who drew his inspiration at the\nSource of truth, upon whose bosom he leaned, telling us of the saints,\n\"harping upon their harps of gold,\" and \"singing the song of the\nLamb,\" finds a responsive assent in all our minds. Caught up into the\nembrace of the infinitely true, and the infinitely beautiful, they\nmust necessarily give expression to that upon which the soul lives,\nand with which it is wholly enlightened.\n\nThere, too, they must possess a _quasi_ creative power of expression\nof the true, (in so far as they are thus endowed by virtue of their\nunion with God, who is pure act, through the Word made Flesh,) just as\nwe possess it here in germ by the dramatic form, which actualizes to\nus the otherwise abstract truth expressed. Hence the superiority of\nthe dramatic, in which of course we include the descriptive, over the\nsentimental. Mr. Miles possesses this genius in no mean degree, as he\nhas already shown in his \"Mahomet.\" The poem before us abounds in\ndramatic passages of rare beauty. Let our readers turn to the third\nsong, and read the flight of Christine. They will find it to be a\ndescription unsurpassed in the English language. The death of\n\"faithful Kaliph,\" and the knight's tender plaint over his \"gallant\ngrey,\" forgetful of even his rescued spouse, introduced to us in the\nflush of victory over the demon foe, just when our stronger passions\nare wrought up to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, is one of those\nsudden and thrilling transitions from the sublime to the pathetic\nwhich may crown Mr. Miles as a master of the poet's pen.\n\n\"Raphael Sanzio\" dying, the first of the additional poems, possesses\nmuch of the merit we have signalized, but its versification and\nwording are too harsh for the subject. It is not the death of him whom\nwe have known as Raphael. It reads as though told by one who was\nforced to admire, yet did not love, the great artist. There is a\ncharming little poem, entitled, \"Said the Rose,\" which is worth all\nthe minor poems put together, if poetry can be valued against poetry.\nWe may say, at least, that it alone is worth many times the price of\nthe whole volume; and our readers, who may have already enjoyed the\nperusal of \"Christine\" in our pages, will not fail to thank us for\nthis hint to purchase the complete volume.\n\nMr. Kehoe, the publisher, is giving us some creditable books, as the\n\"Life and Sermons of Father Baker,\" the \"May Carols of Aubrey de\nVere,\" and \"The Works of Archbishop Hughes,\" bear testimony. The\npresent one is got up in a superior manner, both in type, paper, and\nbinding, and is a worthy dress for author's work.\n\n\nHISTORY OF ENGLAND, FROM THE FALL OF\nWOLSEY TO THE DEATH OF ELIZABETH.\nBy James Anthony Froude, M.A., late Fellow of Exeter College, Oxford.\nVols. V. and VI. 8vo, pp. 474, 495. New York: Charles Scribner & Co.\n\nMr. Froude's thorough-going Protestantism is by this time too familiar\nto our {719} readers for them to expect a very lively satisfaction in\nreading the story of the reigns of Edward VI. and Mary which he has\ngiven in these volumes. We have neither the space nor the inclination\nto follow him in his review of those melancholy times. We prefer to\naccord a hearty recognition to the undoubted merits of his work; his\ngraphic and picturesque style; his artistic eye for effect; his\nexcellent judgment in the examination of old-time witnesses; and the\nrare self-control which in the midst of his abundance of hitherto\nunused material has saved him from encumbering his pages and\noverloading his narrative with facts and illustrations of only minor\ninterest. He gives us sometimes little bits of truth where we had\nleast reason to look for them. Cordially as he detests Mary the queen,\nhe is tenderer than most historians of his ultra sort to Mary the\nwoman. \"From the passions which in general tempt sovereigns into\ncrime,\" he says, \"she was entirely free; to the time of her accession\nshe had lived a blameless, and in many respects a noble life; and few\nmen or women have lived less capable of doing knowingly a wrong thing.\nPhilip's conduct, which could not extinguish her passion for him, and\nthe collapse of the inflated imaginations which had surrounded her\nsupposed pregnancy, it can hardly be doubted, affected her sanity.\nThose forlorn hours when she would sit on the ground with her knees\ndrawn to her face; those restless days and nights when, like a ghost,\nshe would wander about the palace galleries, rousing herself only to\nwrite tear-blotted letters to her husband; those bursts of fury over\nthe libels dropped in her way; or the marchings in procession behind\nthe Host in the London streets[!]--these are all symptoms of\nhysterical derangement, and leave little room, as we think of her, for\nother feeling than pity.\" The persecution, for which her reign is\nremembered was partly the result, Mr. Froude thinks, of \"the too\nnatural tendency of an oppressed party to abuse suddenly recovered\npower.\" Moreover, \"the rebellions and massacres, the political\nscandals, the universal suffering throughout the country during\nEdward's minority, had created a general bitterness in all classes\nagainst the Reformers; the Catholics could appeal with justice to the\napparent consequences of heretical opinions; and when the Reforming\npreachers themselves denounced so loudly the irreligion which had\nattended their success, there was little wonder that the world took\nthem at their word, and was ready to permit the use of strong\nsuppressive measures to keep down the unruly tendencies of\nuncontrolled fanatics.\"\n\nMr. Froude's history will be completed in two more volumes.\n\n\nA GENERAL HISTORY OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH:\nfrom the Commencement of the Christian Era until the Present Time. By\nM. l'Abb\u00e9 J. E. Darras. Vol. III. P. O'Shea, New-York.\n\nThe period comprised by the third volume of this admirable history\nextends from the pontificate of Sylvester II. A.D. 1000 to that of\nJulius II. a.d. 1513. To our mind the terrible struggle which the\nchurch sustained during those four eventful centuries is more\nwonderful than her deadly strife in the days of Roman persecution and\nmartyrdom. The church is a divine-human institution; and inasmuch as\nit is human, it must suffer from human infirmity, but the Spirit of\nGod abideth for ever in it, preserving the truth amidst heresies, the\npurity of the Christian law amidst moral degradation, and at last\ncrowning. His spouse with new glories for her patiently borne\nsufferings.\n\nOn every page of the church's history, and on none more clearly than\nthat which records her life from the eleventh to the sixteenth\ncentury, is that promise written, \"And the gates of hell shall not\nprevail against it.\" We again add our cordial commendation of the work\nof M. Darras, and hope its publication will prove to the enterprising\npublisher as successful as it is opportune.\n\n\n\nTHE AMERICAN ANNUAL CYCLOPAEDIA AND REGISTER OF CURRENT EVENTS OF THE\nYEAR 1866. Vol. V.  New-York: D. Appleton. 1867.\n\nThis is a valuable compendium of information respecting the current\nevents of the year. It is particularly complete as regards American\npolitics and the literature of the English language. On other topics\nit is more general and superficial, especially so in its history of\nthe progress of science. For instance, there is no record whatever of\nthe history of geology during the year. The great defect of the\nCyclopaedia, as a whole, is an unnecessary minuteness in regard to\n{720} persons and things of our own time and country which have no\nreal and permanent interest, and a corresponding lack of minuteness in\nregard to matters of other times and countries which are really\nimportant. It would be a good idea for the publishers to invite all\nthe scholars in the country to send in a list of titles of articles\nwhose absence they have noticed in consulting the work for\ninformation, and from these to prepare a supplementary volume. In\nregard to all questions relating to the Catholic Church, the\nCyclopaedia is remarkable throughout for its fairness and\nimpartiality--a merit which is to be ascribed in great measure to its\nlearned and genial editor, Mr. Ripley.\n\n\nAUNT HONOR'S KEEPSAKE.\nA Chapter from Life. By Mrs. J. Sadlier.\n\nTEN STORIES FROM THE FRENCH OF BALLEYDIER.\nTranslated by Mrs. J. Sadlier.\n\nTHE EXILE OF TADMOR, AND OTHER TALES.\nTranslated by Mrs. J. Sadlier.\n\nTALES AND STORIES.\nTranslated from the French of Viscount Walsh. By Mrs. J. Sadlier.\n\nVALERIA, OR THE FIRST CHRISTIANS, AND OTHER STORIES.\nTranslated from the French of Balleydier and Madame Bowdon. By Mrs. J.\nSadlier.\n\nTHE BLIGHTED FLOWER, AND OTHER TALES.\nTranslated from the French of Balleydier. By Mrs. J. Sadlier.\n\nSTORIES ON THE BEATITUDES.\nBy Agnes M. Stewart, authoress of \"Stories on the Virtues,\" etc.\nNew-York: D.J. Sadlier & Co. 1866.\n\n----\n\nA FATHER'S TALES OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.\nFirst Series. By the author of \"Confessors of Connaught.\"\n\nRALPH BERRIEN, AND OTHER TALES OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.\nSecond Series. By the author of \"Grace Morton,\" \"Philip Hartly,\" etc.\n\nCHARLES AND FREDERICK, OR A MOTHER'S\nPRAYER, AND ROSE BLANCH, OR TWELFTH\nNIGHT IN BRITTANY.\n\nTHE BEAUFORTS. A STORY OF THE ALLEGHENIES.\nBy Cora Berkley.\n\nSILVER GRANGE. A CATHOLIC TALE, AND\nPHILLIPINE, A TALE OF THE MIDDLE AGES.\nCompiled by the author of \"Grace Morton.\"\n\nHELENA BUTLER.\nA story of the Rosary and the Shrine of the \"Star of the Sea.\"\nPhiladelphia: Peter F. Cunningham.\n\nThese volumes are a valuable addition to our list of books for\nCatholic children.\n\n\n\"Aunt Honor's Keepsake,\" by Mrs. J. Sadlier, presents a vivid picture\nof the wrongs and outrages suffered by Catholic children and parents\nfrom the agents of the so-called \"Juvenile Reformatories.\" We also\nhave a translation of several instructive tales from the French by the\nsame talented writer. Agnes Stewart gives us a number of well-written\nstories on the beatitudes. We heartily commend this effort to provide\nsuitable reading for Catholic children. It is a pressing want. Their\nactive minds eagerly demand something to read. If we do not provide\nsafe and proper reading for them, they will find that which is not so.\n\nWe have also an addition of six new volumes to the \"Young Catholic\nLibrary,\" published by P. F. Cunningham, Philadelphia. The subjects\nare well chosen and most of the stories beautifully written. We\nnotice, however, at times, a straining after high-sounding\nexpressions--an absence of that simplicity so necessary in such tales\nfor children. There is also a tendency in writers for children to\nsprinkle in so much of the romantic and unreal as to make their story\na kind of \"novelette.\" Such reading creates in the mind of the young a\nfeverish desire for romance, which can only be satisfied in after\nyears by the novel.\n\nThere is enough in the realities of life to startle and fix the\nattention of any child if properly presented. We trust a larger number\nof books suitable for children may be provided by those writers who\nhave the time and talent requisite for the work. We know of no way in\nwhich they can more usefully employ their pen.\n\nThe style in which these volumes are issued makes them suitable for\ngift-books and is creditable to the publishers. We would also like to\nsee some in plain, durable bindings, better suited for the hard usage\nthey receive in a Sunday-school or parish library.\n\n\nBOOKS RECEIVED\n\nFrom D. & J. Sadlier &Co., New York. \"The Bit O'Writin',\" and Other\nTales. \"Mayor of Wind-Gap and Canvassing,\" by the O'Hara Family. 12mo,\npp. 406 and 414 (The above are two new volumes of Banim's works.)\nParts 21, 22, 23, and 24 of d'Artaud's Lives of the Popes.\n\nFrom P. Donohue. Boston.\nAnnual Report of the Association for the Protection of Destitute Roman\nCatholic Children in Boston, from January 1, 1865, to January 1, 1866.\nPamphlet.\n\nFrom P. F. Cunningham, Philadelphia.\nAlphonso; or, the Triumph of Religion. A Catholic Tale. 12mo, pp. 878.\n\nFrom Robert H. Johnston & Co.,\nNew-York. The Valley of Wyoming: The Romance of its Poetry. Also\nspecimens of Indian Eloquence. Compiled by a native of the valley.\n12mo, pp. 153.\n\n------\n\n{721}\n\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD\n\nVOL, III., NO. 18.--SEPTEMBER, 1866.\n\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\n\nTHE DOCTRINE OF THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH CONCERNING\nTHE NECESSITY OF EPISCOPAL ORDINATION.\n[Footnote 182]\n\n  [Footnote 182: \"A Vindication of the Doctrine of the Church of\n  England, or the Validity of the Orders of the Scotch and Foreign\n  Non-Episcopal Churches.\" By W. Goode, M.A., F.S.A., Rector of All\n  Hallows the Great and Less. London. 1852.\n\n  \"Does the Episcopal Church teach the Exclusive Validity of Episcopal\n  Orders?\" By William Goode, M. A. New York. 185-\n\n  \"Vox Ecclesiae; or, The Doctrine of the Protestant Episcopal Church\n  on Episcopacy,\" etc. Philadelphia. 1866.]\n\nWithin the past few years, certain circles of the Protestant Episcopal\nChurch have been thrown into no small commotion by a controversy which\nhas arisen between the two great parties, into which she is divided,\nover the question, Whether or not it is her doctrine that episcopal\nordination is necessary to constitute a valid ministry? The contest\nseems to have been opened by the Rev. William Goode, rector of All\nHallows, London, who in the year 1852 published a treatise maintaining\nthe negative of the proposition; \"Is it the doctrine of the Church of\nEngland that episcopal ordination is a _sine qua non_ to constitute a\nvalid ministry?\" In support of his position, he adduced those articles\nand other formularies of his church, which relate to this subject; the\ntestimony of those divines who drew up these standards, as\ninterpreting the same, together with the sense in which they were\nreceived by their successors in the clerical office for the ensuing\nhundred years; and the conduct of the church toward the Continental\nProtestant societies and in the ordering of her own hierarchy for the\nsame period of time. So successful was this author in his argument,\nand so triumphant was his vindication of this peculiar principle of\nthe Low Church party, that his work was at once hailed by them, in\nEngland and in America, as the \"End of Controversy\" upon this point;\nwas adopted by their publication societies as an \"unanswerable defence\nof the validity of non-episcopal orders,\" and was claimed by one of\ntheir leading journals to be effectual in \"banishing and driving away\nthe last doubt, which hung upon some minds, from the boldness and\ncontinuity of assertion that the Episcopal Church disallowed the\nvalidity of other than episcopal orders.\"\n\n{722}\n\nHow completely \"banished and driven away\" from some minds that last\ndoubt was, events of a startling character soon made manifest.\n\n  \"Certain clergymen of the diocese of New York adopted a course\n  destined to change the settled practice of the church, if not to\n  change its whole character. They turned their backs upon all\n  existing laws and all previous usage in connection with such\n  matters, and openly admitted to their pulpits ministers who had not\n  had episcopal ordination. . . . . Of course, an innovation so\n  startling and so daring occasioned much excitement. The Bishop of\n  the diocese issued a pastoral letter, in which, in the kindest\n  language and most reasonable spirit, he pointed out to those\n  gentlemen the unlawfulness of their course. And _there_, if they had\n  been lovers of order and of peace, the whole matter might have\n  rested. But, however gentle the reproof or remonstrance, it was\n  still an exercise of authority, and that was hard to bear. Therefore\n  the reverend gentlemen rushed into print at once, and strove to give\n  to the whole matter the air of simple controversy, on equal terms,\n  between the Bishop and themselves. They represented him as the\n  advocate of a narrow partisan policy, and not as their\n  ecclesiastical superior to whom they had solemnly promised\n  obedience, and whose duty compelled him to give them a reproof.\n  Their 'letters,' 'reviews,' and 'replies to the pastoral' have been\n  sent everywhere throughout the country, and have served to show that\n  some Episcopalians pay but little respect 'to those who are over\n  them in the Lord;' that they are not much disposed to 'submit to\n  their judgment,' and 'to follow with a glad mind and will their\n  godly admonitions.'\" (Vox Ecclesiae, vi.)\n\nSuch was the state of affairs, when a reply to \"Goode on Orders\"\nissued from the Philadelphia press, professing to demolish its\nconclusions and to clear the doctrine of the Episcopal Church, on the\npoint in question, from all ambiguity. This was the work of an elegant\nand judicious but anonymous writer, who, though disclaiming all\ntendencies to Puseyism, is, nevertheless, manifestly a High Churchman\nof strong and well-founded principles, and who has received on account\nof this reply, the highest commendations from many of the bishops and\nclergy of his church. His book is entitled \"Vox Ecclesiae.\" The\nproposition he seeks to demonstrate is, \"That the answer of the\nEpiscopal Church to the question, 'What is the true and scriptural\nmode of church government, and what constitutes a true and proper\norganization?' would be, 'That episcopal government and ordination by\nbishops are the only modes of government or ordination recognized by\nthat church as scriptural or proper.'\" In support of this, he also,\nlike his antagonist, relies upon the doctrinal and devotional\nstandards of the church; her laws and principles as set forth in her\ncanons and other official acts; those works which by her special\nendorsement have been raised to a semi official authority; and,\nlastly, the opinions of her eminent divines. The conclusion, which\nthis exhaustive argument claims to have established, is that the\nchurch of England never recognized the validity of Presbyterian\norders, _as such_, but, on the contrary, has ever held the doctrine of\nepiscopacy by divine right and apostolical succession; a conclusion\ndiametrically opposite to that of the first writer, whose book has, by\nthis one, in the language of the American Churchman, been \"So\neffectually answered that we believe it will ask no more questions for\nall time to come.\" This work in its time has received the highest\nencomiums from the Right Rev. Bishops Hopkins, Kemper, Atkinson, Coxe,\nWilliams, Clark, and Randall, the Rev. Drs. Coit, Adams, Morton,\nMason, Wilson, Meade, and other leaders of that party of the Episcopal\nChurch, whose views it professes to embody, is already catalogued by\nthem \"among the best standard works of the church,\" and has been\ngratuitously circulated in its general seminary at New York, as a\nthorough antidote to the dangerous heresy of Mr. Goode.\n\nFrom these two works, it might fairly be presumed, that we may, at\nlast, gain a tolerably correct idea of the doctrine of the episcopal\nChurch concerning the necessity of episcopal ordination. \"Goode on\nOrders\" is the \"unanswerable\" organ of one great party of that church.\n\"Vox Ecclesiae\" is the equally unanswerable organ of the other. And in\nthese two great parties, and in the {723} undefinable middle ground\nbetween them, may be ranked at least ninety-nine one handredths of the\nlaity and nearly all the clergy of that large and influential\nreligious body.\n\nTo us Catholics it certainly, at first sight, seems a little singular,\nthat in a church which bases upon an unbroken episcopal succession its\nwhole claim to external unity with the primitive Catholic Church,\nthere should be any doubt whether or not that church herself believes\nand teaches that such an unbroken succession is essential to the\nexistence of a visible church; that in a denomination, which, for\nages, has claimed superiority to other Protestant sects on almost the\nsole ground of her episcopally ordained ministry, there should be any\ncontroversy as to her doctrine on the necessity of such a ministry.\nBut it is only one of those anomalies which meet us everywhere outside\nthe Ark of Peter; which are the inevitable results of deviation,\nhowever slight, from the true source of apostolic unity. The ocean is\nas deep beneath the Ship of Christ as it is miles away. He that goes\ndown under her very shadow is as effectually drowned as he that\nperishes beneath a sky whose horizon is unbroken by a single sail. It\nis as well among those who are most near us as among those who are\nmost removed that we must look for the old marks of error, and this\nboldness of assertion and internal doubt is one of them. Before we\nclose, it may be given us to show that this doubt is indeed well\ngrounded and that this inconsistency is more consistent with the\nactual _status_ of the Episcopal Church than many, even of her\nenemies, would dream.\n\nUpon that fundamental principle which underlies the whole fabric of an\norganized Christian society, namely, the necessity of some\nauthoritative ordination, there seems to be no question in the\nEpiscopal Church. That man cannot originate a church; that Christ did\noriginate one; that, conveying his power of mission and orders to his\napostles, he left it to them to convey to their successors; that by\nthem and by their successors it ever has been so conveyed; and that,\nat this day, no man has any right or power to fulfil the office of a\nminister of Christ unless he has received authority through this\nsource; are tenets common to all Christians who recognize a visible\nchurch and believe in and maintain a regular ministry. However they\nmay differ as to the channel through which this power has descended:\nwhether, like the Presbyterians, denying the existence of a third\norder in the ministry, they claim that priests and bishops are the\nsame, and thus that presbyters are the appointed agents of Christ in\nperpetuating the line of Christian teachers, or whether, like\ndenominations far more radical, they confer on individual preachers,\nof whatever grade, the right to raise others at their pleasure to the\nsame dignities and power--this principle is still maintained. It is,\ntherefore, but natural, that while Mr. Goode and his Low Church\nfollowers scout the title \"Apostolical Succession\" as \"monstrous\" and\n\"heretical,\" their whole ailment should presuppose the existence of\nthe very state of facts, to which, in its most general construction,\nthat title is applied, and should admit the necessity of such a\n\"succession,\" through some channel, as the basis of all external,\ncollective Christian life. That the High Church party also abide in\nthis doctrine every page of \"Vox Ecclesiae\" makes manifest, and from\nwhat one thus necessarily implies and the other expressly declares, we\nfeel safe in concluding that \"succession in the mission and authority\nof the apostles\" is held and taught by the Episcopal Church as\nnecessary to the existence of a valid ministry.\n\nWe may even go a step farther. If \"tactual succession\" signifies\nmerely that some visible or audible commission must pass from the\nminister ordaining to the man ordained, without supposing any\nparticular act or word to be necessary to such \"tactual succession,\"\nwe may regard this also as {724} being a point upon which\nEpiscopalians raise no issue. The High Churchman may know no other\n\"tactual\" ordination than \"the laying on of hands.\" Mr. Goode and his\nparty might perhaps scruple to adopt such an interpretation, for,\nthough scriptural and primitive, it is not of the essence of the\nministerial commission. But that \"succession,\" perpetuated by means of\nsome actual commission, visibly or audibly moving from the ordainer to\nthe ordained, is necessary, neither of these adversaries will deny.\n\nHere, however, all acknowledged unity of doctrine ceases. \"What is the\nappointed channel of this ministerial authority?\" \"Is it confined to\none rank of the ministry, or possessed by two?\" \"Is _episcopal_\nsuccession necessary to the validity of holy orders?\" are questions on\nwhich their disagreement appears, to them, irreconcilable. The organs\nof both parties here speak with no uncertain sound. Each denounces the\nteachings of the other with unsparing acerbity. Mr. Goode\ncharacterizes the doctrines of his opponents as \"at variance with the\nspirit of Christian charity\" and \"the facts of God's providence,\" as\n\"having no foundation in Holy Scripture, and leading to consequences\nso dreadful that it is simply monstrous in any one to teach them.\" The\n\"voice of the church\" with equal plainness of speech replies, \"He who\nlooks upon Episcopacy as a thing of expediency, who talks of parity\nbetween bishop and presbyter, and who denounces 'Apostolical\nsuccession' as a _monstrous_ theory, has no place among them. HE IS\nNOT A LOW CHURCHMAN? he is not an Episcopalian in any proper sense at\nall.\" (p. 487.)\n\nThe formal statement of the Low Church doctrine, as explained by Mr.\nGoode, may thus be made: That the highest order of ministers,\nappointed by Christ or enjoying any direct scriptural authority, is\nthat of presbyters or elders, in which order inheres, _ex ordine_, the\npowers of government and ordination; that the apostles, selecting from\namong the presbytery certain men called bishops, appointed them to\nexercise these powers; that, consequently, government by bishops and\nepiscopal ordination rest upon apostolic precedent, and are sanctioned\nby the constant observance of fifteen hundred years; that this\nappointment, however, in no wise conferred upon such bishop any power\nof order which he had not before, or deprived the remaining presbyters\nof those equal powers which they possessed already: and, therefore,\nthat ordination by presbyters alone, although not regular or in\naccordance with established precedent, is truly valid, and confers\nupon the person so ordained all the rights and authority of a minister\nof Christ. This doctrine is essential Presbyterianism. On the\nquestions of historical fact--whether the apostles did appoint bishops\nand confine to them the office of ordaining others, and whether such\npractice was adhered to unvaryingly from their day till that of\nCalvin; as, also, on the relative weight and importance of such a\nprecedent, if it does historically exist--they certainly disagree. But\non the main question their decision is identical: that ordination is a\npower of the presbyter by divine institution and of the presbyter\nonly, and that the episcopate, wherever it exists, possesses these\npowers solely by virtue of the presbyterate which it includes.\n\nThe doctrine of the High Church party, on the other hand, is thus laid\ndown in \"Vox Ecclesiae:\" That Christ instituted, either by his own act\nor that of his apostles, three several orders of ministers in his\nchurch, and to the first of these, called bishops, and to them alone,\nintrusted the power and authority of ordaining pastors for his flock;\nthat this episcopate is, therefore, of divine commandment, and cannot\nbe neglected or abolished without sin, neither can any ordination be\nvalid or confer authority to preach the word or minister the\nsacraments unless performed by bishops; that, consequently,\npresbyterian orders, being bestowed {725} by men who have no power or\ncommission to ordain, are, _ipso facto_, void: EXCEPT in cases of real\nnecessity, where, if episcopal ordination cannot be obtained,\npresbyters may validly ordain. This doctrine is, in the main, that\nwhich we have always supposed the great majority of Episcopalians\nhelp. As we have never seen the \"exception\" so fully stated in any\nauthoritative work as it is in this, we give it in the author's own\nlanguage, as it occurs in several portions of his book. Thus on page\n62--\n\n\"'_Necessitas non habet legem_' was a Roman proverb, the propriety and\nforce of which must be acknowledged by all. In reference to our\npresent subject, one of the most eminent of the defenders of our\nchurch uses almost the very words, viz. '_Nisi coegerit dura\nnecessitas cui nulla lex est posita_.' (Hadrian Saravia's reply to\nBeza.) The principle then is fully admitted. Necessity excuseth every\ndefect or irregularity which it _really_ occasions.\" On page 313, an\nextract from the same Saravia is given, as follows: \"Although I am of\nopinion that ordinations of ministers of the church properly belong to\nbishops, yet NECESSITY causes that, when they are wanting and CANNOT\nBE HAD, _orthodox presbyters can, in case of necessity_, ordain a\npresbyter;\" and the author says of it, \"We take this as Mr. Goode\ngives it.\" It is the strongest sentence in the whole passage, and yet\nit contains no more than what nine tenths of all Episcopal writers\ngladly allow, viz., (to use the words of Archbishop Parker,) \"Extreme\nnecessity in itself implieth dispensation with all laws.\" Again, on\npage 70, after noticing certain objections to this plea of necessity,\nput forward by individual writers in the church, he continues; \"There\nis great force in these objections: nevertheless we think it far\nbetter to grant all that the foreign churches claimed in the way of\nnecessity, inasmuch as the English Church certainly did so at the\ntime.\" A still more definite statement of the same \"exception\" occurs\non pages 82 and 83: \"As regards the question before us, the High\nChurchman and the Low Churchman unite in considering episcopacy a\ndivine institution, and a properly derived authority a _sine qua non_\nto lawful ministering in the church. They also agree in believing that\nreal necessity in this, as in every other matter, abrogates law and\nmakes valid whatever is performed under it.\" We have no wish to\nmultiply quotations, but on this important point we desire to fall\ninto no error and to be guilty of no misrepresentation. We have\npreferred to give the \"voice of the church\" in its own words, rather\nthan in ours, and have no hesitation in repeating the definition we\nhave already given, as setting forth the High Church doctrine,\nstrictly according to its acknowledged organ: \"Episcopacy is a divine\ninstitution, and necessary, where it can be had. Where it cannot be\nhad, presbyters may validly ordain.\"\n\nThe doctrine of the Episcopal Church, as a church, if, as a church,\nshe has any doctrine on the subject, must lie within these\ndefinitions. Mr. Goode must be wholly right, and the \"Vox Ecclesiae\"\nwholly wrong, or _vice versa_, or else both must have the truth,\nmingled in each case with more or less of falsehood and confusion. If\nwe can reconcile the two, or if the teaching of either has that in it\nwhich disproves itself, we may at last define the real position of\ntheir church upon the question which involves her life.\n\nAnd here we must premise, that the words \"order,\" \"Office,\" etc.,\nwhich seem to be the gist of much of this controversy, are names, not\nthings. They mean, in the mouth, or on the pen, of any Individual,\njust what that individual means by them, no less, no more. They have\nnever been defined authoritatively by Scripture or by any other\ntribunal to which these parties own allegiance. When Mr. Goode uses\nthem, they may imply one thing. In the pages of \"Vox Ecclesiae,\" they\nmay signify another. The whole contest, therefore, so far as {726} it\nrelates to the number of \"orders,\" or whether that of the bishop is a\ndifferent \"order,\" or only a different \"office,\" from that of the\npresbyter, is, in our view, one of names and titles only. The real\nquestion stands thus: \"Has a bishop, by divine institution, a power\nwhich the presbyter has not, or is the same power resident in both,\nand ordinarily made latent in the one, and operative in the other, by\nvirtue of ecclesiastical law and usage?\" The answer to this question\nwill show how far the High and Low Church party really differ from\neach other, and what is the variance, if any, between the \"Vox\nEcclesiae\" and Mr. Goode.\n\nIt seems to us that the \"EXCEPTION,\" which, equally with the rule, is\nadmitted by the High Church doctrine to be fundamental law, answers\nthis question once for all. For if, in any supposable emergency,\npresbyters may validly ordain, and if persons so by them ordained have\npower to preach the word and minister the sacraments, then either (1.)\nNecessity confers a power to ordain upon those who have it not, or\nelse (2.) The power to ordain is resident alike in presbyters and\nbishops, and the restrictions on its exercise by presbyters are, by\nthat necessity, removed. If the second of these positions truly\nrepresent the High Church theory, then, between them and Mr. Goode's\nadherents, there is no essential difference, and their war, with all\nits bitterness and pertinacity, is one of human words and human facts,\nand not of Christian doctrine. If, to avoid this fate, the first\nalternative be the one adopted, the following difficulties must be met\nand answered.\n\n1. It overthrows the entire doctrine of \"succession.\" This fundamental\nlaw of organic, collective, Christian life presupposes the existence\nof an unbroken chain of ministers, transmitting their authority,\nthrough generation after generation, from Christ's day to our own. It\npresupposes that every man, who has himself possessed and transmitted\nthis authority, has received it in his turn from some other man who\npossessed it and transmitted it to him, and so on back to Christ\nhimself. Christ thus becomes the sole source, and man the sole\nchannel, of ecclesiastical authority, and the right or power of any\nindividual to exercise the functions of the ministerial office depends\non his reception of authority therefor from this only source and\nthrough this only channel.\n\nBut if necessity can also confer authority, or rather, to put the case\nin words more expressive of its real character, if, whenever the\nappointed channel cannot be had and necessity of ministers exists, God\nwill himself from heaven confer the authority in need, the value of\nthis \"succession\" amounts to nothing. Orders, wherever necessary, will\nbe had as well without it as with it, and they who have it can never\nwith any certainty deny the validity of orders which have it not.\nChrist still may be the sole source, but man is not the only, nay, nor\nthe most perfect and available, channel of this authority. There is\nanother, surer, nearer, more direct, conveying, only to proper\npersons, the gifts of God, and free from all the doubts and dangers\nwhich result from a residence of heavenly \"treasure in earthen\nvessels,\" and the necessity which demands it is the sole condition of\nits use. The High Church party, if they adopt this position, must,\ntherefore, become more radical than any Christian church upon the\nglobe. They out-Herod even their great Herod, Mr. Goode, and are more\ndangerous to the cause of \"apostolic order\" and ecclesiastical\nauthority than any Low Churchmen or Separatist that ever lived.\n\n2. It elevates human necessity above divine law. The law, by which\nholy orders exist, and by which their transmission from man to man is\nregulated, is unquestionably divine. \"Vox Ecclesiae\" goes so far as to\nclaim that their transmission, from bishop to bishop only, is of\ndivine precept, but, waiving that, it is acknowledged by all parties,\nwith whom we have to do at {727} present, that whatever be the human\nchannel, it is of Christ's appointment, and rests upon divine\nauthority. It is thus a _divine_ law which \"necessity abrogates,\" a\npositive institution and command of God which is to be disregarded and\ndisobeyed, and that because \"necessity\" demands it.\n\nBut this necessity is a merely human one. Orders confers on the\nordained only the power to preach and to administer the sacraments,\nand it is only that those things may be done, that God's law is\ndespised and set aside. Yet, though the eternal salvation of the human\nsoul may ordinarily depend upon the preaching of the word and on the\nsacraments, still nothing is _absolutely_ necessary to eternal life\nthat may not take place between the soul and God, independently of\nbishop, priest, or church. It is thus no necessity of _God's_\ncreation, no necessity inevitably involving the eternal destinies of\nman, that substitutes itself for the admitted law of God, but a mere\nearthly need, a need based upon human views and customs and opinions,\nwhich never received endorsement from on high, and finds no sanction\nfor its existence in Holy Writ. There is no irregularity which such a\nposition would not justify, no departure from God's ordinances which\nit could consistently condemn. It would come with fearful self-rebuke\nfrom that portion of the Episcopal Church, who for three hundred years\nhave practically ignored their brother Protestants, because they\njudged of their own necessities and set aside the institutions of God\nin order that those necessities might be supplied.\n\n3. It legitimates every form of error and schism. For, if \"necessity\n_confers_ orders,\" the sole question in every case is, whether the\nnecessity existed. If there was such necessity in Germany and\nSwitzerland in the sixteenth century, then Lutheran and Calvinistic\norders were as valid as Episcopal, and if that necessity continues,\nthey are valid still. If there was such necessity in Scotland, after\nthe abolition of the prelacy, and that necessity continues, the orders\nof the kirk are valid at this day. If there was such necessity when\nJohn Wesley ordained Dr. Coke, and that necessity continues, Methodist\norders are as valid as his Grace of Canterbury's are. There is no\nstopping-place for these deductions. If \"necessity confers orders,\"\nnot even the channel of _presbyters_ is necessary. No human instrument\nat all stands between God and the recipient of his extraordinary\nfavor. In every case where the necessity exists, there God confers the\npower of orders, and there is no sect so wild and heretical, no\nministry so dangerous and erratic, that may not claim validity upon\nthis ground, and that must not, on these principles, when necessity is\nproven, be adjudged legitimate.\n\nBut of this necessity who shall be the judge? Shall God, who, of\ncourse, knows all the circumstances of mankind and estimates them at\ntheir proper value? But then, to us his judgment is useless without\nexpression, and his expression is _revelation_. Are those who allow\nthe force of this plea of necessity prepared to admit all who claim\nit, for the sake of Christian charity, or will they demand a\nrevelation from God to satisfy them that the \"necessity\" was _real_?\nYet, if God be the only Judge, they must admit all or reject all until\nhe speaks from heaven, and in the latter case, the \"EXCEPTION\" might\nas well have been left unmade. Or shall the church judge? And if so,\nwhat church? The church, from which Luther, and Calvin, and Cranmer,\nand Parker separated? She had her bishops ready to ordain all proper\nmen, and if her judgment had been taken, there would have been no\noccasion for men to plead necessity. The church, from which came forth\nthe Puritans and Methodists? She also had her bishops, and in her view\nno necessity could ever have existed. So with every church. None that\nare founded in Episcopacy could ever {728} admit a necessity without\nsupplying it in the appointed way. And none that reject Episcopacy\nwould care to inquire whether or not there was any such necessity. The\nchurch could, therefore, be no judge. She is, in every issue of this\nsort, a party, not an umpire; but, were she competent to judge,\nwherein is her decree less valid, when from Rome she excommunicates\nthe Church of England, than when from London or New York she denies\nministerial authority to Presbyterians and Universalists? Or is it the\nindividual? There can be no doubt in this answer. It must be. No man\ncan judge of a necessity except he who is placed in it. A little\ncolony of Christians, cast away on some Pacific island, must decide\nfor themselves, whether they will ordain a pastor for their flock or\nutterly dispense with Christian teaching. A man, whose creed differs\nfrom that of the church in which he lives, and yet who feels an inward\ncall to preach the Gospel, as he understands it, must be the sole\njudge of the necessity of call, upon the one hand, which commands him\nto preach, and of conscience, on the other, which forbids him to\nsubscribe the creed which is the unrelenting condition of his\nordination by authority. Extend it to societies and communities of\nmen, and the rule is the same. These societies become themselves the\njudges, whether or not, in their case, necessity exists, and no other\ncan judge for them. The law is universal. If necessity be a\njustification, it must be necessity as judged of by the parties in\nnecessity, and not as judged of by God, unknown to men, or by a church\nwhich either will supply the need or treat the whole matter as of\nlittle moment. There thus becomes no limit to necessities. They are\nmoral as well as physical. They grow out of duties and\nresponsibilities, as well as out of distances and years. Obedience to\nthe voice of conscience is an indispensable condition of salvation,\nand no necessity is greater or more potent than the necessity of that\nobedience. When the Rev. Gardiner Spring was moved, as he believed it,\nby the Holy Ghost, to do the work of a minister in the church of God,\nthere was not a regularly ordained bishop in the world who would have\nordained him, while holding the doctrines he professed. In his case,\nwithout a violation of his conscience and the loss of his soul,\nbishops \"COULD NOT BE HAD,\" and presbyters must have validly ordained.\nWhen Charles Spurgeon, rejoicing in the new-found light of the Gospel,\nburned to tell other men the good that God had done to him, the moral\nnecessity was the same, a necessity which compelled him to disobey\nwhat he believed to be a command of God, or to receive orders from\nnon-Episcopal hands. Is there any need of multiplying instances? Where\nis the imaginable limit to which validity must be acknowledged and\nbeyond which it must cease? The High Churchman who starts with the\nadmission, that in case of \"necessity,\" God confers the power of\norder, can never stop till he has bowed the knee before every Baal\nwhich claims the name of Christian and opened the gifts of God to\nevery man who demands priestly recognition at his hands.\n\nThere are other objections to this theory, equally insuperable with\nthose already suggested. It can hardly be necessary, however, to\nmention them. No candid mind, after seeing the real bearing of this\nposition on the whole question of a visible church, can hesitate a\nmoment to reject it. There remains only the other alternative, namely,\nthat necessity renders operation in presbyters a power possessed by,\nbut latent in, them, by removing the restrictions which, in ordinary\ncircumstances, apostolic precedent and ecclesiastical usage have\nimposed; and as this is essentially the position advocated by Mr.\nGoode, and as the difference between these parties is thus reduced, in\nevery case, to a question of historic or contemporaneous fact, which\nno one but the individuals who plead it can adequately settle, we\nconclude that {729} the sole contest as to doctrine is one of words\nand definitions, and that on all material points of theory and faith\nthey perfectly agree. We thus feel justified in the conclusion that\nthe Episcopal Church of the present age has a doctrine concerning the\nnecessity of episcopal ordination, and that her doctrine is no less,\nno more, than this: \"The power of order is resident in bishops and\npresbyters both, _ex ordine_, and is operative, under ordinary\ncircumstances, in bishops only, though in cases of necessity,\npresbyters may exercise that power and validly ordain.\"\n\nThis doctrine is logical, coherent, and conservative. No divine\ninstitution is thereby set aside for a mere human necessity. No\ndestructive principle antagonistic to the doctrine of \"succession\" is\nthereby introduced; no gate is thereby opened for a multitudinous\nthrong of orthodox and heretics, ordained and unordained, to bring\ndisorder and confusion into the Church of God. However fatal to the\nhigh pretensions of the Episcopal Church in generations past, and to\nany claim of exclusive apostolicity at present, this doctrine is,\nnevertheless, most consistent with her actual _status_ in the\nreligious world. Thoroughly Protestant in doctrine and in worship, all\nher affinities and tendencies are toward the Presbyterian and other\nnon-Episcopal denominations of the age. No church on earth, whose\nepiscopal succession can be traced to any apostolic source, has ever\nrecognized hers as beyond question, or admitted her claim to be a\nportion of the Catholic Church of Christ. Her very episcopate itself\nis, practically, as the recent events in New York have shown, a rank\nof honor and of office not of power. Her alleged superiority, for her\nbishops' sakes, can never bring her one step nearer to the Catholic\nChurch, while she retains her heresies or remains in schism; and, on\nthe other hand, her alienation from her protesting sisters must\nincrease with every generation while this allegation is maintained.\nFar better, far more accordant with her actual position, is her\ndoctrine as thus evolved by Mr. Goode and \"Vox Ecclesiae,\" and while\nits enunciation cannot change her in our estimation, it will doubtless\ndraw nearer to her, in the bonds of love and brotherhood, all those by\nwhom she is surrounded and to whose fraternity she naturally belongs.\nIt is only a matter of regret that the barrier now destroyed was not\nbroken down long ago, and that the good influences, which the\nEpiscopal Church is so well calculated to exert, have not been working\non the masses of our non-Catholic brethren in America during all the\npast eighty years.\n\nNothing now remains but to retrieve that past. Let it be understood\nthat the Episcopal Church does not deny the validity of presbyterian\norders, but that at most she holds them irregular, and only that when\nnot given in necessity; that men of other denominations have clergymen\nand sacraments equally beneficial with her own. Let her throw open her\ndoors to all religious bodies who thus preserve the \"succession,\" and\nunite with them in prevailing on those to receive it who have it not,\nand make common cause with all such in stemming the tide of infidelity\nand \"liberalism\" which is deluging our land. Then may her self-adopted\nmission, however faulty in its origin, however riskful in its\nprogress, fulfil at least one portion of the work of Christ's Church\nin the world, and, if she cannot feed men with the bread of truth, she\nmay preserve them from the more fearful poisons.\n\nIn conclusion, we desire to correct an error into which the author of\n\"Vox Ecclesiae\" has fallen, concerning the view of this same question\ntaken by Catholics. On page 57, he says:\n\n  \"The exaggerated or Romish theory is, that the possession of the\n  Apostolical Constitution and a properly transmitted succession is\n  enough to constitute a true and perfect church. Thus succession is\n  held to be everything,\" etc.\n\n{730}\n\nIn one sense of these words, namely, that to _be_ the actual\norganization founded by Christ and constituted, as he left it, in the\nhands of the apostles, is to be a true and perfect church; they are\nthe faith of Catholics. But this is not the sense in which the author\nuses them. The idea he thus expresses is, that we regard an external\nsuccession in the line of apostolic orders as sufficient to make a man\na priest or bishop, as the case may be, and that such a succession\nconstitutes a church. This is a very prevalent, but very thoughtless,\nerror. It is true that we believe apostolic orders, in the apostolic\nline, to be so absolutely necessary that no man, under any\ncircumstances, can perform any I without them. But we do _not_\nbelieve, that the possession of such orders by any organization makes\nit a true church. Cranmer was lawfully ordained as priest and bishop\nof the Catholic Church, and, whether as a schismatic under Henry, or a\nheretic under Edward, his orders went with him and rendered every act\nin pursuance of them valid. The bishops he consecrated were bishops,\nthe priests he ordained were priests, and if Archbishop Parker were in\nfact consecrated by Barlow and Hodgkins, and either of them were\nconsecrated by Cranmer, and if the English succession be otherwise\nunbroken, then every priest of that succession is a true priest, and\nevery bishop a true bishop. Their acts are valid acts, whatever their\ndoctrine or their schism.\n\nBut this does not make the Church of England \"a true and perfect\nchurch.\" If the fact of her full apostolical succession were\nestablished to-day, beyond the shadow of a doubt, and we would it\ncould be, her position would differ nothing, in our view, from that of\nthe Arian and Donatist churches of the fourth century, or of the Greek\nChurch for the past nine hundred years, churches whose orders were all\nvalid, whose doctrines were more or less at variance with Catholic\ntruth, whose sacraments conferred grace, but who were cut off from the\nbody of Christ's Church by their state of schism.\n\nThe Catholic test of Catholicity is short and simple, \"Ubi Petrus, ibi\nEcclesiae,\" said Ambrose of Milan, (Comm. in Ps. xl.,) and wherever\nPeter is, Peter, who, \"like an immovable rock, holds together the\nstructure and mass of the whole Christian fabric,\" (Ambrosii serm.\nxlvii.,) and \"who, down to the present time and forever, in his\nsuccessors lives and judges,\" (Care Eph. A.D. 431, serm. Phil.,)\nwherever Peter is, there, and there only, do we see the church.\nCatholics, collectively and individually, say with St. Jerome,\n\"Whoever is united with the See of Peter is mine,\" and, throughout the\nworld, whatever church, society or man is joined by the bonds of\nvisible communion with the Roman See, is in and of the body of the\nCatholic Church, they and none others. No union with that See is\npossible to those who do not profess, at least implicitly, the entire\nCatholic doctrine, and submit to the legitimate discipline of the\nchurch. No validity of orders without true doctrine, no truth of\ndoctrine and validity of orders without union with the Apostolic See,\ncan remedy the evil. To all outside that unity, however similar to us\nin one point or another, we must repeat the words which St. Optatus of\nMela wrote to the African Donatists about A.D. 384:\n\n\"You know that the Episcopal See was first established for Peter at\nthe city of Rome, in which See Peter, the head of all the apostles,\nsat, and with which one See unity must be maintained by all; that the\napostles might not each defend before you his own see, but that he\nshould be both a schismatic and a sinner who should set up any other\nagainst that one See.\" (Adr. Donat. ii.) Would that, of all who know\nthe truth of that which Optatus has written, and whom a thousand\nhindrances are keeping from that rock of unity, we might say, as St.\nCyprian wrote of Antonianus, in the first ages, to the Holy Pope\nCornelius, (ad auton,) \"He is in communion with you, that is, with the\nCatholic Church.\"\n\n------\n\n{731}\n\n\nFrom All the Year Round.\n\nSTATISTICS OF VIRTUE.\n\n\nSmall presents, it has been shrewdly said, prevent the flame of\nfriendship from dying out. A Stilton cheese, a bouquet of forced\nflowers, a maiden copy of a \"just-published\" book, a _p\u00e2te de foie\ngras_, a basket of fruit that _will_ keep a day or two, a salmon in\nspring, or a fresh-killed hare in autumn--any thing that answers, as\na feed of corn or a bait of hay, to one's own private\nhobby-horse--very rarely indeed gives offence.\n\nBe the influence such offerings exert ever so small, it is attractive\nrather than repulsive in its tendency. They are silken fibres which\ndraw people together, almost without their knowing it; and although\nthe strength of any single one may be slight, by multiplication they\nacquire appreciable power. Even if they come from evidently interested\nmotives, they are a tribute which flatters the receiver's self-esteem,\nfor they are an unmistakable proof that he is worth being courted.\nThey are a mutual tie which bind friendly connections into a firmer\nbundle of sticks than they were before. The giver even likes the\nperson given to all the better for having bestowed gifts upon him.\nThere may exist no thought or intention to lay him under an\nobligation; but there always must, and properly may, arise the hope of\nincreasing his good-will and attachment. It is clear that, when it is\ndesirable that kindly relations should exist between persons, any\nhonorable means of promoting such relations are not only expedient but\nlaudable. One stone of an arch may fit its fellow-stones perfectly,\nbut a little cement does their union no harm.\n\nAs there is a reciprocal social attraction between individuals of\nrespectability and worth, so also there ought to be a gravitation of\nevery individual toward certain excellences of character and conduct.\nAnd here likewise small inducements, trifling bribes, minor\ntemptations, help to increase the force of the tendency. Virtue is,\nand ought to be its own reward; still, an additional bonus of\nextraneous recompense cannot but help the moral progress of mankind.\nIt sounds like a truism to say that a _motive_ is useful as a mover to\nthe performance of any act or course of action. The fact is implied by\nthe meaning of the word itself. If good deeds can be rendered more\nfrequent by increasing the motives to their practice, the world in\ngeneral will be all the better and the happier for that increase.\n\nThe problem in ethics to be solved, is, simply, _how_ men and women\nmay be most easily led to behave like very good boys and girls. We\nurge children to do their best by rewards of merit. Why should not the\nminds of adults be stimulated by similar persuasive forces? Nor can\nworldly motives, if pulling in the same direction as moral and\nreligious motives, be productive of anything but good. And we want\nmotives to excite the good to become still more persistently and\nexemplarily good, all the more that terror of punishment is\nunfortunately insufficient to make the bad abstain from deeds of\nwickedness.\n\n{732}\n\nWith this view a philanthropic Frenchman, M. de Montyon, founded in\n1819 annual prizes for acts of benevolence and devotedness, which,\nbeside addressing our higher feelings, appeal to two strong passions,\ninterest and vanity. And why should integrity pass unrewarded? Why\nshould bright conduct be hid under a bushel? In a darksome night, how\nfar the little candle throws his beams! So _ought_ to shine a good\ndeed in a naughty world. Most undoubtedly, to do good by stealth is\nhighly praiseworthy; but there is no reason why the blush which arises\non finding it fame should necessarily be a painful blush. Far better\nthat it should be a glow of pleasure.\n\nMore than forty years have now elapsed since these prizes for virtue\nwere instituted, during which period more than seven hundred persons\nhave received the reward of their exemplary conduct. The French\nAcademy which distributes the prizes, has decided (doing violence to\nthe modesty of the recipients ) to publish their good deeds to the\nworld. After the announcement of their awards, a livret or list in the\nform of a pamphlet is issued, recounting each specific case with the\nsame simplicity with which it was performed. These lists are spread\nthroughout all France and further, in the belief that the more widely\nmeritorious actions are known, the greater chance there is of their\nbeing imitated.\n\nThe awards made by the French Academy up to the present day to\nvirtuous actions give an average of about eighteen per annum. These\neighteen annual \"crowns\" have been competed for by more than seventy\nmemorials coming from every point of France, mostly without the\nknowledge of the persons interested. In short, since the foundation of\nthe prizes, the Academy has had to read several thousand memorials.\n\nTo Monsieur V. P. Demay (Secretary and Chef des Bureaux of the Mairie\nof the 18th Arrondissement of Paris) the idea occurred of collecting\nthe whole of these livrets into a volume, so as to furnish an\nanalytical summary of the distribution of the prizes throughout the\nempire, and of appending to it flowers of philanthropic eloquence\nculled from the speeches made at the Academic meetings. The result is\na book entitled \"Les Fastes de la Vertu Pauvre en France,\" \"Annals of\nthe Virtuous Poor in France.\"\n\nNo one, before M. Demay, thought of undertaking the Statistics of\nVirtue. The subject has not found a place on any scientific programme,\nFrench or international; whether through forgetfulness or not, the\nfact remains indisputable. And be it remarked that the seven hundred\nand thirty-two laureats to whom rewards have been decreed, represent\nonly a fraction of the number of highly deserving persons. In all\ntheir reports ever since 1820, the French Academy has declared that it\nhad only the embarrassment of choosing between the candidates while\nawarding the prizes, so equally meritorious were their acts.\nTherefore, to the seven hundred and thirty-two nominees ought to be\nadded the two thousand four hundred and forty competitors whose cases\nwere considered during that period, making altogether a total of three\nthousand one hundred and seventy-two instances of conduct worthy of\nimitation which had been brought to light by the agency of the prizes.\n\nThe book, not more amusing than other statistics, is nevertheless\nhighly suggestive. Serious thought is the consequence of opening its\npages. It is a touching book, and goes to the heart. After reading it,\nmany will feel prompted to go and do likewise by some effort of\ngenerosity or self-denial. In any case, it cannot be other than a\nmoralizing work to bring to light so many instances of devotion, and\nto set them forth as public examples.\n\nIn some of his speculations our author, perhaps, may be considered as\njust a little too sanguine. Certainly, if there are tribunals for the\ninfliction of punishment, there is no reason why tribunals should not\nexist for the conferring of recompenses. How far they are likely to\nbecome general, is a question for consideration. Also, it is {733}\ntrue that newspapers give the fullest details of horrid crimes, while\nthey are brief in their usual mention of meritorious actions. But\nbefore M. Demay, somebody said, \"Men's evil manners live in brass,\ntheir virtues we write in water;\" and it is to be feared he is\nsomewhat too bright-visioned a seer, when he hopes that, through\nNapoleon the Third's and Baron Haussmaun's educational measures,\ncoupled with the influence of the Montyon prizes, \"at no very distant\nday, the words penitentiary, prison, etc., will exist only in the\nstate of souvenirs--painful as regards the past, but consolatory for\nthe future.\"\n\nTo give the details of such a multitude of virtuous acts is simply\nimpossible. M. Demay can only rapidly group those which present the\nmost striking features, and which have appeared still more\nextraordinary--for that is the proper word--than the others,\nconferring on their honored actors surnames recognized throughout\nwhole districts. It is the Table of Honor of Virtuous Poverty, crowned\nby the verdict of popular opinion. Among these latter are (the\nparentheses contain the name of their department): the Mussets,\nhusband and wife, salt manufacturers, at Ch\u00e2teau Salins, (Meurthe,)\nsurnamed the Second Providence of the Poor; Suzanne G\u00e9ral, wife of the\nkeeper of the lockup house, at Florae, (Lo\u00e8zre) surnamed the Prison\nAngel; David Lacroix, fisherman, at Dieppe, (Seine-Inf\u00e9rieure,)\nsurnamed the _Sauveur_, instead of the _Sauveteur_ the rescuer, after\nhaving pulled one hundred and seventeen people out of fire and water\n--he has the cross of the Legion of Honor; Marie Philippe; Widow\nGambon, vine-dresser, at Nanterre, (Seine.) surnamed la M\u00e9re de bon\nSecours, or Goody Helpful; Madame Langier, at Orgon,\n(Bouche-du-Rh\u00f4ne,) surnamed la Qu\u00e9teuse, the Collector of Alms.\n\nIn the spring of 1839 almost the whole canton of Ax (Ari\u00e8ge) was\nvisited by the yellow fever, which raged for ten months, and carried\noff a sixth of the population. It, was especially malignant at Prades.\nTerror was at its height; those whom the scourge had spared were\nprevented by their fears from assisting their sick neighbors, menaced\nwith almost certain death. Nevertheless, a young girl, Madeleine Fort,\nwho had been brought up in the practice of good works, exerted herself\nto the utmost in all directions. During the course of those ten\ndisastrous months she visited, consoled, and nursed more than five\nhundred unfortunates; and if she could not save them from the grave,\nshe followed them, alone, to their final resting-place. Two Sisters of\nCharity were sent to help her; one was soon carried off, and the\nsecond fell ill. The car\u00e9 died, and was replaced by another. The\nlatter, finding himself smitten, sent for Madeleine. One of the flock\nhad to tend the pastor. Those disastrous days have long since\ndisappeared; but if the traveller, halting at Prades, asks for\nMadeleine Fort's dwelling, he will be answered, \"Ah! you mean our\nSister of Charity?\"\n\nSuzanne Bichon is only a servant. Her master and mistress were\ncompletely ruined by the negro insurrection in St. Domingo; but the\nworthy woman would not desert them--she worked for them all, and took\ncare of the children. On being offered a better place, that is, a more\nlucrative engagement, she refused it with the words, \"You will easily\nfind another person, but can my master and mistress get another\nservant?\" The Academy gave their recompense for fifteen years of this\ndevoted service. Her mistress wanted to go and take a place herself;\nshe would not hear of it, making them believe that she had means at\nher command, and expectations. But all her means lay in her capacity\nfor work, while her expectations were--Providence. It is not to be\nwondered at that she was known as Good Suzette.\n\n{734}\n\nSuch attachments as these on the part of servants are a delightful\ncontrast to what we commonly see in the course of our household\nexperience. They can hardly be looked for under the combined regime of\nregister-offices, a month's wages or a month's warning, no followers,\nSundays out, and crinoline.\n\nWe look for virtue amongst the clergy. The devotion, self-denial, and\nresignation often witnessed amongst them are matters of notoriety.\nNevertheless, it is right that one of its members should find a place\non a list like the present. In 1834, the Abb\u00e9 Bertran was appointed\ncure of Peyriac, (Aude.) He was obliged, so to speak, to conquer the\ncountry of which he was soon to be the benefactor. For two years he\nhad to struggle with the obstinate resistance which his parishioners\nopposed to him. His evangelical gentleness succeeded in vanquishing\nevery obstacle; henceforth he was master of the ground, and could\nmarch onward with a firm step. At once he consecrated his patrimony to\nthe restoration of the church and the presbyter. He bought a field,\nturned architect, and soon there arose a vast building which united\nthe two extremes of life--old age and infancy. He then opened\nsimultaneously a girls' school, an infant school, and a foundling\nhospital. He sought out the orphans belonging to the canton, and\nsupplied a home to old people of either sex. To effect these objects\nthe good pastor expended seventy thousand francs, (nearly three\nthousand pounds,) the whole of his property: he left himself without a\nsou. But he had sown his seed in good ground, and it promised to\nproduce a hundred-fold. Rich in his poverty, his place is marked\nbeside Vincent de Paul and Charles Borromeo.\n\nGoodness may even indulge in its caprices and still remain good.\nMarguerite Monnier, surnamed _la Mayon_, (a popular term of affection\nin Lorraine,) seems to have selected a curious specialty for the\nindulgence of her charitable propensities. It is requisite to be\ninfirm or idiotic to be entitled to receive her benevolent attentions.\nWhen quite a child, she selects as her friend a poor blind beggar,\nwhom she visits every day in her wretched hovel. She makes her bed,\nlights her fire, and cooks her food. While going to school, she\nremarks a poor old woman scarcely able to drag herself along, but,\nnevertheless, crawling to the neighboring wood to pick up a few dry\nsticks. She follows her thither, helps her to gather them, and brings\nback the load on her own shoulders. Grown to womanhood, and married,\nMarguerite successively gives hospitality to an idiot, a crazy person,\na cretin, several paralytic patients, orphans, strangers without\nresources, and even drunkards, (one would wish to see in their falling\nan infirmity merely.) Every creature unable to take care of itself\nfinds in her a ready protector. Such are her lodgers, her clients, her\ncustomers! Ever cheerful, she amuses them by discourse suited to their\ncomprehension. All around her is in continued jubilation, and\nMarguerite herself seems to be more entertained than any body else. It\nmay be said, perhaps, that a person must be born with a natural\ndisposition for this kind of devotedness. Granted; but his claim to\npublic gratitude is not a whit the less for that.\n\nCatherine Vernet, of Saint-Germain, (Puy-de-d\u00f4me,) is a simple\nlace-maker, who, after devoting herself to her family, has for thirty\nyears devoted herself to those who have no one to take care of them.\nHer savings having amounted to a sufficient sum for the purchase of a\nsmall house, she converted it into a sort of hospital with eight beds\nalways occupied. Situated amongst the mountains of Anvergne, this\nhospital is a certain refuge for _perdus_, travellers who have lost\ntheir way. It is an imitation of the Saint Bernard; and if it has not\nattained its celebrity, it emanates from the same source, charity.\n\n{735}\n\nIn looking through the lists and comparing the several departments of\nFrance, it would be hard to say that one department is better than\nanother; because their population, and other important influential\ncircumstances, vary immensely between themselves. But what strikes one\nimmediately, is the great preponderance of good women--rewarded as\nsuch--over good men. Thus, to dip into the list at hazard, we\nhave--Meuse, one man, five women; Seine, thirty-one men, ninety-eight\nwomen; Loire, two men, six women; C\u00f4te-d'Or, three men, eleven women;\nand so on. The nature of the acts rewarded--also taken by chance--are\nthese: reconciliations of families in _vendetta_, (Corsica;)\nmaintenance of deserted children; rescues from fire and water;\nfaithfulness to master and mistress for sixteen years; adoption of\nseven orphans for fifteen years; maintenance of master and mistress\nfallen into poverty; devotion to the aged; nursing the sick poor;\nkilling a mad dog who inflicted fourteen bites. When \"inexhaustible\ncharity\" and \"succor to the indigent\" are mentioned, one would like to\nknow whether they consisted in mere alms-giving. Probably not; because\nby \"charity\" Montyon understood, not the momentary impulse which\ncauses us to help a suffering fellow-creature, and then dies away, but\nthe constant, durable affection which regards him as another self, and\nwhose device is \"Privation, Sacrifice.\"\n\nIn the period, then, between 1819 and 1864 seven hundred and\nseventy-six persons received Montyon rewards, two hundred and eleven\nof whom were men, and five hundred and sixty-five women. In M. Demay's\nopinion, the disproportion ought to surprise nobody; for if man is\ngifted with virile courage, which is capable of being suddenly\ninflamed, and is liable to be similarly extinguished, woman only is\nendowed with the boundless, incessant, silent devotion which is found\nin the mother, the wife, the daughter, the sister. This dear\ncompanion, given by God to man, is conscious of the noble mission\nallotted her to fulfil on earth. We behold the results in her acts,\nand in what daily occurs in families. Abnegation, with her, is a\nnatural instinct. \"She may prove weak, no doubt; she may even go\nastray: but, be assured, she always retains the divine spark of\ncharity, which only awaits an opportunity to burst forth into a\nbrilliant flame. Let us abstain, therefore, from casting a stone at\ntemporary error; let us pardon, and forget. Our charity will lead her\nback to duty more efficaciously than all the moral stigmas we could\npossibly inflict.\"\n\nThe years more fruitful in acts of devotion appear to have been 1851,\n1852, and 1857, in which twenty-seven and twenty-eight prizes were\nawarded. Their cause is, that previously the Academy received\nmemorials from the authorities only. But after making an appeal to\nwitnesses of every class and grade, virtue, if the expression maybe\nallowed, overflowed in all directions. Lives of heroism and charity,\nhidden in the secrets of the heart, were suddenly brought to the light\nof day, to the great surprise of their heroes and heroines. During the\nsame period there were distributed, in money, three hundred and\nsixty-four thousand francs, (sixteen thousand pounds;) in medals, four\nhundred and eighteen thousand five hundred and fifty francs, (sixteen\nthousand seven hundred and forty-two pounds;) total, seven hundred and\neighty-two thousand five hundred and fifty francs, (thirty-two\nthousand seven hundred and forty-two pounds.) The Montyon prizes are\nworth having, and not an insult to the persons to whom they are\noffered. The sums of money given range as high as one, two, three, and\neven four thousand francs; the medals vary in value from five and six\nhundred to a thousand francs: but even a five hundred franc or\ntwenty-pound medal is a respectable token of approbation and esteem.\nIn some few cases, both money and a medal are bestowed.\n\n{736}\n\nIt may be said that the persons to whom these prizes are given would\nhave done the same deeds without any reward. True; and therein lies\ntheir merit. And ought _money_ to be given to recompense virtuous\nacts? Yes, most decidedly; because it will confer on its recipients\ntheir greatest possible recompense--the power of doing still more\ngood. Money gifts are not to be depreciated so long as there are\norphans to sustain, sick poor to nurse, and infirm old age to keep\nfrom starvation.\n\nFinally, is charity the growth of one period of life rather than of\nanother? On inspecting the lists, we find children, six, twelve,\nthirteen years of age, and close to them octogenarians, one\nnonagenarian, one centenarian! If noble courage does not want for\nfulness of years, it would appear not to take its leave on their\narrival.\n\n------\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nTHE CHRISTIAN CROWN.\n\nBY JOHN SAVAGE.\n\nI.\n\n  Ten centuries and one had trod\n    Jerusalem, since when,\n  In mortal form, the Son of God\n    Died for the sons of men.\n\n\nII.\n\n  And they who in the Martyr found\n    Their Saviour, wailed and wept,\n  That gorgeous horrors should abound\n    Where Christ the Bless\u00e8d slept.\n\n\nIII.\n\n  From clam'rous towns, and forests' hush.\n    As cascades from the gloom\n  Of caves, crusaders eastward rush\n    To win the holy tomb.\n\n\nIV.\n\n  Their corselets, steel and silver bright,\n    'Neath swaying plumes displayed,\n  Now dance, like streams, in lines of light.\n    Now loiter on in shade.\n\n\n{737}\n\n\nV.\n\n  Their crosses glow in every form\n    Inspiring vale and mart,\n  As through earth's arteries they swarm,\n    Like blood back to the heart.\n\n\nVI.\n\n  Tis mid-day of midsummer's heat;\n    Faith crowns the live and dead:\n  Jerusalem is at their feet.\n    Brave Godfrey at their head.\n\n\nVII.\n\n  Within the walls, the ramparts ring\n    As proudly they proclaim\n  Great Godfrey de Bouillon as king!\n    A king in more than name.\n\n\nVIII.\n\n  The ruby-budding crown to bind\n   About his head, they stood:\n  Another crown is in his mind;\n    For rubies, blobs of blood.\n\n\nIX.\n\n  \"No. no!\" and back the bauble flings,\n    \"No gold this brow adorns\n  Where willed He, Christ, the King of kings,\n    To wear a crown of thorns.\"\n\n\nX.\n\n  Let not the glorious truth depart\n    Brave Godfrey handed down:\n  A king whose crown is in his heart,\n    Needs wear no other crown.\n\n\n------\n\n{738}\n\n\nFrom The Lamp\n\nUNCONVICTED;\nOR, OLD THORNELEY'S HEIRS.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nTHE READING OF THE WILL.\n\n\nNearing the brink of a discovery, yet dreading to approach the edge,\nlest a false step should precipitate you into a chaos of darkness;\nholding the end of an intricate web in your hand, yet not daring to\nfollow the lead, lest you should lose yourself in its mazes--so I\nfelt on the morning succeeding my visit with Detective Jones to\nBlue-Anchor Lane; so, likewise, had that astute officer and faithful\nfriend expressed himself when we had parted the night before.\n\n\"You see, sir,\" he said, \"the whole of what we have gathered this\nevening may only mean that Mr. Wilmot has got mixed up with this De\nVos or Sullivan in some-gambling transaction, who, hearing that he's\nleft sole heir to poor Thorneley's fortune, means to hold whatever\nknowledge he possesses as a threat over him to extort money. Then, as\nto what passed at 'Noah's Ark,' why, it may mean a good deal, and it\nmay just mean nothing, as not referring to the parties we know of. I\ndon't wish to raise your hopes, sir; and until I've consulted with\nInspector Keene and seen what he's ferreted out, I wouldn't like to\nsay that we'd gained as much as I thought we should from our move\ntonight.\"\n\nOn my table I found a broad black-bordered letter. It was a formal\ninvitation on the part of Lister Wilmot, as sole executor, to attend\nold Thorneley's funeral on the following Tuesday.\n\nThe intervening days were dark, and blank with the blankness of\ndespair. Vigilant, energetic, and penetrating as was that secret,\nsilent search of the detectives, no real clue was found to the mystery\nof the murdered man's death; no light thrown upon the black page in\nthe history of that fatal Tuesday evening, save what our own miserable\nsuspicions or fallacious hopes suggested. De Vos had entirely\ndisappeared from the scene, leaving no truce of his whereabouts.\nWilmot's public movements, though closely watched by the lynx-eyed\nfunctionaries of the law, were perfectly satisfactory: and the\nhousekeeper remained closeted in her own room, intent, apparently,\nupon making up her mourning garments for her late master, and fairly\nbaffling Inspector Keene in his insidious attempts to elicit a word\nfurther, or at variance to what she stated at the inquest, by her\ncool, collected, and straightforward replies to his 'cute\ncross-questioning. And yet, in concluding the short interviews between\nMr. Inspector and Merrivale, at which I was generally present, after a\nsilent scrape at his chin, and a hungry crop at his nails, he would\nstill repeat with a certain little air of quiet confidence, \"Good-day,\ngentlemen. I think I am on the scent.\"\n\nMeanwhile the verdict at the inquest had gone forth and done its work;\nand Hugh Atherton was fully committed for trial next sessions at the\nOld Bailey. These were to take place early in November, and the\nthought of how terribly short a time was left till then filled us with\na fearful, heart-sickening dread lest all, upon which hung the issues\nof life or death, could not be accomplished in so little space. True\nthat a respite {739} might be asked, and the trial postponed until the\nfollowing sessions; but upon what plea could the request be preferred?\nSome evidence not yet forthcoming. What evidence could we hope for?\nupon what future revelation could we rely? At present there was\nnothing, absolutely nothing, but our vague conjectures, our blind\nbelief in the acuteness of the police officers whom we were employing.\n\nAnd Ada Leslie, what of her? Every day, and twice a day, I went to\nHyde-Park Gardens, sometimes with Merrivale, sometimes alone,\nrepeating every detail, every minute particular, every circumstance,\nand going though everything with her said or done by each one\nconcerned. It seemed to be her only comfort and support, after that\nbetter and higher consolation promised to the weary and heavy-laden,\nand which both she and Hugh knew well how to seek.\n\n\"Tell me all,\" she would say--\"the good and bad. I can bear it better\nif I know nothing is kept back. To deceive me would be no real\nkindness; and who has a better right to know everything than I, who am\npart of himself? We shall be man and wife soon, in the sight of God\nand the world, and then nothing can separate us in other men's minds:\nbut till then I am truly and faithfully one with him; and what touches\nhim touches me, only infinitely more because it is for him. Don't you\nknow what the idyl says about the fame and shame being mine equally if\nhis? But better and holier words still have been spoken, and I say\nthem often to myself now when I think of the time which is coming:\n'They two shall be one flesh.'\"\n\nStrangely enough, though fully conscious of Atherton's danger, of the\nawful position in which he stood, she never seemed to take count for\none instant that the simple plea of innocence on his part, and the\nbelief of it on ours, would not weigh one feather's weight in the\nheavy balance of evidence against him.\n\nSince my encounter with Mrs. Leslie, that lady and I had been cold and\ndistant, conversing the least possible within our power, and avoiding\none another by mutual consent. But one thing I noted, that come when I\nwould, early or late, with news or without, alone or accompanied by\nMerrivale, whose visits seemed a great comfort to Ada, Lister Wilmot\nwas certain to have forestalled me, and given in his version, either\npersonally or by letter, of whatever had happened. And I found the\neffect of this was, that Mrs. Leslie was speaking of Hugh as guilty,\nthough \"poor Lister still persists in trying to think him innocent;\"\nand was publishing about wherever she could that I had _volunteered_\nto give evidence against him. Ada took a different view of Wilmot's\nconduct.\n\n\"I think, guardian, that Lister is almost mad,\" she said one day. \"He\ntalks quite wildly sometimes to me. We never thought he had a very\nclear head; and now he seems to be so incoherent and contradictory in\nall he says, and this confuses mamma, and makes her get wrong notions\nabout it all. But he is so kind and good to me now. Once I thought he\ndidn't like me; but he is quite changed now.\"\n\nOn the Saturday she was allowed to see Hugh, now lodged in Newgate\nPrison. She went with Wilmot and her mother; but she saw him alone,\nwith only the warder present. Contrary to my expectations, she was\ncalmer and happier, if one can use such a word, knowing all the\nanguish of the heart, than before. They had mutually strengthened and\ncomforted each other. She repeated to me a great deal of what passed\nwhen I saw her in the evening; but she never said one word of what had\npassed about myself; she never brought me any message; and when I\nasked her if Hugh had expressed a wish to see me, she only replied,\n\"No, he thinks it is best not--at least at present.\" The same reply\ncame through {740} Merrivale, who seemed puzzled by it; the same\nthrough Lister Wilmot, who was offensively regretful for me. I could\nnot bear it, and I gave utterance to the pent-up feeling which raged\nwithin me. I told him that none of his meddling was needed between\nmyself and Hugh Atherton, and I hinted that the _r\u00f4le_ he had taken\nupon himself to play now would before many days were over be changed\nin a very unpleasant manner. A covert sneer curled his thin lips, and\nthere was an evil light in his eyes, as he replied that he was not\nafraid of any plot that might be hatched against him, and he could\nmake excuses for my excited feelings \"As to myself,\" he concluded, \"_I\nam prepared for everything_.\"\n\nTuesday, the day appointed for the burial of Gilbert Thorneley, at\nlast arrived; and those invited to attend assembled for the time in\nWimpole street to pay their tribute of homage to the man who had swept\nhis master's office in his youth, and died worth more than a million\nof money in the Funds. They flocked thither at the bid of his nephew\nand reported heir; his comrades on 'change, his compeers in wealth,\nhis fellow-citizens; those men who had passed through the same\nevolutions of barter and exchange, of tare and tret, of selling out\nand buying in, of all that busy tumult of money-making in which the\ndead man lying in his silver-plated coffin upstairs, and covered by\nthe handsome velvet pall, had borne his share even to the fullest. For\nWilmot had given orders for the funeral to be conducted on a scale\nbefitting the magnificence of the fortune which his uncle left behind\nhim; and the management of the affair had been placed in the hands of\nan undertaker whose reputation for conducting people to their grave\nwith every mournful splendor of state and style was irreproachable.\nBut amid those funeral plumes, those heavy trappings, those sombre\nmantles, those long hat-bands new and scarfs of richest silk, there\nwas no eye wet with sorrow, no brow shadowed by regret, no heart that\nwas heavier for the loss of the one going to his grave. It was a\nfuneral without a mourner. On Lister Wilmot's face was the\nhalf-concealed triumph and elation, under an affected grief too\nevidently put on for the dullest man to believe in; and the only one\nwho would have mourned, nay who did mourn, for the murdered man, lay\nin his cell within the walls of Newgate, stigmatized with the brand of\nwilful murder of him. So the gloomy pageant set out with its\nhearse-and-four, its dozen mourning-coaches, its string of private\ncarriages belonging to the rich men invited there that day. So we went\nto Kensal Green and laid Gilbert Thorneley in the new vault prepared\nfor him, lonely and alone--\"dust to dust, ashes to ashes\"--until the\nresurrection.\n\nWhen the last solemn words had been read over the open grave and the\nearth thrown with hollow sound upon the coffin, we turned to depart. A\ngreater portion of the large assembly dispersed in their carriages on\ntheir various ways, and a few were asked to return to Wimpole street\nand be present at the reading of the will. Whether bidden or not, I\nhad a reason for being there likewise, and had made up my mind what to\ndo; but to my surprise Mr. Walker came up as we were leaving the\ncemetery, and invited me in Wilmot's name to go back with them.\n\nIn the dining room where the inquest had been held we gathered once\nagain--some dozen of Thorneley's oldest acquaintances, the two\ndoctors, the rector of the parish with his three curates, myself, the\nhousekeeper, and the other servants of the dead man's household. The\nguests grouped themselves in different knots round the room, talking\nand gossiping together on the money market, the state of the country,\nof trade, of politics, of I know not what, but mostly of the past and\nfuture concerning the house in which we were assembled, of {741} the\nmurdered and the supposed murderer, whilst we waited for Lister Wilmot\nand his two lawyers. The servants placed themselves in a row near the\ndoor, the housekeeper somewhat apart behind the rest, as if shrinking\nfrom notice. Very striking she looked in her deep mourning, gown,\nfitting with perfect exactitude, her light hair streaked here and\nthere with silver threads braided beneath a close tulle-cap, very pale\nvery self-possessed, but with that dangerous look in the cold blue\neyes and peculiar motion of the eyelids which Merrivale had described\nas \"a scintillating light and a shivering.\"\n\nIn less than a quarter of an hour the three came in--Thorneley's\nexecutor and two lawyers; Smith, the senior partner--one of those\npompous old men who are met up and down the world, embodying, only in\na wrong sense, the conception of a late spiritual writer of \"a man of\none idea,\" that idea being self--carrying in his hand a large\nparchment folded in familiar form and indorsed in the orthodox\ncaligraphy of a law-office. The hum of conversation ceased as they\nentered and advanced to the top of the room, where a small table was\nplaced, upon which the lawyer deposited the document. I glanced round\nthe room. All eyes were turned upon the three, who were now seating\nthemselves at the table in question, with the eager curiosity of men\ngoing to hear news. The expression of triumph upon Lister Wilmot's\nface had deepened yet more visibly; but underneath I fancied I\nperceived a lurking anxiety, and especially when his eye fell with a\nquick, sharp glance upon myself, and then as quickly looked away. The\ntwo lawyers appeared very full of their own importance, and were very\nobsequious to their new client. Lastly I looked at the housekeeper.\nTwo hectic spots now burned upon her singularly pale cheeks, and her\nlips were tightly compressed; her hands, delicate and white for a\nwoman in her position, wandered restlessly over each other. Perhaps it\nwas but very natural agitation, for those who had served so long and\nfaithfully were no doubt expecting to be remembered in the will of\ntheir late master.\n\n\"Are you ready, Mr. Wilmot?\" asked Smith, wiping his gold spectacles\nand adjusting them on his nose.\n\nWilmot bowed assent; and the lawyer unfolding the parchment, read in\nloud, high, nasal tones, \"The last will and testament of the late\nGilbert Thorneley, squire, of 100 Wimpole street, in the parish of St.\nMary-le-bone, London, and of the Grange, Warnside, Lincolnshire.\"\n\nA dead silence reigned throughout the room; as the saying is, you\nmight have heard a pin drop. One thing only was audible to my ear,\nsitting a few feet distant, and that was the heavy pant of the\nhousekeeper's breathing. Smith read on.\n\nThe said Gilbert Thorneley bequeathed to his nephew, Hugh Atherton,\nthe sum of \u00a35000, free of legacy-duty; to his housekeeper an annuity\nof \u00a3100 per annum for life; to his butler and coachman annuities of\n\u00a350 per annum for life, all free of legacy-duty, and \u00a320 to the other\nservants for mourning, with a twelvemonth's wages; to his nephew,\nLister Wilmot, the whole of his landed property, all moneys vested in\nthe Funds, all personal property, furniture, carriages, horses, and\nplate, as sole residuary legatee.\n\nThis was the gist and pith of Gilbert Thorneley's will, which further\nbore date of the 19th of August in the present year, and was witnessed\nby William Walker, of the firm of Smith and Walker, and Abel\nGriffiths, Smith and Walker's clerk. By it Lister Wilmot came into an\nannual income of something like \u00a3100,000; by it Hugh Atherton was cut\noff with a mere nominal sum from the joint inheritance which his uncle\nhad from his boyhood upward in the most unequivocal manner and words\ntaught him to expect. A murmur of surprise ran through the company\nassembled. {742} The equal position of the two nephews with regard to\ntheir uncle had been too publicly known for the present declaration\nnot to excite the most unbounded astonishment. So certain did it seem\nthat the cousins would be co-heirs of Thorneley 'a enormous wealth,\nthat whispers had gone about pretty freely of that being the motive\nwhich induced Hugh Atherton to commit the crime imputed to him--the\ndesire of entering into possession of the old man's money. I gathered\nthe thought in each person's mind by the broken words which fell from\nthem. \"Then _why_ did he do it?\" I heard one of the curates whisper to\nthe other, and I knew that they thought and spoke of Hugh, believing\nhim to be guilty.\n\nI waited for a few minutes after Mr. Smith had finished his pompous\ndelivery of this document, purporting to be the last will and\ntestament of the late Gilbert Thorneley, and then I rose from the\nremote comer where I had placed myself and confronted the two lawyers.\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" I said, \"I take leave to dispute that will which has just\nbeen read.\"\n\nA thunderbolt falling in the midst of us could not have had a more\nastounding effect than those few words.\n\n\"Dispute the will!\" shouted old Smith, purple in the face.\n\n\"Dispute the will!\" echoed Walker.\n\n\"Dispute the will!\" reverberated all round.\n\n\"God bless my soul, sir!\" continued Smith, rising from his chair and\nliterally shaking with excitement, \"what do you mean by that? Dispute\nthis will!\" striking the open parchment with his closed hand; \"upon\nwhat grounds, Mr. Kavanagh--upon what grounds and by what authority\ndo you dare to dispute it, made by _us_, witnessed by _us_, and which\n_we_ know to be the genuine and latest testament of our late client?\nWhat do you mean by it?\"\n\n\"I dispute that will on the ground of there existing another and a\nlater will of Mr. Thorneley; and I dispute it on the part of those in\nwhose favor it is made. Gentlemen, I have a statement to make, to the\ntruth of which I am prepared to affix my oath.\"\n\nInvoluntarily I glanced at Lister Wilmot. He was deadly pale; but he\nreturned my gaze very steadily, and I noticed the same evil light in\nhis eye as I had once before seen. Smith drew himself up and settled\nhis thick bull-throat in his white choker, whilst his junior partner\nran his hand through his hair, and seemed to prepare himself for\nwhatever was coming with a sort of \"Do your worst--I don't care for\nyou\" air.\n\n\"I hold in my hand,\" I continued, \"a memorandum from my journal, and\ndated October 23, 185--, last Tuesday, gentlemen; and I beg your\nparticular attention to the extract I am going to read to\nyou--'Received a note from Mr. Gilbert Thorneley, of 100 Wimpole\nstreet, requesting me to call on him this evening. Went at seven\no'clock; made and executed _a will_ for the same, under solemn promise\nnot to reveal the transaction until after his funeral had taken place.\nIn case of my death, to leave a memorandum of the same addressed to\nMr. Hugh Atherton. Saw the will signed by Mr. Thorneley and witnessed\nby his footman and coachman. Made memorandum of same for H. A., as\ndesired. Put it with private papers, addressed to H. A.' That will,\ngentlemen, being of later date, will, if forthcoming, upset the will\njust read, and which is dated two months back.\"\n\nThere was a profound silence for some moments, broken only by the two\nservants. Barker the footman and Thomas the coachman, who both\nmurmured in low but distinct tones, \"Right enough, sir; we did put our\nnames to that there dockiment.\"\n\n{743}\n\n\"I don't quite understand your 'statement,' Mr. Kavanagh,\" said Smith\nat last, with an air which plainly said, \"And I consider myself\ninsulted by your making it.\"\n\n\"It is quite plain and straightforward, Mr. Smith, though, of course,\nyou are taken by surprise. Allow me to hand you this copy of the\nmemorandum I have read to you, and to which I have signed my name.\"\n\n\"But _where_ is that will, sir? Statements and memoranda go for\nnothing, if you can't produce your proofs; and the will itself is the\nonly proof.\"\n\n\"Where it is,\" I replied, \"is best known to Mr. Wilmot, or yourselves,\nor to both. I never saw it after leaving Mr. Thorneley's study on the\nevening of the 23d.\"\n\nThe two lawyers turned simultaneously to Wilmot.\n\n\"Did you know anything of this transaction, sir?\" asked Walker.\n\n\"Only so far as came out at the inquest yesterday. Where is the will?\nI ask. Let Mr. Kavanagh produce it.\"\n\nThere was a world of defiance in his glittering eyes as he rose and\nfaced me.\n\n\"Yes,\" he cried again, with a hard, ringing voice, \"let Mr. John\nKavanagh produce it.\"\n\n\"Gently, Mr. Wilmot,\" said Walker in an insinuating voice. \"Allow us\nto deal with this matter; it is really only proper that we should.\"\n\n\"Only proper that we should,\" echoed old Smith in his peculiar nasal\ntwang.\n\nBut Lister Wilmot waved them both imperiously aside; and advancing a\nstep forward, he said with an evident effort to control himself:\n\n\"I don't see, Kavanagh, what you can gain by bringing forward this\nabsurd statement. Of course we all imagined that the mysterious\nbusiness upon which you saw my deceased uncle the last evening of his\nlife was in some way connected with making his will; and Mr. Smith,\nMr. Walker, and myself searched through his papers with the utmost\ncare, and with this idea in our minds; but no will, no codicil, no\nletter, nor memorandum of later date than the one just read could\nanywhere be found. Knowing what an eccentric character he was, we came\nto the conclusion that, if any will posterior to this were made, he\nhad destroyed it immediately afterward.--Is this not so?\" he turned to\nthe two lawyers.\n\n\"It is so,\" answered Walker, for self and partner. \"We made the\nminutest investigation, and were all three together when the seals\nwere removed which had been placed on everything by the police in\ncharge of the house. Nothing could have been tampered with.\"\n\nI was fairly baffled, and stood considering what was the next best\nthing to do, when an old gray-headed man stepped forward and said\nthat, if he might suggest, it would be satisfactory to hear in what\nparticulars the deed I had drawn up differed from the one just made\nknown.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Wilmot, with something like a sneer; \"let us hear what\nwere the contents of this will which you say you drew up.\"\n\n\"Wilmot,\" I answered, \"the one whom that will, to my mind, most\naffected, for reasons which will presently be obvious to all who\nlisten to me now, was the only one who loved the old man in life whose\nremains we have just followed to the grave--the only one who, I know,\nmourns his death with all the sincerity of his true and noble heart.\nIn his presence I would never publicly have dragged forward a history\nwhich is full of sin, of sorrow, of remorse. But he lies in a felon's\ncell, charged, through a dark mysterious combination of events, and I\nfirmly believe a deeply-laid scheme to work his ruin, with a felon's\ncrime. In his interest therefore, first of all, I must speak. There is\nalso that of another concerned, who comes before most of those present\nas a complete stranger; whether to _all_ I know not.--Gentlemen, I,\nlike you, believed until this day week that Gilbert Thorneley died\nchildless and a bachelor. {744} Five-and twenty years ago he married a\nyoung and beautiful girl, an orphan, but possessed of an immense\nfortune. He married her for her money. It was a joyless marriage,\nwithout love, without happiness. One son was born to them, and shortly\nafter _the young wife died_. The boy grew up an idiot, hated, loathed\nby his father, who sent him far away from his sight, and who for more\nthan fifteen years before he died never saw his child's face. Remorse\nat last seems to have surged up in his heart, and he took a resolution\nto make what reparation he could for his past neglect. This is all\nwhich the deceased, Mr. Thorneley, confided to me in plain words; at\nthe rest I can only darkly guess; but that much more might have been\ntold which never passed his lips, that some terrible secret of the\npast remains still unrevealed, I am bound to say I feel convinced from\nthe manner in which that little was revealed to me. Gentlemen, the\nwill which I executed last Tuesday evening, and saw witnessed by the\ntwo servants now present, after bequeathing \u00a310,000 a year to his\nnephew, Hugh Atherton, left the whole and entire of Gilbert\nThorneley's property, landed, personal, and in the funds, to his idiot\nson, Francis Gilbert Thorneley, now living; and constituted Hugh\nAtherton as sole guardian of his cousin. With the exception of the\nsame small legacies to the domestics of his household, no other\nbequest whatever was made; no other name mentioned. This will was\nexecuted as a tardy reparation for some wrong done to his dead wife.\"\n\nThere was the sound of a dull, heavy fall, and a cry from one of the\nwomen in the room. Mrs. Haag, the housekeeper, had fainted away.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nINSPECTOR KEENE SEES DAYLIGHT AT LAST.\n\n\"And pray, may I ask who was left executor in this wonderful will,\nsince that item seems to have been omitted from an otherwise\nwell-concocted story?\" said Mr. Walker, as soon as the housekeeper had\nbeen carried out of the room, and order restored.\n\n\"Mr. Atherton and myself were named executors.\"\n\n\"For which little business,\" he continued with unutterable irony, \"you\nwere doubtless to receive some _small_ compensation?\"\n\n\"You are mistaken,\" I replied quietly; \"my name is not otherwise\nmentioned than as being appointed to act with Hugh Atherton. No legacy\nwas left to me, and I did not even receive the usual fee for drawing\nup the will. I mention this to remove any false impression which my\nprevious statement may have given.\"\n\n\"Most disinterested conduct on your part, I am sure, Mr. Kavanagh,\"\nwas the reply in the same sarcastic tones. \"It was, however, probably\nunderstood that the securing \u00a310,000 a year to your friend would not\npass unrewarded by him.\"\n\nI was losing my temper under the man's repeated insults, and an angry\nreply had risen to my lips, when Wilmot interposed. He had entirely\nregained his usual self-possession, and more than his usual\nconfidence. Evidently, he had resolved to change his tactics, and\ntreat me civilly.\n\n\"We don't wish to dispute your word, Kavanagh, but you must own there\nis some excuse for our unbelief. Here are all three of us--Smith,\nWalker, and myself--ready to take oath that no other will save the\ndocument just read was or is to be found amongst my late uncle's\npapers; not so much as a hint of such a thing existing. And here are\nyou, without a shadow of proof in your hand, stating that a will,\nposterior to this one lying here, was made by you on the evening\nprevious to my uncle's death. The natural inference drawn is, that\nthat will must now exist; we know it does not exist, or we must have\nfound it, unless my uncle _destroyed it_ immediately {745} after it\nwas made, namely, before he went to bed this day week. Do I put the\ncase clearly and fairly, gentlemen?\" he continued, turning to the\nassembled company.\n\nThe same old gentleman who had spoken before now again advanced. \"I\nhave known Gilbert Thorneley,\" he said, \"more than thirty years; but\nthat he was ever married, or had a child living, is as great news to\nme as to any here present who had known him but as a recent\nacquaintance. Still, if what Mr. Kavanagh says be true--and no offence\nto him--that son of whom he speaks must be living now, and must be\nfound. You, Mr. Wilmot, have asked, as proof of this strange statement\nbeing true, where is the will? I now ask likewise, as proof of its\ngenuineness, where is the _heir_? Where is the son of my old friend?\nWhere is Francis Gilbert Thorneley?\"\n\nI was fearfully staggered by the question. Never before had it\noccurred to me that there would be a difficulty in finding the poor\nidiot when the time came for him to enter upon his inheritance. No\ndoubt, no passing misgiving, had crossed my mind but that, along with\nthe will I had drawn up, papers would be left and found, giving\nall-sufficient information of his whereabouts. For the first time the\nthought flashed across me that perhaps, after all, I had not acted\nwisely in maintaining the silence which had been exacted from me by\nsolemn promise. And that solemn promise! What had been old Thorneley's\nmotive in exacting it? Why should he wish such inevitable risks to be\nrun, as he, a shrewd man of the world, would know must be run, of that\nfinal will being suppressed by the parties interested in the other one\nlodged at his lawyers'? Of what, of whom, had he been afraid? Was the\nsecret and mystery of the will in any way connected with the secret\nand mystery of the murder? As these questions crowded themselves upon\nme during the brief moment which succeeded the last speaker's queries,\nI looked round unconsciously on the eager, curious faces turned upon\nus, the actors in this scene; and suddenly my eye lighted upon a\nlittle man dressed in a dapper black suit, with a profusion of curly\nbrown hair, and long beard, standing behind a group near the door. His\neyes were fixed on mine--sharp, intelligent, piercing, black\neyes--with an expression in them which plainly bespoke a desire of\nattracting my attention; eyes that were familiar to me, whilst the\nrest of the man's face and appearance was that of a stranger. Then one\nhand was lifted to his lips, and I saw him give a voracious bite at\nhis nails. In a moment light broke upon darkness, and I knew him in\nspite of flowing wig and beard, in spite of funeral black and\nwell-fitting clothes, to be Inspector Keene. I suppose he saw a gleam\nof intelligence pass over my countenance, for he began a series of\nevolutions on his closely-cropped fingers, and I, luckily, could spell\nthe words: \"Close this; see Merrivale.\" I seized the idea, and turning\nto Wilmot and his lawyers, I said, \"This matter is too serious to be\ndealt with otherwise than in legal form and place. Mr. Merrivale or\nmyself will communicate with Messrs. Smith and Walker. There is\nnothing further to be said at present;\" and I left the room,\nexchanging another glance with the inspector, who I knew would quickly\nfollow me.\n\nNor was I mistaken. I drove to Merrivale's, and whilst in full tide of\nrelating what had transpired in Wimpole street, the little man\narrived, still in mourning trim, but minus his wig and beard; and I am\nbound to confess that, despite the seriousness of the moment, I was\nalmost overpowered by the ludicrous change which the doffing of those\nappendages had wrought in him--he looked so like a broom that had had\nits bristles cut short off.\n\n\"You are a clever fellow, Keene,\" said Merrivale; \"how upon earth did\nyou contrive to pass muster amongst those city swells?\"\n\n{746}\n\nThe inspector bowed to the compliment, but seemed no way abashed. \"I\nshowed the inside of your purse, Mr. Merrivale, There was no\ndifficulty in sight of _that_. Please go on, Mr. Kavanagh, and I'll\nwait.\"\n\nI concluded in as few words as possible, anxiously desiring to hear\nwhat Keene had to say; and immediately that I had finished, Merrivale\nturned toward him:\n\n\"What do you think of it all, in heaven's name?\"\n\nMr. Inspector scraped his chin, and waited some moments before\nreplying, his bright keen eyes glancing alternately from one to\nanother of us. \"If I were to tell you, sirs, all I _think_, you'd be\ntired of hearing me, for I've been thinking as hard as my brains could\ngo for the last week past. If you'd have made a friend, Mr. Kavanagh,\nof Mr. Merrivale or your humble servant in the matter you just now\nrevealed, it might have helped me not a trifle--not a trifle. However,\nI believe you did it for the best; and after all I think we'll be even\nwith them yet. But it is as confoundedly black a business as it ever\nfell to my lot to deal with; and I've had businesses, gentlemen, as\nblack as--well, as old Harry himself. You see there's three points to\nfollow up; and if we can tackle _one_ securely, why, I consider we\nshall tackle all, for I believe they hang together. First,\" checking\nit off on his thumb, \"there's the murder; and the point there is to\nfind _who_ really bought that grain of strychnine which the chemist\nhas booked. It rests between master and man to reveal; and I incline\nto the latter, and have my eye on him. Never tell me,\" said the\ndetective, warming with his subject, \"that neither of them don't know;\nI tell you one of them _does_ know, and my name's not Keene if I don't\nhave it out of them yet. That's one point, an't it, Mr. Merrivale?\"\nMerrivale assented. \"Then the second,\" checking number two off on his\nstumpy fore-finger, \"includes four parties, and their connection with\neach other; the man De Vos or Sullivan, the man O'Brian, Mr. Lister\nWilmot, and the housekeeper.\"\n\n\"The housekeeper, Mrs. Haag!\" I exclaimed.\n\n\"Yes, sir; Mrs. _Haag_, if that's her name.\"\n\n\"You think it is not?\"\n\n\"I _know_ it isn't.\"\n\n\"You know it?\"\n\n\"I do. When Jones showed me his notes, and repeated to me what you and\nhe had heard in Blue-Anchor Lane last Thursday night, I _smelt_ a rat,\nMr. Kavanagh, and I followed my nose, sir. When I said I was on the\nscent, I meant it. From that hour I wrote down in my note-book, 'Mrs.\nHaag, _alias_ Bradley--Bradley, _alias_ O'Brian; her husband, escaped\nconvict from New South Wales.' For Jones identified that man by a\ndescription in the hands of all of us in the force. To have taken him\nthere and then would simply have been madness, and insured your both\nbeing murdered in that villainous hole. But to follow out the\nconnection between the housekeeper and him, him and Sullivan, Sullivan\nand Mr. Wilmot, is another point, an't it, Mr. Merrivale?\"\n\nAgain Merrivale assented, his usually impassible face now stirred with\nthe deepest, most anxious interest.\n\n\"Is 'Sullivan' De Vos's right name?\" he asked.\n\n\"I believe it is, sir. He's thoroughly Irish; but O'Brian isn't,\nthough he's taken an Irish name. Sullivan's been known to the police\nalso in his time, and I fancy there's a little matter in the wind\nwhich might introduce him again to us. They've both had their warning,\nthough, from some quarter, and are in safe hiding somewhere or other\nas yet.\"\n\n\"Have you more to tell us about O'Brian?\"\n\n\"Nothing more, sir, at present. There's some dark secret and mystery\nhanging over him--a terrible story, I am afraid; but I can't speak for\ncertain just now.--Mr. Kavanagh,\" suddenly glancing up at me, \"did you\nnever see a likeness to any one in Mr. Wilmot?\"\n\n{747}\n\n\"No, not that I know of. We have often said he was like none of his\nrelatives living, that was his uncle and cousin. Have you?\"\n\n\"It's fancy, sir, no doubt. His mother died when he was very young,\ndidn't she? and his father?\"\n\n\"Mrs. Wilmot died soon after his birth. His father I never heard of.\nHe was a _mauvais sujet_, I believe.\"\n\n\"Ah! The inspector drew a long breath and relapsed into one of his\nsilent moods, during which the process of scraping and gnawing was\nresumed with avidity.\n\n\"And your third point?\" said I, to arouse him.\n\n\"My third point, gentlemen,\" waking up lively, and dabbing at his\nmiddle finger, \"which, considering Mr. Atherton's position at the\npresent moment, seems to be the least important or pressing, is,\nnevertheless, the one I am for pursuing immediately,--to find this\nheir of whom mention has been made, Mr. Thorneley's idiot son.\"\n\n\"Surely there is no hurry about that!\" we both exclaimed.\n\n\"It would appear not, gentlemen, perhaps to you, but there does to me.\nSupposing,\" said the detective, leaning forward, and speaking very\nmuch more earnestly than he had hitherto done--\"supposing that the\nwill you made, Mr. Kavanagh, was stolen, then secreted or destroyed on\nthe night of Mr. Thorneley's death, that being what I might call the\n_dead_ evidence of the truth of what you stated publicly to-day, and\nsupposing the parties who suppressed that will knew of the whereabouts\nof the heir, they would, I conclude, be equally anxious to suppress\nthe _living_ evidence also--_to get him out of the way_. Do you follow\nme, gentlemen?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" we both exclaimed, for we felt he had a purpose in\nspeaking; \"you are right.\"\n\n\"Then, sirs, we must prosecute a search for this poor idiot fellow. I\nsee my way at present very dimly and darkly; but something tells me\nthat on our road to find Mr. Francis Gilbert Thorneley we shall find\nalso other links in the broken chain we are trying to piece together.\"\n\n\"How do you propose setting to work, Keene?\" asked Merrivale.\n\n\"Mr. Atherton, being situated as he is, cannot act; it is therefore\nfor Mr. Kavanagh to take it upon himself, being named executor. I have\nascertained that Mr. Thorneley never went near his place in\nLincolnshire. Why? Because his son lived there. Do you follow me, Mr.\nKavanagh?\"\n\n\"I do. You think I must visit the Grange immediately?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\nLight then at last seemed to be gleaming on our darkness; not only a\nglimmer, but a full bright ray. There was consistency and connection\nin all that the inspector had put before us, though only as yet, to a\ngreat degree, in supposition. Merrivale, agreeing with me that he\nwould send us on no wild-goose chase, it was settled I should go down\nby the five-o'clock express train.\n\nIn less than an hour I was standing at King's Cross Terminus, and five\nminutes past five I was whirling away from London at the rate of\nthirty miles an hour. At Peterborough we stopped for half-an-hour to\nchange carriages, and I went into the waiting-room to get some\nrefreshment. It was very full, for numbers of passengers were\ntravelling by that train to be present at some local races, and for\nsome minutes I could not approach the counter. At last I contrived to\nedge in next to a rather tall man, very much enveloped in wraps,\nwearing a travelling-cap and blue spectacles. I asked for a cup of\ncoffee and a sandwich. Every one knows the degree of heat to which\nrailway coffee is brought; and waiting awhile for the sake of my\nthroat before drinking it, I suddenly bethought myself of setting my\nwatch by the clock in the room. I put up my glass to look for it; it\n{748} was at the opposite end, and I turned my back upon my tall\nneighbor whilst altering the watch. When I turned round he was gone. I\nfinished my coffee and paid for it. Bah! how mawkish a taste it had\nleft in my mouth; what stuff they sell in England for real Mocha! So I\nthought as I stepped out on the platform and walked up and down,\nawaiting the train and reading in a sort of dreamy, unconscious manner\nthe  advertisements and placards covering the walls. Taylor Brothers,\nParkins and Gotto, Heal and Son, Mudie's Library, and all the rest, so\nwell known Ha! what is this? \"MURDER: \u00a3100 Reward,\" for information\nleading to the detection of the murderer of Mr. Gilbert Thorneley; and\nbeneath, another, \"Reward of \u00a350 offered for the apprehension of\nRobert Bradley,\" _alias_ O'Brian, escaped convict, with a full\ndescription of his personal appearance appended. \"Inspector Keene's\nwork,\" thought I to myself. One solitary female figure stood before\nme, reading the placard; a neat trim figure, clad in deep mourning\ngarments, motionless, mute, and absorbed as it were in the interest of\nwhat she was perusing. What was it that made me start and shiver as my\neye fell upon that statue-like form? what was it that, amidst an\noverpowering and unaccountable drowsiness creeping over me, seemed to\nsting me into life and vigilance? The answer was plain before me:\nstaring at me with wildly-gleaming eyes, with a face startled out of\nits habitual calmness and self-possession, with fear and rage and a\nhundred passions at work in her countenance, was old Thorneley's\nhousekeeper. \"Mrs. Haag!\" I exclaimed; and almost as I spoke, a change\nsudden and rapid as thought took place in her, and she regained the\ncold passionless expression I had noticed that same afternoon.\n\n\"The same, Mr. Kavanagh;\" and, inclining her head, she was passing on.\n\n\"Stay!\" I said, catching her by the arm. \"What are you doing here?\nWhere are you going?\"\n\n\"By what right do you ask me, sir?\" was the reply in very calm and\nperfectly respectful tones.\n\n\"By what right!\" I cried with headlong impetuosity. \"By the best right\nthat any man could have--the right of asking, or saying, or doing\nanything that may help me to detect the guilty and clear the innocent.\nWoman, there is some deadly mystery hanging around yon, some guilty\nsecret in which you have played your part, and which, by the heavens\nabove us, I will unearth and bring to light! I will, I will!\"\n\nWhat was the matter with me? My brain was dizzy; the lights, the\nstation, the faces around me, the woman I was addressing, seemed to be\ngoing round and round, and I became conscious that my speech was\ngetting incoherent.\n\n\"You have been drinking, Mr. Kavanagh,\" I heard a hard voice saying to\nme, with a slight foreign accent. Then a bell rang, and I was hurried\nforward by the crowd who were flocking on the platform; hurried on\ntoward a train that had come into the station whilst I had been\nengaged with the housekeeper. I remember entering a carriage and\nsinking down on a cushioned seat; then I lost all consciousness, until\nI heard a voice shouting in my ear, \"Your ticket, sir, please.\"\n\nI started up.\n\n\"Where am I?\"\n\n\"Lincoln; ticket--quick, sir.\"\n\nI handed out my ticket.\n\n\"This is for Stixwould, four stations back on the line. Two extra\nshillings to pay.\"\n\n\"Good heavens! I must have been asleep. How am I to get back?\"\n\n\"Don't know, sir; no train tonight.\"\n\nThe money is paid, the door banged to, and we are shot into Lincoln\nstation at nine o'clock. There was no help for it now but to make my\nway to the nearest hotel, and see what {749} means were to be had of\nreturning to Stixwould--the nearest station to the Grange, and that\nwas ten miles from it--or else pass the night here and take the\nearliest train in the morning. I bade a porter take my bag, and show\nme to some hotel; and I followed him, shivering in every limb, my head\naching as I had never felt it ache before--sick, giddy, and scarcely\nable to draw one foot after another. Then I knew what had happened to\nme; it flashed across me all in a moment. That man, disguised and in\nspectacles, standing next to me at the refreshment-counter at\nPeterborough, was De Vos, and he had dragged my coffee. I felt not a\ndoubt of it.\n\nIn ten minutes we stopped at the Queen's Hotel, and after engaging a\nroom, I despatched a porter for the nearest doctor. To him I confided\nthe object of my journey, what I believed had occurred to me, and the\nnecessity there was for my taking such prompt remedies as should\nenable me to recover my full strength, energies, and wits for the\nmorrow. Following his advice, after swallowing his medicine, I\nrelinquished all notion of proceeding that night on my journey, and\nwent to bed. The next morning I awoke quite fresh and well; but what\nprecious hours had been lost! hours sufficient to ruin all hope of my\njourney bearing any fruits, of finding even a shadowy clue to the\ntangled web that seemed closing in around us. And Hugh Atherton lay in\nprison and Ada, my poor sorrowful darling, was breaking her heart\nbeneath the load of misery which had come upon her. By eight o'clock I\nhad started for Stixwould, and in half an hour alighted at that small\nstation. I was the only passenger for that place, and I had to wait\nwhilst the train moved off for the solitary porter to take my ticket.\nJust as the bell had rung, a man passed out from some door and went up\nto one of the carriages. \"Could you oblige me with a fusee, sir?\" I\nheard him say.\n\nSome one leaned forward and handed out what was asked for; it was the\ntall man in spectacles who had stood next to me at Peterborough\nstation. The train moved off just as I rushed forward, rushed almost\ninto the arms of the other man who had asked for the fusee. Wonders\nwould never cease! It was Inspector Keene.\n\n\"Thank God, it is you!\"\n\n\"Yes, sir--myself. In a moment--I must telegraph up to town;\" and he\nran into the office.\n\n\"Now, sir,\" he said when he came out, \"what has happened to bring you\nhere this morning from Lincoln?\"\n\nI told him, and expressed my astonishment at seeing him.\n\n\"We heard last night that Mrs. _Haag_ had left London and taken her\nticket for this place. I took the night mail to look after the lady\nand warn you, sir. Now we had best post off directly for the Grange.\nI've already ordered a fly and a pair of horses. We'll bribe the man,\nand be there in something less than an hour and a half.\n\n\"That man you spoke to in the train was De Vos,\" I said when we had\nstarted.\n\n\"I know it, sir. He was sent to watch you, I suspect; and treat you to\nthat little dose in your coffee.\"\n\n\"And the housekeeper?\"\n\n\"Oh! she, I imagine, is safe ahead there at the Grange. At any rate,\nshe has not returned up the line; every station has been watched, and\nthey would have telegraphed to me.\"\n\nO the dreariness of that drive! Rain poured down from the leaden,\nlowering sky and concentrated into a thick midst over the dismal\nwolds. Patter, patter, slush, slush, as we drove along the wet miry\nroads, the horses urged on to the utmost of their wretched,\nbroken-down speed; and the damp chill air penetrating the old rotten\nvehicle and entering the very marrow of one's bones. So we arrived at\nlast before a low stone lodge that guarded some ponderous iron gates.\nA gaunt ill-favored man came out at the sound of the wheels, and\nstared at us in no friendly manner.\n\n{750}\n\n\"Whar are ye from?\" ho called out.\n\n\"From Mr. Wilmot,\" answered the inspector.\n\n\"Dunna b'lieve ye. Orders is for ne'run to go up to the house.\"\n\nKeene opened the door of the fly and sprang out.\n\n\"Look here, my man,\" he said, producing his staff; \"I'm a\npolice-officer from London, and I've come down here about the murder\nof your master. Open the gate in the name of the law!\"\n\nThe man stared, pulled the keys out of his pocket, unlocked the gates\nand threw them open. The inspector jumped up beside the driver and\nbade him go on.\n\nA short avenue, lined on either side with magnificent trees, brought\nus to the gate of extensive but ill-kept pleasure-grounds, and so to\nthe stone portico of the Grange. A peal of the bell brought an old\nwoman to the door, who peered out suspiciously, and demanded what we\nwanted.\n\n\"I am a detective-officer from London, and have a warrant for\nsearching this house;\" and Keene putting the old hag aside, we passed\ninto the hall.\n\n\"Ye mun show me yer warrant or I'll have ye put out agin in\ndouble-quick time,\" she said, scowling at the inspector. For reply the\nstaff of office was again out of his pocket in a twinkling, and\nflourished before her eyes.\n\n\"You take yourself off and show us over the house instantly, or it\nwill be the worse for you.\"\n\nThe woman cowered, and muttering to herself, led the way across the\nspacious hall, and threw open a door on the left. The house apparently\nwas a low rambling building of ancient date, with panelled walls and\nhigh casement-windows. We traversed several rooms, bare in furniture\nand that struck one with a sense of utter cheerlessness and want of\ncomfort. This, then, was the desolate isolated house which Gilbert\nThorneley had owned and yet shunned so carefully during life; this was\nthe place where his idiot boy had probably dragged on the greater\nnumber of his miserable years. But I need not dwell upon our search\nthrough the house.\n\nHigh and low Inspector Keene ranged; looking into cupboards and dark\nclosets, sounding the panelled walls and poking at imaginary\ntrapdoors. With the exception of the old crone, who accompanied us,\nand a great tabby cat lying before the kitchen-fire, no trace of\nliving soul was visible.\n\n\"Where's young Mr. Thorneley?\" said the inspector to her when our\nvisitation was made.\n\n\"Never heard on him.\"\n\n\"Who lives here?\"\n\n\"Only myself.\"\n\n\"Where's the lady who came here yesterday evening?\"\n\nA curious gleam shot from the old woman's eyes.\n\n\"Dunno; no lady here.\"\n\n\"I shall take you into custody, if you won't tell.\"\n\n\"Then you mun do it--I'se nothing to say.\"\n\nKeene turned to me.\n\n\"Our visit has been useless, sir. I used the threat, but I can't take\nthe woman on no charge; there is nothing left but to--\"\n\nHark! what sound was that which rang out upon our ears, which made our\nhair stand on end, and our hearts stand still! Shriek upon shriek of\nthe most horrible, wild, unearthly laughter pealing from somewhere\noverhead. The old woman made a dash forward to the staircase, and\ncalled some name that was drowned in the echoes of that terrible\nmirth. But in a second we had bounded past her and up the flight of\nstairs, and there, at the far end of the corridor, gesticulating and\njabbering at us as we approached him with all the fearful, revolting\nmadness of idiocy, was the man in whose features was stamped the\nperfect likeness of old Gilbert Thorneley.\n\n{751}\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nTHE TRIAL.\n\nInspector Keene's third point had been followed up and worked out:\nFrancis Gilbert Thorneley, the lost heir was found; and the living\nevidence in favor of the will I had made was in our actual possession.\nThat it should be so seemed a merciful interposition of Providence;\nfor we had little doubt but that it had been intended I should, under\nthe influence of the stupefying drug administered by Do Vos, be\ndelayed on my journey, and so give time for him or the housekeeper, or\nboth, to visit the Grange and effect whatever purpose they had in\nview. What had defeated them, or caused their failure, remained as yet\na mystery. Equally mysterious was the way in which both the\nconspirators had managed to elude the vigilance of the police; and\nbitter seemed the Inspector's disappointment when, on arriving in\nLondon, he found no intelligence awaiting him of either man or woman.\nWe brought up the poor idiot with us; and I took him to my own\nchambers, engaging a proper attendant to take charge of him,\nrecommended by the physician whom I called in to examine him. He\nseemed to be perfectly harmless, and tractable as a child, but totally\nbereft of sense or reason, amusing himself with toys, picture-books,\nand other infantile diversions, by the hour. We tried to get some\ncoherent account of himself from him, but to no purpose; he knew his\nname and the name of the old man and woman who had been his sole\nguardians and companions, apparently for years. But beyond that, no\ninformation could be elicited; and to all questions he would reply\nwith some sort of childish babble or jabber. This was the heir to old\nThorneley's immense wealth.\n\nThere now remained the two other points marked by the Inspector to\nfollow up. Oh! how time was fast rushing on!--time that was so\nprecious for life or death--and so little done as yet toward clearing\naway all that mountain of condemning evidence which would infallibly,\nin the eyes of any English jury, bring sentence of death upon the\nsuspected murderer. The question forever rang in my ears, \"_Who_\nbought that grain of strychnine on the 23d of October?\" Upon the\ndiscovery and identification of that person both Merrivale and myself,\nas also the counsel whom he had engaged for the defence, felt\neverything would hang. But up to the present moment, except in our own\nminds, not the shadow of a clue could be found. The 16th November, the\nday appointed for the trial of Hugh Atherton, approached with terrible\nnearness; and our confidence in all but God's mercy and justice was\nebbing fast away. After finding and bringing the lost heir to London,\nI wrote to Atherton by Merrivale, detailing all that old Thorneley had\nconfided to me, the contents of the will, and my journey into\nLincolnshire. I wrote, entreating him to see me; to let no cloud come\nbetween us, who had been such close friends from boyhood, at such a\nmoment; to turn a deaf ear to all influence that might suggest that I\nwas acting otherwise than I had always done toward him. I wrote all\nthe bitter sorrow of my heart at having been forced involuntarily to\ngive evidence that might be turned against him; all the self-reproach\nI felt for not having yielded to his wish of returning home with me\nthat terrible evening.\n\nHe answered me in cold distant words, that _under the circumstances_\nit was best we should not meet; that Merrivale would act for him in\nall as he judged best; that he did not wish to be disturbed again\nbefore his trial. I showed the letter to Merrivale, and he told me he\ncould not make it out, for that Hugh was quite unreserved with him on\nall points save this, and {752} to every suggestion he had made to him\nof seeing me, he had invariably given the same reply, and declined to\nenter upon the subject. Then I had recourse to Ada Leslie; but she\nonly obtained the same result.\n\n\"I told him, guardian,\" she said, \"how true you were to him, how\nearnest and indefatigable in doing all you could for him, how sure I\nwas that you loved him better than any thing on earth. But all the\nanswer I got was, 'No, Ada; not better than anything. Don't let us say\nanything more on the subject.' What can he mean? for I am sure he\nmeant something particular.\"\n\nWas it hard to look in her face, meet her clear trusting eyes, and\nanswer back, \"_You_ were right, Ada; he is laboring under some\ndelusion?\" Were they false words I spoke, my own heart giving them the\nlie? Thank God, no. I was true to her, true to him.\n\nThe time between my journey into Lincolnshire and the day of the trial\nseems, on looking back, to be one dead blank, inasmuch as, do what we\nwould, we were no nearer the solution of the mystery after those three\nweeks of research and watchfulness than we were on the morning\nsucceeding the murder. There were the prolonged conferences of lawyers\nwith counsel, of counsel with prisoner, of both with the detectives;\nand day by day I saw Merrivale's face growing more careworn, stern,\nand anxious; I saw both Inspector Keene's and Jones's baffled looks;\nand--worse, far worse than all--I saw Ada Leslie wasting away before\nme, withering beneath the blighting sorrow that had fallen upon her\nyoung life. Oh! the terrible anguish written upon that wan, worn face\nthat would be lifted up to mine each time I saw her, the unspeakably\npainful eagerness of her tones as she would ask, \"is there any news?\"\nand the touching calmness of her despairing look succeeding the answer\nwhich blasted the hopes that kept cruelly rising in her breast only to\nbe crushed!\n\nSo the morning of the 16th of November dawned upon us. For the defence\nMerrivale had engaged two of the most acute lawyers and most eloquent\npleaders then practising at the English bar, Sergeant Donaldson and\nMr. Forster, Q.C. They were both personal friends of Hugh Atherton,\nboth equally convinced of his innocence. On the part of the Crown the\nSolicitor-General, Sergeant Butler, and a Mr. Frost were retained--all\neminent men. The judges sitting were the Lord Chief-Justice and Baron\nWatson. Although we arrived very early, the Court was crowded to\nsuffocation; and it was only by help of the police-officers and\nauthorities that we could find entrance, although engaged in the\nprincipal case coming on. Special reporters of the press, for London\nand the country, were eagerly clamoring for seats in the reporters'\nbench; and even foreign journals had sent over their \"own\ncorrespondents,\" such a general stir and sensation had the murder of\nGilbert Thorneley made far and near.\n\nTwo or three trivial cases of embezzlement and stealing came first\nbefore the Common Sergeant, whilst preparations for the one great\ntrial were made, the witnesses collected, and the counsel on either\nside holding their final conferences. At a quarter to eleven the\nChief-Justice, followed by his brother judge, entered amidst profound\nsilence and took his seat. They were both men who had grown old and\ngray in the administration of justice, who had for years sat in\njudgment upon the guilty and the not guilty--men whose ears were\nfamiliar with the details of almost every misery and crime known to\nhuman nature--men who had had their own griefs and trials; and on the\nvenerable face of the superior judge many a deep furrow had been left\nto tell its tale, whether engraven by private sorrow, or sympathy for\nthe mass of woe and suffering which passed so constantly before his\neyes. I had the honor of being personally acquainted {753} with his\nlordship. How well I remembered an evening, not so long ago, spent at\nhis house with Hugh Atherton; when he, that eminent judge, that\ndistinguished lawyer, had come up to me and talked of Hugh, of his\ntalents, his eloquence, his growing reputation! I remembered the sad,\nwistful expression of his eye as it dwelt upon my friend, and the tone\nof his voice, as he said with a deep sigh, \"If my boy had lived, I\ncould have wished him to have been such a one as _he_.\" He remembered\nit also, if I might judge from the sorrowful gravity of his\ncountenance. I was standing beside Merrivale beneath the prisoner's\ndock, facing the judge's chair; and in a few moments there was a\nrustle and stir throughout the court, and I saw the Chief-Justice pass\nhis hand before his eyes for a brief second. Then was heard the loud\nharsh voice of the clerk of the court addressing some one before him:\n\n  \"Philip Hugh Atherton, you stand there charged with the wilful\n  murder of your uncle, Mr. Gilbert Thorneley. How say you, prisoner\n  at the bar--are you guilty or not guilty?\"\n\nA voice, low, deep-toned, and thrilling in its distinctness, replied:\n\"Not guilty, my lord; not guilty, so help me, O my God!\" and turning\nround, once again my eyes met those of Hugh Atherton.\n\nA great change had been wrought in him during the last three weeks, he\nhad grown so thin and worn; and amongst the waving masses of his dark\nhair I could trace many and many a silver thread. Twenty years could\nnot have aged him more than these twenty days passed in that felon's\ncell, beneath the imputation of that savage crime. Who could look at\nhim and think him guilty; who could gaze upon his open, manly face, so\nnoble in its expression of mingled firmness and gentleness, in its\nguileless innocence and conscious rectitude of purpose, and say, \"That\nman has committed murder\"? My heart went out to him, as I looked on\nhis familiar face once more, with all the love and honor with which I\nhad ever cherished his friendship.\n\nA special jury were then sworn in. All passed unchallenged; and the\nSolicitor-General rose to open the case for the prosecution, and began\nby requesting that all the witnesses might be ordered to leave the\ncourt. It is needless to say that I had been subpoenaed by the crown\nto repeat the wretched evidence already given at the inquest; needless\nalso to say that, not being personally present during the whole trial,\nI have drawn from the same sources as before for an account of it.\n\nWe had been given to understand that no other witnesses than those\nexamined before the coroner would be called against the prisoner; why\nshould they want more? They had enough evidence to bring down\ncondemnation twice over. On the part of the defence I have before said\nup to that morning nothing fresh had been discovered that could in any\nway be used as a direct refutation of what had already been adduced,\nand would be brought forward again on this day.\n\nAfter the examination of the medical men I was called into the\nwitness-box, and examined by the Solicitor-General. To my former\nevidence I now added an account of what had passed between myself and\nthe murdered man on the evening of the 23d, the contents of the will,\nmy journey to the Grange, and the discovery of Thorneley's idiot son.\nI likewise gave an account of my visit with Jones to Blue-Anchor lane.\nI noticed that this was ill-received by the Crown counsel; but the\njudges overruled the Solicitor-General's attempt to squash my\nstatements, and insisted upon my having a full hearing. At the end\nSergeant Donaldson rose to cross-question me.\n\n\"Did Mr. Thorneley mention in whose favor his previous will had been\nmade?\"\n\n\"He did not. Simply that he intended the will drawn up then to cancel\nall others.\"\n\n{754}\n\n\"Can you remember the words in which he alluded to his wife and son?\"\n\n\"Perfectly; I wrote them in the memorandum addressed to Mr. Atherton,\nand which Mr. Merrivale has communicated to you.\"\n\nThe Chief-Justice: \"Read the extract, brother Donaldson.\"\n\nSergeant Donaldson read as follows: \"'Five-and-twenty years ago I\nmarried one much younger than myself, an orphan living with an aunt,\nher only relative, and who died shortly after our marriage. My ruling\npassion was speculation; and I married her, not for love, but for her\nfortune, which was large; I coveted it for the indulgence of my\npassion. She was not happy with me, and I took no pains to make her\nhappier. Few knew of our marriage. I kept her at the Grange till she\ndied. Only _I_ and _one other person_ were with her at her death. She\ngave birth to one child, a boy. Ho grew up an idiot, and I hated him.\nBut I wish to make reparation to my dead wife in the person of her\nson--not out of love to her memory, but to _defeat the plans of\nothers, and in expiation of me wrong done to her_. I have never loved\nany one in my life but my twin-sister, Hugh Atherton's mother: and him\nfor her sake and his own.' And then, my lord, follow the instructions\nfor the will given to Mr. Kavanagh.\" To the witness: \"Did Mr.\nThorneley give you any clue to the '_other person_' who was with him\nat his wife's death?\"\n\n\"None at all.\"\n\n\"When you met the prisoner in Vere street, did he say he was going to\nvisit his uncle then?\"\n\n\"No; on the contrary, he seemed anxious to come home with me. I should\nimagine it was an after-thought.\"\n\n\"Mr. Wilmot has stated that you _volunteered_ to give evidence against\nthe prisoner: is it so?\"\n\n\"No; it is most false. I was surprised by detective Jones into an\nadmission; and when I found that it would be used against Mr.\nAtherton, I did all in my power to get off attending the inquest.\"\n\nRe\u00ebxamined by the Solicitor-General: \"It was against your consent that\nthe prisoner was engaged to your ward Miss Leslie, was it not?\"\n\n\"Against my consent! Assuredly not. She bad my consent from the\nbeginning.\"\n\n\"You may go, Mr. Kavanagh.\"\n\nThe witness who succeeded me was the housekeeper. It was observed that\nshe did not maintain the same calmness as at the inquest; but her\nevidence was perfectly consistent, given perhaps with more eagerness,\nbut differing and varying in no essential point from her previous\ndepositions.\n\nQuestioned as to whether she had been aware of Mr. Thorneley's\nmarriage, replied she had not, having always been in charge of his\nhouse in town, first in the city and afterward in Wimpole street. He\nhad often been from home for many weeks together, but she never knew\nwhere he went.\n\nCross-examined.--Could swear she had poured no ale out in the tumbler\nbefore taking it into the study--Barker had been with her all the\ntime--nor yet in the room.\n\nSergeant Donaldson: \"Now, Mrs. Haag, attend to me. How long have you\nbeen a widow?\"\n\n\"Fifteen years.\"\n\n\"What was your husband?\"\n\n\"A commercial traveller. He was not successful, and I went into\nservice soon after I married.\"\n\n\"Had you any children?\"\n\n\"One son. He died.\"\n\n\"When?\"\n\n\"Years ago.\"\n\n\"How many years ago?\"\n\n\"Twenty years ago.\"\n\n\"Is Haag your married name?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Did you bear the name of Bradley?\"\n\n\"I never bore such a name. I am a Belgian; so was my husband.\"\n\n{755}\n\nA paper was here passed in to Sergeant Donaldson, and handed by him to\nthe judges.\n\nThe Chief-Justice: \"This is a certificate of marriage celebrated at\nPlymouth between Maria Haag, spinster, and Robert Bradley, bachelor,\ndated June, 1829, and witnessed in proper legal form.\"\n\nWitness: \"I know nothing of it. My name is Haag by marriage. I am very\nfaint; let me go away.\"\n\nA chair and glass of water were brought to the witness. In a few\nmoments she had recovered and the cross-examination was renewed.\n\n\"How came it that you were met in the middle of Vere street, when, by\nyour own showing, you must then have turned out of the street before\nMr. Kavanagh could have overtaken you?\"\n\n\"Mr. Kavanagh did not meet me. I have so said before. I went straight\nhome after passing him and Mr. Atherton at the chemist's shop. He is\nmistaken.\"\n\n\"What took you to Peterborough on the 30th of last month?\"\n\n\"I went to visit a friend at Spalding.\"\n\n\"How was it, then, that you returned to London by the twelve o'clock\ntrain the following day--I mean arrived in London at that hour?\"\n\nWitness hesitated for some time, and at last looked up defiantly.\n\n\"What right have you to ask me such a question?\"\n\nBaron Watson: \"You are bound to answer, Mrs. Haag.\"\n\nWitness confusedly: \"I did not find my friend at home.\"\n\nSergeant Donaldson: \"Do you mean to say you took that journey with the\nchance of finding your friend away?\"\n\n\"I did.\"\n\nTo the Chief-Justice: \"My lord, I am informed by Inspector Keene, of\nthe detective service, that Mrs. Haag never visited Spalding at all;\nthat she took a ticket for Stixwould, at which station she got out,\nand from which station she returned the following day.\"\n\nBaron Watson: \"I don't see what you are trying to prove, brother\nDonaldson.\"\n\n\"I am trying to prove, my lord, that Mrs. Haag is not a witness upon\nwhose veracity we can rely.\"\n\nThe Chief-Justice: \"You must be well aware, Mrs. Haag, that the\nmystery of this second will, and discovery of your late master's son,\nbear direct influence upon the charge of which the prisoner is\naccused. I think it highly necessary that you should be able to give a\nclear account of that journey of yours on the 30th of last month. For\nyour own sake, do you understand?\"\n\nWitness violently: \"Of what do you suspect me? I have related the\ntruth.\"\n\nSergeant Donaldson: \"Excuse me, my lord, I shall call two witnesses\npresently who will throw some light upon this person's movements. I\nhave no further questions to put to her now.\"\n\nBarker the footman and the other servants were next examined, and\ndeposed as before, with no additions nor variations.\n\nMr. Forster in cross-examination drew from the cook a yet more\nconfident declaration that she had heard footsteps on the front-stairs\nleading from the third to the second floor on the night of the murder.\nAlso that the housekeeper had \"gone on awful at her for saying so; but\nshe had stuck to her word and told Mrs. 'Aag as she wasn't a-going to\nbe badgered nor bullied out of her convictions for any 'ousekeeper;\nand that afterwards Mrs. 'Aag had come to her quite soft and civil,\nyour lordships, and said, 'Here's a suverin, cook, not to mention what\nyou heerd; for if you says a word about them steps, why,' says she,\n'you'll just go and put it into them lawyers' 'eads as some of us did\nit,' says she. But a oath's a oath, my lordships; and a being close\nand confined is what I could never abide or abear; and that's every\nbit the truth, and here's her suverin back again, which I never\ntouched nor broke into.\"\n\n{756}\n\nBaron Watson: \"On your oath, then, you declare you heard a footstep on\nthe front-stairs during the night of the 23d but you don't know at\nwhat hour?\"\n\n\"As certain sure, my lord, as that you are a sittin' on your cheer.\"\n\nAfter eliciting a few more confirmatory details, the witness was\ndismissed and Mr. Wilmot called. Nothing further was got out of him\nthan what he had stated before the coroner. Either he was most\nthoroughly on his guard, or he really was, as he professed to be,\nignorant of his cousin Thorneley's existence up to the day of the\nfuneral; ignorant of the contents of his uncle's will, until it was\nopened at Smith and Walker's; totally unacquainted with the man\nSullivan or De Vos; innocent of having written the note seized upon\nthe boy in Blue-Anchor Lane by detective Jones, all knowledge of or\ncomplicity with which he absolutely and solemnly denied.\n\nQuestioned as to his motive for saying that Miss Leslie had been\nrefused the consent of her guardian, Mr. Kavanagh, to her marriage,\nreplied he had been distinctly told so by Mrs. Leslie, who had\nmentioned also that Mr. Kavanagh was attached to Miss Leslie himself,\nand had tried to make her break off the engagement.\n\nInspector Jackson and Thomas Davis, the chemist, next gave evidence.\nThe latter was cross-questioned by Sergeant Donaldson. Could not swear\nhe did not leave the shop on the evening of the 23d between the time\nwhen he had sold the camphor and nine o'clock, his supper-hour; had\ntried hard to recollect since attending at the inquest, and had spoken\nto his wife and his assistant. The former thought he had; that she had\nheard him go into the back-parlor whilst she was down in the kitchen;\nthe latter had said he had not left the shop until nine o'clock. Could\nswear he had sold no strychnine himself that day. The entry was,\nhowever, in his own handwriting. He had talked over the matter\nrepeatedly with James Ball, his assistant, but had gathered no light\non the subject. The latter had been in a very odd state of mind since\nthen. The murder seemed to have taken great effect upon him. He had\nbecome very nervous, forgetful, and absent; and he (Davis) had been\nobliged to admonish him several times of late, that if he went on so\nbadly he must seek another situation.\n\nJames Ball replaced his master in the witness-box. He looked very\nhaggard and excited, and answered the questions put to him, in an\nincoherent, unsatisfactory manner, very different from his conduct at\nthe inquest. Admonished by the Chief-justice that he was upon his oath\nand giving evidence in a matter of life and death, had cried out\npassionately that he wished he had been dead before that wretched\nevening.--Ordered to explain what he meant, became confused, and said\nhe had felt ill ever since the inquest.\n\nCross-questioned by Mr. Forester: \"Does your master keep an\nerrand-boy?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Was he in the shop on the evening of the 23d?\"\n\n\"I don't remember.\"\n\n\"Oh! you don't remember! Do you remember receiving a letter on the\nafternoon of the 24th containing a Bank-of-England \u00a310 note?\"\n\n\"I did not receive any letter.\"\n\n\"But you received what is called an 'enclosure' of a \u00a310 note, did you\nnot?\"\n\nNo answer.\n\n\"Did you hear my question, sir? Did you or did you not receive it?--on\nyour oath, remember!\"\n\nNo answer.\n\nThe Chief-Justice: \"You must answer that gentleman, James Ball.\"\n\nStill no answer.\n\nThe Chief-Justice: \"Once more I repeat my learned brother's question.\nDid you or did you not receive that \u00a310 note on the 24th of October\nlast? If you do not answer, I shall commit you for contempt of court.\"\n\n{757}\n\nWitness, defiantly: \"Well, if I did, what's that to any one here? I\nsuppose I can receive money from my own mother.\"\n\nMr. Forster: \"You know very well that it did not come from your\nmother, but that it was _hush-money_ sent you by the person to whom\nyou sold the grain of strychnine on the evening of the 23d.\" The\nChief-Justice: \"Is this so? Speak the truth, or it will be the worse\nfor you.\"\n\nWitness (in a very low voice): \"It is.\"\n\nMr. Forster: \"Who was the person?\"\n\n\"I don't know--indeed I don't; but\nit wasn't _he_,\" (pointing to the prisoner.)\n\n\"Was it a man or a woman?\"\n\n\"A woman.\"\n\n\"Was it the housekeeper?\"\n\n\"I don't know.\"\n\nThe Chief-Justice: \"Let Mrs. Haag be summoned into court.\"\n\nThe housekeeper was brought in and confronted with the witness. She\nwas unveiled, and she looked Ball steadily in the face, the dangerous\ndark light in her eyes.\n\nThe Chief-Justice: \"Is that the person?\"\n\n\"No; I can't identify her.\" (The witness spoke with more firmness and\nassurance than he had done.)\n\nMr. Forster, to Mrs. Haag: \"Is this your handwriting?\" (A letter is\npassed to her.)\n\n\"No; it is not\"\n\n\"On your oath?\"\n\n\"On my oath.\"\n\n\"You can leave the court, Mrs. Haag.\"\n\n\"Now, witness, relate what took place about that strychnine.\"\n\n\"A lady came into the shop that evening, just before that gentleman\ncame in for the camphor, and asked for a grain of strychnine. I\nrefused to sell it. She said, 'It's for my husband; he's a doctor, and\nwants to try the effect on a dog.' I said, 'Who is he?' She said,\n'He's Mr. Grainger, round the corner, at the top of  Vere Street.' I\nknew Mr. Grainger lived there--a doctor. I thought it was all right,\nand gave her one grain of strychnine. I said, 'I shall run round\npresently and see if it's all right' She said, 'Very well; come now if\nyou like.' I made sure now more than ever that it was all right. She\npaid me and left the shop. I told my master of selling it, along with\na lot of other medicines. In the morning I heard that Mr. Thorneley\nhad been poisoned by strychnine, and in the afternoon I received by\npost a ten-pound note and that letter.\"--(Letter read by Mr. Forster:\n\"Say nothing, and identify no one. You shall receive this amount every\nmonth.\")--\"I guessed then it was from the person who had bought the\nstrychnine, and that they had murdered old Thorneley. I am very poor,\nand my family needed the money. That is all.\"\n\nMr. Forster: \"I have nothing further to ask.\"\n\nThe Chief-Justice: \"Remove the witness, and let him be detained in\ncustody for the present.\"\n\nThe Solicitor-General: \"This, my lord, closes the evidence for the\nprosecution.\"\n\nSergeant Donaldson then rose to address the jury for the defence.\n\n\n\n\n\nTO BE CONTINUED.\n\n------\n\n{758}\n\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\n\n\nPROBLEMS OF THE AGE.\n\n\nVI.\n\n\nTHE TRINITY OF PERSONS INCLUDED IN THE ONE DIVINE ESSENCE.\n\nThe full explication of the First Article of the Creed requires us to\nanticipate two others, which are its complement and supply the two\nterms expressing distinctly the relations of the Second and Third\nPersons to the First Person or the Father, in the Trinity. \"Credo in\nUnum Deum Patrem,\" gives us the doctrine of the Divine Unity, and the\nfirst term of the Trinity, viz., the person of the Father. \"Et in Unum\nDominum Jesum Christum Filium Dei Unigenitum, et ex Patre natum ante\nomnia saecula; Deum de Deo, Lumen de Lumine; Deum Verum de Deo Vero;\nGenitum non Factum, consubstantialem Patri, per quem omnia facta\nsunt:\" gives us the second term or the person of the Son. \"Et in\nSpiritum Sanctum, Dominum et Vivificantem, qui ex Patre Filioque\nprocedit, quicum Patre et Filio simul adoratur et conglorificacur:\"\ngives us the third term or the person of the Holy Spirit. Both these\nare necessary to the explanation of the term \"Patrem.\" The proper\norder is, therefore, to begin with the eternal, necessary relations of\nthe Three Persons to each other in the unity of the Divine Essence,\nand then to proceed with the operations of each of the Three Persons\nin the creation and consummation of the Universe.\n\nOur purpose is not to make a directly theological explanation of all\nthat is contained in this mystery, but only of so much of it as\nrelates to its credibility, and its position in regard to the sphere\nof intelligible truth. With this mystery begins that which is properly\nthe objective matter of revelation, or the series of truths belonging\nto a super-intelligible order, that is, above the reach of our natural\nintelligence, proposed to our belief on the veracity of God. It is\nusually considered the most abstruse, mysterious, and incomprehensible\nof all the Christian dogmas, even by believers; though we may perhaps\nfind that the dogma of the Incarnation is really farther removed than\nit from the grasp of our understanding. Be that as it may, the fact\nthat it relates to the very first principle and the primary truth of\nall religion, and appears to confuse our apprehension of it, namely,\nthe Unity of God--causes us to reflect more distinctly upon its\nincomprehensibility. Many persons, both nominal Christians and avowed\nunbelievers, declare openly, that in their view it is an absurdity so\nmanifestly contrary to reason that it is absolutely unthinkable, and,\nof course, utterly incredible. How then is the relation between this\nmystery and the self-evident or demonstrable truths of reason adjusted\nin the act of faith elicited by the believer? What answer can be made\nto the rational objections of the unbeliever? If the doctrine be\nreally unthinkable, it is just as really incredible, and there can be\nno act of faith terminated upon it as a revealed object. Of course,\nthen, no inquiry could be made as to its relation with our knowledge,\nfor that which is absurd and incapable of being intellectually\nconceived and apprehended cannot have any relation to knowledge. It is\nimpossible for the human mind to believe at one and the same time that\na proposition is {759} directly contrary to reason, and also revealed\nby God. No amount of extrinsic evidence will ever convince it. Human\nreason cannot say beforehand what the truths of revelation are or\nought to be; but it can say in certain respects what they cannot be.\nThey cannot be contradictory to known truths and first principles of\nreason and knowledge. Therefore, when they are presented in such a way\nto the mind, or are by it apprehended in such a way, as to involve a\ncontradiction to these first truths and principles, they cannot be\nreceived until they are differently presented or apprehended, so that\nthis apparent contradiction is removed. This is so constantly and\nclearly asserted by the ablest Catholic writers, men above all\nsuspicion for soundness in the faith, that we will not waste time in\nproving it to be sound Catholic doctrine.  [Footnote 183] Of course\nall rationalists, and most Protestants, hold it as an axiom already.\nIf there are some Protestants who hold the contrary, they are beyond\nthe reach of argument.\n\n  [Footnote 183: See among others, Archbishop Manning on the Temporal\n  Mission of the Holy Ghost.]\n\nThe Catholic believer in the Trinity apprehends the dogma in such a\nway that it presents no contradiction to his intellect between itself\nand the first principles of reason or the primary doctrine of the\nunity of the divine nature. God, who is the Creator and the Light of\nreason, as well as the author of revelation, is bound by his own\nattributes of truth and justice, when he proposes a doctrine as\nobligatory on faith, to propose it in such a way that the mind is able\nto apprehend and accept it in a reasonable manner. This is done by the\ninstruction given by the Catholic Church, with which the supernatural\nillumination of the Holy Spirit concurs. The Catholic believer is\ntherefore free from those crude misapprehensions and misconceptions\nwhich create the difficulty in the unbelieving mind. He apprehends in\nsome degree, although it may be implicitly and confusedly, the real\nsense and meaning of the mystery, as it is apprehensible by analogy\nwith truths of the natural order. What it is he apprehends, and what\nare the analogies by which it can be made intelligible, will be\nexplained more fully hereafter. It is enough here to note the fact.\nThis apprehension makes the mystery to him thinkable, or capable of\nbeing thought. That is, it causes the proposition of the mystery in\ncertain definite terms to convey a meaning to his mind, and not to be\na mere collocation of words without any sense to him. It makes him\napprehend what he is required to assent to, and puts before him an\nobject of thought upon which an intellectual act can be elicited. It\npresents no contradiction to reason, and therefore there is no\nobstacle to his giving the full assent of faith on the authority of\nGod.\n\nIt is otherwise with one who has been brought up in Judaism,\nUnitarianism, or mere Rationalism; or whose merely traditional and\nimperfect apprehension of Christian dogmas has been so mixed up with\nheretical perversions that his mature reason has rejected it as\nabsurd. There is an impediment in the way of his receiving the mystery\nof the Trinity as proposed by the Catholic Church, and believing it\npossible that God can have revealed it. He may conceive of the\ndoctrine of the Trinity as affirming that an object can be one and\nthree in the same identical sense, which destroys all mathematical\ntruth. Or he may conceive of it, as dividing the divine substance into\nthree parts, forming a unity of composition and not a unity of\nsimplicity. Or he may conceive of it as multiplying the divine\nessence, or making three co-ordinate deities, who concur and\nco-operate with each other by mutual agreement. These conceptions are\nequally absurd with the first, although it requires more thought to\ndiscern their absurdity. It is necessary then to remove the apparent\nabsurdity of the doctrine, before any evidence of its being a {760}\nrevealed truth is admissible. The first misconception is so extremely\ncrude, that it is easily removed by the simple explanation that unity\nand trinity are predicated of God in distinct and not identical\nsenses. The second, which is hardly less crude is disposed of by\npointing out the explicit statements in which the simplicity and\nindivisibility of the divine substance in all of the Three Persons is\ninvariably affirmed. The third is the only real difficulty, the only\none which can remain long in an educated and instructed mind. The\nobjection urged on theological or philosophical grounds by really\nlearned men against the dogma of the Trinity, is, that it implies\nTritheism. The simplest and most ordinary method of removing this\nobjection, is by presenting the explicit and positive affirmation of\nthe church that there is but one eternal principle of self-existent,\nnecessary being, one first cause, one infinite substance possessing\nall perfections. This is sufficient to show that the church denies and\ncondemns Tritheism, and affirms the strict unity of God. But, the\nUnitarian replies, you hold a doctrine incompatible with this\naffirmation, viz., that there are three Divine Persons, really\ndistinct and equal. This is met by putting forward the terms in which\nthe church affirms that it is the one, eternal, and infinite essence\nof God which is in each of the Three Persons. The Unitarian is then\nobliged to demonstrate that this distinction of persons in the Godhead\nis unthinkable, and that unity of nature cannot be thought in\nconnection with triplicity of person. This he cannot do. The relation\nof personality to nature is too abstruse, especially when we are\nreasoning about the infinite, which transcends all the analogies of\nour finite self-consciousness, to admit of a demonstration proving\nabsolutely that unity of nature supposes unity of person, and _vice\nversa_, as its necessary correlative. The church affirms the unity of\nsubstance in the Godhead in the clearest manner, sweeping away all\nground for gross misconceptions of a divided or multiplied deity; but\naffirms also trinity in the mode of subsistence, or the distinction of\nThree Persons, in each one of whom the same divine substance subsists\ncompletely. This affirmation is above the comprehension of reason, but\nnot contrary to reason. Even Unitarians, in some instances, find no\ndifficulty in accepting the statement of the doctrine of the trinity\nmade by our great theologians, when it is distinctly presented to\nthem; and in the beautiful Liturgical Book used in some Unitarian\ncongregations, the orthodox doxology, \"Glory be to the Father, and to\nthe Son, and to the Holy Ghost,\" has been restored.\n\nThe absurd misconception of what the church means by the word Trinity\nbeing once removed, the evidence that her doctrine is revealed, or\nthat God affirms to us the eternal, necessary distinction of three\nsubsistences in his infinite being, becomes intelligible and credible.\nReason cannot affirm the intrinsic incompatibility of the proposition,\nGod reveals himself as subsisting in three persons, with the\nproposition, there is one God; and therefore cannot reject conclusive\nevidence that he does so reveal himself through the Catholic Church.\nFor aught reason can say, he may have so revealed himself. If\nsatisfactory evidence is presented that he has done so, reason is\nobliged, in consistency with its principles, to examine and judge of\nthe evidence, and assent to the conclusion that the Trinity is a\nrevealed truth. This is enough for all practical purposes, and as much\nas the majority of persons are capable of. But is this the _ultimatum_\nof reason? Is it not possible to go further in showing the conformity\nof the revealed truth with rational truths? Several eminent\ntheologians have endeavored to take this further step, and to\nconstruct a metaphysical argument for the doctrine of the Trinity.\nSome of the great contemplatives of the church, who are really the\nmost profound and sublime of her {761} theologians and philosophers,\nhave also through divine illumination appeared to gain an insight into\nthe depths of this mystery. For instance, St. Ignatius and St. Francis\nde Sales both affirm that the truth and the mutual harmony of all the\ndivine mysteries were made evident to their intelligence in\ncontemplation. In modern times, Bossuet, Lacordaire, and Dr. Brownson\nhave reasoned profoundly on the rational evidence of the Trinity, and\na Roman priest, the Abbate Mastrofini, has published a work entitled\n\"Metaphysica Sublimior,\" in which he proposes as his thesis, Given\ndivine revelation, to prove the truth of all its dogmas by reason. The\nlearned and excellent German priest G\u00fcnther attempted the same thing,\nbut went too far, and fell into certain errors which were censured by\nthe Roman tribunals, and which he himself retracted. It is necessary\nto tread cautiously and reverently, like Moses, for we are on holy\nground, and near the burning bush. We will endeavor to do so, and,\ntaking for our guide the decisions of the Church and the judgment of\nher greatest and wisest men, to do our best to state briefly what has\nbeen attempted in the way of eliciting an eminent act of reason on\nthis great mystery, without trenching on the domain of faith.\n\nFirst, then, it is certain that reason cannot discover the Trinity of\nitself. It must be first proposed to it by revelation, before it can\napprehend its terms or gain anything to reason upon. Secondly, when\nproposed, its intrinsic necessity or reason cannot be directly or\nimmediately apprehended. If it can be apprehended at all, it must be\nmediately, or through analogies existing in the created universe. Are\nthere such analogies, that is, are there any reflections or\nrepresentations of this divine truth in the physical or intellectual\nworld from which reason can construct a theorem parallel in its own\norder with this divine theorem? Creation is a copy of the divine idea.\nIt represents God as a mirror. Does it represent him, that is, so far\nas the human intellect is capable of reading it, not merely as he is\none in essence, but also as he is three in persons? Assuming the\nTrinity as an hypothesis, which is all we can do in arguing with an\nunbeliever, can we point out analogies or representations in creation\nof which the Trinity is the ultimate reason and the infinite original?\nIf we can, do these analogies simply accord and harmonize with the\nhypothesis that God must subsist in three persons, or do they indicate\nthat this is the most adequate or the only conceivable hypothesis, or\nthat it is the necessary, self-evident truth, without which the\nexistence of these analogies would be unthinkable and impossible? Do\nthese analogies, as we are able to discover them, represent an\nadequate image of the complete Catholic dogma of the Trinity, or only\nan inadequate image of a portion of it?\n\nIt is evident, in the first place, that some analogical representation\nof the Trinity must be made in order to give the mind any apprehension\nwhatever of a real object of thought on which it can elicit an act of\nfaith. The terms in which the doctrine is stated, as for instance.\nFather, Son, Holy Spirit, eternal generation, procession or spiration,\nperson, etc., are analogical terms, representing ideas which are\notherwise unspeakable, by images or symbols. It is impossible for the\nmind to perceive that a proposed idea is simply not absurd, without\napprehending confusedly what the idea is, and possessing some positive\napprehension of its conformity to the logical, that is, the real\norder. Every distinct act of belief in the Trinity, therefore, however\nrudimental and imperfectly evolved into reflective cognition, contains\nin it an apprehension of the analogy between it and creation. If we\nproceed, therefore, to explicate this confused, inchoate conception,\nwe necessarily proceed by way of explicating the analogy spoken of,\nbecause we must proceed by explaining the terms in which the doctrine\nis stated, {762} which are analogical; and by pointing out what the\nanalogy is which the terms designate. What is meant by calling God\nFather, Son, and Holy Spirit? Why is the relation of the Son to the\nFather called filiation? Why is the relation of the Holy Spirit to\nboth called procession? The Niceno-Constantinopolitan and Athanasian\nCreeds, all the other definitions of the church respecting the\nTrinity, and all Catholic theology deduced from these definitions and\nfrom Scripture and tradition by rational methods, are an explication\nof the significance of these analogical terms. The only question which\ncan be raised then, is, in regard to the extent of the capacity of\nhuman reason to discern the analogy between inward necessary relations\nof the Godhead, and the outward manifestation of these relations in\nthe creation. The hypothesis of the Trinity assumes that this analogy\nexists, and is to some extent apprehensible. We will now proceed to\nindicate the process by which Catholic theologians show this analogy,\nbeginning with those terms of analogy which lie in the material order,\nand ascending to those which lie in the order of spirit and\nintelligence.\n\nFirst, then, it is argued, that the law of generation in the physical\nworld, by which like produces like, represents some divine and eternal\nprinciple. Ascending from the lower manifestation of this law to man,\nwe find this physical relation of generation the basis of a higher\nfiliation in which the soul participates. Man generates the image of\nhimself, in his son, who is not merely his bodily offspring, but\nsimilar and equal to himself in his rational nature. As St. Paul says,\nthe principal of this paternity must be in God, and must therefore be\nin him essential and eternal. But this principle of eternal, essential\npaternity, within the necessary being of God, is the very principle of\ndistinct personal relations.\n\nAgain, the multiplicity of creation indicates that there is some\nprinciple in the Divine Nature, corresponding in an eminent sense and\nmode to this multiplicity. The relations of number are eternal truths,\nand have some infinite transcendental type in God. If there were no\nprinciple in the Divine Nature except pure, abstract unity, there\nwould be no original idea, from which God could proceed to create a\nuniverse; which is necessarily multiplex and constituted in an\ninfinitude of distinct relations, yet all radically one, as proceeding\nfrom one principle and tending to one end. Here is an analogy\nindicating that unity and multiplicity imply and presuppose one the\nother.\n\nThese two arguments combine when we consider the law of generation and\nthe principle of multiplicity as constituting human society and\nbuilding up the human race. Society, love, mutual communion,\nreciprocal relations, kind offices, diversity in equality, constitute\nthe happiness and well being of man; they are an image and a\nparticipation of the divine beatitude. All the good of the creature,\nall the perfections of derived, contingent existences, have an eminent\ntranscendental type in God. Love, friendship, society, represent\nsomething in the divine nature. If there were no personal relations in\nGod, but a mere solitude of being existing in a unity and singularity\nexclusive of all plurality and society, it would seem that, supposing\ncreation possible, the rational creature would copy his archetype, be\nsingle of his kind, and find his happiness in absolute solitude. It is\notherwise, however, with the human race. The human individual is not\nsingle and solitary. Human nature is one in respect of origin and\nkind, derived from one principle which is communicated by generation\nand exists in plurality of persons. Society is necessary to the\nperpetuation, perfection, and happiness of the human race. This\nsociety is constituted primarily in a three-fold relation between the\nfather, the mother, and {763} the child, which makes the family; and\nthe family repeated and multiplied makes the tribe, the nation, and\nthe race. Taking now the hypothesis of three persons in one nature as\nconstituting the Godhead, it is plain that we have a clearer idea of\nthat in God which is represented and imitated in human society, and\nwhich is the archetype of the life, the happiness, the love, existing\nin the communion of distinct persons in one common nature, than we can\nhave in the hypothesis of an absolute singularity of person in the\ndeity. That good which man enjoys by fellowship with his equal and his\nlike, is a participation in the supreme good that is in God. In that\nsupreme good, this participated good must exist in an eminent manner.\nGod must have in himself infinite, all-sufficing society, fellowship,\nlove. He must have it in his necessary and eternal being, for he\ncannot be dependent on that which is contingent and created. Supposing\ntherefore that it is consistent with the unity of his nature to exist\nin three distinct and equal persons, not only is the analogy of his\ncreation to himself more manifest, but the conception we can form of\nthe perfection of his being is more complete and intelligible.\n\nThere is another analogy in the intellectual operation of the human\nmind. The intellective faculty generates what may be called the\ninterior word, or image of the mind, the archetype of that which is\noutwardly expressed in a philosophical theory, a poem, a picture, a\nstatue, or a work of architecture. Through this word, the great\ncreative mind lives and attains to the completion and happiness of\nintellectual existence. It loves it as proceeding from and identical\nwith itself. Through it, it acts upon other minds, controls and\ninfluences their thought and life; and thus the spirit proceeding from\nthe creative mind, through its generated word, is the completion of\nits inward and outward operation. Thus, argue the theologians, the\nFather contemplating the infinitude of his divine essence generates by\nan infinite thought, the Word, or Son. Being infinite and uncreated,\nhis necessary act is infinite and uncreated, in all respects equal to\nhimself, and therefore the Word is equal to the Father; possesses the\nplenitude of the divine essence, intelligence and personality. The\ndivine act of generation is not a purely intellectual cognition, but a\ncontemplation in which love is joined with knowledge. The Father\nbeholds the Son, and the Son looks back upon the Father, with infinite\nlove, which is the spiration of the divine life. This spiration or\nspirit, proceeding from the Father and the Son, is the consummating,\ncompleting term of their unity, and contains the divine being which is\nin the Father and the Son in all its plenitude; constituting a third\nperson, equal to the first and second. The operation of a limited,\nfinite, created soul presents only a faint, imperfect analogy of the\nTrinity, because it is itself limited, as being the operation of a\nsoul participating in being only to a limited extent. Individual\nexistences possess each one a limited portion of being. But in God, it\nis not so. There is no division in his nature, because the eternal,\nself-existing cause and principle of its unity is a simultaneous cause\nof its absolute plenitude by which it exhausts all possible being.\nThis plenitude of being is in the eternal generation of the second\nperson, and the eternal spiration of the third person in the Godhead,\non account of the necessary perfection of the most pure act in which\nthe being of God consists; wherefore personality is predicable, as one\nof the perfections of being, of each of the three terms of relation in\nGod. The word of human reason and its spirit, are not equal to itself,\nor personal, because of the limited and imperfect nature of human\nreason, and its operations. The Word or Son of the Eternal Father, and\nthe Holy Spirit, are equal to him and personal, because the Father is\nGod, and his act is infinite.\n\n{764}\n\nThis prepares the way for a different method of presenting the\nargument from analogy, based on the conception of God as _actus\npurissimus_, or most pure act. This is clearly and succinctly stated\nby Dr. Brownson as follows:\n\n  \"The one, or naked and empty unity, even in the Unitarian mind is\n  not the equivalent of God. When he says one, he still asks, one\n  what? The answer is, one God, which implies even with him something\n  more than unity. It implies unity and its real and necessary\n  contents as living or actual being. Unity is an abstract conception\n  formed by the mind operating on the intuition of the concrete, and\n  as abstract, has no existence out of the mind conceiving. Like all\n  abstractions, it is in itself dead, unreal, null. God is not an\n  abstraction, not a mere generalization, a creature, or a theorem of\n  the human mind, but one living and true God, existing from and in\n  himself, _ad se et se_. He is real being, being in its plenitude,\n  eternal, independent, self-living, and complete in himself. To live\n  is to act. To be eternally and infinitely living is to be eternally\n  and infinitely acting, is to be all act; and hence philosophers and\n  theologians term God, in scholastic language, most pure act, _actus\n  purissimus_. But act, all act demands, as its essential conditions,\n  principle, medium, and end. Unity, then, to be actual being, to be\n  eternally and purely act in itself, must have in itself the three\n  relations of principle, medium, and end, precisely the three\n  relations termed in Christian theology Father, Son, and Holy\n  Ghost--the Father as principle, the Son as medium, and the Holy\n  Ghost as end or consummation of the divine life. These three\n  interior relations are essential to the conception of unity as one\n  living and true God. Hence the radical conception of God as triune\n  is essential to the conception of God as one God, or real,\n  self-living, self-sufficing unity. There is nothing in this view of\n  the Trinity that asserts that one is three, or that three are one;\n  nor is there anything that breaks the divine unity, for the\n  triplicity asserted is not three Gods, or three divine beings, but a\n  threefold interior relation in the interior essence of the one God, by\n  virtue of which he is one actual, living God. The relations are in\n  the essence of the one God, and are so to speak the living contents\n  of his unity, without which he would be an empty, unreal\n  abstraction; one--nothing.\"   [Footnote 184]\n\n  [Footnote 184: Brownson's Review, July, 1863, pp. 266, 267.]\n\nThere is still another way of stating the argument, founded on the\nnecessary relation between subject and object. In the rational order,\nsubject is that which apprehends and object that which is apprehended.\nIntelligence is subject and the intelligible is object. The mere power\nor capacity of intelligence, if it is conceived of in an abstract\nmanner as existing alone without relation to its object, must be\nconceived of as not in actual exercise. Intelligence in act implies\nsomething intelligible which terminates the act of intelligence. Even\nsupposing that the object of the intelligence is identical with the\nsubject, that is, that the rational mind contemplates itself as a\nreally existing substance, nevertheless there is a distinction between\nthe mind considered as the subject which contemplates, and the mind\nconsidered as the object which is contemplated. The reason\ncontemplated must be projected before itself and regarded as an object\ndistinct from the contemplating reason in the act of contemplation.\nThe eye which sees objects external to itself, does not actually see\nor bring its visual power into act until an object is presented before\nit; and the individual does not become conscious that he can see or is\npossessed of a visual faculty, except in the act of seeing an object.\nThe eye cannot see itself immediately by the mere fact that it is a\nvisual organ, but only sees itself as reflected in a mirror and made\nobjective to itself. God is the absolute intelligence and the absolute\nintelligible, as has been proved in a previous chapter. He\ncontemplates and comprehends himself, and in this consists his active\nbeing and life. Thus in the divine being there is the distinction of\nsubject and object. God considered as infinite intelligence is\nsubject, and considered as the infinite intelligible is his own\nadequate object. The hypothesis of the Trinity presents to us God as\nsubject for intelligence in the person of the Father, as object, or\nthe intelligible, in the person of the Son. The Son is the image of\nthe Father, as the reflection of a man's form in the mirror is the\nimage of himself. The eternal generation of the Son is the {765}\neternal act of the Father contemplating his own being, and is\nterminated upon the person of the Son as its object. As this act is\nwithin the divine being, the image of the Father is not a merely\nphenomenal, apparent, unsubstantial reflection of his being, but real,\nliving, and substantial. The Son is consubstantial with the Father.\nThe being of God is in the act of intelligence or contemplation,\nwhether we consider God as the subject or the object in this infinite\nact, that is, as intelligent and contemplating, or as intelligible and\ncontemplated. The consummating principle of love, complacency, or\nbeatitude, which completes this act, vivifies it, and unites the\nperson of the Father with the person of the Son in one indivisible\nbeing, is the Holy Spirit, equal to the Father and the Son, and\nidentical in being, because a necessary term of the most pure act in\nwhich the divine life and being consists. All that is within the\ncircle of the necessary, essential being of God, as most pure,\nintelligent, living act, is uncaused, self-existent, infinite,\neternal. By the hypothesis, we must conceive of God as subsisting in\nthe three persons, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, in order to conceive\nof him as _ens in actu_, or in the state of actual, living, concrete\nbeing, and not as a mere abstraction or possibility existing in\nthought only; as infinite intelligence, and the adequate object of his\nown intelligence, self sufficing and infinitely blessed in himself.\nTherefore the Father is God, the Son is God, and the Holy Ghost is\nGod. It is only by this triplicity of personal relations that the\nunity of God as a living, concrete unity, or the unity of one,\nabsolute, perfect, infinite being, containing in himself the actual\nplenitude of all that is conceivable or possible, can subsist or be\nvividly apprehended. Therefore there cannot be, by the hypothesis, a\nseparate and distinct Godhead in each of the three persons, since\ntriplicity of person enters into the very essential idea of Godhead.\nThe hypothesis of the Trinity, therefore, absolutely compels the mind\nto believe in the unity of God, and shuts out all possibility that\nthere should be more Gods than one, because it shuts out all\npossibility of imagining any mode or form of necessary being which is\nnot included in the three personal relations of the one God. Unity and\nplurality, singularity and society, capacity of knowing, loving, and\nenjoying the true, the beautiful, and the good, and the adequate\nobject of this capacity, or the true, beautiful, and good _in se_, the\nsubject and the object of intelligent and spiritual life and activity,\nintelligence and the intelligible, love and the loved, blessedness and\nbeatitude, subsist in him in actual being, which is infinite and\nexhausts in its most pure act all that is in the uncreated, necessary,\nself-existent principle of being and first cause. The adequate reason\nand type of all contingent and created existences is demonstrated also\nto be in the three personal relations of the one divine essence, in\nsuch a way, that the hypothesis of the Trinity, as a theorem,\nsatisfactorily takes up, accounts for, and explains all discoverable\ntruths as well in regard to the universe as in regard to God.\n\nThis last statement indicates the answer which we think is the most\ncorrect one to the question proposed in the beginning of this chapter,\nas to the full logical force of the rational argument for the Trinity.\nThat is, we regard it as a hypothesis which in the first place is\ncompletely insusceptible of rational refutation. In the second place,\ncontains certain truths which are established by very strong probable\narguments and analogies. In the third place, suggests a conception of\nGod which harmonizes with all the truth we know, or can see to be\nprobable, and at the same time is more perfect and sublime than any\nwhich can be made, excluding the hypothesis. We do not claim for it\nthe character of a strict demonstration. To certain minds it seems to\napproach {766} very near a demonstration, probably because their\nintellectual power of vision is unusually acute. To others it appears\nnearly or quite unintelligible. Probably but few persons comparatively\ncan grasp it in such a way as to attain a true intellectual insight\ninto the relation between the doctrine of the Trinity and philosophy.\nYet all those who have thought much on the doctrine, and who find\ntheir great difficulty in believing it to consist in a want of\napparent connection with other truths, ought to be able to appreciate\nthe philosophical argument by which the connection is shown. They must\nhave an aptitude for apprehending arguments of this nature, otherwise\nthey would not think on the subject so intently. All they can justly\nexpect is that the impediment in their minds against believing that\nthe doctrine is credible, or not incredible, supposing it revealed,\nshould be removed. This is done by the arguments of Catholic\ntheologians. If the doctrine be revealed, it is credible; that is, an\nintelligent person can in perfect consistency with the dictates of\nreason assent to the proposition that God has revealed it, and that it\nis therefore credible on his veracity. The ground of the positive and\nunwavering assent of the mind is in the veracity of God, and remains\nthere, no matter how far the reasoning process may be carried; for\nwithout the revelation of God, the conception of the Trinity,\nsupposing it once obtained, would for ever remain a mere hypothesis,\nthough the most probable of all which could be conceived.\n\nAs already explained, it is only by a supernatural grace that the mind\nis elevated to a state in which it clearly and habitually contemplates\nthe object of faith as revealed by God. By divine faith, the intellect\nbelieves without doubting the mystery of the three persons in one\ndivine nature, and incorporates this belief into its life, as a\nvivifying truth and not a dead, inert, abstract speculation or\ntheorem. When it is thus believed, and taken as a certain truth, the\nintellect, if it is capable of apprehending the argument from analogy,\nmay be able to see that the Trinity is really that truth which is the\narchetype that has been copied in creation, and is indicated in the\nanalogies already pointed out. It may see that one cannot think\nlogically unless he is first instructed in the doctrine of the Trinity\nand proceeds from it as a given truth or datum of reasoning. Thus, he\nmay by the light of faith attain an elevated kind of science, or\neminent act of reason, which really rests on indubitable principles.\nYet it will not be properly science or knowledge of the revealed\nmysteries, since one of these indubitable principles on which all the\nconsequences depend, is revelation itself, which really constitutes\nthe mind in a certitude of that which on merely rational principles\nremains always inevident. Probably this is what is meant by those who\nmaintain that the Trinity can be rationally demonstrated. Given, that\nthe Trinity is a revealed truth, it explains and harmonizes in the\nsphere of reason what is otherwise inexplicable. It is the same with\nother revealed truths, and to prove that it is so is the principal\nobject of this essay. Presented in this light, the Catholic dogma of\nthe Trinity vindicates its claim to be a necessary part of religious\nbelief; an essential dogma of Christianity, revealed and made\nobligatory for an intelligible reason, and essential to the formation\nof a complete and adequate theology and philosophy. It is no longer\nregarded as a naked, speculative, isolated proposition; to which a\nmerely intellectual assent is required by a precept of authority, and\nwhich has no living relation to other truths or to the practical,\nspiritual life of the soul. It is shown to be a universal and\nfundamental truth, the basis of all truth and of the entire real and\nlogical order of the universe.\n\n{767}\n\nThis can be shown much more easily, and to the majority of minds more\nintelligibly, in relation to the other truths of Christianity, than to\nthose truths which are more recondite and metaphysical. It is\nnecessary to an adequate explication of the creation, of the destiny\nof rational existences, of the supernatural order, of the character\nand mission of Christ, of the regeneration of man through him, and of\nhis final end or supreme and eternal beatitude and glorification in\nthe future life, as will be shown hereafter. Deprived of this dogma,\nChristianity is baseless, unmeaning, and worthless; and is infallibly\ndisintegrated and reduced to nihilism, by the necessary laws of\nthought. This is true also of theism, or natural theology. And this\nsuggests a powerful subsidiary argument in a different line of\nreasoning, proving that the doctrine of the Trinity is necessary to\nthe perfection and perpetuity of the doctrine of the unity of God.\n\nThe same universal tradition which has handed down the pure, theistic\nconception, and has instructed mankind in the true, adequate knowledge\nof God, has handed down the Trinity, and traces of it are even found\nin heathen theosophy and the more profound heathen philosophy.\nWherever the doctrine of the Trinity has been preserved, there the\nclear conception of the one God and his attributes has been preserved.\nAnd where this doctrine has been corrupted or lost, the conception of\nGod as one living being of infinite perfection, the first and final\ncause of all things, has passed away into polytheism or pantheism or\nscepticism. Wherever God is apprehended as the supreme creator and\nsovereign, the supreme object of worship, obedience, and love, in\nintimate personal relations to man, he is apprehended in the personal\nrelations which subsist in himself, that is, in the Trinity. His\ninterior personal relations are the foundation of all external\npersonal relations to his creatures. This is even true of Unitarians,\nso long as they retain the Christian ethical and spiritual temper\nwhich connects them with the Christian world of thought and life, and\ndo not slide into some form of infidelity. They retain some imperfect\nconception of the relations of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, and in\nproportion as they become more positive in religion, they revive and\nrenew this conception. The effort to make a system of living,\npractical theistic religion is feeble and futile, and what little\nconsistency and force it has is derived from the conception of the\nfatherhood of God borrowed from Christian theology; but imperfect\nwithout the two additional terms which constitute the complete\nconception of the Trinity. All this is a powerful argument for a\nTheist or a Unitarian in favor of the divine origin and authority of\nthe Catholic dogma. The instruction which completes the inward\naffirmation of God in the idea of reason, and is the complement of the\ncreative act constituting the soul rational, must be from the Creator.\nHe alone can complete his own work. It is contrary to all rational\nconceptions of the wisdom of God to suppose that he has permitted that\nthe same instruction which teaches mankind to know, to worship, to\nlove, and to aspire after himself, should hand down in inseparable\nconnection with the eternal truth of the unity of his essence, the\ndoctrine of the threefold personal relations within this unity, if\nthis were an error diametrically its opposite, and not a truth equally\nnecessary and eternal.\n\n------\n\n{768}\n\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nCAIRO AND THE FRANCISCAN MISSIONS ON THE NILE.\n\n\nOn the 25th November, 186--, a small but crowded steamer was seen\nploughing its way through the waves at the entrance to the port of\nAlexandria. Its living freight was of a motley description: there were\nthe usual proportion of Indian passengers--Indian officers returning\nwith their wives after sick-leave; engineer officers going out to lay\ndown the electric telegraph--one of whom, young in years but old in\nknowledge, whose distinguished merit had already raised him to the\nfirst place in his profession, was never again destined to see his\nnative shores. Then there were others seeking health, and about to\nexchange the damp, foggy climate of England for the warm, dry,\ninvigorating air of Nubia and the Upper Nile. They had had a horrible\npassage, in a small and badly-appointed steamer, of which all the\nport-holes had to be closed on account of the gale, leaving the\nwretched inhabitants of the cabins in a state of suffocation difficult\nto describe. So that it was with intense joy that the jetty was at\nlast reached; and in the midst of a noise and confusion impossible to\ndescribe, the passengers were landed on the dirty quay, and were\ndragged rather than led into the carriages which were to convey them\nto the hotel. It was the feast of St. Catharine, the patron saint of\nAlexandria, to whom the great cathedral is dedicated; and in\nconsequence the town was more than usually gay. Towards evening a\nbeautiful procession was formed, and Benediction sung in the\ncathedral, which is served by the Lazarist fathers. It was the best\nday to arrive at Alexandria, and the prayers of the virgin saint and\nmartyr were earnestly invoked by some of the party for a blessing on\ntheir voyage and a safe and happy return.\n\nTo one who has been for a long time in the East, Alexandria appears a\nmotley collection of half European, half Arabian houses, and the\nrefuse of the populations of each; but on first landing, everything\nappears new, beautiful, and strange. The long files of camels, the\nveiled women, the variety of the dresses are all striking; but the one\nthing which even the most hackneyed Nile traveller cannot fail to\nadmire is the vegetation. Enormous groves of date-palms and bananas,\nwith an underwood of poncettias, their scarlet leaves looking like red\nflamingos amid the dark-green leaves, and ipomeas of every shade--\nlilac, yellow, and above all turquoise-blue--climbing over every\nruined wall, and exquisite in color as in form, delight an eye\naccustomed to see such things carefully tended in hothouses only, or\npaid for at the rate of five shillings a spray in Covent Garden. The\nsisters of Charity of St. Vincent de Paul have two very large\nestablishments here--one a hospital, to which is attached a large\ndispensary, attended daily by hundreds of Arabs; the other a school\nand orphanage of upwards of 1000 children. There are thirty-seven\nsisters, and their work is bearing its fruit, not only among the\nChristian but the native population. To our English travellers the\nvery sight of their white \"cornettes\" was an assurance of love and\nkindness and welcome in this strange land; and it was with a glad and\nthankful heart that they found themselves once more kneeling in their\nchapel, and felt that no bond is like that of charity, uniting as in\none great family every nation upon earth.\n\n{769}\n\nAfter a couple of days' rest, our English party started by the\nrailroad for Cairo. This journey was not as commonplace as it sounds;\nfor at each station the train was besieged by Arabs, clamoring for\npassages, between 300 and 400 at a time; so that it required all the\nefforts of the guards and their dragoman to prevent their carriage\nbeing taken from them by main force. The beauty of Cairo is the theme\nof every writer on Egypt and the Nile; but it would be impossible to\nexaggerate its extreme picturesqueness, the exquisite carving of its\nmosques and gateways; the oriental character of its narrow streets and\nbazaars and courts; the beauty of the costumes, and of the fretted\nlattice casements overhanging the streets; the gorgeous interior\nfittings of the mosques, one of which is entirely lined with oriental\nalabaster; the magnificent fountains in the outer courts of each; the\ngraceful minarets--all seen in the clearness and beauty of this\nperfectly cloudless sky, leave a picture in one's mind which no\nsubsequent travel can efface. Outside the town is a perfect \"city of\nthe dead;\" all the pashas and their families are interred there, and\npeople \"live among the tombs,\" as described in the Gospels; while on\nFridays the Mohammedans have services there for their dead, \"that they\nmay be loosed from their sins;\" one of those curious fragments of\nChristianity which are continually cropping out of this strange\nMohammedan worship.\n\nOne of the most interesting expeditions made by our travellers was to\nHeliopolis. They passed through a sandy plain full of cotton,\ndate-palms, and bananas, and by a succession of miserable native huts,\n(which consist of mud walls, with a roof of Indian corn, and a hole\nleft in the wall for light,) until they came to an obelisk, and from\nthence to a garden, in the centre of which is a sycamore tree,\ncarefully preserved, under which the Blessed Virgin and St. Joseph are\nsaid to have rested with the infant Saviour on their flight into\nEgypt. It is close to a well of pure water, and surrounded with the\nmost beautiful roses and Egyptian jasmine. The Mohammedans have the\ngreatest veneration for the \"Sitt Miriam,\" as they call the Blessed\nVirgin. They proof her immaculate conception from the Koran, and keep\na fast of fifteen days before the Assumption; therefore no surprise\nwas felt at seeing the care with which this grand old tree is tended\nand watered by them.\n\nAnother expedition made by the travellers was to Old Cairo, where,\nnear the famous Nilometer, is the Coptic convent and chapel built over\nthe house of the Blessed Virgin and St. Joseph, where they are said to\nhave lived for two years with our Blessed Lord. There are some very\nbeautiful ancient marble columns and fine olive-wood carvings, inlaid\nwith ivory, in this church, and a staircase leads down to the Virgin's\nHouse, which is now partly under water from the rise of the Nile. It\nis curious how persistently all early tradition points to this spot as\nthe site of our Saviour's Egyptian sojourn, and it was with a feeling\nof simple faith in its authenticity that one of the party knelt and\nstrove to realize this portion of the sacred infancy.\n\nThere are three Catholic churches in Cairo, the cathedral being a fine\nlarge building. The sisters of \"the Good Shepherd\" have also a large\nconvent near the cathedral, and an admirable day-school and orphanage.\nMany dark-eyed young girls whom our travellers saw kneeling at\nbenediction there had been rescued by the kind Mother from worse than\nEgyptian slavery. The condition of the \"fellahs,\" or lower orders, in\nEgypt, is appalling from its misery and degradation; and the good\nsisters have very uphill work to humanize as well as christianize\nthese poor children. {770} Nothing can be more wretched than the\nposition of the women, especially throughout Egypt. If at all\ngood-looking, they are brought up for the harems; if not, they are\nkept as \"hewers of wood and drawers of water;\" and the idea of their\nhaving _souls_ seems as little believed by the Mohammedan as by the\nChinese, whose incredulity on the subject the Abb\u00e9 Hue mentions so\namusingly in his missionary narrative.\n\nBefore leaving Cairo the English ladies were invited to spend an\nevening in the royal harem, and accordingly at eight o'clock found\nthemselves in a beautiful garden, with fountains, lit by a multitude\nof variegated lamps, and conducted by black eunuchs through\ntrellis-covered walks to a large marble-paved hall, where about forty\nCircassian slaves met them and escorted them to a saloon fitted up\nwith divans, at the end of which reclined the pasha's wives. One of\nthem was singularly beautiful, and exquisitely dressed, in pink velvet\nand ermine, with priceless jewels. Another very fine figure was that\nof the mother, a venerable old princess, looking exactly like a\nRembrandt just come out of its frame. Great respect was paid to her,\nand when she came in, every one rose. The guests being seated, or\nrather squatted, on the divan, each was supplied with long pipes,\ncoffee in exquisite jewelled cups, and sweetmeats, the one succeeding\nthe other, without intermission, the whole night. The Circassian\nslaves, with folded hands and downcast eyes, stood before their\nmistresses, to supply their wants. Some of them were very pretty, and\ndressed with great richness and taste. Then began a concert of Turkish\ninstruments, which sounded unpleasing to English ears, followed by a\ndance, which was graceful and pretty; but this again followed by a\nplay, in which half the female slaves were dressed up as men, and the\ncoarseness of which it is impossible to describe. The wife of the\nforeign minister kindly acted as interpreter for the English ladies,\nand through her means some kind of conversation was kept up. But the\nignorance of the ladies in the harem is unbelievable. They can neither\nread nor write; their whole day is employed in dressing, bathing,\neating, drinking, and smoking. The soir\u00e9e lasted till two in the\nmorning, when the royalty withdrew, and the English ladies returned\nhome, feeling the whole time as if they had been seeing a play acted\nfrom a scene in the Arabian Nights, so difficult was it to realize\nthat such a way of existence was possible in the present century.\n\nThe Sunday before they left, curiosity led them after mass to witness\nthe gorgeous ceremonial of the Coptic Church. The men sat on the\nground with bare feet, the women in galleries above the dome, behind\nscreens. The patriarch--who calls himself the successor of St. Mark,\nand is the leader of a sect whose opinions are almost identical with\nthose condemned by the council of Chalcedon as the Eutychian\nheresy--was gorgeously attired in a chasuble of green and gold, with a\nsilver crosier in one hand, (St. George and the dragon being carved on\nthe top,) and in the other a beautiful gold crucifix, richly jewelled,\nwrapped in a gold-colored handkerchief, which every one stooped to\nkiss, after the reading of the gospel and the creed, the people joined\nwith great fervor in the litanies; and then began the consecration of\nthe sacred species, which lasted a very long time. The holy eucharist\nwas given in a spoon to each communicant, the bread being dipped in\nthe wine, and the patriarch laying his hand on the forehead of each\nperson while he gave the blessing. At the same time, blessed bread\nstamped with a cross, and with the name of Christ, was handed round to\nthe rest of the congregation, like the _pain b\u00e9nit_ in village\nchurches in France. The Copts boast that there has never been the\nslightest alteration in their religious rites since the fourth\ncentury, and they are undoubtedly the only descendents of the ancient\nEgyptians.\n\n{771}\n\nThe following morning a portion of our travellers started by train for\nSuez, across a waving, billowy-looking tract of interminable sand.\nExcept the \"half-way house,\" (a miserable shed,) there is no human\nhabitation all the way, and nothing to be seen but long files of\ncamels slowly wending their way across the desert. After enjoying for\na few minutes the first sight of the Red Sea, the consul obligingly\nlent them horses to ride to the Lesseps Canal, which was then\ncompleted to within six miles of Suez. Upward of 5000 Arabs had been\npressed into the service by the pasha, and the poor creatures were\ntoiling under the burning sun, with no pay and wretched food, and,\nwhen night came, sleeping under the banks. The mortality among them\nwas frightful; but it was in this way that the pasha paid for his\nshares! Our travellers tasted the water, the first that had ever been\nbrought to Suez, except by camels, or, of late, by the _water-train_.\nIt is difficult to realize the fact of a town of this size being\nentirely without fresh water until now, which accounts for the absence\nof the least kind of vegetation. The next morning a steamer took our\nparty early to the wells of Moses, about nine miles up the gulf, where\nthey landed, being carried through the surf by the Chinese rowers.\nEach of the wells is enclosed in a little fence, and belongs to a Suez\nmerchant. It is a wonderful spot, so green and so lovely in the midst\nof such utter desolation. There are dates and banians, roses and\npomegranates, salads and other vegetables, all growing in the greatest\nluxuriance. Long strings of camels filed across the sand on their way\nto Mount Sinai, and the coloring of the mountains was exquisite. The\nshore was covered with coral and shells. After spending an hour or two\nthere, and reading the Bible account of the spot, our travellers\nreturned to the ship, and went across the gulf to see the exact place\nwhere the Israelites crossed the Red Sea when pursued by Pharaoh. The\nview was beautiful, and the Hill of Barda stood out brightly with its\njagged points dear and purple against the glowing sky. The Catholics\nhave a small church at Suez, but are building a larger one, as their\nmission is greatly on the increase.\n\nOur travellers returned that evening to Cairo and for the first time\nslept on board their boats, or daha-bi\u00e9h. The first sensation was of\ndiscomfort at the smallness of the cabins; but soon they got used to\ntheir floating homes, and the beauty of the weather enabled them to\nlive all day long on the awning-covered poop; so that they soon ceased\nto feel cramped and uncomfortable. The following day, the wind being\ncontrary, Latifa Pasha, the head of the Admiralty, gave them a steamer\nto tow them up to Gizeh, from whence they were to visit the Pyramids.\nThe excessive depth of each stone makes the ascent an arduous one for\nwomen; but the view amply repays one for the exertion. On one side is\nthe interminable desert; on the other, the fertile \"Land of Goshen.\"\nOwing to the recent inundations, the party had continually to dismount\nfrom their donkeys and be carried across the water on men's backs. The\nnext few days passed quickly, our travellers landing every morning to\nwalk and sketch, while the men were \"tracking\" along the shore, and\nmaking acquaintance with all the people and places of interest as they\npassed. At El-Atfeh was a remarkable dervish of the tribe they had\nseen \"dancing\" in Cairo, who showed them his house, in the court of\nwhich was the tomb of his predecessor, hung with ostrich-eggs, canoes\nand other votive offerings, but hideously painted in bright green. At\nBibbeh there was a very fine Coptic church, with a picture of St.\nGeorge and the Dragon, who is the favorite saint throughout the East,\nand venerated alike by Christian and Moslem. Again, on their way to\nMinieh, they passed by a fine Coptic convent on the top of a {772}\ncliff, and two of the monks swam to the boats to ask for alms and\nofferings, which are never refused them. On the 20th December they\nreached Sawada, which is a village somewhat inland, but containing a\nlarge Coptic convent and church, served by six priests, and with a\ncongregation of upwards of 1000 Christians. It was also an important\nburial-place, and there were multitudes of little domes looking like\nchildren's sand-basins reversed, but each surmounted with a cross. One\nof the ladies was sketching this picturesque village from a palm-grove\nat the entrance of the principal gateway, when a venerable priest\napproached her and made that sign which in the East is the freemasonry\nof brotherhood--the sign of the Cross. The lady instantly responded,\nand the old priest, joyfully clapping his hands, led her into the\nchurch, showing her all its carious carvings and decorations, and\nseveral very ancient MSS. There are some fine mountains at the back,\nin which the gentlemen of the party discovered some wolves. The next\nday brought them to Beni-Hassan. The caves, which are about three\nmiles from the shore, were originally used as tombs by the ancient\nEgyptians, and are covered with paintings and hieroglyphics; but their\nchief interest arises from their having been the great hiding-place of\nthe Christians during the persecutions, and also used as cells by St.\nAnthony, St. Macarius, and other anchorites. A little farther on, near\nManfaloot, is the cave of St. John the Hermit, venerated to this hour\nas such by the natives. On Christmas-day our travellers arrived at\nSioot, and found there a Catholic church served by the Franciscan\nmission, which is under the special protection of the Emperor of\nAustria, who has sent some very good pictures for the altars there.\nThe mass was reverently and well sang, and about 150 Catholics were\npresent. After mass, the Italian padre gave them coffee. He had been\neducated at the \"Propaganda,\" but had been twenty-four years in Egypt;\nso that he had almost forgotten every language except Arabic. He said\nthat they had now obtained a union with the Copts, and a Coptic mass\nfollowed the Latin one. The mission had been established at Sioot four\nyears before, by the intervention of Said Pasha, but had encountered\ngreat opposition at first from the Moslems. Two bodies of Christian\nsaints with all the signs of martyrdom had been lately discovered in\nthe caves above the town; but the Mohammedans would not allow the\nChristians to have them. The good old Franciscan had studied medicine,\nand thus first made his way among the people. Now he seems to be\nuniversally respected and beloved.\n\nOur party rode through the dirty bazaars of this so-called capital of\nUpper Egypt, and ascended to the caves. But the \"City of the Dead\", a\nlittle beyond the town, is mournfully beautiful and silent. It is\ncomposed of streets of tombs, of white stone or marble, the only sign\nof life being the jar of water left in front of each, to water the\naloes planted in picturesque vases at the gate of each tomb. A whole\npoem might be written on the thoughts suggested by those silent\nstreets. It was this \"City of the Dead\" which is said to have\noccasioned the valuable lesson given by St. Macarius to the young man\nwho had asked him \"how he could best learn indifference to the world's\nopinion?\" He directed him to go to this place, and first upbraid and\nthen flatter the dead. The young man did as he was bid. When he came\nback, the saint asked him \"what answer they had made?\" The young man\nreplied, \"None at all.\" Then said St. Macarius: \"Go and learn from\nthem neither to be moved by injuries or flatteries. If you thus die to\nthe world and to yourself, you will begin to live to Christ.\"\n\n{773}\n\nHere for the first time our travellers realized the horrors of an\nEgyptian conscription. A number of villagers coming in to the Sunday's\nmarket were at once seized, chained together, and thrown on the ground\nlike so much \"dead stock\" to be packed off on board a government\nvessel, when the fall complement had been secured. The screams and\nhowls of their wives and daughters, throwing dirt on their heads and\ntearing their hair, in token of despair, when their frantic efforts to\nrelease them from the recruiting-sergeants were found ineffectual,\nwere most piteous to hear. The poor fellows rarely survive to return\nto their homes; and their pay and food are so miserably small and\nscanty, that to be made a soldier is looked upon as worse than death.\nThey maim themselves in every way to escape it--cutting off their\nforefingers, putting out their eyes, and the like. Scarcely a man on\nboard the boats is not mutilated in this manner. In the evening, being\nChristmas-day, all the boats were illuminated with Chinese lanterns\nand avenues of palms; while the sailors made crosses and stars of\npalm-leaves, to hang over the cabin-doors. A beautiful moon-light\nnight added to the effect of these decorations, as the party rowed\nround the different _dahabi\u00e8hs_, and the \"Adeste fidelis\" sounded\nsoftly across the water. The following morning, after early mass, a\nfavorable wind carried them on to Ekhnim, where there is also a\nCatholic Franciscan missionary and church. The priest was a\nNeapolitan, and had begun his labors at Suez. His only companion was a\nnative Copt, who had been educated at the Propaganda. They had about\nfive hundred Catholics in their congregation, and a school of about\nfifty children. The church was of the fifteenth century, and under the\nprotection of a Christian sheik, to whom our travellers were\nintroduced, and who courteously invited them into his house. The\ncourtyard of the Catholic church was crowded with native Christians\nwho had escaped from the conscription, and were safe under the roof of\nthe priest. The sheik conducted his guests to his house, the only good\none in Ekhnim, and furnished more or less in European style, as he had\nbeen at Cairo, and attached to the household of the late viceroy. They\nsat on the divan, with pipes and coffee, talking Italian with the\npriest, when the sheik, as a great honor, allowed them to see his\nwife, and afterward his daughter, a bride of thirteen, married to the\nson of the Copt bishop. She was dressed in red, as a bride, with a red\nveil and a profusion of gold ornaments and coins strung round her neck\nand arms. The sheik and the whole population escorted our travellers\nback to their boats with every demonstration of respect, and then the\nprincipal chiefs with the priests were invited to come on board and\nhave coffee, which they accepted. The Franciscan father had been for\nseven years at Castellamare, and felt the change terribly, but said\nthat the climate was good, and that the comfort of feeling he was\nworking for God strengthened his hands when he was inclined to\ndespond. He complained of the lamentable ignorance of the Coptic\npriests, who knew nothing of the history of their interesting old\nchurches and convents, and only tell you \"they were built before their\nfathers were born!\" The two large Coptic convents formerly existing in\nthe mountains above the town are deserted; but their church at Ekhnim\nis the oldest now remaining in Egypt, and full of curious carving and\nvery ancient pillars.\n\nOn New Year's day our travellers arrived at Denderah, and spent it in\nthe wonderful temple of Athor. The heat was very great, and it\nrequired some courage to attempt to sketch. At five the following\nmorning the boats arrived at Keneh, and some of the party went on\nshore to mass, that being also a Franciscan station. The church is\nsmall, but very nicely kept; the place is, however, unhealthy, and the\ngood Franciscan father was very low at the mortality among his\ncomrades. He has lately started a school and has about twenty\nchildren; but his life is a very desolate one, having {774} no\nEuropean to speak to, or any one to sympathize in his work. After mass\nhe took our travellers to see the making of the _goolehs_, or\nwater-bottles, which are so famous throughout Egypt, and are made\nsolely in this place, of the peculiar clay of the district, mixed with\nthe ashes of the halfeh grass. They are beautiful in form, and keep\nthe water deliciously cool. After a breakfast of coffee and excellent\ndates at the sheik's house, the party re\u00ebmbarked, and arrived that\nevening at Negaddi. Here again they found a Catholic mission. The\nsuperior, Padre Samuele, had been laboring there for twenty-three\nyears. He was of the Lyons mission, and was the only one who had\nsurvived the climate. Four of his brethren had died within the last\ntwelvemonth, and he had just dug a grave for the last. They had a\nlarge and devout congregation, and a school of one hundred and fifty\nchildren, and had been building a new church of very fine and good\nproportions. But now the good father has to labor and live alone. He\nsaid, however, that he had written to Europe for fresh workers, whom\nhe was anxiously expecting. Negaddi is remarkable for its turreted\npigeon-houses, painted white and red, which form an amusing contrast\nto the miserable mudholes in which the inhabitants live. The following\nevening found our travellers at Thebes. The town itself is a surprise\nand disappointment. There are literally no shops, no bazaar, no houses\nbut the two or three belonging to the consuls, and built in the midst\nof the temples. But the said temples are unrivalled for interest and\nbeauty. Karnac, either by daylight or moonlight, is a thing apart from\nall others in the world for vastness of conception and magnificence of\ndesign. \"There were giants in those days.\" The same may be said of the\nTombs of the Kings, of the Vocal Memnon, of the Memnouium, of Medemet\nHaboo, and the rest. The marvel is, what has become of the people who\ncreated such things; who had brought civilization, arts, and\nmanufactures to such perfection that nothing modern can surpass them.\nIs it not a lesson to our pride and our materialism, when we think of\nthem and of ourselves, and then see the degraded state of the modern\nEgyptian, the utter extinction of the commonest art or even handicraft\namong them, so that it is scarcely possible, even in Cairo, to get an\nordinary deal table made with a drawer in it? There is no Catholic\nmission at Thebes, but a Coptic bishop, who received our travellers\nvery kindly, showed them his church, and gave them coffee on a terrace\noverlooking the Nile. This evening was \"twelfth-night,\" and the boats\nwere again illuminated and decorated with palms, the whole having a\nbeautiful effect reflected in the water.\n\nAfter spending a week at Thebes, Our travellers sailed on to Assouan,\nvisiting the temples of Esneh, Edfoo, and Komom-Boo on their way, and\ncoming into the region of crocodiles and pelicans, and of the Theban\nor dom palm--less graceful than the date palm, but still beautiful,\nand bearing a large, nut-like fruit in fine hanging clusters. Between\nEdfoo and Thebes are shown some caves, in one of which St. Paul, the\nfirst hermit, passed so many years of penitence and prayer. He was\ndiscovered by St. Antony in his old age, when tempted to vain-glory,\nGod having revealed to him that there was a recluse more perfect than\nhimself, whom he was to go into the desert and seek. A beautiful\npicture in the gallery at Madrid by Velasquez represents the meeting\nof the two venerable saints, the dinner brought to them by the raven,\nand the final interment of St. Paul by St. Antony in the cloak of St.\nAthanasius, the lions assisting to dig the grave!\n\nAssouan is, as it were, the gate of the Cataracts, and is on the\nborders of Nubia, the great desert of Syene being to the left of the\nvillage. The Nubian caravans were tented on the shore, and tempting\nthe Europeans with daggers, knives, {775} ostrich-eggs, poisoned\narrows, rhinoceros hide shields, lances and monkeys. The climate was\ndelicious. There is no country in the world to be compared with Egypt\nat this time of the year, because, in spite of the heat, there is a\nlightness and exhilaration in the air which makes every one well and\nhungry. To an artist the coloring is equally perfect. No one who has\nnot been there can imagine what the sunrises and sunsets are,\nespecially the after-glow at sunset. No artificial red, orange, or\npurple can approach it. Then the gracefulness of the palms on the\nbanks, the rosy color of the mountains, the picturesque sakeels or\nwater-wheels, and the still prettier shadoof, with its mournful sound,\nwhich seems as the wail of the patient slave who works it day and\nnight, and thereby produces the exquisite tender green vegetation on\nthe banks of the river, due to this artificial irrigation alone--all\nare a continual feast to the eye of the painter. And if all this is\nfelt below Assouan, what can be said of Philae--beautiful Philae--that\n\"dream of loveliness,\" as a modern writer justly calls it?\n\nOur travellers, while waiting for the interminable arrangements with\nthe Reis of the Cataracts, took the road along the shore; and after\npassing through a succession of curious and picturesque villages,\narrived at one called Mahatta, where they hired a little boat to take\nthem across to the beautiful island. Rocks of the most fantastic\nshapes are piled up on both sides of the shore; but when once you have\nemerged from these into the deep water, \"Pharaoh's Bed\" and the other\ntemples stand out against the sky in all their wonderful beauty.\nPhilae was the burial-place of Osiris, and \"By him who sleeps in\nPhilae\" was the common oath of the old Egyptians. The temples are too\nwell known by drawings to need description; but what is less often\nmentioned by travellers is that the larger one, originally dedicated\nto the sun, was used for a long time by the Christians as a church.\nConsecration crosses are deeply engraved on every one of these grand\nold pillars; and at one end is an altar, with a cross in the centre,\nin white marble, and a piscina at the side, with a niche for the\nsacred elements; and above this recess is a beautiful cross deeply cut\nin the stone, together with the emblem of the vine. The cross is also\nlet into the principal gateways. There was an Italian inscription\ncommemorating the arrival of the first Roman mission sent by Gregory\nXVI., and a tablet in French recording the arrival of the French army\nthere under Napoleon in 1799, signed by General Davoust.\n\nThe gentlemen of the party decided to pitch their tents in the island\ntill the question of the passing of the Cataracts was decided; and\nwhile this operation was going on, one of the ladies sat down to\nsketch. She was quietly painting, luxuriating in the beauty and\nsilence around her, and watching the sun setting gloriously behind the\ntemple, when all of a sudden a deep bell boomed across the water and\nwas repeated half-a-dozen times. It was the \"Angelus.\" Even the least\nCatholic of the party was struck and impressed by this unexpected\nsound, so unusual in a country where bells are unknown, and the only\ncall for prayer is from the minaret top. Instinctively they knelt, and\nthen arose the question \"Where could the bell come from?\" There was no\nsign of habitation or human beings either on the island itself or on\nthe opposite shores, and the dragoman himself was equally at fault. At\nlast, on questioning the boatmen, they found that behind some hills a\nshort distance off was a convent--sort of \"convalescent home\" for the\nsick monks of the Barri mission. The English lady decided at once to\ngo and see it, and on arriving at the long low stone building, found\nthat the Franciscan father, who was almost its solitary occupant, had\njust returned from the White Nile, being one of a mission to the\nblacks in the Barri country, a month's journey south of Khartoun.\n{776} He had been at death's door from fever; and on leaving Khartoun\nfor Philae, an eighteen days' ride on camels, had been attacked by\ndysentery, and left for dead in the burning desert by the caravan;\nonly a faithful black convert remained by his side, and he felt that\nhis last hour was come; when the arrival of poor Captain Speke, on his\nway home from one of his last explorations, changed the state of\nthings. With true Christian charity our countryman at once ordered a\nhalt, and devoted himself to the nursing and doctoring of the dying\nmonk; so that in a few days he was so far recovered as to be able to\nresume his journey, and arrived safely at Philae. He said he owed his\nlife, under God, entirely to the kindness of this Englishman; and his\nonly anxiety seemed to be to show his gratitude by doing everything he\ncould for those of his nation. He invited our travellers to take up\ntheir abode in the convent, and gave them a most interesting account\nof the missionary work of his order. They have chartered a small\nvessel, which they have called the \"Stella Matutina,\" and which plies\nup and down the river, and enables them to visit their stations on\neach bank. But they have every kind of hardship to encounter from the\ntreachery or stupidity or positive hostility of the different tribes,\nfrom the intense heat, and above all, from the deadly malaria which\nhad carried off seventy of their brothers in three years. But there\nare ever fresh soldiers of this noble army ready and eager to fill up\nthe ranks.\n\nThe ladies rode home by the way of the desert, and reached their boats\nin safety. The next morning, at five o'clock, the same road was\nresumed by two of the party who were anxious to to reach the convent\nin time for the early mass. They met nothing on their seven-miles'\nride but a hyaena, who was devouring a camel which they had left dying\nthe night before. The little convent chapel was very nice; and among\nthe vestments sent by the _oeuvre apostolique_ and worked by the\nladies of the Leopoldstadt mission, one of the party recognized a\ncourt-dress which had been presented for the purpose by a Hungarian\nfriend of hers at Rome. It was strange to find it again in the depths\nof Nubia. The mass was served by two little woolly-haired negro boys\nfrom the good old father's school, whose attachment to him was like\nthat of a dog to its master. He was in some trouble as to finding\nclothes for them. The Nubians dispense with every thing of the kind\nexcept a fringed leathern girdle round the loins, decorated with\nshells. The children have not even that. However, in the _dahabi\u00e8h_ a\npiece of rhododendron-patterned chintz was found, carefully sent from\nEngland for the covering of the divans; and with that, certain\narticles of dress were manufactured, gorgeous in coloring, and\ntherefore perfect in native eyes, however ludicrous and incongruous\nthey might appear to Europeans. The following day was fixed for one of\nthe boats to go up the cataracts, and the party started early for what\nis called the \"first gate,\" to see the operation. No one who has not\nlived for some months with this \"peuple criard,\" as Lamartine calls\nthem, can imagine the din and screaming of the Arabs as each dangerous\nrapid is passed; the Reis all the time shouting and storming and\nleaping from one stone to the other like one possessed. But the ascent\nis child's play compared to the descent. So many accidents have\nhappened in the latter, and so many boats have been swamped, that the\ncaptains now insist on the passengers landing on an island near, while\ntheir boats rush down the rapids. It is a beautiful sight, the way\nthose apparently unwieldy vessels are steered, and clear the rocks as\nit were with a bound, amidst the frantic yells and cheers of the whole\npopulation. A number of men, for a trifling baksheesh, swam down the\ncurrent on logs; one with his little child before him; but an\nEnglishman, attempting {777} to do it a year or two ago, was caught in\nthe whirlpool and instantly drowned. After watching this exciting\noperation, the party dined together at Philae in their tent, and then\nrowed round and round the island by moonlight, which exceeded in\nloveliness all they had hitherto seen; the vividness of the\nreflections were beyond belief; and reading or writing was easy in the\nbrilliant light.\n\nOur traveller availed herself of the kind Father Michael Angelo's\nproposal, and slept at the convent. He gave them some curious arms,\nand hippopotamus-teeth from the White Nile, and some ostrich-eggs\narranged as drinking-vessels, with shells and leather strips: his sole\nfurniture in his native tent. The English, in return, gave him a\nquantity of medicines, which he eagerly accepted for his mission, to\nwhich he was hoping to return. After early mass the next day, he\nescorted them to see the Island of Biggeh with its picturesque temple,\nand then to the quarries of Syene, where an uncut obelisk of great\nsize still remains embedded in the sand. Some idea was entertained in\nEngland of using it for Prince Albert's monument; but the difficulty\nof carriage and the distance from the river would make its transfer\nalmost impossible. Far simpler would be the proposal of taking the\nLuxor obelisk, already given to the English by Mehemet Ali, the sister\none to that successfully transported to Paris by the French. It is a\nthousand pities to leave it where it is, and to miss the occasion of\nadding so unique and valuable a monument to our art-treasures.\n\nThis, the last day of our traveller's stay at Assouan, was spent in\nmaking a few last purchases, visiting the old castle overlooking the\nriver, and exploring the island of Elephantine, which offers beautiful\nsketching. But the inhabitants are even more importunate as beggars\nthan their confraternity at Thebes; and it required all the eloquence\nof the good priest to prevent their appropriating the contents of the\ntraveller's paint-box. She purchased from them many strings of bright\nbeads, which constitute their sole idea of female dress. A curious\nfuneral took place in the evening, an empty boat being carried for the\ndead man, who was buried with his arms and his spear; while a funeral\ndirge was sung over him by his tribe. It was curious, as being\nidentical with the hieroglyphics of similar scenes in the tombs of the\nkings. Many of the customs of these people are purely pagan; for\ninstance, when an Arab makes his coffee, he pours out the first three\ncups on the ground as a libation to the sheik, who first invented the\nbeverage. The slave-trade, though nominally abolished by the viceroy,\nis carried on vigorously at Assouan. The governor goes through the\nform of confiscating the cargo and arresting the owners of the ship;\nbut, after a few days, a handsome baksheesh on the part of the\nslave-owner and captain settles the matter; and their live cargo is\ntransported to Cairo, there to be disposed of in the harems or\nelsewhere.\n\nTo the Catholic traveller in this country nothing can be more\nmelancholy than the utterly degraded condition of the people, who are\nreally very little removed from the brute creation. Years of\nill-usage, hardship, and wrong have ground down the Fellah to the\nabject condition of a slave; and the utter extinction of Christianity\namong them seems to preclude all hope of their rising again. Yet Egypt\nwas once the home of saints. From Alexandria, the seat of all that was\nmost learned and refined, the see of St. Athanasius, and St.\nAlexander, and St. Cyril, and St. John the Almoner, and a whole string\nof holy patriarchs, bishops, and martyrs, up to the very desert of\nSyene, peopled with anchorites, the whole land teemed with saints. And\nnow, the little handful of Franciscan fathers, scattered here and\nthere, sowing once more the good seed at the cost of their lives, is\nall that remains to bear witness to the truth.\n\n------\n\n{778}\n\n\n[ORIGINAL.]\n\nTHY WILL BE DONE\n\n\nI.\n\n  My soul a little kingdom is,\n    Where God's most holy will\n  Shall reign in undivided sway,\n    Potent and grand and still.\n\n  I'll kneel before the crystal throne,\n    And kiss the golden rod;\n  O peace unspeakable, to bow\n    Before the will of God!\n\n  What though my weary feet should fail.\n    My tongue refuse to praise,\n  God knows my soul will steadfastly\n    Still follow in his ways.\n\n\nII.\n\n  The time has come, my soul, the time has come\n  To prove the depth of thy oft-vaunted love;\n  A sullen gloom hangs round us like a fog,\n  And lowering clouds are drooping from above.\n\n  Would it were light, or dark, not this grey gloom;\n  Would that the terror of some sudden crash\n  Might break this stifling, dumb monotony!\n  O for some deafening peal or blinding flash!\n\n  Weary and old and sick, like ancient Job,\n  I crouch in haggard woe and scan the past,\n  Or drag the leaden moments at my heels,\n  Mocking wise fools who say that life runs fast.\n\n{779}\n\n  Nothing to conquer now--no call for strength;\n  Naught to contend with--only to wait and bear,\n  And see my withering powers and blighted gifts--\n  No room to act--nothing to do or dare:\n  Speak now, my soul, if thou hast aught to say\n  If thou seest light or any hope of day.\n\n\nIII.\n\n  Fret not this holy stillness with thy cries--\n    Patience, perturbed clay!\n  Lest thou should'st drown the voice of the All-wise\n    With clamorous dismay.\n\n  Thinkest thou that clouds and mists are less God's work,\n    Than sun or moon or stars?\n  His will is good, whether it bind the free\n    Or sunder prison bars.\n\n  His hand has measured out each feather's weight\n    Of this most grievous load;\n  He bore the cross we bear, his heart, like ours,\n    Once in life's furnace glowed.\n\n  We shall in heaven sing a psalm of joy\n    For every earth-wrung moan;\n  One little hour more, the work well done.\n    And we are all God's own.\n\n\n--------\n\nCONTRASTS\n\n\n  There is no sound of anguish in the air,\n  Bees hum, birds sing, the breeze is balmy-sweet\n  And from the blooming hawthorn overhead\n  A rosy shower droppeth at my feet.\n\n  No matter! God be praised--some untried heart,\n  Sweet with the dewy freshness of life's dawn,\n  Is gathering a glad presage of success\n  From this bright, pitiless, resplendent morn.\n\n\n------\n\n{780}\n\n\n\n[From the Irish Industrial Magazine.]\n\nTHE INDUSTRIAL ARTS OF OUR ANCESTORS.\n\n\n\nBY M. HAVERTY, ESQ.\n\n\n\nARTS OF CONSTRUCTION.\n\nIn considering the building arts, as practised by the inhabitants of\nthis country in past ages, we must necessarily divide the subject\naccording to epochs. The ethnologist would of course begin with his\nfavorite scientific classification of the Stone, the Bronze and the\nIron periods; but this division is, to say the least of it, a very\narbitrary, very indefinite, and very doubtful one. It leaves much too\nwide a scope for imagination, and offers no satisfactory explanation\nof social development; and the following obvious and natural order of\nperiods, in the present instance, will answer our purpose, namely:\n\n1. The Pre-Christian period, extending from some indefinite epoch of\nthe pre-historic ages, down to the establishment of Christianity in\nIreland, in the fifth century; 2. The early Christian period,\nextending from the last-mentioned epoch to the commencement of the\nDanish wars, in the beginning of the ninth century; 3. The period of\nobscurity and barbarism into which this country was plunged by those\nfierce and long-protracted wars, and from which it began to emerge in\nthe reign of Brian, and after the battle of Clontarf, in 1014; 4. The\nperiod which followed that just mentioned, and which extends beyond\nthe Anglo-Norman invasion until the native Irish ceased to act as a\ndistinct people; and, [sic--no 5.] 6. The period which was inaugurated\nby the aforesaid Anglo-Norman epoch, and descended to modern times,\nembracing the ages, first of noble Gothic abbeys, and feudal keeps of\nNorman barons, and walled towns; and then of the fortified bawns and\nstrong solitary towers of new proprietors, in the Tudor, Stuart, and\nWilliamite times.\n\nIn the first of these periods there was no stone and mortar masonry\nknown in Ireland, nor was there any knowledge of the arch. Of\ncyclopean masonry--masonry in which huge stones were frequently\nemployed, but never any cement--some stupendous and wonderful examples\nbelonging to this first period still remain; but there was no cemented\nwork. This we may take as absolutely certain, notwithstanding the\nnotions of some modern antiquaries about the supposed pre-Christian\norigin of the round towers. This pagan theory of the round towers is a\npure creation of what we may call the conjectural school of Irish\nantiquaries. The ancient Irish never dreamt of it. It was suggested at\na time when scarcely anything was known of the original native source\nof Irish history; and it has seldom been advocated except by those who\nare either still unacquainted with these sources of our history, or\nelse who are carried away by false ideas of early Irish civilization,\nand visionary theories of ancient Irish fire-worship and Orientalism;\nfor all which there is not the slightest foundation in the actual\nhistory of the country. It is right that this should be distinctly\nunderstood: without entering into lengthened arguments on the subject,\nwhich would be out of place here, it ought to be quite sufficient for\nany rational person to know, that the character of all the remains of\nundoubted pagan buildings in Ireland is utterly inconsistent with the\n{781} supposition that the same people who built them also built the\nround towers; and that such knowledge as we actually possess of the\nmanners and customs of the pagan Irish shows the absurdity of the\nnotion that the round towers were built by them. The passages of\nancient Irish writings which may be adduced to show that the round\ntowers were built by Christians are extremely numerous, while there is\nnot one single iota of evidence in the written monuments of Irish\nhistory, either printed or MS., for their pagan origin--nothing, in\nfact, but wild, unsupported conjecture and imagination. And such being\nthe case, and all the writings and researches of such distinguished\nIrish historical scholars as Petrie, O'Donovan, and O'Curry, who have\npassed away, and of Wilde and Todd, and Graves and Reeves, and\nFerguson, etc., tending to overturn the visionary theories of Irish\nantiquities, of which the round tower phantasy has been the most\nnoted, it is time to abandon this last remnant of a false and exploded\nsystem.\n\nWhat, then, are the remains which we have of the buildings or\nstructures of the ancient Irish belonging to the first, or pagan,\nperiod? They are various, and exceedingly numerous. In the first\nplace, there are the _raths_, or earthen forts, with which the whole\nface of the country is still absolutely dotted. These raths were the\ndwelling-places of the Irish, not only indeed, in pagan times, but\nmuch more recently. They were originally rather steep earthworks,\nsurrounded by a ditch, and topped by a strong paling or stockade;\nsometimes there was a double or treble line of intrenchment, and\nwithin the inner fence the family or families of the occupants dwelt\nin timber or hurdle houses, of which, from the perishable nature of\nthe materials, no traces of course remain. The cattle, too, were\ndriven for safety within the inclosure, when it was known that an\nenemy was abroad; and it is probable that the position of a great many\nof the raths on a sloping surface was selected for purposes of\ndrainage, seeing that the cattle were so frequently to be inclosed. It\nis also worthy of note, that these earthen forts were always\npolygonal, generally octagonal, and we have never seen one of them\nactually round; although it would have been much easier to describe\nthe plain circle than the regular polygonal figure adopted.\n\nWhen the inclosures were constructed of stone; they were called\n_cahirs_ or _cashels_. It has been stated by antiquaries that the\nstone forts were built by the early Irish colonists, called Firbolgs,\nand the earthen forts by the subsequent colony of Tuath de Danaans;\nbut it is probable that each colony built their strongholds of the\nmaterials which they found most convenient. In the rich plains of\nMeath, where there are very few surface stones that could have been\nemployed for the purpose, we find none but earthen forts; and in the\nIsles of Arran, where there is little indeed besides solid rock, the\nFirbolgs necessarily constructed their famous duns of stone. These\nvast Firbolg duns of Arran must have been impregnable in those days,\nif defended by sufficient garrison; and their size and number in a\nplace so small and barren show that almost the whole remnant of the\nrace must have been compelled by hard necessity to seek shelter there\nagainst their pressing foes. It would also appear that the abundant\nsupply of stone induced the occupants of those Arran forts to\nsubstitute stone houses in their interior for the habitations of\ntimber and wattles used elsewhere; as we here find numerous remains of\nthe small beehive houses, called _cloghanes_, formed by the\noverlapping of flat stones, laid horizontally, until they meet at top,\nthus roofing in the house without an arch. Both cloghanes and forts\nare built, of course, without cement; and no one could for a moment\nimagine that the Round Tower, of which a portion still {782} remains\nin the largest island, could possibly have been the work of the same\nmasons.\n\nThe style of building is the same in the Duns of Aran; in Staig Fort,\nin Kerry; in the Greenan of Aileach, in Donegal; and in general in any\nof the primitive _cahirs_ or _cashels_, wherever they exist in\nIreland; nor is there any material difference between these and the\nsimilar structures to be found in Wales--such as the Castell-Caeron\nover Dolbenmaen, in Caernarvonshire.\n\nThe same Irish word, Saor, (pronounced Seer,) originally signified\nboth a carpenter and a mason; and in an Irish poem, at least eight\nhundred and fifty years old, we have a list of the ancient builders,\nwho erected the principal strongholds of pagan times in Ireland: such\nas--\"Casruba, the high-priced cashel-builder, who employed quick axes\nto smoothen stones;\" and \"Rigriu and Garvon, son of Ugarv, the\ncashel-builders of Aileach,\" and \"Troiglethan, who sculptured images,\nand was the rath-builder of the Hill of Tara;\" while every one\nfamiliar with the native Irish traditions has heard the name of\nGrubban-Saor, to whose skill half the ancient castles of Ireland were,\nwithout any reference to chronology, supposed to owe their strength.\n\nAn Irish antiquary of the seventeenth century, who enjoyed the\nfriendship of Sir James Ware, writes as if he believed that the\nancient pagan Irish understood the use of cement, although, as he\nconfesses, no vestige of stone and mortar work by them remained in his\nday. But his mode of arguing, as it will be perceived, is very\ninconclusive. After enumerating several of the ancient raths and\ncashels of Ireland, he writes: \"We have evidence of their having been\nbuilt like the edifices of other kingdoms of the times in which they\nwere built; and why should they not? for there came no colony into\nErin but from the eastern world, as from Spain, etc.; and it would be\nstrange if such a deficiency of intellect should mark the parties who\ncame into Ireland, as that they should not have the sense to form\ntheir residences and dwellings after the manner of the countries from\nwhich they went forth, or through which they travelled.\" [See\nIntroduction to Dudley Mac Firbis's great \"Book of Genealogies,\"\ntranslated in \"O'Curry's Lectures,\" pp. 222, etc.] It is quite certain\nthat the early colonizers of Ireland, to whom Mac Firbis thus alludes,\nwere a portion of that great Celtic wave of population which passed\nfrom East to West over Europe, leaving the same earthern mounds and\ncyclopean stone structures behind as monuments wherever they went; but\nit is equally certain, that if these ancient colonies visited Assyria,\nand Egypt, and Greece in their peregrinations, as Mac Firbis believed\nthey did, they did not carry with them Assyrian, or Egyptian, or\nGrecian masonry or architecture into Ireland. The raths and cashels\nwhich they constructed were exceedingly simple in their character, and\nin very few indeed of the former is there the slightest grace of\nstonework to be discovered. Caves were very often formed under the\nraths; and Mac Firbis states that under the rath of Bally O Dowda, in\nTireragh, he himself had seen \"nine smooth stone cellars,\" and that\nits walls were still of the height of \"a good cow-keep.\" Nor were the\ncontents of the ancient Irish dwellings less simple than the buildings\nthemselves; for we find by the Brehon Laws that \"the Seven valuables\nof the house of a chieftain were--a caldron, vat, goblet, mug, reins,\nhorse-bridle, and pin;\" the first-mentioned articles indicating\nclearly the usages of hospitality, which always formed the\npredominating institution of the Irish. The same book of Brehon Laws\nrefers to \"a house with four doors, and a stream through the centre,\nto be provided for the sick\"--such, apparently, being the ideas at\nthat time of what a hospital should be.\n\n{783}\n\nIt is hard to say when the popular notion originated which attributes\nthe ancient raths and mounds to the Danes. It is quite dear that Mac\nFirbis knew very well they were not Danish, though the idea must have\nprevailed when he wrote, (A.D. 1650;) for his contemporary, Lord\nCastlehaven, speaks of withdrawing his troops, during the civil war of\n1645, within one of the \"Danish forts,\" which were so numerous in the\ncountry; and such was the fashion of attributing all our antiquities\nto a people who had impressed the memory of the nation with such\nterrible and indelible traditions of themselves, that even Archdeacon\nLynch, the author of \"Cambrensis Eversus,\" supposes the Danes to have\nbeen the builders of the round towers. Dr. Molyneux, who wrote toward\nthe close of the same century, treats us to a whole book about \"the\nDanish Forts and Mounds;\" but we know perfectly well that the Danes of\nIreland resided only in the seaport towns and their vicinities, and\nhad no dwellings, and consequently no raths or mounds in the interior\nof the country.\n\nBesides the earthen and stone forts, which, it must be remembered,\nwere inhabited in the early Christian as well as in the pagan times,\nand down to a period which it is impossible now to define, we have\nseveral remains of the early Irish habitations, called _cranogues_.\nThese were small stockaded and generally artificial islands, in the\nsmaller lakes, and were only accessible by means of boats, ancient\nspecimens of which, hewn out of a single tree, have been found in the\nvicinity of the cranogues in recent times. Some of these cranogues are\nknown to have been occupied in comparatively modern times; and the\nstrong timber stakes by which they were generally surrounded are, in a\nfew instances, still found singularly fresh, and with indications of\nhaving been connected by a strong framework.\n\nOf the state of the building arts in Ireland during the early\nChristian period we are enabled to form a tolerably accurate idea,\nboth by the large number of remains still existing, and by the notices\non the subject which we find in historical documents. Many of the very\nearliest Christian edifices devoted to religion in Ireland were built\nof stone; but it is clear, nevertheless, that the national fashion was\nto construct them of timber; and this fashion the Irish had in common\nwith the Britons, or, we should rather say, with the Celtic nations\ngenerally. Strabo says the houses of the Gauls were constructed of\npoles and wattle work; and we learn from Bede, that among the Britons\nbuilding with stone was regarded as a characteristic Roman practice.\nWe know that both in Ireland and Britain there was a national\nprejudice in favor of the custom of employing timber to construct\ntheir churches. The first three churches erected in Ireland--those,\nnamely, constructed by St. Palladius in his unsuccessful mission\nimmediately before St Patrick--were of oak. Long after this time, in\nthe sixth century, St. Columba lived in a wooden cell in the island of\nHy, as his biographer, St. Adamnan, relates; and the use of timber for\ntheir religious edifices was much in favor with the Columbian monks\nwherever they settled. So late as the year 1142, when St. Malachy was\nbuilding the church of the famous Cistercian Abbey of Mellifont, in\nLouth, he received some opposition from one of the local magnates,\nbecause he had undertaken to erect it in an expensive and solid manner\nof stone; the argument of this person being, that \"they were Scots,\nnot Frenchmen,\" and that a wooden oratory in the old Irish fashion\nwould have sufficed.\n\nIt is a curious circumstance connected with this Abbey of Mellifont,\nthat it is the only Irish edifice of a date older than the\nAnglo-Norman period in the ruins of which Dr. Petrie discovered any\nbricks to have been used; and we know that it was erected by monks\nwhom St. Malachy had sent to study in the monastery of St. Bernard, in\nFrance; whence the allusion to {784} Frenchmen made by the Irishman\nwho had objected to the style of the building. Still it is plain that\nthe ecclesiastical edifices of stone were very numerous in the country\nat that very time; for a few years after St. Gelasius, the Archbishop\nof Armagh, caused a limekiln of vast dimensions to be constructed, in\norder, as the annalists say, to make lime for the repairs of the\nchurches of Armagh which had been allowed to fall into decay.\n\nThe primitive wooden churches were, at least in some instances,\nconstructed of planed boards, and were thatched with reeds, the walls\nbeing also frequently protected by a covering of reeds, for which, in\nlater times, a sheeting of lead was sometimes substituted. This use of\nlead sheeting became very general in England; but we may presume that\nit was employed in comparatively few cases in Ireland. Sometimes,\ninstead of boards or hewn timber, wattles were employed, and these\nwere plastered with mud, the wattles being formed of strong twigs\ninterlaced. We shall presently see that the use of wattles for\nbuilding purposes was in vogue in Ireland up to comparatively modern\ntimes. It is stated in the life of St. Patrick, that when that apostle\nvisited Tyrawley, in the county of Sligo, finding that timber was not\nabundant, he erected a church of mud--so ancient is the custom of\nemploying that material for building in Ireland--a material, however,\nwhich never could be rendered as suitable for the purpose in our moist\nclimate, as it is found to be in some of the southern portions of\nEurope.\n\nFrom the very introduction of Christianity, we repeat, stone and\nmortar were frequently employed for the building of churches in\nIreland. A building of this description was always called in Irish\n_Damhliag_, a word literally signifying \"stone church.\" This term is\nstill preserved in the name of Duleek in the county of Meath, where\nthe old stone church so called, and which is supposed, on good\nauthority, to have been the very first such edifice erected in\nIreland, is still in good preservation; it was built by St. Kienan, a\ndisciple of St. Patrick, who died in 490; and its age is thus\nestablished beyond any doubt. The stone building, or _Damhliag_, as\nDr. Petrie has remarked, is always latinized by the old Irish writers\n_templum, ecclesia_, or _basilica_; while the wooden building is\nsimply called oratorium.\n\nThe ancient Irish churches are almost invariably small, seldom\nexceeding 80 feet in length, and not usually being more than 60 feet.\nThe great church or cathedral of Armagh was originally 140 feet long;\nbut this was almost a solitary exception. The smaller churches are\nsimple oblong quadrangles, while in the larger ones there is a second\nand smaller quadrangle at the east end, which was the chancel or\nsanctuary, and which is separated from the nave by a large\nsemicircular arch. The entrance door was always originally in the west\nend, and square-headed, the top lintel being generally formed of a\nsingle very large flat stone; but in every instance the square-headed\nwestern doorway was in process of time built up, and another doorway,\nin the pointed style, opened in the south wall, near its western\nextremity. The windows are extremely small, and very few, generally\nnot more than three, two of which are in the sanctuary, and all being\nin the south wall; they are frequently triangular-headed, formed by\ntwo flat stones leaning against each other; and it is probable that in\nmany cases they were never glazed. The sides of the doorways and\nwindows are inclined, in the manner of the cyclopean buildings--a\nstyle of architecture with which they have more than one point in\ncommon; for enormous stones are frequently used, the single stone\nbeing made to form both faces of the wall. Polygonal stones are\nemployed, without any attempt to build in courses; and even flat\nstones are often placed at angles, when, with the aid of very little\nskill, they might have {785} been placed horizontally; while another\nsingular feature often to be observed in the oldest Irish stone\nchurches is, that the side walls and ends are built up independently,\nand not bound together at the corners by any interlapping stones. All\nthese peculiarities are to be found, in a very marked degree, in the\nextremely curious specimens of seventh and eighth century buildings in\nthe South Islands of Arran; and, with the exception of some Christian\n_cloghanes_, and some stone-roofed oratories like those near Dingle,\nall these early Christian edifices have been built with lime cement.\n\nFrom the rudeness of the masonry in the buildings of the early\nChristian period, a very curious argument has been adduced in favor of\nthe Pagan origin of the Round Towers. Some persons, in fact, do not\nhesitate to argue that, as the Round Towers frequently exhibit a\nbetter style of masonry than the ruined churches in their\nneighborhood, they must have been erected by some _earlier_ race of\nbuilders, thus adopting the very opposite to the correct and natural\nconclusion which the premises would suggest. Such persons must have a\nvery misty idea of Irish history; they do not appear to be aware that\nthere is no country in Europe, except Greece and Rome, of which the\nancient history can boast of such a clear and consecutive series of\nwritten and traditional annals as that of Ireland. This is the\nacknowledged opinion of the most learned investigators. There is,\nthen, no room whatever for any such conjectural race or epoch as that\nwhich the theory in question would suppose in Irish history; there is\nno room for such wild hypotheses as may be framed, for instance, to\naccount for the remains of extinct civilized races in the interior of\nNorth America. Any one who has the singularly distinct chain of\nancient Irish chronicles present to his mind must be aware of this\nfact, and must know perfectly well that there was no mysterious\nunknown race in Ireland before the introduction of Christianity who\ncould have built the round towers--even if it were probable that such\na race would have built these, and left no other fragment of stone and\nmortar work in the land! As to the disparity sometimes to be observed\nin the masonry of the towers and the ancient churches beside them, it\ncan be explained without any such absurd hypothesis. It is clear from\nthe mouldings of the windows, and other architectural details, and\neven from the statements of our annalists, that some of the Round\nTowers are not older than the eleventh or twelfth century, and\nconsequently their masonry might well be superior to that of churches\nbuilt some four or five hundred years before them. But, even when the\nbuilders were contemporary, they were not such dull craftsmen as not\nto have understood perfectly well that a more careful style of\nworkmanship was required in an edifice which they should carry to a\nheight of 120 or 130 feet than in one of which the walls would not\nexceed 10 or 14 feet in elevation. In fact, a little consideration\nmust show any enlightened man that the theory to which we have\nreferred is utterly untenable.\n\nMr. Parker, a high authority on questions of architectural antiquity,\nhas, in his valuable series of papers on the subject in the\n\"Gentleman's Magazine,\" thrown considerable light on Irish mediaeval\narchitecture. One point, of which he has been decidedly the first\nobserver, is, that all the details of an ancient building in Ireland\nseldom or never belong to the period at which the building was,\naccording to record, erected. This is an extremely carious fact; and\nthere can be no doubt of Mr. Parker's accuracy on the point; but it\nappears to us that he invariably finds his remark verified in castles\nand abbeys of the Anglo-Norman period in Ireland. To what, then, is\nthe peculiarity to be attributed? Could the architects have been\nIrish, and could they have adopted their principles from the study of\nolder edifices {786} in England? On this point we are not aware that\nhe comes to any conclusion; but, in describing the interesting details\nof Cormac's Chapel, on the Rock of Cashel--one of the most valuable\nremains of mediaeval architecture in the empire, and which was built\nsome fifty years before the Anglo-Norman invasion--he says, \"It is\nneither earlier nor later in style than buildings of the same date in\nEngland; and with the exception of a few particulars, agrees in detail\nwith them.\" From this we may conclude, that before the arrival of the\nAnglo-Normans the Irish architects were fully up to the contemporary\nstate of their art, though subsequently the Anglo-Irish fell into the\nanachronisms which Mr. Parker so frequently points out.\n\nWhen Henry II. resolved on spending the Christmas of 1171 in Dublin,\nthere was no building in that old capital of the Ostmen sufficiently\nspacious to accommodate his court; and a pavilion was accordingly\nconstructed for the purpose of plastered wattles, in the Irish\nfashion, on a site at the south side of the present Dame street This\nmode of constructing houses must have been very convenient in times\nwhen the face of a country was liable every other year to be\ndevastated by war, and when it would have been folly to erect a\nhabitation intended to be permanent. The destruction of all the\ndwellings in a territory at that time, was not quite so ruinous a\ncatastrophe as it might seem to us, especially as it was a very usual\nthing to have the granaries under ground.\n\nThe employment of wattles for one purpose or other, in the\nconstruction of buildings, appears to have been very long retained in\nIreland; and they seem to have been constantly used by the masons as\ncentering in the building of arches, as may be seen from an\nexamination of any of the ruined abbeys or castles throughout the\ncountry, where the impression of the interwoven twigs will always be\nfound in the mortar of the vaulted roofs and arches. Mr. Parker\nappears to have been particularly struck by this circumstance, which,\nhowever, is familiar to every Irish antiquary; but he tells us that he\nhas found the same thing in a few instances in England.\n\nA French gentleman, who travelled through Ireland in 1644, has left us\na curious account of the mode of constructing their habitations\nemployed at that time by the rural population. He writes: \"The towns\nare built in the English fashion, but the houses in the country are in\nthis manner: two stakes are fixed in the ground, across which is a\ntransverse pole, to support two rows of rafters on the two sides,\nwhich are covered with leaves and straw. The cabins are of another\nfashion. There are four walls the height of a man, supporting rafters,\nover which they thatch with straw and leaves; they are without\nchimneys, and make the fire in the middle of the hut, which greatly\nincommodes those who are not fond of smoke.\"\n\nThe writer goes on to describe the fortified domiciles of the gentry.\nHe says: \"The castles or houses of the nobility consist of four walls\nextremely high, thatched with straw; but, to tell the truth, they are\nnothing but square towers without windows, or, at least, having such\nsmall apertures as to give no more light than there is in a prison;\nthey have little furniture, and cover their room with rushes, of which\nthey make their beds in summer, and of straw in winter; they put the\nrushes a foot deep on their floors, and on their windows, and many of\nthem ornament the ceilings with branches.\" (The Tour of M. De la\nBoullaye le Gouz.)\n\nThis description is applicable to those numerous, solitary, and gloomy\nbuildings called castles, the ruins of which are so conspicuous in\nevery part of the country, and a considerable number of which were\nerected by the Undertakers, in the reign of James I.; while it must be\nconfessed that the mode of constructing the hovels of the peasantry,\nas described in the preceding extract, has not undergone much\nimprovement, up to the present day, in many parts of Ireland.\n\n------\n\n{787}\n\n\nTranslated from the Spanish.\n\nPERICO THE SAD; OR, THE ALVAREDA FAMILY.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII.\n\nA tempestuous night covered the sky with flying clouds, which were\nrushing further on to discharge their torrents. Sometimes they\nseparated in their flight, and the moon appeared between them, mild\nand tranquil, like a herald of concord and peace in the midst of the\nstrife.\n\nIn the short intervals, during which this placid light illumined earth\nand heaven, a pale and emaciated man might have been seen making his\nway along a solitary road. The uncertainty of his manner, his\napprehensive eyes, and the agitation of his face, would have shown\nclearly that he was a fugitive.\n\nA fugitive indeed! for he fled from inhabited places; fled from his\nfellow-men; fled from human justice; fled from himself and from his\nown conscience. This man was an assassin, and no one who had seen him\nfleeing, as the clouds above were fleeing before the invisible force\nwhich pursued them, would have recognized the honorable man, the\nobedient son, the loving husband and devoted father of a few days\nsince, in this miserable being, now fallen under the irremissible\nsentence of the law of expiation.\n\nYes, this man was Perico, not seeking a peace now and for ever lost,\nbut fleeing from the present and in dread of the future.\n\nHe had passed days of despair and nights of horror in the most\nsolitary places, sustaining himself on acorns and roots; shrinking\nfrom the light of day, which accused, and from the eyes of men, that\ncondemned him. But no darkness could hide the images that were always\nbefore him, no silence awe their clamors. His unhappy sister; his\ndisconsolate mother; the bereaved old man, his father's friend,\nhaunted his vision; the reprobation of his honorable race oppressed\nhis soul; and more appalling than all these, the solemn, mournful, and\nwarning note of the passing bell, which he had heard calling to Heaven\nfor mercy upon his victim, sounded continually in his ears. In vain\npride insinuated, through its most seductive organ, worldly honor,\nthat he had, and that not to vindicate himself would have been a\nreproach; that the injuries were greater than the reprisal.\n\nA voice which the cries of passion had silenced, but which became more\ndistinct and more severe in proportion as they, like all that is\nhuman, sank and failed--the eternal voice of conscience, said to him,\n\"O that thou hadst never done it!\"\n\nThere came, borne upon the wind, an extraordinary sound, now hoarser,\nnow failing and fainter, as the gusts were more or less powerful. What\ncould it be? Everything terrifies the guilty soul. Was it the roar of\nthe wind, the pipe of an organ, or a voice of lamentation? The nearer\nPerico approached it, the more inexplicable it seemed. The road the\nunhappy man was following led toward the point from whence the sound\nproceeded. He reaches it, and his terror is at his height when, unable\nto distinguish anything--for a black cloud has covered the moon--he\nhears directly above his bead the portentous wail, so sad, so vague,\nso awful!\n\n{788}\n\nAt this moment the clouds are broken, and over all the moonlight\nfalls, clear and silvery, like a mantle of transparent snow. Every\nobject comes out of the mystery of shadows. He sees _reija_ asleep in\nits valley like a white bird in its nest. He lifts his eyes to\ndiscover the cause of the sound. O horror! Upon five posts he sees\nfive human heads! From these proceed the doleful lamentation, a\nwarning from the dead to the living. [Footnote 185]\n\n  [Footnote 185: Various witnesses have testified to this frightful\n  phenomenon, which is naturally explained, the sound being caused by\n  the wind passing through the throat, month, and ears of heads placed\n  as located above.]\n\nPerico starts back aghast, and perceives, for the first time, that he\nis not alone. A man is standing near one of the posts. He is tall and\nvigorous, and his bearing is manly and erect. He is dressed richly\nafter the manner of contrabandists. His bronzed face is hard, bold,\nand calm. He holds his hat in his hand, inclining uncovered before\nthese posts of ignominy a head which never was uncovered in human\nrespect; for it is that of an outlaw, of a man who has broken all ties\nwith society, and respects nothing in the world. But this man,\nalthough impious, believes in God, and although criminal, is a\nChristian, and is praying.\n\nWhen from an energetic and indomitable nature, emancipated from all\nrestrain, there issue a few drops of adoration, as water oozes from a\nrock, what do you call it unbelievers? Is it superstitious fear? To\nthis man fear is a word without a meaning. Is it hypocrisy? Only the\nheads of five dead men witness it. Is it moral weakness? He has\nstrength of soul unknown in society, where all lean upon something; he\nstands alone. Is it a remembrance of infancy, a tribute to the mother\nwho taught him to pray?\n\nThere exists no such memory for the abandoned orphan, who grew up\namong the savage bulls he guarded.\n\nWhat is it then that bends his neck and detains him to pray in the\npresence of the dead?\n\nAfter some moments the man concluded his prayer, replaced his hat, and\nturning to Perico said,\n\n\"Where are you going, sir?\"\n\nPerico neither wished nor was able to answer. A vertigo had seized\nhim.\n\n\"Where are you going, I say?\" again asked the unknown.\n\nPerico remained silent.\n\n\"Are you dumb?\" proceeded the questioner, \"or is it because you do not\nchoose to answer? If it is the last,\" he added, pointing to his gun,\n\"here is a mouth which obtains replies when mine fails.\"\n\nPerico's situation rendered him too desperate for reflection, and the\nbrand of cowardice which had been stamped upon his forehead, still\nburned like a recent mark of the ignominious iron. He therefore\nanswered instantly, seizing his firelock.\n\n\"And here is another that replies in the tone in which it is\nquestioned.\"\n\nThe intentions of the unknown were not hostile, nor had he any idea of\ncarrying out his threat, though he did not lack the courage to do it.\nAnother so daring as he did not tread the soil of Andalucia. But the\narrogance of the poor worn youth pleased instead of offending him.\n\n\"Comrade,\" he said, \"I always like to take off my hat before drawing\nmy sword, but it suits me to know with whom I speak and whom I meet on\nthe road. You must have courage to be walking here; for they say that\nDiego and his band are in this neighborhood, and you know, for all\nSpain knows, who Diego is; where he puts his eye he puts his ball. The\nleaves tremble upon the trees at sight of him, and the dead in their\ngraves at the sound of his name.\"\n\nAll this was said without that Andalucian boastfulness, so grotesquely\nexaggerated in these days, but with the naturalness of conviction, and\nthe serenity of one who states a simple truth.\n\n\"What do I care for Diego and his band?\" exclaimed Perico, not with\nbravado, but with the most profound dejection.\n\n{789}\n\nAs with failing voice he pronounced these words, he tottered and\nleaned his head upon his gun.\n\n\"What has taken you? What is the matter?\" asked the stranger, noticing\nhis weakness.\n\nPerico did not reply, for so great was his exhaustion and such the\neffect of his recent emotions that he fell down senseless.\n\nThe unknown knelt down beside him and lifted his head. The moon shone\nfull upon that face, beautiful notwithstanding its mortal paleness,\nand the traces of passion, anguish, and grief which marred it.\n\n\"He is dead,\" said the stranger to himself, placing his rough hand\nupon Perico's heart. The heart which, a few days before, was as pure\nas the sky of May. \"No,\" he continued, \"he is not dead, but will die\nhere, like a dog, if he is not taken care of.\"\n\nAnd he looked at him again, for he felt awakening in his heart that\nnoble attraction which draws the strong toward the weak, the powerful\ntoward the helpless; for let skeptics say what they will, there is a\nspark of divinity in the breast of every human creature. He rose to\nhis feet and whistled.\n\nHe is answered by the sound of a brisk gallop, and a beautiful young\nhorse, with arched neck and rolling mane, comes up and stops before\nhis master, turning his fine head and brilliant eyes as if to offer\nhim the stirrup.\n\nThe unknown raises the inanimate Perico in his robust arms, throws him\nacross the horse, springs up beside him, presses his knees gently to\nthe animal's flanks, and the noble creature darts away, gayly and\nlightly, as if unconscious of the double weight.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV.\n\nIn a solitary hostel, standing like a beggar beside the highway, the\ninnkeeper and his wife were seated before their fire, in the dull\ntranquillity of persons as accustomed to the alternations of noisy\nlife by day and complete isolation by night as the inhabitants of\nmarshy places are to their intermittent fevers.\n\n\"May evil light on that hard-skulled sailor who took it into his head\nthat there must be a new world, and never stopped till he ran against\nit,\" said the woman. \"Had not the king already cities enough in this?\nWhat good has it done? Taken our sons off there, and sent us the\nepidemic. Do say, Andres, and don't sit sleeping there like a mole, if\nit has been of any other use.\"\n\n\"Yes, wife, yes,\" answered the innkeeper, half' opening his eyes, \"the\nsilver comes from there.\"\n\n\"Plague take the silver!\" exclaimed the woman.\n\n\"And the tobacco,\" added the husband, slowly and lazily, again closing\nhis eyes,\n\n\"A curse upon the tobacco!\" said the wife angrily. \"Do you think, you\nunfeeling father, that the silver or the tobacco are worth the lives\nthey cost and the tears? Son of my soul! God knows what will become of\nhim in that land where they kill men like chinches, and where\neverything is venomous, even the air!\"\n\nThey heard at this moment a peculiar whistle. The innkeeper, springing\nto his feet, caught up the light and ran toward the door, exclaiming,\n\"The captain!\"\n\nAs he presented himself on the threshold, the rays of the lamp fell\nupon a man on horseback, with another man that looked like a corpse\nlying across the horse in front of him.\n\n\"Help me take this fellow down,\" said the rider, in the rough tone of\na man of few words.\n\nThe innkeeper handed the lamp to his wife, who had approached, and\nmade haste to obey.\n\n\"Mercy to us! A dead man!\" said she. \"For the love of the Blessed\nMother, sir, do not leave him in our house!\"\n\n{790}\n\n\"He is not dead,\" said the horseman, \"he is sick; nurse him up--that\nis what women ore good for. Here is money to pay for the cure.\"\n\nSaying this, he threw down a piece of gold, and disappeared, the\nresounding and measured gallop of his horse dying away gradually in\nthe distance.\n\n\"If this is not a cool proceeding!\" grumbled Martha. \"What will you\nbet that he, with his own hands, has not put the man in this state?\nand he takes himself off and leaves him on ours! 'You cure him!' as if\nit were nothing to cure a man who is dead or dying! As if this inn\nwere an hospital! The bully thinks he has only to command, as if he\nwere the king!\"\n\n\"Hush!\" exclaimed the innkeeper, alarmed, \"_will_ you be still,\nlong-tongue! Talk that way of Diego! Women are the very devil! What is\nthe use of grumbling, since you know there is nothing for it but to do\nas these people tell us! Besides, this is a work of charity, so let's\nbe about it.\"\n\nThey prepared, as well as they could, a bed in a garret.\n\n\"He has no sign of blow or wound,\" said Andres, as he was undressing\nthe patient; \"so you see, wife, it is a sickness like any other.\"\n\n\"Look, look, Andres!\" exclaimed Martha; \"he has the scapular of our\nLady of Carmel around his neck.\"\n\nAnd as if the sight or influence of the blessed object had awakened in\nher all the gentle sentiments of Christian humility, or as if the\nsacred precept, \"Thy neighbor as thyself,\" uttered by the brotherhood\nin united devotion, had resounded clearly, she began to exclaim: \"You\nwere right, Andres, it is a work of charity to assist him, poor\nfellow! How young he is, and how forsaken! His poor mother! Come,\ncome, Andres, what are you doing, standing there like a post? Go!\nhurry! bring me some wine to rub his temples; and kill a hen, for I am\ngoing to make him some broth.\"\n\n\"So it is,\" soliloquized Andres, as he went out--\"at first, wouldn't\nhave him in the house; now she will turn the house out of the windows\nfor him. That's the way with women. It is hard to understand them.\"\n\nOn the following night, a man of evil face and repugnant aspect came\nto the inn. This man had been in the penitentiary, and was nicknamed\nthe convict.\n\n\"God be with you, sir,\" said the innkeeper, with more fear than\ncordiality, \"what might be your pleasure?\"\n\n\"A whim of the captain's, curse him! for haven't I come to ask after\nthe sick, like the porter of a convent?\"\n\n\"He is not doing very well,\" answered the innkeeper; \"he is in a\nraging fever, is out of his mind, and talks of a murder he has\ndone--of dead men's heads.\"\n\n\"Ho! so then he is a man that can handle arms,\" said the convict.\n\"Let's have a look at him.\"\n\nThey mounted to the garret, and the innkeeper continued:\n\n\"All day long I have been in a cold sweat with fear. There have been\npeople in the house, and even soldiers--if they had heard him!\"\n\nThe convict, who had been examining the delicate and wasted form of\nPerico, interrupted with a movement of disdain.\n\n\"Well, if he makes too much noise for you, quarter him upon the king.\"\n[Footnote 186]\n\n  [Footnote 186: Put him into the street.]\n\n\"No, indeed!\" cried Martha, \"poor unfortunate! I have a son in America\nwho may be at this very hour in the same condition, abandoned by every\none, and calling, as this one calls, for his mother. No, no, sir, we\nshall not desert him. Neither Our Lady, whose scapular he wears, nor\nI.\"\n\n\"Buy him sweetmeats,\" said the convict, and went down.\n\n\"What news?' he asked of the innkeeper.\n\n\"They say that a reward is to be offered for Diego's head.\"\n\n{791}\n\n\"What?\" asked the convict again, with quick and unusual interest. The\ninnkeeper repeated what he had said. The convict considered a moment,\nand then continued,\n\n\"Where do they think we are?\"\n\n\"Near Despenaperros.\"\n\n\"Are they after us?\"\n\n\"Yes, there is a cavalry company at Sevilla, one of infantry at\nCordoba, and another of the mountain soldiery at Utrera.\"\n\n\"There will be some shoes worn out before they see our faces, and if\nthey do get to see them it will cost them dear.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" Andres replied; \"we know that whoever puts himself in\nDiego's way may as well look for his grave; but then--there may be so\nmany of them . . .\"\n\n\"Perhaps you would like to get a crack of my fist on your bugle?\" said\nthe bandit.\n\n\"Not at all,\" said Andres, retreating a step or two.\n\n\"Put more ballast in your tongue then--and hurry up with the bread\n--quick now!\"\n\nAndres hastened to obey. The bandit was going away when he heard\nMartha's voice calling after him.\n\n\"It slipped my mind--you take this money,\" she said, handing him the\npiece of gold. \"Give it to the captain, and tell him that what I do\nfor this lad I do for charity, and not for interest.\"\n\n\"I shall be sure to give him such a reason. He accepts 'No' neither\nwhen he says give, nor when he says take; but to settle it between\nyou, I will keep the money;\" and setting spurs to his horse, he\ndisappeared.\n\n\"You have done a wise thing!\" said the innkeeper impatiently. \"Will\nthe money, you foolish good-for-nothing, be better in the hands of\nthat big thief than in ours? Women!--ill hap to them! Only the devil\nunderstands them.\"\n\n\"I understand myself and God understands me,\" said the good woman,\nreturning to the garret.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI.\n\nThe care of the innkeeper's wife and the youth and robust constitution\nof Perico vanquished the fever. At the end of a fortnight he was able\nto rise.\n\nPerico evinced all his gratitude to Martha in a manner more heartfelt\nthan fluent.\n\n\"You must not thank me\" said the good woman, \"for truly, the face I\nput on when I saw you brought was not one of welcome; but I have taken\na liking to you because I see that you are a good son and a good\nChristian.\"\n\nPerico hung his head in deep grief and humiliation. His physical\nweakness had deadened in him the blind and furious impulse which had\nexalted him, as such impulse does sometimes exalt gentle and timid\nnatures to a point past the limit which strong-minded and even violent\nmen respect.\n\nAll that effervescence which caused such a surging of his passions, as\ngas causes the juice of the grape to ferment, had ceased, as the foam\nsubsides upon the wine, leaving reflection, which, without diminishing\nthe greatness of his wrongs, condemned his method of redressing them.\n\nAll the horror which the future inspired returned to Perico with\nreturning strength, and it was not lessened when Andres, taking the\noccasion one day when his wife was about her work, said to him:\n\n\"My friend, now that you are recovered you must seek your living\nsomewhere else, for--the more friendship, the more frankness,\nsir--when you were out of your head you talked of a murder you had\ncommitted. If it is true, and they find you here, we shall suffer for\nit, and that will not be right; the just ought not to pay for sinners;\nwell-regulated charity, let Martha, who pretends to know better, say\nwhat she will, begins at home. Nobody but that pumpkin-headed wife of\nmine is capable of sustaining that Christian charity begins with one's\nneighbor. As to me, I tell you the truth, I want nothing to do with\njustice, for she has a heavy hand.\"\n\n{792}\n\nPerico did not reply, but went with tearful eyes to take leave of\nMartha. The good soul felt his departure, for she had become fond of\nhim. The memory of her son had attached Martha to the unfortunate\nyoung man, and the memory of his own mother had drawn Perico toward\nthe woman who acted toward him a mother's part.\n\nHe took his gun, and was going out when he met the convict.\n\n\"Which way?\" said the robber. \"Do you clear out in this fashion,\nwithout so much as May God reward you! to the compassionate soul who\npicked you up? This isn't the right thing, comrade. Besides, where can\nyou go hereabouts? Are you in a hurry to be put in the lock-up?\"\n\nPerico remained silent; he neither thought nor reasoned--had no will\nof his own. \"Courage! and come along,\" proceeded the convict. \"Here we\nare taking more trouble to help you than you will take to let yourself\nbe helped.\" Perico followed him mechanically.\n\n\"Look, Martha,\" said Andres, seeing Perico at a distance in company\nwith the robber, \"look at your pet--and what a jewel he is, to be\nsure! There he goes with the convict.\"\n\n\"And what of it?\" responded Martha. \"I tell you, Andres, that he is a\ngood son and a good Christian.\"\n\n\"An impostor and a vagabond, that has eaten up my hens--and you see\nwhere he is going, and yet say that he is good! The devil only\nunderstands women!\"\n\nPerico and the convict, making their way through thickets and\ndifficult places, came at last to an elevation, upon which stood the\ncaptain leaning on his gun, and guarding the slumbers of eight men,\nwho were lying around him on the slope. Near him grazed his beautiful\nhorse, which lifted its head from time to time to regard its master.\n\n\"Here is this young man,\" said the convict as they drew near.\n\nWithout changing his position, the captain slowly turned his eyes and\nexamined the new arrival from head to foot. His scrutiny finished, he\nasked,\n\n\"Are you a fugitive from justice?\"\n\nPerico inclined his head, but did not answer.\n\n\"There is no cause for fear,\" proceeded his questioner, and presently,\nin brief phrases, added,\n\n\"Men have fatal hours, and of these some are as red as blood and some\nas black as darkness itself. One is enough to destroy a man, and turn\nhis heart to a stone which has neither pulse nor feeling, only weight.\nHe remains lost, for the past is past, and there is nothing to do but\nbear it with pluck. Life is a fight, in which one must look before\nhim, like a brave man, and not behind, like a poltroon.\"\n\n\"I cannot do it,\" exclaimed Perico vehemently. \"If you knew--\"\n\nThe captain, with an imperative gesture, extended his arm to silence\nhim, and continued.\n\n\"Here, each one carries his own secrets within himself, a sealed\npacket, without awakening in the others either curiosity or interest.\nIf you have nowhere to go, stay with us; here we defend all we have\nleft, our life. Mine I do not guard because I value it, but to keep it\nfrom the headsman.\"\n\n\"But you rob?\" said Perico.\n\n\"We must do something,\" responded the bandit, returning, like a\ntortoise, into his hard and impenetrable shell.\n\nPerico neither accepted nor refused the proposition, he remained\nwithout volition, an inert body; chance disposed of his wretched\nexistence, as the winds dispose of the dry and heavy sands of the\ndesert.\n\n\n\n{793}\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI.\n\nBut while Perico, after the occurrences which we have related, was\ndragging out a miserable existence among a band of criminals, what\nbecame of the other individuals of this family? To what extremes had\nthey been carried by resentment, grief, despair, and revenge?\n\nPedro, from the fatal day on which he lost his son, had shut himself\nin his own house with his sorrow. The parish priest and some of his\nfriends went from time to time to keep him company--not to console\nhim, that was impossible, but to talk with him about his trouble, like\nthose who relieve vessels of the bitter water of the sea, not to right\nthem but to keep them from sinking. They had tried to persuade him to\nrenew his intercourse with the family of Perico, but without success.\n\n\"No, no,\" he would answer on such occasions. \"I have forgiven him\nbefore God and men; but have to do with his people as though it had\nnot been, I cannot.\"\n\n\"Pedro, Pedro, that is not forgiveness,\" said the priest. \"It is the\nletter but not the spirit of the law.\"\n\n\"Father,\" replied the poor man, \"God does not ask what is impossible.\"\n\n\"No, but what he requires is possible.\"\n\n\"Sir, you want me to be a saint, and I am not one; it is enough for me\nto be a good Christian, and forgive. Have I molested them? Have I\nsought justice? What more can I do?\"\n\n\"Pedro, returning good for evil, wise men walk in peace.\"\n\n\"Mercy, mercy, father! why shave so close as to lay bare the brains?\nGod help and favor them; but each in his own house, and God with us\nall.\"\n\nMaria had hidden herself with her daughter in the retirement of her\ncottage, covering the despair and shame of the latter with the sacred\nmantle of maternal love, her only refuge from the unanimous\ndisapproval and condemnation which she justly merited. The unfortunate\nvictims, Anna and Elvira, remained alone, but sustained in their\nimmense affliction by their religion and their conscience. Many months\npassed in this way. At length two Capuchins came to the village to\nhold a mission. These missions were instituted for the conversion of\nthe wicked, the awakening of the luke-warm, the encouragement of the\ngood, and the consolation of the sorrowful.\n\nThe missionaries preached at night, and the church was filled with\npeople who came to hear the word of God, which teaches men to be pious\nand humble.\n\nThe good Maria succeeded in persuading her daughter to go to the\nmissions, and Rita, hard, bitter, and selfish, in her shame and\ndesperation, found in them repentance, with tears for the past,\npenance and humiliation for the present, and for the future the divine\nhand, which lifts the fallen one, who, bathed in tears, and prostrate\nin ashes, implores its help. One night the subject of the sermon was\nthe forgiveness of injuries. Magnificent theme! Holy and sublime\nbeyond all others! The earnest preacher knew how to improve it, and\nthe believing people how to understand it.\n\nAt the conclusion the good missionary knelt before the crucifix, and\nwith fervent zeal and ardent charity promised the Lord of mercy, in\nthe name of that multitude kneeling at his feet, that on the\nsucceeding night there should not be in the temple a single hard and\nunreconciled heart. A burst of exclamations and tears confirmed the\npromise of the devoted apostle.\n\nThe day which followed was one of peace and love, according to the\nspirit of the evangel. The most deeply-rooted enmities were ended; the\nmost irreconcilable foes embraced each other in the streets; the\nangels in heaven had cause for rejoicing.\n\nPedro went to see Anna. Terrible to the unhappy man was the entering\ninto that house. He approached Anna and embraced her in silence. The\nafflicted mother shook, and tried in vain to overcome her emotion. But\nwhen Pedro turned toward Elvira, as she stood wringing her thin hands,\nworn to a shadow and bathed in tears--when {794} he pressed to his\npaternal heart her whom he had looked upon and loved as a daughter,\nall his grief broke forth in the cry: \"Daughter! daughter! you and I\nloved him!\"\n\nRita, also, went to Anna's to beg for that which Pedro went to carry.\nWhen she found herself in the presence of the mother-in-law she had\noutraged, she fell upon her knees. \"I,\" she exclaimed, beating her\nbreast, \"have been the cause of all! I have not come to ask a\nforgiveness I do not deserve, but to beg of you to reprimand without\ncursing me.\" When she turned to Elvira, it was not enough to remain on\nher knees, she bent her face to the floor, moaning amidst her sobs.\n\"Since you are an angel, forgive!\"\n\nMaria supported her prostrate child, and implored Anna with her looks\nand tears. Anna and Elvira, without a word of reproach, raised and\nembraced her who had done so much to injure them; striving all they\ncould from that day to reanimate her, for she was the most wretched of\nthe three, because the guilty one.\n\nAll the people looked with charity upon the woman who had sincerely\nand publicly repented, for although the society called cultivated\nfinds in religious demonstrations another cause for vituperation,\nadding to the condemnation of faults which it never forgets the\nreproach of hypocrisy upon those who turn to God, the people, more\ngenerous and more just, honor the open evidence of penitence and\nhumiliation. Therefore, when they saw Rita abase herself and weep,\ntheir indignation was exchanged for compassion, and the _epithet_\n\"infamous!\" for the pitiful words \"poor child!\"\n\nThis was because the common people, though they know not what\nphilanthropy means, know well, because religion teaches them, what is\nChristian charity.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII.\n\nTo Perico, the life into which he found himself drawn by necessity,\nand by the vigorous influence Diego exercised over him, was one of\nmisery; Diego also had been drawn into a life of crime by a terrible\nmisfortune; but having entered, he adopted it as a warrior does his\niron armor, without heeding either its hardness or its oppressive\nweight. Perico followed his wicked companions while he detested them.\nHe was like the silver fish of some peaceful inland lake which, caught\nby some fatal current, is carried away into the bitter and restless\nwaters of the sea, where it agonizes without the power to escape. At\ntimes, when a crime was committed under his eyes, he wished in his\ndesperation to end his torments at once, by giving himself up to\njustice; but shame, and want of energy to overcome it, held him back.\nThe others hated him, and surnamed him \"The Sad,\" but he was sustained\nby Diego's powerful protection. Diego felt attracted toward the man\nwhose life he had saved, and who was, he felt, good and honest. For\nthe rough and austere Diego was of a strong and noble nature that had\nnot yet descended to the lowest grade of evil, which is hatred of the\ngood.\n\nIn one of their raids, when the band had approached Tas Yentas, near\nAlocaz, a spy arrived in breathless haste from Utrera, telling them\nthat a company of mountain soldiery had just left the latter place in\nthe direction of Tas Yentas, informed of their whereabouts by some\ntravellers they had lately pillaged.\n\nThey made haste to take refuge in an olive grove, but had hardly\nentered it when they were surprised by a troop of cavalry. A deadly\ncontest then commenced, sustained by these men, who were fighting for\ntheir lives with terrible bravery.\n\n{795}\n\n\"Perico,\" said Diego, \"now or never is the occasion to prove that you\ndo not eat your bread without earning it. This is a fair fight. At\nthem, if you are a man!\"\n\nOn hearing these words, Perico, confused, and like a drunken man,\nthrew himself in the way of the balls, firing upon the poor\nsoldiers--men who were sacrificing everything for the good of society,\nwhich, in its egotism, does not even thank them; for it happens to\nthem as to the confessors and doctors, who are laughed at in health,\nand anxiously called upon when there is any danger. One of the bandits\nwas killed, two of the soldiers wounded, and a ball of Perico's, fired\nat a great distance, killed the commander of the troop. The\nconsternation which followed this catastrophe gave the robbers an\nopportunity to escape. They fled beyond Utrera, passed through the\nhaciendas of La Chaparra and Jesus-Maria, and arrived exhausted at\nnightfall in Valobrega. This valley, not far from Alcal\u00e1 is surrounded\nby ridges and olive slopes. In the most retired part of it, on the\nmargin of a brook, are still standing the ruins of a Moorish castle\ncalled Marchenilla. Men and horses threw themselves upon the turf at\nthe base of these solitary ruins. They quenched their thirst in the\nbrook, and when night set, in lighted a fire, and all except Diego and\nPerico lay down to sleep.\n\n\"An evil day, Corso,\" said Diego, caressing his horse, which lowered\nand then lifted his beautiful head as if to assent to his master's\nwords, and say to him, \"What matter since I have saved you?\"\n\n\"I treat thee shamefully, my son,\" continued the chief, who loved his\nhorse the more fondly because he loved no other creature. The horse,\nas if he had understood, neighed gaily, and, rising on his hind feet,\nbalanced himself, and then dropped down upon all four beside his\nmaster, presenting his head to be caressed.\n\n\"What will become of thee if l am taken?\" said the robber, leaning his\nhead against the neck of the animal, which now stood motionless.\n\n\"Truly,\" said Diego, seating himself by the fire in front of Perico,\n\"it is to you we owe our escape to-day with so little loss.\"\n\n\"To me?\" asked Perico surprised.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered the captain; \"the troop was commanded by a brave\nofficer, who knew the country, and did not mean child's play. The son\nof the Countess of Villaoran. He would have given us work if you had\nnot killed him.\"\n\n\"God have mercy on me!\" exclaimed Perico, springing to his feet and\nraising his clasped hands to heaven. \"What are you saying? The son of\nthe countess was there, and I killed him?\"\n\n\"What shocks you?\" replied Diego.\n\n\"Perhaps you thought we were firing sugar-plums? Heavens!\" he added\nimpatiently, \"you exasperate me! One would take you for a travelling\nplayer, with all your attitudes and extravagances. By all that's\nsacred, the convict is right. You missed your vocation; instead of\nchoosing a life of freedom you should have turned friar. Come! keep\nwatch,\" he added, wrapping himself in his mantle, and lying down with\na stone under his head and his carbine between his knees.\n\nHis words were lost upon Perico. The unhappy man tore his hair and\ncursed himself in his despair. He had killed the son of the mistress\nand benefactress of his uncles, his own companion of childhood.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII.\n\nHow vividly, during that gloomy night did the tranquil scenes of his\nlost domestic happiness present themselves to Perico! And for what had\nhe exchanged them? His present frightful existence. All around him was\nmotionless. He saw in the sad monotony of the night the changeless\nmonotony of his misery; in the fire {796} burning before him, his\nconsuming conscience; and in the cold and impenetrable obscurity\nbeyond, his dark and cheerless future.\n\n\"Power of God!\" he cried, \"can I see and remember, and feel all this,\nand yet live?\"\n\nThe red and wavering flame threw from time to time a glare of light\nacross the strange wild forms of the ruins, presently leaving them in\ndeep shadow, appearing to take refuge within, as a dying memory\nflashes up and then buries itself in the oblivion of the past. He\nheard his own breathing exaggerated by the silence, he saw horrible\nshapes in the obscurity. Fingers threatened him--eyes glared at\nhim--reproachful voices accused him. And no, he was not mistaken, by\nthe clearer light of the flames, now blown by the wind, he saw, beyond\na remnant of wall, a pair of hard black eyes fixed upon him. Startled,\nand doubtful between the imaginary and the real, Perico did not know\nwhether he ought to put himself under the protection of heaven, by\nmaking the sign of the cross, or to call for earthly help by giving\nthe signal of alarm.\n\nBefore he could act, there came from behind the stone ruin a ruin of\nhumanity; from behind the degradation of time, a wreck of human\ndegradation--an old, filthy, and disgusting gipsy woman. The tint of\nthe brown woollen skirts which covered her fleshless limbs blended\nwith that of the ruin; she wore about her neck a kerchief, and over\nher faded locks a black cloth mantilla.\n\nPerico was struck motionless as a stone, or as if the repulsive face\nhad been that of the Medusa.\n\n\"Don't be uneasy,\" said the vision, approaching, \"there is nothing to\nbe afraid of. I have not come with bad motive, and you need not be on\nthe watch. I knew that you were here, and have caused it to be rumored\nthat you were making your way in the direction of the Sierra de Ronda,\nand that people had seen you near Espera and Villa-Martin.\"\n\n\"But why have you come here?\" exclaimed Perico, instinctively alarmed\nat the aspect of the woman.\n\n\"To put you in the way of securing, at a stroke, a fortune that will\nlast you your lifetime,\" she replied.\n\n\"That which you are likely to offer does not inspire much confidence,\"\nsaid Perico.\n\n\"Why should I wish to harm you?\" said the gipsy; \"and as to my looks,\na poor cloak may cover a hail companion. I bring a treasure to your\nvery hands; you have only to extend them.\"\n\n\"A treasure,\" said Perico, in whom the word, instead of exciting\ncovetousness, only suggested the idea that the woman was mad, \"a\ntreasure, and where is it?\"\n\nThe old wretch, who saw in the question only what she expected to\nfind, avidity and thirst for gold, approached Perico as if she feared\nthe breath of night might intercept her words, and the anathemas of\nheaven dissolve them in the air, and whispered in his ear, \"In the\nchurch.\"\n\nPerico, utterly shocked, gave a step backward, but recovering himself,\nrushed upon the woman like a tiger, and pushing her with all his\nmight, exclaimed, \"Go!\"\n\n\"I will not go,\" she said, unintimidated; \"I came to speak with the\ncaptain and the convict, and I will speak with them.\"\n\nIn his anguish lest she should do it, and to force her to go, Perico\ndrew a dagger and flashed its shining blade in the firelight. The\ngipsy shrieked and the robbers woke.\n\n\"What is this?\" shouted Diego; \"what has happened? Perico, are you\ngoing to kill a woman?\"\n\n\"No, no, I do not want to kill her, only to drive her away.\"\n\n\"And because,\" said the old woman, \"I have come so far, through danger\nand fatigue, to put you in a way to leave this slavish life you are\nleading, like the Blond of Espera, who committed one robbery so great\nthat he had enough to go beyond the seas and pass the rest of his days\nin comfort.\"\n\n{797}\n\nThe robbers grouped themselves around her; the convict presenting her\nwith a fragment of the wall as a seat.\n\n\"Do not listen! do not listen!\" cried Perico, beside himself; \"she\npurposes a sacrilege!\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the convict to Diego, \"oblige that agonizing priest to\nhold his tongue, he is like the dog in the manger. Let this good woman\nspeak, and we shall know what she has to say--a regiment of horse\ncouldn't silence that dismal screech-owl.\"\n\nDiego hesitated, but finally turned toward the hag, and Perico,\nknowing then that hope was lost, for the bandit always followed his\nfirst impulses, rushed away, running hither and thither among the\nolives like a madman.\n\nThe gipsy had calculated everything, and her measures were well taken.\nThe great advantages so exaggerated, the difficulties so easily\novercome, the well-arranged precautions, upon which she amplified so\nlargely, produced their effect. The temptation which offers flowers\nwith one hand and with the other hides the thorns, convinced some and\nseduced others.\n\nAll the plans were settled, and the hours and signals agreed upon, and\nbefore the cocks, day's faithful sentinels, announced his coming, the\nband was on its way to the solitary hacienda of \"El Cuervo,\" and the\nold witch crawling like a cunning and venomous snake to her den in the\nwood of Alcal\u00e1, where in the depths of the earth she had conceived the\ncrime to which amidst darkness and ruins she had persuaded\nevil-doers--the crime which was to be perpetrated in the temple of\nGod.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX.\n\nHeavily passed the hours of the succeeding day to the idle guests of\nEl Cuervo. All Perico's representations and prayers had failed to\ndissuade Diego from his impious design. Diego would never turn back;\nand this stupid tenacity in pursuing a course which he knew to be\nwrong, had cost him respect and honor, and was still to cost him\nliberty and life. It had, moreover, at the instigation of the convict,\nforced Perico, who had at last resolved to leave the band, to\naccompany it on this atrocious expedition--that vile man suggesting to\nDiego that there was no other means of preventing the _saint_ from\ndenouncing them.\n\nAll mounted and at midnight reached the ruined castle of Alcal\u00e1. Diego\nwhistled three times. Directly after, the gipsy, holding a dark\nlantern, emerged from one of the vaults which open at the base of the\ncastle. They dismounted and followed her.\n\nPerico would have escaped by flight from the evil pass in which he\nfound himself, but his companions surrounded him and dragged him with\nthem whither the woman led. She, after saluting the robbers in a\nfawning voice, opened with a picklock the door of a rude court filled\nwith rubbish and timbers. From the court a postern leads into the\nvestry, and through this the sacrilegious band entered the church, not\nwithout dread and trembling even at the sound of their own footsteps.\n\nWhat a sublime and tremendous spectacle--a deserted temple in the dead\nof night! Under its influence even the purest and most pious souls\nsink in profound awe and devotion; and no amount of incredulity is\nsufficient to sustain the heart of him who presumes to violate it.\n\nHow immense appeared those shadowy naves! How far above them the\ncorbels, which, upheld by giants of stone, seemed almost lost in the\nmysterious gloom of a sky without stars! There in a deep and lonesome\nniche, stretched prostrate and mute, slept a cold effigy upon a\nsepulchre. Its outlines were hardly discernible, but the very\nobscurity seemed to lend them motion.\n\n{798}\n\nThe high altar, still perfumed with the flowers and incense of the\nmorning, gleamed through the darkness. The altar, centre of faith,\nthrone of charity, refuge of hope, shelter of the defenceless,\nexhaustless source of consolations, attracting all eyes, all steps,\nall hearts. Before the tabernacle burned the lamp, solitary guardian\nof the _sacrarium_--burned only to light it, for light is the\nknowledge of God.\n\nHoly and mysterious lamp--continual holocaust--aflame, tranquil like\nhope--silent, like reverence--ardent, like charity--and enduring like\neternal mercy. The gleams and reflections of this light caught and\nrelieved the prominent points of the carvings and mouldings of the\ngilded altarpiece, giving them the look of eyes keeping religious\nwatch. There was nothing to distract the mind, the perfect fixedness,\nthe unbroken stillness, effected as it were a suspension of life,\nwhich was not sleep--which was not death, but the peacefulness of the\none and the deep solemnity of the other.\n\nSuch was the interior of the church of Alcal\u00e1 when the spoilers\nentered, lighted by the gipsy's lantern and dragging with them, by\nmain force, the unfortunate Perico.\n\n\"Let him go, and lock that door,\" said Diego.\n\n\"He will shout and betray us,\" said the others.\n\n\"Let him go, I say,\" retorted the captain. \"What can he do?\"\n\n\"He can shriek,\" answered Leon, who, assisted by the gipsy, was\nstripping the high altar of the silver furniture which adorned it.\n\n\"Guard him, then,\" said the captain. Two of the men approached Perico.\n\n\"Off with your hats, for you are in God's house,\"' he cried.\n\n\"Gag him,\" commanded the captain, Resistance was useless. They\ninstantly stopped his mouth with a handkerchief.\n\nBut notwithstanding the handkerchief, which suffocated him, when\nPerico saw that Leon and the gipsy were breaking open the sacrarium he\nmade one desperate effort, and falling on his knees shouted,\n\"Sacrilege! Sacrilege!!!\" Terrible was the voice that resounded in the\nchapels, that echoed like thunder along the vaults, that awakened the\ngrand and sonorous instrument which on other occasions accompanies the\nimposing _De profundis_ and the glorious _Te Deum_, and died away in\nits metal tubes like a doleful wail. It caused a moment of cold terror\nto those miserable wretches. Even Diego trembled!\n\n\"Have mercy, Lord, have mercy!\" moaned the unhappy Perico.\n\n\"Make haste,\" said Diego, \"the night is becoming clearer, and we may\nbe seen going out from here.\"\n\nIn fact, the clouds were breaking away, and a ray of the moon falling\nat this moment through a lofty skylight kissed the feet of an image of\nour Blessed Lady.\n\n\"Curse the moon!\" exclaimed the gipsy; and frightened at seeing each\nother by the clear and sudden illumination, they hastened the work of\nspoliation. At last they left the church, and the gipsy, when she had\nseen them ride away loaded with riches, turned and again hid herself\nin the earth.\n\nBefore the sun brightened the _Giralda_ the robbers reached the\noutskirts of _Seville_ with their booty, They left their horses in an\nolive grove in charge of the convict, and each entered the city by a\ndifferent gate, reuniting in an out-of-the-way place which the gipsy\nhad indicated, where a silver-smith, who was in the secret, received,\nweighed, and paid for the valuables. But when they returned to the\nplace where they had left the convict with the horses, they found it\ndeserted.\n\n\"That dog has sold us,\" said one.\n\n\"For what?\" said Diego, \"when his part, which is likely to be worth\nmore than his treason, is here.\"\n\n\"Perhaps he has seen people, and has gone to hide in El Cuervo,\" said\nanother.\n\nThey set out in the direction of the hacienda, avoiding roads and\nbeaten paths, and keeping within the shelter of the trees; but neither\nthere did they find the convict.\n\n{799}\n\n\"My poor Corso!\" said Diego, and a bitter tear shone for a moment in\nhis eyes; but instantly recovering himself he said, \"We are sold: but,\ncourage! and let us save ourselves. Down the river; to the frontier;\nto Ayamonte; to Portugal. Some day I shall find him, and on that day\nhe will wish he had never been born!\"\n\nThey were leaving, when the gipsy presented herself to claim her share\nof the money. All assailed her with questions respecting the\ndisappearance of the convict; but she knew nothing, and manifested\nmuch uneasiness.\n\n\"You are not safe here, and ought to get away as soon as may be,\" she\nsaid. \"The elder son of the Countess of Villaoran has sworn to avenge\nhis brother. He has got a troop from the captain-general, and is out\nafter you. I am afraid he has surprised the convict. As for me I am\ngoing, the ground burns under my feet.\"\n\n\"Oh! that it would burn you up!\" exclaimed one.\n\n\"Oh! that it would swallow you!\" exclaimed another.\n\nThe old hag silently disappeared among the olives, like a viper which\ncrawls away, leaving its venom in the bite it has inflicted.\n\n\"A robbery in the house of God!\" said the first.\n\n\"The _sacrarium_ violated!\" said the other.\n\n\"Come, hold your tongues!\" shouted Diego. \"Make the best of what can't\nbe undone. Let's be off.\"\n\nBut now they heard the tramp of horses, and Perico, who had been\nstationed to watch, came hastily in and informed them that the convict\nwas coming. His arrival was greeted with shouts of joy. He said that\nhe had seen a troop of horsemen, and had hidden himself; that in order\nto return he had been obliged to make large circuits. \"But, now,\" he\nadded, \"we have no time to lose, they are on our track. Here, captain,\nis Corso, I have taken good care of him for you; I know how fond of\nhim you are.\"\n\nDiego joyfully caressed the noble creature vowing within himself never\nagain to be separated from him.\n\nThey hastened their departure, when, suddenly, before them, behind\nthem, above their heads, resounded a formidable demand, \"Surrender to\nthe king!\"\n\nThey were surrounded by a party of cavalry. Two pistols were pointed\nat Diego's breast, and a man held the bridle of his horse. Diego cast\nhis eyes around him with no feigned composure! Knowing the ability of\nthe horse, which he had trained to this end, he drew his dagger with\nthe quickness of light, and cut the hands which held the reins,\npressed his knees strongly against the animal's sides, and, caressing\nhis neck, cried, \"Hey! Corso, save your master!\"\n\nThe noble and intelligent creature made one effort, but fell back upon\nhis haunches powerless. He was hamstrung!\n\nDiego comprehended the blow, and knew the hand that had dealt it.\nFrantic with rage, he sprang to the ground, but the traitor had\ndisappeared among the troop which crowded the pass. They took Diego,\nwho made no useless resistance. As they left the defile, the bandit\nturned his head, and cast a last look upon the horse, that, always\nimmovable, followed him with his large liquid eyes.\n\nThe soldiers disarmed the bandits, and tied their arms behind their\nbacks. \"Which is the one?\" asked the Count of Villaoran when he saw\nthem together--\"which is the one that killed my brother?\"\n\nThe robbers were silent at a look from Diego, who, though a prisoner\nand bound, still awed them.\n\n\"Which was it?\" asked the count again, in a voice choked with rage.\n\n\"It was I,\" said Perico.\n\nThe count turned toward the drooping youth, who had not before\nattracted his notice; but when he fixed his eyes upon him a cry of\nhorror escaped his lips.\n\n{800}\n\n\"You! Perico Alvareda! Iniquity without name! Perversity without\nexample! Poor Anna! wretched mother that bore you! Unfortunate little\nones! Unhappy Rita! Know, infamous man,\" continued the count with\nvehemence, \"that your wife has worked with incessant zeal and activity\nto procure your pardon. She was always at the feet of the judges.\nVentura forgave you before he died. Pedro has forgiven you. My poor\nbrother was the zealous and tireless agent of your friends. He\nobtained your pardon of the king. All were anxiously seeking you, and\nhe more than all the rest, and I--would to God I had never found you!\"\n\nDiego, who saw the immense grief which the coldness and pallor of\ndeath painted upon the changing countenance of Perico, and noticed\nthat he was tottering, said to the count:\n\n\"Sir, do you see that you are killing him?\"\n\n\"I will not anticipate the executioner,\" answered the count, mounting\nhis horse.\n\n\"Courage!\" murmured Diego in the ear of the sinking Perico. \"Look at\nus. We are all going to die, and we are all serene.\"\n\nThey entered Seville amidst the maledictions of the populace,\nhorrified by their recent crimes. But the indignation with which the\ncrowd saw the vile traitor who had sold his companions, walking among\nthem free, was beyond measure.\n\nThis traitor was the convict, who by betraying the others had bought\nhis own pardon, and obtained the reward promised to the person who\nshould secure the arrest of the notorious robber Diego, who had so\nlong laughed at the efforts of his pursuers.\n\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.\n\nThe prison of Seville was at that time badly situated, in a narrow\nstreet in the most central part of the city. It was an ill-looking\nstructure, scaly and mean; wanting in its style the dignity of legal\nauthority and the outward respect which humanity owes to misfortune,\neven when it is criminal. A few steps from this centre of hardened\nwickedness and beastly degradation the street ends in the grand\n_plaza_ of _San Francisco_--an irregular oblong area, bounded by those\nedifices which make it the most imposing plaza of the famed deanery of\n_Andalucia_, On the right are the chapter-houses whose exquisite\narchitecture renders them in the eyes of both Sevillans and strangers\nthe finest ornaments of the city. On the left, forming a projecting\nangle, stands the regular and severe edifice of the _Audiencia_, the\ntribunal to which justice gives all power. Surmounting it, like a\nsignal of mercy, is its clock--ten minutes too slow; venerable\nillegality, which gives ten minutes more of life to the criminal\nbefore striking the cruel hour named for his execution. Thus all the\nlaws and customs of ancient Spain have the seal of charity. Ten\nminutes, to him who is passing tranquilly along the road of life, are\nnothing; but to him who is about to die, they are priceless. Upon the\nthreshold of death, ten minutes may decide his sentence for eternity.\nTen minutes may bring an unhoped-for but possible pardon. But even\nthough these considerations, spiritual and temporal, did not exist;\nthough this impressive souvenir of our forefathers were nothing more\nthan the grant of ten minutes of existence to him who is about to die,\nit would still prove that, even to their most severe decrees, our\nancestors knew how to affix the seal of charity. As such it is\nrecognized by the people, who understand and appreciate it, for it is\none of the customs which they hold in highest reverence. O Spain! what\nexamples hast thou not given to the world of all that is good and\nwise! thou that to-day art asking them of strangers!\n\n{801}\n\nOn one side of the town-hall, forming a receding angle, is seen the\ngreat convent of San Francisco with its imposing church. The other\nfronts form arches that, like stone festoons, adorn the sides of the\nplaza. At the end opposite the point first mentioned is an immense\nmarble fountain, of which the flow of waters is as changeless and\nlasting as the material of the basin which receives it.\n\nOne day the plaza of San Francisco and the streets leading to it were\ncovered with an unusual multitude. What drew them together? Why were\nthey there? To see a man die--but no, not die; to see a man kill his\nbrother! To die is solemn, not terrible, when the angel gently closes\nthe sufferer's weary eyes and gives his soul wings to rise to other\nregions. But to see a man killed, by a human hand, in travail of\nspirit, in agony of soul, in tortures of pain, is appalling. And yet\nmen go, and hasten, and crowd each other, to witness the consummation\nof legal doom. But it is neither pleasure nor curiosity that attracts\nthe awe-struck multitude. It is that fatal desire of emotion which\ntakes possession of the contradictory human heart. This might have\nbeen read in those faces, at once pale, anxious, and horrified. An\nindistinct murmur ran through the dense multitude, in the midst of\nwhich rose that pillar of shame and anguish; that usurper of the\nmission of death; that foothold of the forsaken, which no one but the\npriest treads voluntarily--the fearful scaffold, built at night, by\nthe melancholy light of lanterns, because the men who raise it are\nashamed to be seen by the light of God's sun and the eyes of their\nfellowmen. The crowd shuddered at intervals at the mournful strokes of\nthe bell of San Francisco, pealing for a being who no longer existed\nexcept to God, for the world had blotted him from the list of the\nliving. Its notes, now rising to God in supplication for a soul, now\ndescending to mortals in expressive admonition, forming part of the\noverwhelming solemnity which was inhaled with the air and oppressed\nthe breast, seemed to say, Die, guilty ones die in expiatory sacrifice\nfor this sinful humanity. Only the pure and limpid fountain continued\nits sweet and monotonous song, unconscious as childhood and innocence\nof the terrors of the earth. O innocence, emanation of Paradise, still\nrespired in our corrupted atmosphere by children and those privileged\nbeings who have, like faith, a bandage upon their eyes, that they may\nbelieve without seeing, and another upon their hearts, that they may\nsee and not comprehend; who have, like charity, their heart in their\nhand, and, like hope, their eyes fixed on heaven, thou art always\nsurrounded by reverence, love, and admiration, which, as the daughter\nof heaven, thou meritest.\n\nThere are two classes of charity: one relieves material sufferings in\na material way, and with money--this is beautiful and liberal, but\neasy, and a social obligation. The other is that which relieves moral\nanguish, morally. This is sublime and divine.\n\nOf the latter class, one that has not been sufficiently praised by\nsociety, which finds so many occasions for censure and so few for\neulogy, is the Brotherhood of Charity. And who compose this admirable\ncongregation? Those, perhaps, who waste so much paper and phraseology\nin favor of humanity, philanthropy, and fraternity? No, not one of\nthem condescends to enter this corporation, which is formed\nprincipally of the aristocracy of those places where it has been\nestablished. The truth is, that between theory and practice, as\nbetween saying and doing, there is a great space.\n\nIn Seville, a short time after the events related in the last chapter,\nseveral gentlemen of distinction were seen passing through the\nstreets, each holding out a small basket, as he repeated in a grave\nvoice, \"For the unfortunates who are to be put to death.\"\n\n{802}\n\nDiego and his band were assembled in the chapel of the prison,\nconstantly attended by some of the brotherhood, who, leaving their\nhomes, their pleasures, and their occupations, came to take part in\nthis prolonged agony, consoling the last moments of these sinful men;\nanticipating their wishes with more attention than those of kings are\nanticipated, and pouring balsam into the wound inflicted by the sword\nof justice.\n\nTwo of the most zealous and devoted of the brotherhood, the Count of\nCantillana and the Marquis of Greffina, had been to the tribunal,\nwhich is established and remains in session in the jail while the\ncondemned are being prepared and led to the scaffold, and during the\nexecution, to ask of it the bodies of those who were to suffer. The\nfollowing is the formula adopted by this noble and affecting Catholic\ninstitution:\n\n  \"We come, in the name of Joseph and of Nicodemus, to ask leave to\n  take the body down from the place of punishment.\" The judge grants\n  the prayer, and they withdraw.\n\nEach prisoner was accompanied by his confessor--a blessed staff to\nsustain the steps that are turned toward the scaffold.\n\nWhen Perico had finished his sacramental confession, he said to the\nvenerable religious who assisted him: \"My name is not known; they call\nme 'Perico the Sad;' but, since between earth and heaven nothing is\nhidden, my family will, sooner or later, know my fate. Have the\ncharity, father, to fulfil my last desire, and be yourself the one to\ncarry the news to my mother. Tell her that I died repentant and\ncontrite, and not so criminal as I appear. An evil life is a ravine\ninto which one is drawn by the first crime. That crime which has\nweighed and is weighing so heavily upon me, I committed because I\npreferred a vain thing which men call honor, and which has sometimes\nto be bought with blood, to the precepts of the gospel, which make a\nvirtue of forbearance and command us to forgive. O father! how\ndifferent appear the things of life on the threshold of the tomb! Tell\nmy poor sister, whose bridegroom I killed, that I commend her to\nanother and immortal One, who will never deceive her. Tell Pedro that\nI know he has forgiven me, as did his son, and that I carry this\nconsolation to the grave, and my gratitude to God. Tell Rita that I\nlived and died loving her, and that, if I had lived, I never would\nhave reminded her of the past, since she has repented of it. Ask my\nmother-in-law, who is so good, to recommend me to God . . . . and my\npoor children . . . my orphans . . . . Oh! if it were possible that\nthey might never know . . . . the fate of their father . . . . who . . . .\nblesses them . . .\"\n\nHere his bursting heart found vent in sobs.\n\nThe priest who heard him, convinced of the innocence of his heart,\nseeing how he had been surprised into crime by all that exasperates\nand blinds the reason of a husband, a brother, and a brave man, and\nforced into an evil life by circumstances, necessity, and his natural\nwant of firmness, felt as one who without means or power to save it\nsees a fair vessel dashing to pieces at his feet.\n\nRita's constant and energetic movements to discover the whereabouts of\nPerico, whose pardon, with the assistance of charitable souls, she had\nobtained from the king, brought her, with her mother, that day to\nSeville. Attempting to pass the plaza of San Francisco they\nencountered the great crowd which had gathered there, and, asking the\ncause of the tumult, were shown the scaffold. They would have retired,\nbut could not for the press behind them.\n\nOne of the condemned is approaching; all burst into exclamations of\npity--\"Poor boy! This is the one they call 'Perico the Sad;' they say\nthat his wife, a good-for-nothing, was the ruin of him.\"\n\nRita's heart beats violently--the criminal passes--she sees--she\nrecognizes him. A shriek, another such was never uttered, rends the\nair--heard in all the market-place.\n\n{803}\n\n\n\nPerico stops: \"Father,\" he says, \"it is she! it is Rita!\"\n\n\"My son,\" replies the priest, \"think only of God, in whose presence\nyou are going to appear, contrite, reconciled, and happy, carrying\nwith you your expiation.\"\n\n\"Father, if I could only see her before I die?\"\n\n\"My son, think of the bitter punishment and of the glorious\nillumination you are going to receive from man, who is the instrument\nof God in your destiny.\" Perico wishes to turn \"Forward!\" orders the\nsergeant.\n\nHe mounts the scaffold and kneels to the spiritual father, who with a\ncalm face, but a heart sorely oppressed, blesses him. He kisses the\ncrucifix, that other scaffold, upon which the Man-God expiated the\nsins of others, still turning his eyes toward the place from which the\nvoice sounded that pierced his heart; seats himself upon the bench;\nthe executioner, who stands behind him, places the garrote around his\nneck; the priest intones the creed; the executioner turns the screw,\nand a simultaneous cry, \"Ave Maria purissima!\" sounds in the plaza.\nWith this invocation to the Mother of God, humanity takes leave of the\ncondemned at the moment that he is separated from it by the hand of\nthe law.\n\nThe executioner covers the face of the victim with a black cloth, and\nthe black shadow of the wings of death falls upon the hushed\nmultitude.\n\nSome compassionate persons carried Rita away senseless. Her situation\nwas terrible beyond expression. The convulsions which shook her left\nher but few moments of consciousness, and in these moments she gave\nway to her despair in a way so frightful that they were obliged to\nhold her as if she had been mad. For some days it was impossible to\nmove her. At length her relatives brought a cart to take her away.\nThey laid her in it, upon a mattress, but not one of them would\naccompany her for shame. Maria went alone with her child, sustaining\nher head upon her lap. Rita's long black hair fell around her like a\nveil, covering her from the glances of the indiscreet and curious.\n\"There goes,\" they said, as they saw her pass, \"the wife of the\ncriminal, who by her indiscretion sent him to the scaffold.\" But the\noxen did not hasten their deliberate steps. It seemed as if they also\nhad a mission to fulfil, in prolonging the punishment of reprobation\nto her who hid provoked it with so much audacity. Maria went like a\nresigned martyr. Her gentle heart had been made as it were elastic, in\norder to contain without bursting an immensity of suffering. From time\nto time Rita shuddered and broke into lamentations, pressing\nconvulsively her mother's knees. The latter said nothing, for even she\nfound no words of consolation for such grief.\n\nThey reached the village as night was coming on. The cart stopped\nbefore their house, and Rita was lifted out.\n\nShe sees a window wide open in her mother-in-law's house; through this\nwindow an unusual light is shining. She breaks away from the arms that\nsustain her and rushes to the grating. In the middle of the room which\nshe inhabited in happy times, stands a bier. Four wax candles throw\ntheir solemn light upon the calm form of Elvira. She is as white as\nher shroud; her hands are crossed, and through her right arm passes a\npalm branch--emblem consecrated to virginity. Thus in simple grace,\nand in the attitude of prayer, lies the pious village maiden.\n\nIn the front part of that melancholy room were still seen the withered\nplants which on a happier day had formed the mimic Bethlehem. At the\nextremity of the room sits Anna, as pale and motionless as the corpse\nitself. On one side of her is Pedro, and on the other the priest who\naccompanied Perico to the scaffold.\n\n{804}\n\nYears after the events we have related, the Marquis of ---- went to\nspend some days at one of the haciendas of Dos-Hermanas. One evening,\nwhen he was returning from the estate of a relative, he noticed as he\npassed near an olive-tree that the overseer and the guard who\naccompanied him uncovered their heads. He glanced upward, and saw\nnailed to the tree a red cross. \"Has there been a murder in this quiet\nplace?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" answered the guard, \"here was killed the handsomest and\nbravest youth that ever trod Dos-Hermanas.\"\n\n\"And the murderer,\" added the overseer, \"was the best and most\nhonorable young man of the place.\"\n\n\"But how was that?\" questioned the marquis.\n\n\"Through wine and women, sir, the cause of all misfortunes,\" replied\nthe guard.\n\nAnd as they went along they told the story we have repeated, with all\nits circumstances and details.\n\n\"Do any of the family still live in the place?\" asked the marquis,\nextremely interested in the recital.\n\n\"Uncle Pedro died that year; Perico's wife would have let herself die\nof grief, but the priest that assisted her husband persuaded her to\ntry to live to fulfil the will of God and her husband, by taking care\nof her children; but to stay here where every one knew and loved her\nhusband, she must have had a brazen face indeed; she went with her\nmother to the _sierra_, where they had relatives. One who came from\nthere awhile since, and had seen her, says that she does not look like\nthe same person. The tears have worn furrows in her cheeks; she is as\nthin as the scythe of death, and her health is destroyed. Poor aunt\nAnna died only the day before yesterday. She looked like a shadow, and\nwalked bent as if she were seeking her grave as a bed of rest.\"\n\nThey had now reached the village, and as they were passing a large\ngloomy building, the overseer said, \"This is her house.\"\n\nThe marquis paused a moment, and then entered. An old woman, a\nrelation of the deceased, lived alone in the sad and empty house, over\nwhich, at that instant, the moon cast a white shroud.\n\n\"How these vines are dying!\" said the marquis.\n\n\"They were not so,\" answered the woman, \"when that poor dear child\ntook care of them. They used to be covered with flowers that\nflourished like daughters under the hand of a mother. But she closed\nher eyes, never again to open them in this world, the day she heard of\nher brother's fate.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" exclaimed the gentleman, \"what a pity! this magnificent\norange-tree is dead.\"\n\n\"Yes; it is older than the world, sir, and was used to a great deal of\npetting and care. After poor Anna lost her children, neither she nor\nany one else minded it, and it withered.\"\n\n\"And this dog?\" asked the marquis, seeing a dog, old and blind, lying\nin one comer.\n\n\"The poor Melampo, from the time he lost his master he grew melancholy\nand blind. Anna, before she died, begged me to take care of him; it\nwas almost the only thing the dear soul spoke of; but there will be no\nneed; when they took away her corpse he began to howl, and since then\nhe will not eat.\" The marquis drew nearer. Melampo was dead.\n\n------\n\n{805}\n\nFrom The Month.\n\nBURIED ALIVE.\n\n\n\"It may be asserted without hesitation, that no event is so terribly\nwell calculated to inspire the supremeness of bodily and mental\ndistress as is burial before death. The unendurable oppression of the\nlungs; the stifling fumes of the damp earth; the clinging to the\ndeath-garments; the rigid embrace of the narrow house; the blackness\nof the absolute night; the silence like a sea that overwhelms; the\nunseen but palpable presence of the conqueror worm--these things, with\nthoughts of the air and grass above, with memory of dear friends who\nwould fly to save us, if but informed of our fate, and with\nconsciousness that of this fate they can never be informed; that our\nhopeless portion is that of the really dead--these considerations, I\nsay, carry into the heart which still palpitates a degree of appalling\nand intolerable horror from which the most daring imagination must\nrecoil.\"  [Footnote 187]\n\n  [Footnote 187: E.A. Poe's \"Premature Burial.\"]\n\nI have chosen this sentence from a writer whose forte is the terrible\nand mysterious for my introduction, because it sums up, in a few\nexpressive words, the thoughts which arise in our minds on hearing or\nreading the words \"Buried Alive.\" To avert so fearful a doom from a\nfellow-creature would surely be worth any trouble; and yet it is to be\nfeared that the very horror which the thought inspires causes most of\nus to turn aside from it, and to accept the comfortable doctrine that\nsuch things are not done now, whatever may have formerly been the\ncase. Were this true, I should not feel justified in bringing before\nthe readers of the \"Month\" a ghastly subject, which could be\nacceptable only to a morbid curiosity; but it is unfortunately but too\ncertain that persons are now and then buried alive, and that,\ntherefore, this fate may be possibly our own. The subject is one which\nnaturally excites more attention abroad; for in England the custom of\nkeeping deceased relatives above ground for many days after their\ndeath, has long prevailed, and incurs the opposite danger of injuring\nthe health of the survivors who thus indulge their grief. We believe\nno important work has ever been published in this country on the\nsubject; for Dr. Hawe's pamphlet is not up to the present standard of\nmedical information, and contains instances of very doubtful\nauthenticity. The tales of premature interment which can be collected\nin conversation, or occasionally noticed in the public journals, are\nnot very numerous; few of them are circumstantial enough to have any\nscientific interest; and some prove the supposed fact by the hair or\nnails having grown, and the body having moved when in its coffin--\nthings which are well known to happen now and then after death has\nundoubtedly taken place, and being therefore no proofs at all. After\nexamination, I have, then, come to the conclusion that no estimate of\nthe frequency of premature interment can be obtained. Indeed, the only\nstatistics which we possess are from Germany, and they are not very\nreassuring. In some of the largest towns of that country, mortuary\nchambers (in which the dead are placed for some days before burial)\nhave long been established; and we learn from a report of one in\nBerlin, that in the space of only thirty-months ten people, who had\nbeen supposed dead, were there found to be alive, and thus saved from\ntrue death {806} in its most horrible form. But in France and Italy,\nespecially during the summer months, the dead are buried so very early\nthat fears are frequently entertained. In France, indeed, the law\nprescribes a delay of twenty-four hours after death before interment,\nand also requires a certificate of death from an inspector, who in\nlarge towns is usually a physician with no other employment (_le\nm\u00e9decin des morts_;) but so many instances of carelessness and of\nincapacity on the part of the country inspectors have been noticed,\nthat the Chamber of Peers, during Louis Philippe's reign, and lately\nthe Senate of the Empire, have received many petitions praying for an\ninquiry, and for further precautions. To these the answer has\ngenerally been, that the existing law provides sufficient safeguards;\nand in this the Senate only followed the prevailing opinion of men of\nscience in France.\n\nFor, some years ago, Dr. Manni, a professor in the University of Rome,\noffered a prize of 15,000 francs, to be given by the French Academy of\nSciences to the author of the best essay on the signs of death and the\nmeans to be taken to prevent premature interment. The prize was\nobtained in 1849 by M. Bouchut, an eminent physician in Paris, who,\nafter a very detailed examination of the question, came to these two\nconclusions: first, that when the action of the heart could be no\nlonger heard by means of the stethoscope, death was certain; and\nsecondly, that not a single case of interment before death has ever\nbeen clearly and satisfactorily made out: and the learned body, who\nawarded the prize to him, entirely assented to these opinions. Since\nthat time, however, cases have been quoted, by some French doctors of\nnote, in which the action of the heart could not be detected, and yet\nlife was in the end restored. Their observations have been summed up\nin a pamphlet by M. Jozat. This gave a fresh impulse to the subject;\nand on the 27th of February last, M. de Courvol presented a petition\nto the Senate of the same tenor as those mentioned above. This would\nhave received the same answer as they did, and the matter would have\nbeen again shelved, if several of the senators present had not quoted\ninstances which had fallen under their own observation, and in which\ndeath was escaped only by some happy accident. The most remarkable of\nthese was narrated by Cardinal Donnet, as having happened to\n_himself_; and his story was copied into most English newspapers at\nthe time. It is, however, so much to the purpose of this paper, that I\nmake no apology for quoting it in his own words:\n\n  \"In 1826, a young priest was suddenly struck down, unconscious, in\n  the pulpit of a crowded cathedral where he was preaching. The\n  funeral knell was soon after tolled, and a physician declared him to\n  be certainly dead, and obtained leave for his burial next day. The\n  bishop of the cathedral where this event had occurred, had recited\n  the 'De Profundis' by the side of the bier; the coffin was being\n  already prepared. Night was approaching; and the young priest, who\n  heard all these preparations, suffered agonies. He was only\n  twenty-eight years old, and in perfect health. At last he\n  distinguished the voice of a friend of his childhood; this caused\n  him to make a superhuman effort, and produced the wonderful result\n  of enabling him to speak. The next day he was able to preach again.\"\n\nThis remarkable account, coming almost from the grave, produced a very\ngreat impression; and, as is not unusual in deliberative assemblies,\nthe Senate yielded to striking individual cases what it had before\nrefused to argument, forwarding the petition to the Minister of the\nInterior, and so implying that it considered the existing law\ninsufficient. The plan which finds most favor in France is the\nestablishment of \"mortuary houses,\" like those in Germany. Although\nsome of the highest authorities in {807} France are opposed to them,\nthere can be no doubt, if the statistics quoted above are to be\nbelieved, that they would be the means of saving many lives,\nespecially in cases where (as in hotels and lodging-houses) the\nfuneral is now hurried as much as possible. The only precautions which\nneed be taken in England are of a simple kind, and will be more\nevident after the description I shall now proceed to give of the two\ndiseased states which most nearly simulate death.\n\nIn the first of these, called _catalepsy_, the patient lies immovable\nand apparently unconscious; the limbs are rigid and cold; the eyes are\nfixed, sometimes remaining open; and the jaw sometimes drops. But the\nresemblance to death goes no farther; the face has not a corpse-like\nexpression; although the limbs are cold, the head continues to be\nwarm, or is even warmer than when in the usual state; the pupils are\nnever completely dilated, and are, sometimes at least, contracted by\nexposure to light. The pulse and breathing, although slow and\nirregular, can always be noticed; and the muscles are so far stiffened\nas to keep the limbs, during the whole course of the attack, in the\nposition (however constrained and inconvenient) in which they chance\nto be at the time of seizure, or may be placed in by bystanders during\nthe fit. This state of the muscular system is a decisive proof that\nthe case is one of catalepsy.\n\nWere this rare and curious disease the only cause of error, the\nphysician called upon to discern in a given case between life and\ndeath would have a comparatively easy task; but there is a still rarer\ncondition, which gives rise to most of the lamentable mistakes that\nare made; the state of _trance_ or _prolonged syncope_, is a far more\nperfect counterfeit of death. The patient is motionless, and\napparently unconscious, although he is usually aware of all that is\npassing around him; the pulsation of the heart and arteries, and the\nbreathing gradually diminish in force and frequency, until they become\nat last quite imperceptible; the whole surface of the body grows cold;\nand all this may last even for many days. How is one in such a\ncondition known not to be dead? In the first place, it is noticed that\nthis disease is rare in a previously healthy person; it has been\ngenerally preceded by some cause producing great weakness, (especially\nlong-continued fevers, great loss of blood, severe mental affliction,\nor bodily pain.) It almost invariably, too, occurs suddenly, without\nany preparation, and of course without the signs which immediately\nprecede death.\n\nSometimes mere inspection will convince the physician that the person\nis still alive. Thus, the face, although fixed, may not have the look\nof death; the mouth may be firmly closed, the eye not glazed, and the\npupil not entirely dilated. Supposing, however, that every one of\nthese signs of life is absent, and that the pulse and breathing are\nimperceptible by the ordinary means of observation, careful\nexamination of the chest with a stethoscope will detect the\nheart-sounds, if life be not quite extinct, in almost every case. I\ndare not, in view of the cases cited by M. Jozat, say that absence of\nthe heart-sounds in this state _never_ occurs; but all medical men\nwill agree with me that it must be exceedingly rare. It also seems to\nme probable that, in the cases on which M. Jozat relies, the movements\nof the heart were so few and far between that the chest happened to be\nausculted only during the intervals; at any rate, it would of course\nbe advisable to make frequent and prolonged examinations before\ndeciding that no sound could be heard. The late Dr. Hope suggested\nthat the second sound of the heart might be detected, although the\nfirst was quite inaudible; but this is merely theoretical. Again,\nalthough the surface of the body be quite cold, it is probable that a\nthermometer introduced far into the mouth would show that some\ninternal warmth {808} remained in every case of trance. At a variable\ntime after death the muscles lose their \"irritability,\" (that is,\ntheir power of contracting under galvanic stimulation;) and this\nchange is speedily followed by another--the stiffness which is noticed\nall over the body. It is to be remembered that loss of muscular\nirritability, and rigidity of the whole body, may both be noticed and\nyet the person be alive; still, if these two symptoms are not present\nat first, and only appear soon after supposed death, they will afford\nstrong presumption that the person is dead; which will be strengthened\nif the skin be slightly burned, and yet no bleb forms in consequence.\n\nEvery one, however, of the signs enumerated is open to exceptions;\nalthough, of course, the concurrence of many, or of all, tending in\nthe same direction, will make death or life almost certain; but the\n_only_ absolutely conclusive evidence of death is putrefaction, which\nis sometimes much delayed by the previous emaciation of the deceased,\nor by cold dry weather, but which sooner or later removes all doubt.\nThe first indications of decay are in the eyeball, which becomes\nflaccid, and in the discoloration of the skin of the trunk; its later\nones are well known to every one. One M. Mangin (who contributed a\nnotice of this subject to the \"Correspondant\" for March 25th last, to\nwhich I am indebted for several facts I have mentioned) supposes that\nthe buzzing, humming noise which is heard over all the body of a\nliving person would furnish a certain means of distinguishing real\nfrom apparent death. He does not seem to be aware that M. Collongues,\nthe principal authority for what is called \"dynamoscopy,\" has found\nthat this noise is absent in some cases of catalepsy and trance, for\nwhich it is proposed as a test. Certain authorities, both in England\nand France, have thought that microscopal examination of the blood\nwould be decisive; but unfortunately irregularity in shape and\nindentation of the red disks (on which they would rely) occur\nsometimes during life, and are only among the earliest signs of\nputrefaction after death.\n\nThese, as far as I know\u00ab are the only means which science has hitherto\nsuggested for distinguishing a living body from a corpse; and we have\nseen that none of them, save putrefaction, are invariably certain. In\na doubtful case, therefore, time should always be allowed for this\nchange to take place, so that the body may be interred in perfect\nsecurity. If this is done under the direction of a medical attendant\nof ordinary information, relatives and friends may be convinced that\nno mistake is possible; and their plain duty is to urge this salutary\ndelay in the very few cases where it can possibly be required.\n\nIt is particularly important to urge this delay, when necessary, in\nthe case of persons who have apparently died of some contagious\ndisease, and who might otherwise have been buried alive. It is indeed,\nmuch to be feared that persons in the collapse stage of cholera have\nbeen sometimes buried as dead; especially (Cardinal Donnet remarks)\nwhen they are attacked in hotels or lodgings, where a death from such\na cause would be particularly prejudicial.\n\nM. Mangin mentions one such case of a medical student in Paris, who\napparently died of cholera in 1832, and for whose funeral all\npreparations were made, when a friend applied moxas to the spine. He\nrecovered consciousness at once, and survived many years; and there is\nsomething grimly amusing in reading that he told the narrator: \"Je me\nsuis chauff\u00e9 avec le bois de mon cercueil!\" Those, again, who have\nread Mr. Maguire's \"Life of Father Mathew,\" will not soon forget his\ngraphic description of a similar case, in which Father Mathew rescued\na young man from the hospital dead-house during the same epidemic at\nCork, just as he was being wrapped in a tarred sheet and placed in his\ncoffin.\n\n{809}\n\nPoe, in the tale from which I have quoted above, gives an instance of\nburial during typhus fever, probably in one of the long periods of\nunconsciousness and immobility occasionally occurring in that disease.\nThe unfortunate man remained in the grave for two days, when his body\nwas disinterred by the \"body-snatchers,\" for the purpose of enabling\nhis medical attendants to make a _post-mortem_ examination. A casual\napplication of the galvanic current revived him, and he was soon after\nrestored to his friends, alive and in good health. This is said by Poe\nto have happened to a Mr. Edward Stapleton, a London solicitor, in\n1831. I have been unable to obtain any verification of this marvel,\nbut give it for what it may be worth.\n\nIt is very remarkable that the state of prolonged syncope, or trance,\ncan sometimes be produced by a mere effort of the will. One of the\nbest-described cases is given by St. Augustine.  [Footnote 188] It is\nthat of a priest named Restitutus, who used frequently, in order to\nsatisfy the curiosity of friends, to make himself totally immovable,\nand apparently unconscious, so that he did not feel any pricking,\npinching, or even burning; nor did he appear to breathe at all. He\nused afterward to say that \"he could hear during the attack what was\nsaid very loud by bystanders, as if from afar.\" He brought on the\nattack \"ad imitatas quasi lamentantis cujuslibet voces;\" a sentence\nwhich is unfortunately of rather uncertain meaning. Another case is\nrecorded by Dr. Cheyne, a fashionable Bath physician of the last\ncentury. A patient of his, one Colonel Townsend, in order to convince\nDr. Cheyne's incredulity, one day voluntarily induced this state of\ndeath-like trance \"by composing himself as if to sleep.\" He then\nappeared perfectly dead; and neither Dr. Cheyne nor another physician.\nDr. Bayard, nor the apothecary in attendance, could detect any\npulsation at the heart or wrist, or any breathing whatever. They were\njust about to give him up for dead, when, at the end of half an hour,\nhe gradually recovered.\n\n  [Footnote 188: \"De Civ. Dei,\" xiv. cap. 24. ]\n\nBut these performances are quite thrown into the shade by those of\ncertain fakeers in India. Mr. Braid, in his very interesting\n\"Observations on Trance, or Human Hybernation,\" collected several of\nthese almost incredible tales from British officers, who spoke as\nhaving been themselves eye-witnesses of them in India. In the most\nwonderful of them Sir Claude Wade (formerly Resident at the court of\nRunjeet Singh) says that he saw a fakeer buried in an underground\nvault for six weeks: the body had been twice dug up by Runjeet Singh\nduring this period, and found in the same position as when first\nburied. In another case, Lieutenant Boileau (in his \"Narrative of a\nJourney in Rajwarra in 1835\") relates that he saw a man buried for ten\ndays in a grave lined with masonry and covered with large slabs of\nstone; and the fakeer declared his readiness to be left in the tomb\nfor a twelvemonth. In all these cases it is said that the body, when\nfirst disinterred, was like a corpse, and no pulse could be detected\nat the heart or the wrist; but warmth to the head and friction of the\nbody soon revived the bold experimenter. Supposing that the watch\n(which was carefully kept up during each of these curious interments)\nwas not eluded by some of the jugglery in which Indians excel, we have\nhere proofs that the state of trance cannot only be voluntarily\ninduced, but prolonged over a very long time.\n\nThe rationale of such phenomena is not very difficult to comprehend.\nSt. Augustine was undoubtedly right when he explained the case that\nfell under his own observation by the supposition that some persons\nhave a remarkable and unusual power of the will over the action of the\nheart. Dr. Carpenter suggests that the state of syncope could be kept\nup much longer {810} in a vault in a tropical climate, where the body\nwould not lose too much of its natural heat, than in more temperate\ncountries; and Mr. Braid compares this condition to the slowness of\nrespiration and circulation during winter in hybernating animals. But\nwhatever may be the explanation, I cannot at least be accused of\ndigression in ending this gloomy paper with an account of men who are\nvoluntarily buried alive.\n\n------\n\nTranslated from Le Correspondant.\n\nA CELTIC LEGEND.--HERV\u00c9.\n\n\nTO THE MEMORY OF M. AUGUSTIN THIERRY.\n\n\nBY H. DE LA VILLEMARQU\u00c9.\n\n\nI was one day walking in the country with a book in my hand. It was in\na district of that land where La Fontaine has said, \"fate sends men\nwhen it wishes to make them mad.\" Fate had not, however, sent me there\nin order to make me mad. I found, on the contrary, in the charming\nscenes which on all sides presented themselves to my view, and in the\noriginal population which surrounded me, a thousand reasons for not\nsharing the sentiment of the morose narrator of fables. A peasant\naccosted me in the familiar but at the same time respectful style\nhabitual to those of that country, and, pointing to my book with his\nfinger:\n\n\"Is it the Lives of the Saints,\" he said to me, \"'that you are reading\nthere?\"\n\nA little surprised at this address, which, however, by no means\nexplained my reading, I remained silent, thinking of this opinion of\nthe Breton peasants, according to whom the \"Lives of the Saints\" is\nthe usual reading of all those who know how to read; and, as my\ninterlocutor repeated his question,\n\n\"Well, yes,\" I replied, to humor his thought, \"there is sometimes\nmention made of the saints in this book.\"\n\n\"And what one's life are you reading now?\" he continued obstinately.\n\nI mentioned at random the name of some saint, and thought I had\nquieted his curiosity, but I had not satisfied his faith.\n\n\"What was he good for?\" he asked.\n\nFor an instant I stopped short; what reply to offer to a man who\njudged the saints by their practical utility? I turned upon him: \"And\nyour own patron,\" I replied, \"what maladies does he care?\"\n\n\"Oh! a great number,\" he said; \"those of men as well as those of\nanimals. Although during his life he was only a poor blind singer, he\nhas a beautiful place in paradise, I assure you. The day he entered\nheaven the sky was all illuminated.\" And, accompanying it with\ncommentaries, he chanted for me the legend of the patron of his\nparish.\n\nI knew it already by Latin and French publications; but I was well\npleased to collect it fresh from the living spring of popular\ntradition. By the aid of this later source and of the written record,\nI have reconstructed the account about to be read. It presents, if I\ndo not deceive myself, a somewhat interesting page in the history of\nChristian civilization in Armorica, in the sixth century; so judged\nthe great historian, my teacher and my friend, to whom I dedicate it.\nMoral truth shines through all the legend as a light shines through a\nveil.  [Footnote 189]\n\n  [Footnote 189: The most ancient compilation of this legend, written\n  six hundred years after the death of Saint Herv\u00e9, which is placed on\n  the 22d June in the year 568, exists in the Imperial Library, in the\n  portfolio of the \"Blanc-Manteaux.\" No 38, p. 851: the two more\n  modern are, one of P. Albert le Grand, who has taken for his model\n  Jacques de Voragine; the other by Dom Lobineau, who has fallen into\n  the contrary extreme.]\n\n{811}\n\nI.\n\nIt was the custom of the Frank kings to have a large number of poets\nand musicians at their court; they often had them come from foreign\ncountries, taking pleasure, mingled with a barbarous pride, in\nlistening to verses sung in their honor, of which they understood not\na word. Among them were seen Italians, Greeks, and even Britons, who,\nuniting their discordant voices with the singers of the German race,\nemulated each other in flattering the not critical ears of the\nMerovingian princes. Welcomed to their palace, after having been\ndriven from his own country by the Lombards, the Italian Fortunatus\nhas preserved for us recollections of these singular concerts at\nwhich, lyre in hand, he performed his part while \"the Barbarian,\" he\nsays, \"added the harp, the Greek the instrument of Homer, and the\nBriton the Celtic rote.\" The rote had the same fate as the lyre; it\nsought in Gaul an asylum from the invaders of the British Isle, of\nwhom it might be said with equal truth as by the Italian poet of the\nconquerors of his country, that they did not know the difference\nbetween the gabble of the goose and the song of the swan. The\nMerovingian kings piqued themselves on having more taste.\n\nAmong the Britons who took refuge with them, and who continued to play\nin Gaul nearly the same part that they played in the dwellings of\ntheir native chiefs, there was a young man, named Hyvarnion. This\nname, which signifies just judgment, had been given him in his own\ncountry on the following occasion: He was in a school where he was\nonly known as the _petit savant_, and had for his teacher one of the\nsages of the British nation, both monk and poet, named Kadok, now\nknown in Armorica as Saint Cado. At the end of the fifth century this\nsuccessor of the last Latin rhetors of Albion, instructed the young\nislanders in grammar, rhetoric, philosophy, poetry, and music,\nmingling, as it appears, with the methods of instruction transmitted\nby classic antiquity, the traditions of the ancient Druids. The master\ndisputed one day with his little scholar after the manner of the\nDruids, the subject of debate being: What are the eighteen most\nbeautiful moral virtues? Kadok indicated eighteen, but he purposely\nomitted the principal, wishing to leave to his pupil the pleasure of\nfinding them out for himself.\n\n\"For my part,\" said the scholar, \"I believe that he possesses the\neighteen virtues _par excellence_, who is strong in trials and in\ntribulations; gentle in the midst of suffering; energetic in\nexecution; modest in glory and in prosperity; humble in conduct;\npersistent in good resolutions; firm in toil and in difficulties;\neager for instruction; generous in words, in deeds, and in thoughts;\nreconciler of quarrels; gracious in his manners and affable in his\nhouse; on good terms with his neighbors; pure in body and in thought;\njust in words and deeds; regular in his manners; but above all,\ncharitable to the poor and afflicted.\"\n\n\"Thine the prize!\" cried Kadok, \"thou hast spoken better than I.\"\n\n\"Not so,\" replied the _petit savant_, \"not so; I wished to carry it\nover thee, and thou hast given a proof of humility; thou art the\nwiser, and thine the palm.\"  [Footnote 190]\n\n  [Footnote 190: \"Myvyrian archaeology of Wales,\" iii. p. 45.]\n\nThis just judgment brought good fortune to the young scholar. It\nprocured for him the fine name by which he was afterward designated,\nand under which he is presented to us in the Armorican legends.\n\n{812}\n\nOnce passed over to the continent, Hyvarnion became henceforth only a\nvague remembrance in the minds of the islanders. His countrymen knew\nvery little of his history, and it may be believed that he would have\nbeen wholly forgotten had not a Cambrian poet consecrated to him three\nverses recalling the memorable sayings of the great men of his nation.\n\n\"Hast thou heard,\" said he, \"what sang the _petit savant_ seated at\ntable with the bards?\"\n\n\"The man with a pure heart has a joyous countenance.\"\n\nThe table which is here mentioned is that of the Frank king\nChildebert. Hyvarnion sat there for four years, probably from the year\n513 to the year 517. In the midst of the debaucheries and the scandals\nof that court he appeared calm and serene in conscience and in\ncountenance, and like the children in the furnace, he sang. His songs\nand his verses rendered him agreeable to the king, says a hagiographer\nwho charitably claims that the bard \"merited the esteem of the king\neven more by his virtues than by his talents.\" Whatever might be the\nesteem of the murderer of the sons of Chlodimer for the virtues of the\npoet of his court, Childebert showed himself as generous to him as\nwere the island chiefs to their household minstrels. But not precious\nstuffs, nor gold, nor mead, the three gifts most dear to a poet, could\nretain in the court of Paris a young man in whose eyes purity of soul\nand of body, regularity of manners, and justice were among the most\nbeautiful of virtues.\n\nUnder pretext of returning to his own country, where a brilliant and\ndecisive victory of Arthur over the Saxons had restored security, he\nasked permission of the king to leave him. He departed loaded with\npresents, even carrying, we are assured, a letter to Kon-Mor, or great\nchief, who governed Armorica in the name of Childebert, in which the\nking ordered that a ship should be placed at the service of the\nBritish bard.\n\nHyvarnion had been three days at the court of the Frank officer, and\nthe ship, which was to conduct him to the British isle was ready to\nsail, when three dreams, followed by a meeting which he had probably\nmade after his arrival in Armorica, prevented his embarkation. A young\ngirl of the country, as remarkable for her beauty as for her talent\nfor poetry and music, appeared to him in his sleep. Seated on the\nborder of a fountain she sang in a voice so sweet that it pierced his\nheart. Somewhat troubled on awaking, he drove away the dangerous and\ntoo charming recollection; but the following night, the same young\ngirl, more beautiful still, if possible, and singing even more sweetly\nthan before, appeared to him a second time. \"Then,\" says an author,\n\"he seriously feared that it was some wile or snare of the spirit of\nfornication,\" and the night coming, he prayed the Lord to deliver him\nfrom this dream, if it came not from him. \"If on the contrary, it is\nthou who dost send it to me,\" said he, \"let me know clearly what it is\nthou wouldst that I should do.\"\n\nAnd he sought his bed. But behold! scarcely had he slept than he had a\nthird dream. He saw a young man surrounded with light, who entered his\nroom and thus spoke to him: \"Fear not to take for your wife her whom\nyou have seen seated on the border of the fountain, and whom you will\nsee again. Like you, she is pure and chaste, and God will bless your\nlove.\"\n\nThe Frank officer to whom the bard related his dream, wished, without\ndoubt, to be agreeable to one recommended by the king, and took upon\nhimself to realize the prophecy. He proposed a hunting party to the\nyoung man, where, he said, he would meet a certain marvellous hare,\ncalled the _silver hare_, but with the secret purpose of contriving a\nmeeting with the {813} young girl of his dream. His hope was not\ndeceived. As they entered the forest where lodged the pretended silver\nhare, they heard a voice singing in the distance. The young man\ntrembled and reined up his horse. \"I hear,\" said he, \"I hear the voice\nsinging which I heard last night.\"\n\nWithout replying to him the royal officer turned himself toward the\npart of the forest whence the voice proceeded, and following a\nfootpath which wound along the side of a stream, they reached a\nspring, near to which a young girl was occupied in gathering simples.\n\n\"The young girl sat by the fountain,\" says a poet. \"White was her\ndress, and rosy her face.\n\n\"So white her dress, so rosy her face, that she seemed an eglantine\nflower blooming in the snow.\n\n\"And she did naught but sing: 'Although I am, alas! but a poor iris on\nthe banks of the water, they call me its Little Queen.\n\n\"The Lord Count said to the young girl as he approached her, 'I salute\nyou, _Little Queen of the Fountain_. How gaily thou dost sing, and how\nfair thou art!\n\n\"'How fair thou art, and how gaily thou dost sing. What flowers are\nthose you gather there?'\n\n\"'I am not fair, I sing not gaily, and these are not flowers that I\ngather;\n\n\"'These are not flowers that I gather, but different kinds of salutary\nplants;\n\n\"'One is good for those who are sad; for the blind, the other is good;\nand the third, if I can find it, is that which will cure death.'\n\n\"'Little Queen, I pray thee, give me the first of these plants.'\n\n\"'Save your grace, my Lord, I shall give it only to him whom I shall\nmarry.'\n\n\"'Thou hast given it! Give it then,' cried the royal officer, 'Thou\nhast given it to this young man, who has just come to ask thee in\nmarriage.'\"\n\nAnd the _Little Queen of the Fountain_ gave to the bard, in pledge of\nher faith, the plant which produces gaiety.  [Footnote 191]\n\n  [Footnote 191: The Breton text of the legend of Saint Herv\u00e9, in\n  verse appears in the fifth edition of the _Barsas[??] Breis, Chante\n  populaires de la Bretagne_.]\n\nIf we may credit the legend, it was even in the same mind that\nRivanone, as she was called, went to the fountain; for she also had a\ndream the preceding night, a dream altogether like the bard's. She\nherself confessed it, and if she had not avowed it, we could divine\nit, \"Those who love, have they not dreams?\" _An qui amant, ipsi sibi\nsomnia fingunt?_ Seeing in this a certain proof of the will of heaven,\nthe Frank count brought the brother of Rivanone, an Armorican chief,\nin whose manor the young girl had lived since the death of her father\nand mother, and having related to him all that had passed, he demanded\nof him his sister in marriage for the favorite of the king.\n\nThus was settled this well-assorted union, and the wedding was\ncelebrated at the court of the Frank count.\n\nTradition has described it in a manner almost epic. The small as well\nas the great, the poor as well as the rich, were guests at the feast;\nchurchmen and warriors, magistrates and common people, arrived there\nfrom all sides. Neither wine, nor hydromel, drawn from casks, was\nwanting to the guests. Two hundred hogs were immolated, and two\nhundred fat bulls, two hundred heifers, and one hundred roebucks, two\nhundred buffalos, one hundred black, one hundred white, and their\nskins divided among the guests. A hundred robes of white wool were\ngiven to the priests, one hundred collars of gold to the valiant\nwarriors, and blue mantles without number to the ladies. The poor had\nalso their part; there was for them a hundred new suits; they could\nnot receive less at the marriage of a poet who placed duty to them at\nthe head of the most beautiful virtues. But in order worthily to do\nhim honor for himself--in order properly to celebrate the union of the\nArmorican muse {814} with the genius of the island bards--a hundred\nmusicians did not seem too many--a hundred musicians who from their\nhigh seats played for fifteen days in the court of the count. In order\nto complete this by an act destined to crown the glory of the young\ncouple, we are assured the king of the bards of the sixth century, the\nlast of the Druids, the famous Meri, finally celebrated the marriage.\n\nBe this as it may, in regard to an honor which another popular\ntradition appears to claim with more reason for the heroes of another\nlegend of the same century, the wedding at last at an end, the bride,\naccompanied by a numerous suite, was conducted with her husband to the\nmanor of her brother, and if the Armorican customs of our days already\nexisted at that epoch, the minstrels at the wedding played on their\nway a tender and melancholy air, named the Air of the Evening before\nthe Festival, which always brought tears to the eyelids of the bride.\n\n\"God console the inconsolable heart, the heart of the girl on her\nwedding night.\"\n\nIt is said that Rivanone shed several tears in the midst of her joy.\nHad she not for ever bid adieu to the sweet and simple girlish beliefs\nwhich had surrounded her? to her dear fountain, on the banks of which\nher companions the fairies danced at night in white robes, with\nflowers in their hair, in honor of the new moon? to those graceful\ndances which she herself, perhaps, had led, and to her songs in the\nwood? to her salutary plants less brilliant but more useful and more\ndurable than flowers? to the herb which causes the union of hearts and\nproduces joy, which, wet in the waters of the fountain by a virgin\nhand, she had shaken upon the brow of the man whom she was to take for\nher husband? to the golden herb which spreads light, and in opening\nthe eyes of the body and the mind, opens to the knowledge of things of\nthe future? finally, had she not renounced the search for the plant\ncalled the _herb of death_, which would be better named the _herb of\nlife_, because those die not who once have found it?\n\nBut no! \"God console the inconsolable heart, the heart of the girl on\nher wedding night!\" The spring of the fountain will cease not to flow;\nthe charming apparitions will desert not its borders; there shall be\never seen there gliding through the night a luminous shadow of which\nthe moon will be but an imperfect image--the shadow of that immaculate\nVirgin whom the Druids seem to have prophesied when they raised an\naltar to her under the name of the _Virgin Mother_, and the white\nfairies of Armorica less white, less pure than she, bending before\ntheir patroness, will sing _Ave Maria!_\n\nNo plant shall wither there, not the lemon-plant which produces joy,\nfor it is at the foot of the cross of Jesus Christ, that it will\nspring henceforth; it is to Him it owes its virtue, and shall be\ncalled the _herb of the cross;_ nor _s\u00e9lago_ which gives light, for it\nis from the aureole of the saints that it borrows its rays, and to\ndiscover it, it is necessary to be a saint; nor, more than all, the\nherb of life, for he has shown it, he has given it as a legacy to his\ndisciples, to whom he has said; \"I am the life; whosoever believeth in\nme shall not die.\"\n\nAnd no more than the living spring which nourishes the herbs by its\nside shall be exhausted that which sustains the fruits of the Spirit;\nthe soul shall not be stifled, it shall be purified; and for a moment\nbent under regrets, as a rose under the rain, the Druid muse shall be\ntransformed and awake a Christian.\n\nRivanone so awoke; God had consoled the inconsolable heart, the heart\nof the girl on her wedding-night.\n\n\n\n{815}\n\nII.\n\nGod consoles in his own way; he blesses in the same. Three years after\ntheir marriage, Rivanone and Hyvarnion rocked the cradle of a crying\ninfant whom they endeavored to put asleep with their songs. Now this\ninfant was blind; and in remembrance of their sorrow they had named\nhim _Huerv\u00e9_ or _Herv\u00e9_, that is to say, _bitter_ or _bitterness_.\n\nBut, if his mother did not try upon his eyes the better appreciated\nvirtue of the herb which should cure the blind; if she asked of her\nChristian faith surer remedies to give light to her son, she found, at\nleast, at the foot of the cross, the herb which sweetens bitterness;\nand her husband himself without doubt recollected that he had said in\nhis childhood that one of the most beautiful of virtues is strength in\ntrials and tribulations.\n\nTwo years afterward this strength was even more necessary by the side\nof the cradle of the blind; a single hand rocked that cradle, a single\nvoice sang there--the other voice sang in heaven. The father had\nalready found the true plant which gives life.\n\nWith death, misery entered the house of the bard, misery all the more\ncruel that it had known only prosperity. It is always in this way that\nit comes to those who live by poesy. Happily Providence is a more\ncharitable neighbor than the ant in the fable. He did not fail the\nwidow of the poet who had been the friend of the poor and afflicted.\nIt was not from the palace of the Frank count, henceforth indifferent\nto the fortunes of a family his master had forgotten, nor from the\nmanor of Rivanone's brother, which she charmed no more with her songs,\nthat assistance came. It came from that cradle, watered with tears,\nwhere slept a poor orphan. It is always from a cradle that God sends\nforth salvation.\n\n\"One day the orphan said to his sick mother, clasping her in his\nlittle arms: 'My own dear mother, if you love me, you will let me go\nto church;\n\n\"'For here am I full seven years old, and to church I have not yet\nbeen.'\n\n\"'Alas! my dear child, I cannot take you there, when I am ill on my\nbed.'\n\n\"'When I am ill of an illness which lasts so long that I shall be\nforced to go and beg for alms.'\n\n\"'You shall not go, my mother, to beg for alms; I will go for you, if\nyou will permit me.\n\n\"'I will go with some one who will lead me, and in going I will sing.\n\n\"'I will sing your beautiful canticles, and all hearts will listen!'\n\n\"And he departed finally to seek bread for his mother who could not\nwalk.\n\n\"Now, whatever it was, it must have been a hard heart that was not\nmoved on the way to church;\n\n\"Seeing the little blind child of seven years without other guide than\nhis little white dog.\n\n\"Hearing him sing, shivering, beaten by the wind and the rain, without\ncovering on his little feet, and his teeth chattering with cold.\"\n\nIt was the festival of All Saints, as the legend tells us; the\nfestival of the Dead follows it, and is prolonged during the second\nnight of this month which the Bretons call the _Month of the Dead_.\nHaving feasted the blessed, every one goes to the cemetery to pray at\nthe tomb of his parents, to fill with holy water the hollow of their\ngravestone, or, according to the locality, to make libations of milk.\nIt is said that on this night the souls from Purgatory fly through the\nair as crowded as the grass on the meadow; that they whirl with the\nleaves which the wind rolls over the fields, and that their voices\nmingle with the sighs of nature in mourning. Then, toward midnight,\nthese confused voices become more and more distinct, and at each\ncottage door is heard this melancholy canticle.\n\n\"In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost,\ngreeting to you, people of this house, we come to you to ask your\nprayers.\n\n{816}\n\n\"Good people, be not surprised that we have come to your door; it is\nJesus who has sent us to wake you if you sleep.\n\n\"If there is yet pity in the world, in the name of God, aid us.\n\n\"Brothers, relatives, friends, in the name of God, hear us; in the\nname of God pray, pray; for the children pray not. Those whom we have\nnourished have long since forgotten us; those whom we have loved have\nleft us destitute of pity.\"\n\nBands of mendicant singers, poor souls in trouble, they also,\nwanderers like those of the dead, go by woods and graves, to the sound\nof funereal bells, lending their voices to the unhappy of the other\nworld.\n\nThe blind orphan, who, from the bed of his sick mother, went to kneel\non the couch of his dead father, commenced in their company his\napprenticeship as a singer, and if it is believed, as is claimed, that\nthe _chant des ames_, such as it has come to us, was composed by a\nblind singer, under the inspiration of his father, whom he would have\ndelivered from pain, the blind singer should be Herv\u00e9, and the\ninspirer Hyvarnion.\n\nThe impression which the sainted child produced on the men of his time\nis better founded; it has left traces in the popular imagination which\nhave been translated into touching narratives:\n\n\"The evening of All Souls, long before the night, the child returned\nto his mother, after his circuit.\n\n\"And he was very tired, so tired that he could not hold himself on his\nfeet--all the route was slippery with ice.\n\n\"So tired that he fell on his mouth, and his mouth vomited blood,\nblood with broken teeth.\"\n\nNow these broken teeth did not give birth to furious warriors, like\nthose of the dragon in the fable; they were changed into diamonds\nwhich shone from far in the darkness.\n\nSuch is the language of the tradition. Can we better paint the songs\ndrawn forth by the sorrow of the son of Hyvarnion, these songs of a\nChristian muse which cleared away the shadows no less crowded than\nthose of the night of All Souls?\n\nBut these shadows were not dissipated instantly; the resistance made\nto Christianity by the remains of Armorican paganism is not less\nclearly indicated in traditional recollections than by the action and\ninfluence of the little Christian singer.\n\nAs he passed the cross-roads of a village where the inhabitants have\nto this day preserved the sobriquet of _paganiz_, that is to say,\nheathens, he fell in the midst of a circle of young peasants, who,\ninterrupting their dance, ran after him, hooting at him, throwing dirt\nupon him, and crying: \"Where are you going, blind one, blind one!\nWhere are you going, blind brawler?\"\n\n\"I'm going out of this canton, because I must,\" replied Herv\u00e9, \"but\ncursed be the race that comes from you.\" And, indeed, the little\nmockers, struck by the anathema, returned to the dance, and they must\ndance, it is said, to the end of the world, without ever resting or\never growing, becoming like those dwarfed imps whom the Armoricans\nadored, and whose power the Breton peasants still fear.\n\nNature herself, that great Celtic divinity, took the side of the imps\nagainst Herv\u00e9, while the mother of the saint, in beholding him\npreaching the gospel, could say with the church: \"How beautiful are\nthe feet of those who come from the mountains!\" \"The granite earth on\nwhich he walked, refused to carry him, tearing his naked feet, and no\none,\" says the complaint, \"no one wiped the blood from his wounds,\nonly his white dog with his tongue, who washed the feet of the saint,\nand warmed them with his breath.\"\n\nThen, as he had cursed the mocking spirits, the saint cursed also the\nstony ground which would arrest his steps, and it was rendered harder\nthan iron; when, going, according to his promise, into a district\nwhere the rocks were such, the legend assures us, that \"iron {817} nor\nsteel could ever pierce them,\" that is to say, the inhabitants were\nobstinate and incorrigible barbarians, he returned to the saint who\ninspired and enlightened him.\n\n\"My mother, for seven or eight years I have gone over this country,\nand have gained nothing from these hard and cruel hearts.\n\n\"I would be in some solitary place where I should hear only songs;\nwhere every day, my mother, I should hear only the praises of  God.\"\n\n\"Thou wouldst be a cleric, my son, to be later a priest! God be\npraised! How sweet it would be to me to hear you say mass!\"\n\n\"It is not, my mother, to be a priest; the priest's state is a great\nresponsibility, and it frightens my weak spirit; besides the charge of\nmy own soul I should have the charge of other souls; but I would like\nfar better to live my life in the depths of the forest with the monks,\nand to be instructed how to serve God by those who serve him.\"\n\nRivanone agreed to the wishes of her son; the forest which he chose\nfor his retirement was inhabited by one of her uncles. Herv\u00e9 sought\nhim, while his mother asked an asylum for herself of some pious women\nwho lived in community in another solitary place, having no\nintercourse with the world except with the sick and infirm to whom\nthey were a providence.\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nAn ancient Breton ballad represents a magician going over the fields\nof Armorica at the dawn of day, accompanied by a black dog. I do not\nknow what Christian voice addresses him: \"Where are you going this\nmorning with your black dog?\" \"I go to find the red egg, the red egg\nof the sea-serpent, on the edge of the river in the crevice of the\nrock.\"\n\nVain search! This egg, a sacred symbol to the ancient priests of Gaul\nand other heathen worship, had been crushed with the serpent of the\nDruids; the day was about to appear and put to flight the magician,\ndarkness, and the black dog. When, on the contrary, Herv\u00e9 put himself,\nguided by his white dog, on the way to his uncle's hermitage, the last\nshades of night had disappeared, the day had risen, and he was to find\nin the Christian school more precious talismans than the egg of the\nDruid serpent.\n\n\"Saint Herv\u00e9 went to the school the sun encircled his brow with a\ncircle of light, the doves sang along his road, and his white dog\nyelped for joy.\n\n\"Arrived at the door of the hermitage, the dog barked louder and\nlouder, so that the hermit, hearing it, came forth to receive his\nniece's child.\n\n\"May God bless the orphan who comes in good faith to my school, who\nhas sought me to be my clerk; my child, may blessings be on thy\nhead.'\" [Footnote 192]\n\n  [Footnote 192: Same Breton legend of Saint Herv\u00e9.]\n\nThis great unde of Herv\u00e9 was named Gurfoed; like many other hermits he\nbrought up the children of Armorica. Among the grammarians whom he\nmade them learn by heart, the ecclesiastical writers indicate\nMartianus Capella, the author of the \"Noces de Mercure et de la\nPhilologie,\" of whom they make a monk, and among the subjects of his\ninstruction they specially mention poetry and music. Music took a\nsufficiently high place in the schools and in the tastes of that age,\nas is proved by a synod assembled at Vannes in the middle of the sixth\ncentury, which believed it necessary to call the attention of the\nArmorican bishops to that point, and drew up an article on the\nnecessity of adopting, in the whole province, a uniform chant.\nBesides, in introducing it into the Christian ceremonies, and giving\nit place even in the choir of the temple, the church has shown the\nesteem which she has for this art. Herv\u00e9 perfected himself in it more\nand more; he even became so clever in it, observe the hagiographies,\n\"that he took the prize from all his fellow-students.\"\n\n{818}\n\nAfter seven years of study passed at a distance from his mother, he\nwished to see her and receive new force and new light from her\ncounsels. According to some, Gurfoed conducted him to her; according\nto the popular legend, she came herself to seek her son.\n\nAnd she said on approaching him:\n\n\"I behold a procession of monks advancing, and I hear the voice of my\nson; though a thousand were singing, I should know the voice of Herv\u00e9;\nI behold my son dressed in gray, with a cord of hair for his belt. God\nbe with you, my son, the clerk!\"\n\n\"God be with you, my beloved mother! God is good; the mother is\nfaithful to her son. Coming from so far to see me, although you could\nnot walk!\"\n\n\"And now that I have come, and I see you, my son, what have you to ask\nof me?\"\n\n\"I have nothing to ask of you, my mother, but the permission to remain\nhere to pray to God day and night, that we may meet each other in\nparadise.\"\n\n\"We shall meet in paradise or its surroundings, with the help of God,\nmy son. When I go there you shall have warning; you  shall hear the\nsong of the angels.\"\n\n\"In fact,\" continues the French legend, \"the evening of her decease\nand the next day, all those that were near saw a brilliant ladder by\nthe side of her oratory, one end reaching to the skies, by which\nangels ascended and descended singing the most melodious motets and\ncanticles.\"\n\nThe pious woman-poet, who had given to the church such a saint as\nHerv\u00e9, well deserved that God's angels should sing, making a festival\nfor her last hour.\n\nHerv\u00e9, guided by Gurfoed, arrived at the bedside of his dying mother,\nin time, if not to see her, (he could never see her except in heaven,)\nat least to receive her blessing, and to mingle his canticles with\nthose of the pious companions of Rivanone, truly angelic choirs.\n\n\nIV.\n\nAfter the death of his mother, Herv\u00e9 returned to the hermitage of his\nuncle; but Gurfoed, wishing to live a still more retired life,\nabandoned his dwelling, and buried himself in the forest. Aided by\nsome pious men, who, in order to work and pray under his direction,\nhad built their cabins by the side of his, the saint continued to hold\nthe school of his predecessor. This school prospered; and every\nevening could be seen a crowd of children coming from it, who\nassembled there in the morning from all the manors, as well as from\nall the surrounding cottages; a crowd as noisy, says a poet, as a\nswarm of bees issuing from the hollow of an oak. The master, being\nblind, could not teach them their letters; but he taught them\ncanticles, maxims in verse, religious and moral aphorisms, without\nomitting those precepts of pure civility, so necessary to coarse\nnatures; and while exercising their memory he cultivated their\nunderstanding and their heart: he polished their rude manners; he\nendeavored, finally, to make men of them while bending their restless\nnatures under the curb of his discipline. Lessons of wisdom were not\nclothed in other form in those heroic times; poetry and music,\ninseparable from each other, had always been considered by the\nancients as necessary to cultivation, not only on account of the\nharmony which they produced, but for utility, instruction, and\ncivilization of the people. Herv\u00e9 in taking them for the basis of his\ninstruction, followed, without doubt, the counsels of Aristotle. It is\nsaid that Orpheus thus civilized people by his songs. Those of Hesiod\nhave come to us, and present us with valuable examples of that\ndidactic poetry, the first with all nations. But though we have left\nus some poems of Saint Herv\u00e9, they are very few in number; the most\nwere composed rather in his {819} spirit and according to his rules\nthan by himself. They give him the honor of those aphorisms to which\nhis name is given, which, at least, have the strong imprint of the\ninstructive poetry of the monks; they turn upon three of the virtues\nwhich the religions principally endeavored to inculcate in their\nIgnorant pupils, idle and independent, as are all barbarians, namely,\nthe love of instruction, the love of work, and the love of discipline,\nelements which are the strength of all civilized society.\n\n\"It is better to instruct a little child than to amass riches for\nhim.\"\n\nSaint Cado, the teacher of Herv\u00e9's father, said the same thing in\nother terms, \"There is no wealth without study;\" and he added, \"There\nis no wisdom without science, no independence without science, no\nliberty, no beauty, no nobleness, no victory without science,\" and,\ngiving to science its true foundation, he thus terminated his eloquent\nenumeration:\n\n\"No science without God.\"\n\nThe second axiom credited to Saint Herv\u00e9 is this: \"He who is idle in\nhis youth heaps poverty on the head of his old age.\"\n\nThe Breton mariners have retained the third maxim of which Saint Herv\u00e9\npassers as the author: \"The words of Herv\u00e9 are words of wisdom,\" they\nsay; \"Who yields not to the rudder will yield to the rock.\" I have\nalso seen attributed to him a moral song, widely spread in Brittany,\nin which, perhaps, there are several couplets of his, but in any case\nmodernized in language and style.\n\n\"Come to me, my little children, come to me that you may hear a new\nsong, which I have composed expressly for you. Take the greatest pains\nin order that you may retain it entire.\"\n\n\"When you wake in your bed, offer your heart to the good God, make the\nsign of the cross, and say, with faith, hope, and love:\n\n\"'My God, I give you my heart, my body, and my soul. Grant that I may\nbe an honest man, or that I may die before the time.'\n\n\"When you see a raven flying, remember that the devil is as black as\nwicked; when you see a little white dove, remember that your angel is\nas gentle as white.\n\n\"Remember that God sees you like the sun in the midst of the sky;\nremember that God can make you bloom as the sun makes bloom the wild\nroses of the mountains.\n\n\"At night, before going to bed, recite your prayers; do not fail, so\nthat a white angel will come from heaven to guard you until morning.\n\n\"Behold, dear children, the true means of living as good Christians.\nPut my song into practice and yon will lead a holy life.\"\n\nSuch lessons, where were so effectively found some of the practices\nwhich make a man strong, that is to say, Christians; where there was\nso much freshness and grace; where the sun, and the flowers, the birds\nand the angels, all the most smiling images were purposely united,\ncaptivated and charmed the young barbarians. I am no longer surprised\nif the legend assures us that Herv\u00e9 tamed the savage beasts; if it\nrecounts that one day he forced a thief of a fox to bring back,\n\"without hurting her,\" his hen which he had carried off, and another\ntime a robber of a wolf who had eaten up his ass--others say his\ndog--to serve and follow him like a spaniel. This new style of spaniel\nwas seen in a crowd of bas-reliefs held in leash by the saints, and as\nelsewhere mothers threatened their children with the wolf, the Breton\nMothers frightened their brats with _Herv\u00e9's spaniel._ Orpheus is thus\nrepresented followed by tamed tigers; and another bard, a half pagan,\nwhom we have seen before accompanied by his black dog, is painted,\nrunning through the woods with a wolf which he calls _his dear\ncompanion. Tu Lupe, care comes_. The poets of the primitive times were\nsupposed to be in a perpetual union with nature, {820} and to have\nreconquered the power, lost since leaving the Garden of Eden, of\nmaking all animals obedient to them. Herv\u00e9 was considered to be\nendowed with the same power; but poetry and music were not the only\nform which the Christian gave to his charms. His true magic was\nprayer. See how he chanted when he was exposed to the snares or the\nferocity of animals or of men:\n\n\"O God! deign to preserve me from snares, from oppression, from evil,\nfrom the fox, the wolf, and the devil.\"\n\nNot more than men and wild beasts, could nature resist the force of\nhis prayer. Somewhat troubled in his retreat, and above all in his\nhumility, by the too noisy veneration of the Armorican chiefs, who\nsent their sons to him, he plunged into the forest, as had Gurfoed,\nseeking the hermitage, and the counsels of his former teacher; but the\ngrass and fern had effaced the path which led there, and all Herv\u00e9's\nresearches had been in vain, when he came to an opening in the forest\nwhere a moss-covered rock was raised up on four stones; the ruins of a\ncabin where the badgers had made their nests, were seen near at hand;\nbriers, thickets of holly and thorns encumbered the ground. Before\nthese ruins the saint, struck with a secret presentiment, prostrated\nhimself, his arms in the form of a cross, and cried three times: \"In\nthe name of God, rock, split; in the name of God, earth, open, if you\nhide from me my light.\" His prayer was scarcely terminated when the\nearth trembled, the rocks split, and through the opening came a soft\nodor, which revealed to him the sepulchre of him whom he was seeking.\n\nSuch is the popular narrative; but, if it is intended to show his\npower over nature, it shows still more his humility. It is exhaled\nfrom this legend, as perfumes from the tomb of him whom he sought as\nhis light.\n\nI remember a song in which a kind of Druidess gives the assurance that\nshe knows a song which can make even the earth tremble: after a\nfrightful display of magical science, she finishes by saying, that\nwith the help of her _light_, as she calls her master she is able to\nturn the earth in the contrary way. Here it is the pagan pride which\nvaunts itself; but a voice from heaven is heard, \"If this world is\nyours, the other belongs to God!\" and the sorceress was confounded.\nHerv\u00e9, on the contrary, who is humble, and who prays; Herv\u00e9, who\nspeaks, not in his own name, but in the name of God, is heard and\nexalted. It is verifying the words of the Gospel: \"And the humble\nshall be exalted.\"\n\nAs he advanced in age, the saint continued to realize this promise. We\nhave up to this moment seen him glorified under the tatters of a\nvagabond singer, as well as under the poor robe of an instructor of\nlittle barbarians; we are now to see him as an agriculturist, even\narchitect, but always all the strongest when he would wish to appear\nweakest in the eyes of men, always the greatest when he would wish to\nbe the lowest.\n\nThe counsels which Herv\u00e9 had gone to ask of his old teacher, he\nreceived from his bishop, a wise and holy man, who came from Britain\nto the country of L\u00e9on. The bishop judged him worthy to be a priest,\nand wished to confer upon him the ecclesiastical character; but the\nhermit, who from childhood had considered himself unworthy of this\ngreat responsibility, persisted in his humble sentiments, and he would\nconsent to be promoted only to the lowest orders, to those called\nminor orders. It is easy to believe that his bishop induced him to\ndefinitely fix his dwelling somewhere with his disciples, and to give\nto the Armoricans the example of a sedentary life, of manual labor,\nthe cultivation of the earth, and building, all things which are at\nthe foundation of all society, and which the barbarians little liked;\nfor he went to work to seek a place where he could establish a small\ncolony.\n\n{821}\n\nV.\n\nAbout half a century before, another bard also blind, and his hair\nwhitened by age, journeyed in Armorica from canton to canton, seated\non a small horse from the mountains, which a child led by the bridle.\nHe sought, like Herv\u00e9, a field to cultivate and in which he could\nbuild. Knowing what herbs were produced by good ground, and what herbs\nby bad ground, he asked from time to time of his guide:\n\n\"Seest thou the green clover?\"\n\nAnd always the child replied:\n\n\"I see only the fox-glove blossoms.\" For at that epoch, Armorica was a\nwild country.\n\n\"Well, then, we will go farther,\" replied the old man.\n\nAnd the little horse went on his way. At last the child cried out:\n\n\"Father, I see the clover blooming.\"\n\nAnd he stopped. The old man dismounted, and seating himself on a\nstone, in the sun, he sang the songs of labor in the fields, and of\ntheir culture in different seasons. This agricultural bard was\ninvested with a venerated character by the ancient Bretons. They\nregarded him as a pillar of social existence; but his heart, open to\nthe cultivation of nature, was closed to the love of humanity. With\none of his brethren he said willingly: \"I do not plough the earth\nwithout shedding blood on it.\" He thirsted for the blood of Christian\nmonks and priests, and he offered it with joy as sacrifice to the\nearth. To the wisest lessons in agriculture he added the most\nferocious predictions, \"The followers of Christ shall be tracked; they\nshall be hunted like wild beasts, they shall die in bands and by\nbattalions on the mountain. The wheel of the mill grinds fine; the\nblood of the monks will serve as water.\"\n\nScarcely sixty years had rolled away, and these same monks whom the\nbard cursed as usurpers of the Celtic harp and as stealers of the\nchildren of the Bretons, advanced peaceably over the ruins of a\nreligion of which he was the last minister, ready to shed blood also,\nbut their own; ready to perform prodigies, but of intelligence and of\nlove. Their chief was not on horseback, he walked with bare feet, (he\nwent always unshod, says his historian,) and having journeyed for a\nlong time, he spoke thus to his disciples:\n\n\"Know, my brothers, it wearies me to be always running and wandering\nin this way; pray to God that he will reveal to us some place in which\nwe can live to serve him for the rest of our days.\"\n\nThey all commenced to pray, and behold a voice was heard saying: \"Go\neven toward the east, and where I shall three times tell thee to rest,\nthere thou wilt dwell.\" They commenced then on the road to the east,\nand when they had gone very far, having found a field filled with high\ngreen wheat, they sat down in its shade. Now, as he was thus reposing,\na voice was heard which said three times: \"Make your dwelling here.\"\nFilled with gratitude, they knelt to thank God, and being thirsty with\nthe heat and the travel, the saint by his prayers obtained a fresh\nfountain.\n\nBut the possession of the land was not easy to obtain from the\navaricious proprietor, whom the French legend charitably calls \"an\nhonest man.\" Herv\u00e9 demanded of him, however, only a little corner in\nwhich to erect a small monastery.\n\n\"Bless my soul, bless my soul!\" cried the owner, \"but my wheat is\nstill all green, and so if you cut it now it will be lost.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said Saint Herv\u00e9, \"it shall not be so, for as much wheat as\nI cut now so much will I render to you ripe and in the sack at harvest\ntime.\"\n\n{822}\n\nTo this he agreed, and commenced to cut down the wheat, which he tied\nin bundles and sheafs and laid apart; and God so favored them, that at\nthe time of the harvest, these sheafs which had been cut all green,\nnot only became ripe, but had blossomed and so multiplied that where\nthere had been one there were now two. The owner of the field seeing\nthis, gave thanks to God, who had sent these holy men to him, and gave\nthe whole field to the saint.  [Footnote 193]\n\n  [Footnote 193: Albert le Grand.]\n\nThus the toil and intelligence of the monks made the earth render\ndouble the ordinary crops, and, conquered by such miracles, the\nbarbarians, who, moreover, did not lose anything, gave willingly all\nthat was asked of them.\n\nThe good religious from whom I have borrowed the translation of the\npreceding narrative even assures us that the proprietor went so far as\nto promise Herv\u00e9 to build him a beautiful church at his own expense.\nThis new miracle, however, was only half carried out; for we see\nHerv\u00e9, once the land had been conceded to him, going to work with his\ndisciples to procure the wood necessary for the construction of his\nchurch and convent. He made a collection for this end, not only in the\ncountry of L\u00e9on, but even in the mountains of Aiez, and in Cornwall,\nvisiting the manors of the chiefs and the richest monasteries.\n\nEverywhere, it is said, he was well received, thanks to the benefits\nthat he spread along his passage, and all the nobles to whom he\napplied caused as many oaks to be cut down for him in their forests,\nas he desired. It is, however, probable, notwithstanding the\nassertions of the legendaries, that he found many but little disposed\nto aid in the building of a Christian church, and that all those whom\nhe visited did not show themselves very eager to cut down the trees,\nso venerated in Armorica; for in the following century, a council held\nat Nantes near the year 658, attests that no one dared break a branch\nor offshoot of one. The legend itself allows us to see imperfectly\nsome stumbling-blocks which the holy architect found in his way; they\nmust have torn his feet as cruelly as those which we have seen him\npunish by hardening them, in the days when he was a public singer. At\nfirst there was a rude chief who passed near him with a great train of\nmen, dogs, and horses, without saluting him, even without looking at\nhim; again there was another who did not believe in his miracles, and\nsaid so out loud at supper before a large company, and in the face of\nthe saint. At that same banquet, at the commencement of the repast,\nwhile Herv\u00e9 was singing with the harp to bless the table, a new kind\nof adversary, the frogs, commenced also to sing, to defy him, to sing\n_their vespers_, as a Breton poet explains it, provoking the laughter\nof the guests. At another banquet, a cup-bearer who was a demon in\ndisguise, one of those who excited to intemperance, to gluttony, to\nidleness and noise, to discord and quarrels, wishing to kill him,\nserved him, together with the other guests, a beverage the effect of\nwhich was to make them cut each other's throats.\n\nThis evil spirit followed the holy architect even to the midst of a\nmonastery, with the intention of deceiving him more surely. Taking the\nform of a monk, he offered his services to help him in building his\nchurch.\n\n\"What is thy name?\" Herv\u00e9 asked of him.\n\n\"I am a master carpenter, sir.\"\n\n\"Thy name, I tell thee,\" returned the saint.\n\n\"Sir, I am a mason, locksmith, able to work at any trade.\"\n\n\"Thy name? For the third time, I command thee in the name of the\nliving God, to tell thy name.\"\n\n\"Hu-Kan! Hu-Kan! Hu-Kan!\" cried the demon; and he threw himself, head\nforemost, from a rock into the sea.\n\nThus did the Druid superstitions vanish before Herv\u00e9, having for a\nmoment resisted him, and sought to deceive him under different\ndisguises.\n\n{823}\n\nThis Hu-Kan, that is to say, Hu the genius, is no other than the god\n_Hu-Kadarn_ of the Cambrian traditions. The devil who incites to\nidleness and debauchery is the Celtic divinity corresponding to the\nLiber or Bacchus of the Romans. There is in these frogs who chanted\n_their vespers_ a recollection of Armorican paganism. \"The saint\nsilenced them as suddenly as if he had cut their throat\" says a\nhagiographer, adding, \"he left voice but to one, who ever since has\ncontinued to croak.\"\n\nNow, by a sort of prodigy of tradition, a popular song, entitled the\n\"Vespers of the Frogs,\" has come to us; it is the work of the pagan\npoets of Armorica, represented in common recitatives under the\ngrotesque figure of these beastly croakers. It offers a summary of the\nDruid doctrines of the fourth century; and it seemed so necessary to\nthe first Christian missionaries to destroy it, that they made a Latin\nand Christian counterpart, as if they would raise the cross in the\nface of the heathen pillars. One of these missionaries, Saint Gildas,\nwas so opposed to the pagan music of his time that he qualified its\ncroaking with the sweet and gentle music of the children of Christ;\nand his disciple Tali\u00e9sin, the great poet baptized in the sixth\ncentury, hushed at a banquet, as Saint Herv\u00e9 had done, the infamous\ndescendants of the priests of the god Bel, who wished to put him to\ndefiance.\n\nThe sound of Christian music was to be heard from all the vaults of\nthe church, for the construction of which Saint Herv\u00e9 had made so many\njourneys. Twelve columns of polished wood were erected to hold the low\nand arched framework; three large stones formed the altar; the spring\nwith which he had refreshed his disciples furnished the water\nnecessary to the sacrifice; the wheat sown by them, the bread for\nconsecration; and the wines of some richer monastery, more exposed to\nthe sun, the eucharistic wine; for it was an ancient and touching\ncustom that those who had vineyards gave wine to those who had not,\nand in exchange, the owners of bees furnished wax to those who lacked\nit. Herv\u00e9, according to his biographers, himself superintended the\nworkmen, or rather incited the laborers by his words, and sustained\nthem by his songs. Like another poet of antiquity, he built, with his\nsongs, not a city for men, but a house for God.\n\n\n\nVI.\n\nThe fathers of an Armorican council of the fifth century terminated\ntheir canons by these noble words: \"May God, my brethren, preserve for\nyou your crown.\" A last flower seemed wanting to that of Herv\u00e9. He was\nnow to obtain it. The poor shoeless child, the poet of the wretched,\nthe school-teacher of little children, the wandering agriculturist,\nthe mendicant architect, was to become the equal--what do I say?--the\ncorrector of bishops and kings.\n\nAt that time there reigned a Kon Mor in Brittany, who had rendered\nhimself abominable to the men of that country by his tyranny and\ncruelties. Unable to endure him, they flocked in great numbers from\nall parts of Armorica to their bishop, the blessed Samson; and as he\nsaw them at his door, silent and with lowered heads, he asked them:\n\n\"What has happened to the country?\"\n\nThen answered the more respectable among them:\n\n\"The men of this land are in great desolation, sir.\"\n\n\"And why so?\" asked Samson.\n\n\"We had a good chief of our own race, and born on our own land, who\ngoverned us by legitimate authority; and now there has come over us a\nforeign Kon Mor, a violent man, an enemy to justice, possessed of\ngreat power; he holds us under the most odious oppression; he has\nkilled our national chief, and dishonored his widow, our queen. He\nwould hare killed their Sun, had not the poor child taken to flight\nand sought refuge in France.\"\n\n{824}\n\nThe bishop, moved with pity, promised the deputies that he would aid\nthem, and seeking a means to re-establish their rightful chief, he\nresolved to begin by striking the usurper with the terrible arm of\nexcommunication.\n\nHe therefore sent letters to all the Armorican bishops to unite with\nhim in devising some means of frightening the tyrant. The place of\nreunion was a high mountain much venerated by the bards and the\npeople, named the Run-bre, and situated in the heart of the country\ngoverned by the Kon Mor. Although only prelates should have been\npresent, Herv\u00e9 was sent there, and even the venerable assembly were\nnot willing to enter into deliberation until he came, notwithstanding\nthe opposition of one member of the meeting, less humble and less\npatient than the others. This _courtier bishop_, as the legend styles\nhim, finding that Herv\u00e9 made them wait a long time, \"Is it proper that\nmen like us,\" he exclaimed, \"should remain here indefinitely on\naccount of a wretched blind monk?\" At this moment, the saint arrived.\nHis bare feet, his miserable hermit's robe made of goat-skin, in the\nmidst of the men and horses richly apparelled, belonging to the\nprelate of the court, drew perhaps a smile of proud disdain to the\nlips of many. Hearing the impious words of which he was the object,\nthe saint was not irritated, but said gently to the bishop: \"My\nbrother, why reproach me with my blindness? Could not God have made\nyou blind as well as me? Do you not know well that he makes us as he\npleases, and that we should thank him that he has given us such a\nbeing as he has?\" The other bishops, continues the legend, strongly\nrebuked this one, and he was not long in feeling the heavy hand of\nGod; for he immediately fell to the ground, his face covered with\nblood, and lost his sight; but the good saint, wishing to render good\nfor evil to this proud mocker, prayed to God for the unfortunate; and\nthen, rubbing his eyes with salt and water, restored him his sight; he\ngave him understanding also; according to the remark of another\nhagiographer, understanding, that light of the soul, obscured by\npride, more precious still and not less difficult to recover than the\nlight of the body. After this they proceeded to the ceremony of\nexcommunicating the great chief of the Armoricans.\n\nStanding on a rock, at the summit of the mountain, a lighted taper in\nhis hand, and surrounded by the nine bishops of Armorica, each one\nholding a blessed taper, the saint pronounced, in the name of all,\naccording to the formula of the times, these terrible words against\nthe foreign tyrant: \"We in virtue of the authority which we hold from\nthe Lord, in the name of God the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy\nGhost, do declare the great chief of the Armoricans excommunicated\nfrom the threshold of the holy church of God, and separated from the\nsociety of Christians; that, if he comes not quickly to repentance, we\ncrush him beneath the weight of an eternal malediction, and condemn\nhim by an irrevocable anathema. May he be exposed to the anger of the\nsovereign Judge, may he be torn from the heritage of God and his\nelect, that in this world he may be cut off from the communion of\nChristians, and that in the other he may have no part in the kingdom\nof God and his saints; but that, bound to the devil and his imps, he\nmay live devoted to the flames of vengeance, and that he may be the\nprey, even in this world, to the tortures of hell. Cursed be he in his\nown house, cursed in his fields, cursed in his stomach, cursed be all\nthings that he possesses, from his dog that howls at his appearance\neven to his cock who insults him by his crowing. May he share the lot\nof Dathan and Abiron whom hell swallowed alive; the lot of Ananias and\nof Sapphira, {825} who lied to the Apostles of the Lord, and were\nstruck with instant death; the lot of Pilate and Judas, who were\ntraitors to God; may he have no other sepulchre than have the asses,\nand may these tapers which we extinguish be the image of the darkness\nto which his soul is condemned. Amen.\"  [Footnote 194]\n\n  [Footnote 194: This formula of excommunication of the sixth century\n  has been discovered and recently translated by M. Alfred Ram\u00e9, in an\n  article, the \"Melanges d'Histoire et d'Archaeologie Bretonne,\" a\n  commendable publication.]\n\nThe bishops repeated three times, Amen; and the president of the\nsynod, having extinguished under his foot the candle which he held in\nhis hand, all the prelates did the same. But this dying candle, the\nimage of the extinguished light of the great chief, was not so easily\nrelighted as that of the haughty prelate. Once the tyrant's head was\nunder the bare foot of the mendicant monk, tyranny was dishonored and\nhumanity avenged.\n\nHerv\u00e9 does not appear to have long survived this great act of national\nand religious justice, in which he performed the greatest part; he\nsaw, however, the result, and could hail the dawn of a noble reign\nwhich would assure, without the effusion of blood, say the historians,\nthe death of the usurper.\n\nAnother dawn was rising for the saint.\n\nIt is related that being shut up in the church which he had built,\nfasting and praying for three days, separated from his disciples and\nhis pupils, the heavens opened above his head, and with the heavens\nhis eyes were opened to contemplate the celestial court. Ravished to\necstasy, he chanted a Breton canticle, which was later put into\nwriting, and has received its modern form from the last apostle of the\nArmoricans, Michel Le Nobletz.\n\n\"I see heaven opened, heaven my country; I would that I might fly\nthere as a little white dove!\n\n\"The gates of Paradise are opened to receive me; the saints advance to\nmeet me.\n\n\"I see, truly I see God the Father, and his blessed Son, and the Holy\nGhost.\n\n\"How beautiful she is, the Holy Virgin, with the twelve stars which\nform her crown.\n\n\"Each with his harp in his hand, I see the angels and the archangels,\nsinging the praises of God.\n\n\"And the virgins of all ages, and the saints of all conditions, and\nthe holy women, and the widows crowned by God!\n\n\"I see radiant in glory and beauty, my father and my mother; I see my\nbrothers and my countrymen.\n\n\"Choirs of little angels flying on their light wings, so rosy and so\nfair, fly around their heads, as a harmonious swarm of bees,\nhoney-laden in a field of flowers.\n\n\"O happiness without parallel! the more I contemplate you, the more I\nlong for you!\"\n\nThe heavens did not close again until the canticle was finished, as if\nthey had taken pleasure in the song of the predestined son of\nHyvarnion and Rivanone, who heard him with smiles and called him to\nthem.\n\n\n\nVII.\n\nBefore the Revolution there was preserved in the treasury of the\nCathedral of Nantes a silver shrine, enriched with precious stones, a\npresent from an ancient Breton chief. In great judicial cases it was\ncarried in procession to the judges to receive the solemn vows which\nthey afterward made upon the book of the Evangelists. A king of France\nand a duke of Brittany, after long wars, united under this shrine\ntheir reconciled hands and swore to live in peace.\n\nAt the same time there was seen, in the depths of lower Brittany, in\nthe sacristy of a little country church, an oaken cradle, with nothing\nabout it remarkable unless its age. The inhabitants of the parish,\nhowever, venerated it as much as the silver shrine. The mendicant\nsingers, above all, have {826} for it an especial affection. They love\nto touch it with their great musical instruments, their traveller's\ngoods, their rosaries, their staffs, all that they have which is most\nprecious. Kneeling before this cradle, they kiss it with respect, and\narriving sad, they depart joyous.\n\nNow, the silver shrine contained, wrapped in purple and silk, the\nrelics of Saint Herv\u00e9. The oaken cradle was the same in which he slept\nto the songs of the bard and his poet-wife, whom God had given him for\nfather and mother.\n\nTo-day the ducal reliquary is no longer in existence. The metal,\nthrice consecrated by sanctity, justice, and royalty, was stolen and\nmelted down in that sadly memorable epoch when these three things,\ntrampled under foot, were valued less than a bit of silver. But the\nwooden cradle of the humble patron of the singers of Brittany, that\npoor worm-eaten cradle, so like his fate on earth, exists still, and\nmore than one mendicant having respectfully pressed his lips upon it,\nas in other times, goes away singing with a clearer voice and a\ncomforted heart.\n\n--------\n\nFrom Once a Week.\n\n\n\nLOST FOR GOLD.\n\n\n  She stood by the hedge where the orchard slopes\n    Down to the river below;\n  The trees all white with their autumn hopes\n    Looked heaps of drifted snow;\n\n  They gleamed like ghosts through the twilight pale.\n    The shadowy river ran black;\n  \"It's weary waiting,\" she said, with a wail,\n    \"For them that never come back.\n\n  \"The mountain waits there, barren and brown,\n    Till the yellow furze comes in spring\n  To crown his brows with a golden crown,\n    And girdle him like a king.\n\n  The river waits till the summer lays\n    The white lily on his track;\n  But it's weary waiting nights and days\n    For him that never comes back.\n\n  \"Ah! the white lead kills in the heat of the fight.\n    When passions are hot and wild;\n  But the red gold kills by the fair fire-light\n    The love of father and child.\n\n  \"'Tie twenty years since I heard him say,\n    When the wild March morn was airy,\n  Through the drizzly dawn--'I m going away,\n    To make you a fortune, Mary.'\n\n{827}\n\n  \"Twenty springs, with their long grey days.\n    When the tide runs up the sand,\n  And the west wind catches the birds, and lays\n    Them shrieking far inland.\n\n  \"From the sea-wash'd reefs, and the stormy mull,\n    And the damp weed-tangled caves:--\n  Will he ever come back, O wild sea-gull.\n    Across the green salt waves?\n\n  \"Twenty summers with blue flax bells,\n    And the young green corn on the lea,\n  That yellows by night in the moon, and swells\n    By day like a rippling sea.\n\n  \"Twenty autumns with reddening leaves,\n    In their glorious harvest light\n  Steeping a thousand golden sheaves,\n    And doubling them all at night.\n\n  \"Twenty winters, how long and drear!\n    With a patter of rain in the street.\n  And a sound in the last leaves, red and sere;\n    But never the sound of his feet.\n\n  The ploughmen talk by furrow and ridge,\n    I hear them day by day;\n  The horsemen ride down by the narrow bridge,\n    But never one comes this way.\n\n  And the voice that I long for is wanting ther,\n    And the face I would die to see,\n  Since he went away in the wild March air,\n    Ah! to make a fortune for me.\n\n  \"O father dear I but you never thought\n    Of the fortune you squandered and lost;\n  Of the duty that never was sold and bought.\n    And the love beyond all cost.\n\n  \"For the vile red dust you gave in thrall\n    The heart that was God's above;\n  How could you think that money was all,\n    When the world was won for love?\n\n  \"You sought me wealth in the stranger's land,\n    Whose veins are veins of gold;\n  And the fortune God gave was in mine hand,\n    When yours was in its hold.\n\n  \"If I might but look on your face,\" she says,\n    \"And then let me have or lack;\n  But it's weary waiting nights and days\n    For him that never comes back.\"\n\n------\n\n{828}\n\n\nFrom The Dublin University Magazine.\n\nTHE SOLUTION OF THE NILE PROBLEM.  [Footnote 195]\n\n  [Footnote 195: \"The Albert N'Yanza, Great Basin of the Nile, and\n  Exploration of the Nile Sources.\" By Samuel White Baker, M.A.,\n  F.R.G.S. London: Macmillan. & Co. 1865.]\n\n\nFor some time the complaint of those who have been everywhere, and\nseen everything men of travel and of fashion ought to see, has been\nthat the world is \"used-up\" for the tourist. Where can he now go for a\nfresh sensation? Asia and America remain no more untrodden fields than\nEurope; and as for the isles of the farthest sea, rich and idle\n\"fugitives and vagabonds\" have braved as many dangers among savage\ntribes as the early missionaries, from impulse no nobler than\nrestlessness. Whither next shall they direct their strides? Iceland\nstood in favor for a year or two; but the cooks are bad there, and the\ninhabitants speak Latin. Japan has novelties, but bland Daimios are\nnot trustworthy. The sightseeker has no relish for being among a\npeople who, on very slight provocation, may perform upon him a process\nakin to their own \"happy despatch.\" In the exhaustion of interest in\nmere horizontal locomotion, the Cain-like race we form part of try the\neffect of ascension to the highest and hugest cloud-capped peaks;\nbut Matterhorn accidents have rather brought these\nmountains-of-the-(full)-moon performances into disfavour. Pending the\ndiscovery of some new wonder or feat, to occupy many vacant minds and\nstir a few energetic ones, and during the crisis of a Continental war,\nthe migratory section amongst us must bear their misery as best they\ncan. It may console them to hope that the flying-machine will yet be\nperfected, and air-sailing supersede Alpine climbing. Probably it\nwould be quite as exciting, and it would not tire the limbs. If there\nbe one geographical problem still left unsolved, it must be to find\nthe site of that cave of Adullam which has sorely puzzled numbers of\nerudite Parliamentarians, one of whom was heard to make answer to a\nquery regarding its locality that he \"never was a geographer.\" For the\npurpose of stimulating the curiosity of the gentleman, and of guiding\nhim in his search among the lore of school-boy days, we may take from\na book well known a real, and not figurative, description of the Cave\nin which shelter was lately found by some forty wayfarers uncertain as\nto their route in a difficult country. \"Leaving our horses,\" says an\nAdullamite, who long preceded them, \"in charge of wild------, and\ntaking one for a guide, we started for the cave, having a fearful\ngorge below, gigantic cliffs above, and the path winding along a shelf\nof the rock, narrow enough to make the nervous among us shudder. At\nlength, from a great rock hanging on the edge of this shelf, we sprang\nby a long leap into a low window which opened into the perpendicular\nface of the cliff. We were then within the hold of, ------ and creeping\nhalf-doubled through a narrow crevice for a few rods, we stood beneath\nthe dark vault of the first grand chamber of this mysterious and\noppressive cavern. Our whole collection of lights did little more than\nmake the damp darkness visible. After groping about as long as we had\ntime to spare, we returned to the light of day, fully convinced that\nwith ------ and his lion-hearted followers inside, all the strength\nof ------ under ------ could not have forced an entrance.\" Next to a\nsearch for the celebrated cave, we can {829} imagine no geographical\nextravagance equal to one for those Nile Sources that have been the\ndream of ancients and moderns. The undertaking possessed an the\nattraction of freshness. Your North-west passage is a mere track\nthrough a waste, without the possibility of novelty. What its dangers\nand privations, its few monotonous sights and events, were to\nhalf-a-dozen navigators they would be to half-a-dozen more. But in\npassing upward to the huge plateau in Central Africa where the Nile\nBasin lies, itself again overtopped by the lofty range of the Blue\nMountains, down which giant cascades ceaselessly roll in unwitnessed\nsplendor, the traveller encounters perils enough, but relieved with a\nhuman interest. The tribes he meets are many and unique in their\nhabits, strangely unlike each other, within short distances, and\nhaving about them an extraordinary mixture of an incipient\ncivilization with some of the most depraved of the customs of savage\nlife. In the journey, too, there is endless variety. The expedition up\nthe river, with its hunting episodes, its difficulties with mutinous\nservants and _seamen_, its devices to appease native cupidity and\ncircumvent native cunning, and its encounters with those vilest of the\npursuers of commerce, the slave-traders, forms one part of the\ninterest; and next come inland rides through tangled forest shades,\nrude villages of cone-shaped huts, suspicious hordes of naked\nbarbarians, to whom every new face is that of a plunderer of slaves or\ncattle, and \"situations\" in which it is impossible for the honest\ntraveller to escape sharp contests with a party of Turkish marauders,\nfor whose sins against the commandment he would otherwise be held\nresponsible by the relentless javelin-men of the desert. All this\noffers adventure of a genuine description to him who has the love of\nit in his disposition; and such a man is Mr. Samuel White Baker. His\nimpulses are irrepressible: nature made him a traveller. He is the\nmodern counterpart of those primitive personages, the Columbuses of\nthe times just succeeding the flood, whose purposeless wanderings into\nfar space from the spot where the Mesopotamian cradle of mankind was\nrocked, peopled lands lying even beyond great seas; men whose feats\nwere such that the philosophers of five thousand years after can\nhardly believe they performed them. If Mr. Baker had been a dweller in\nCharran, he would have begged the patriarch Abraham to give him\ncamels, water-bags, and bushels of corn, and would have set off for\nthe eastern margin of the globe, and the shores of the loud-sounding\nsea. Arrived there, he would have burned a tree hollow, and launched\nboldly forth upon the deep, to go whithersoever fortune listed.\n\nAll his life a traveller in the true sense, Mr. Baker last conceived\nthe idea of securing for \"England\" the glory of discovering the\nsources of the Nile. This bit of patriotic sentiment undoubtedly added\nto the zest of the undertaking, to which, as has been said, he was\nimpelled by instinct. He is a man of resolute will, and to think and\nto do are with him simultaneous acts. His preparations were instantly\nin progress, and from that moment his motto, come what might,\nwas--Forward. Part of this perseverance no doubt was due to the\nencouragement of Mrs. Baker's presence. That lady is the model\nexplorer's wife, and we could wish for such a race of women if there\nwere any problems geographical left to be solved. She set out with Mr.\nBaker from Cairo, determined to go through all dangers with him, and\nwell knowing their nature; and she successfully accomplished the task,\nand has returned to share his renown. To a full share of it she is\nreally entitled; for Mrs. Baker was much more than a companion to her\nhusband on his wanderings. She assisted him materially, not only\ntending him when sick, not only conciliating the natives by her\nkindness, but contributing to remove difficulties by wise {830}\ncounsel, bearing all hardships uncomplainingly, and--rare\nvirtue!--submitting to her lord's authority when he was warranted in\ndeciding what was best to be done, or left undone. Mrs. Baker could\nalso somewhat play the Amazon when occasion required. If she did not\nactually take the shield and falchion, and go to the front of the\nfight, she spread out the arms, loaded and prepared the weapons, and\nrendered brave and effective aid on an occasion when the Discoverer of\nthe Great Basin of the Nile was likely to have become, if he did not\nsucceed in intimidating his foes by the parade of his armory, a sweet\nmorsel for the palate of the Latookas. Mr. Baker speaks with manly\ntenderness of his wife, and the picture drawn of her in his incidental\nreferences, will gain for her hosts of friends among his readers.\n\nThe narrative is quiet until he reaches Gondokoro. There, in March,\n1863, he met Speke and Grant, who were descending the Nile, having\ncompleted the East African expedition. When there the report reached\nhim on a certain morning that there were two white men approaching who\nhad come from the sea. These were the travellers from the Victoria\nN'Yanza, the _other_, and smaller, source of the Nile. They had\nundoubtedly solved the mystery. Still they had left something for\nBaker to do, and candidly declared to him that they had not completed\nthe actual exploration of the Nile sources. In N. lat. 2\u00b0 17' they had\ncrossed the river which they had tracked from the Victoria Lake; but\nit had there (at Karuma Falls) taken an extraordinary bend westward,\nand when they met it again it was flowing from the W.S.W. There was\nclearly another source, and Kamrasi, King of Unyoro, had informed them\nthat from the Victoria N'Yanza the Nile flowed westward for several\ndays' journey, and fell into another lake called the Luta N'Zige, from\nwhich it almost immediately emerged again, and continued its course as\na navigable river to the north. Speke and Grant would have tracked out\nthis second source had not the tribes in the districts been at the\ntime at fend, and on such occasions they will not abide the face of a\nstranger. Mr. Baker, guided by their hints, set out to complete what\nthey had begun.\n\nGondokoro is a great slave-market--Mr. Baker says \"a perfect hell,\"\n\"a colony of cut-throats.\" The Egyptian authorities wink at what goes\non, in consideration of liberal largesses. There were about six\nhundred traders there when Mr. Baker visited it, drinking,\nquarrelling, and beating their slaves. These ruffians made razzias on\nthe cattle of the natives, who are a cleanly and rather industrious\nrace of the picturesque type of savage. Their bodies are tattooed all\nover, and an immense cock's feather, rising out of the single tuft of\nhair left upon their shaven crowns, gives them rather an imposing\nappearance. Their weapons of defence are poisoned arrows, with which\nthe traders at times make deadly acquaintance. Of course Mr. Baker had\nunforeseen difficulties on setting out. What traveller ever started on\nan expedition without meeting with his most irritating obstacles at\nthe threshold? Mr. Baker, however, was an old hand, and it took a good\ndeal to daunt him. His escort were as troublesome a set of vagabonds\nas could have been collected together probably in Africa itself. He\nhad a mutiny to quell ere many days; and it is at this point we come\nto see what sort of man is our explorer. He is a muscular Christian of\nthe stoutest type. Heavy fell his hand on skulls of sinning\nniggers--it was the readiest implement, and down went the offender\nunder the blow so signally that his fellows saw and trembled. Mr.\nBaker was a great \"packer.\" His asses and camels carried a vast amount\nof stuff, but so arranged and fitted that no breakdown occurred in the\nmost trying situations for man and beast.\n\n{831}\n\nThe Latookas were the first race of savages Mr. Baker encountered.\nThey are about six feet high, and muscular and well-proportioned. They\nhave a pleasing cast of countenance, and are in manner very civil.\nThey are extremely clever blacksmiths, and shape their lances and\nbucklers most skilfully. One of the most interesting passages of the\nwhole book is the author's account of this tribe:\n\n  \"Far from being the morose set of savages that I had hitherto seen,\n  they are excessively merry, and always ready for either a laugh or a\n  fight. The town of Tarrangott\u00e9 contained about three thousand\n  houses, and was not only surrounded by iron-wood palisades, but\n  every house was individually fortified by a little stockaded\n  courtyard. The cattle were kept in large kraals in various parts of\n  the town, and were most carefully attended to, fires being lit every\n  night to protect them from flies, and high platforms in three tiers\n  were erected in many places, upon which sentinels watched both day\n  and night, to give the alarm in case of danger. The cattle are the\n  wealth of the country, and so rich are the Latookas in oxen, that\n  ten or twelve thousand head are housed in every large town. . . .\n  The houses of the Latookas are bell-shaped. The doorway is only two\n  feet and two inches high, and thus an entrance must be effected on\n  all-fours. The interior is remarkably clean, but dark, as the\n  architects have no idea of windows.\"\n\nMr. Baker notices the fact that the circular form of hut is the only\nstyle of architecture adopted among all the tribes of Central Africa,\nand also among the Arabs of Upper Egypt; and that although there are\nvariations in the form of the roof, no tribe has ever yet dreamt of\nconstructing a window. The Latookas are obliged constantly to watch\nfor their enemy, a neighboring race of mule-riders, whose cavalry\nattacks they can hardly withstand, although of war-like habits, and\naccordingly--\n\n  \"The town of Tarrangott\u00e9 is arranged with several entrances in the\n  shape of low archways through the palisades: these are closed at\n  night by large branches of the hooked thorn of the bitter bush, (a\n  species of mimosa.) The main street is broad, but all others are\n  studiously arranged to admit only of one cow, single file, between\n  high stockades. Thus, in the event of an attack, these narrow\n  passages can be easily defended, and it would be impossible to drive\n  off their vast herds of cattle unless by the main street. The large\n  cattle kraals are accordingly arranged in various quarters in\n  connection with the great road, and the entrance of each kraal is a\n  small archway in the strong iron-wood fence, sufficiently wide to\n  admit one ox at a time. Suspended from the arch is a bell, formed of\n  the shell of the Dolape palm-nut, against which every animal must\n  strike either its horns or back on entrance. Every tinkle of the\n  bell announces the passage of an ox into the kraal, and they are\n  thus counted every evening when brought home from pasture.\"\n\nThe toilet of the natives is of the simplest, except in one\nparticular. The Latooka savage is content that his whole body should\nbe naked, but expends the most elaborate care on his headdress. Every\ntribe in this district has a distinct fashion of arranging it, but the\nLatookas reduce it to a science. Mr. Baker describes the process and\nthe result:\n\n  \"European ladies would be startled at the fact, that to perfect the\n  _coiffure_ of a man requires a period of from eight to ten years!\n  However tedious the operation the result is extraordinary. The\n  Latookas wear most exquisite helmets, all of which are formed of\n  their own hair, and are, of course, fixtures. At first sight it\n  appears incredible; but a minute examination shows the wonderful\n  perseverance of years in producing what must be highly inconvenient.\n  The thick crisp wool is woven with fine twine, formed from the bark\n  of a tree, until it presents a thick network of felt. As the hair\n  grows through this matted substance it is subjected to the same\n  process, until, in the course of years, a compact substance is\n  formed, like a strong felt, about an inch and a half thick, that has\n  been trained into the shape of a helmet. A strong rim of about two\n  inches deep is formed by drawing it together with thread, and the\n  front part of the helmet is protected by a piece of polished copper,\n  while a piece of the same metal, shaped like the half of a bishop's\n  mitre, and about a foot in length, forms the crest. The framework of\n  the helmet being at length completed, it must be perfected by an\n  arrangement of beads, should the owner of the head be sufficiently\n  rich to indulge in the coveted distinction. The beads most in\n  fashion are the red and the blue porcelain, about the size of small\n  peas. These are sewn on the surface of the felt, and so beautifully\n  arranged in sections of blue and red, that the entire helmet appears\n  to be formed of beads, and the handsome crest of polished copper,\n  surmounted by ostrich plumes, gives a most dignified and martial\n  appearance to this elaborate head-dress.\"\n\n{832}\n\nWith Commoro, chief of the Latookas, Mr. Baker had a religious\nconversation. The savage was clever, even subtile. He does not appear,\nhowever to have shaken the faith of the traveller. Probably had Mr.\nBaker been a Bishop (Colenso) trained in the theology of the schools,\nhe might have been driven crazy by this mid-African counterpart of the\nfamous Zulu. The natives exhume the bones of their dead, and celebrate\na sort of dance round them; and Mr. Baker asked his Latookan friend--\n\n  \"Have you no belief in a future existence after death? Is not some\n  idea expressed in the act of exhuming the bones after the flesh is\n  decayed?\"\n\n  _Commoro (loq.)_--\"Existence after death! How can that be? Can a\n  dead man get out of his grave unless we dig him out?\"\n\n  \"Do you think a man is like a beast that dies and is ended?\"\n\n  _Commoro._--\"Certainly. An ox is stronger than a man, but he dies,\n  and his bones last longer; they are bigger. A man's bones break\n  quickly; he is weak.\"\n\n  \"Is not a man superior in sense to an ox? Has he not a mind to\n  direct his actions?\"\n\n  _Commoro._--\"Some men are not so clever as an ox. Men must sow corn\n  to obtain food, but the ox and wild animals can procure it without\n  sowing.\"\n\n  \"Do you not know that there is a spirit within you more than flesh?\n  Do you not dream and wander in thought to distant places in your\n  sleep? Nevertheless, your body rests in one spot. How do you account\n  for this?\"\n\n  _Commoro_ (laughing.)--\"Well, how do you account for it?\"\n\n. . .\n\n  \"If you have no belief in a future state, why should a man be good?\n  Why should he not be bad, if he can prosper by wickedness?\"\n\n  _Commoro_.--\"Most people are bad; if they are strong, they take from\n  the weak. The good people are all weak; they are good because they are\n  not strong enough to be bad.\"\n\nExtremes meet; there are sages of modern days whose much learning has\nbrought them up to the intellectual pitch of the savage's materialism.\nThey might, ingenious as they are, even take a lesson in sophistry\nfrom the Latookan. When driven into a corner by the use of St. Paul's\nmetaphor, the astute Commoro answered:\n\n  \"Exactly so; that I understand. But the original grain does not rise\n  again; it rots, like the dead man, and is ended. The fruit produced\n  is not the same grain that was buried, but the _production_ of that\n  grain. So it is with man. I die, and decay, and am ended; but my\n  children grow up, like the fruit of the grain. Some men have no\n  children, and some grains perish without fruit; then all are ended.\"\n\nNevertheless, the Latookans continue to dig out the bones of their\nkindred, and to perform a rite around them which is manifestly a\ntradition from the time when a belief in the immortality of the soul\nexisted among them.\n\nIt was impossible for Mr. Baker to reach the Lake toward which he\npressed without appeasing Kamrasi, King of the Unyoros. But to do this\nwas not easy when his stock of presents was getting low, and his men\nwere so few and weak as to inspire no barbarian prince with the\nslightest fear. Yet, though debilitated with fever, his quinine\nexhausted, and Mrs. Baker stricken down in the disease, he pressed on\nwith an unquenchable zeal--one would almost write worthy of a better\ncause. Finally, he was abundantly rewarded. Hurrying on in advance of\nhis escort he reached at last, ere the sun had risen on what proved\nafterward a brilliant day, the summit of the hills that hem the great\nvalley occupied by the vast Nile Source. There it lay \"a sea of\nquicksilver\" far beneath, stretching boundlessly off to the vast Blue\nMountains which, on the opposite side towered upward from its bosom,\nand over whose breasts cascades could be discerned by the telescope\ntumbling down in numerous torrents. Standing 1500 feet above the level\nof the Lake, Mr. Baker shouted for joy that \"England had won the\nSources of the Nile!\" and called the gigantic reservoir the Albert\nN'Yanza. The Victoria and Albert Lakes, then, are the {833} Nile\nSources. Clambering down the steep--his wife, just recovered from\nfever, and intensely weak, leaning upon him--Mr. Baker reached the\nshore at length of the great expanse of water, and rushing into it,\ndrank eagerly, with an enthusiasm almost reaching the ancient Egyptian\npoint of Nile-worship.\n\nMr. Baker describes the Albert Lake as the grand reservoir, and the\nVictoria as the Eastern source.\n\n  \"The Nile, cleared of its mystery, resolves itself into comparative\n  simplicity. The actual basin of the Nile is included between about\n  the 22\u00b0 and 39\u00b0 east longitude, and from 3\u00b0 south to 18\u00b0 north\n  latitude. The drainage of that vast area is monopolized by the\n  Egyptian river. . . The Albert N'Yanza is the great basin of the\n  Nile: the distinction between it and the Victoria N'Yanza is, that\n  the Victoria is a reservoir receiving the eastern affluents, and it\n  becomes the starting-point or the most elevated _source_ at the\n  point where the river issues from it at the Ripon Falls; the Albert\n  is a reservoir not only receiving the western and southern affluents\n  direct from the Blue Mountains, but it also receives the supply from\n  the Victoria and from the entire equatorial Nile basin. The Nile, as\n  it issues from the Albert N'Yanza is the entire Nile; prior to its\n  birth from the Albert Lake it is _not_ the entire Nile.\"\n\n  \". . . Ptolemy had described the Nile sources as emanating from two\n  great lakes that received the snows of the mountains in Ethiopia.\n  There are many ancient maps existing upon which these lakes are\n  marked as positive. There can be little doubt that trade had been\n  carried on between the Arabs from the Red Sea and the coast opposite\n  Zanzitan in ancient times, and that the people engaged in such\n  enterprises had penetrated so far as to have gained a knowledge of\n  the existence of the two reservoirs.\"\n\nThe interest of Mr. Baker's volumes of course culminates with his\naccount of the Great Lake. He embarked in a canoe of the country, and\nwith his party in another, navigated it for a long distance,\nencountering storms and weathering them with a skill and courage which\nshow him as cool and experienced a traveller on _sea_ as on land. On\nhis return overland he was again in perils oft. But the same undying\nspirit which supported him through a dozen fevers carried him through\nevery danger triumphantly. The English nation has reason to be proud\nof such men, and of such women as Mrs. Baker still more. Devotion like\nhers honors the sex. There is an end, however, of Nile voyaging with\nthe old object. If the Victoria and Albert Lakes are revisited it will\nbe in pursuit of other ends than mere geographical inquiry or\ncuriosity. Mr. Baker seems to think that missionaries may be the first\nto follow in the track he has made, and it is a fact that next to\nprofessional explorers (if even second to them) those influenced by\nreligious zeal have made the most daring expeditions into unknown\nregions. Livingstone has done even more in another part of Africa than\nBaker did on the great level, which, as he thinks, from its altitude,\nescaped being submerged at any previous part of the world's history,\nand may contain at this moment the descendants of a pre-Adamite race.\nOn the ethnology of the central Africans he can throw no light, and\nhis mere speculations are worthless, but he is doubtless right in\nconsidering that commerce must precede religious propagandism among\nthose races, if anything is really to be done for their benefit. For\ncommerce there are large opportunities, if only the abominable\nslave-trade, which makes fiends of the natives, were effectually\nsuppressed. Mr. Baker writes warmly on this point, and none knows\nbetter the character and extent of the evil. A more interesting book\nof travel was never written than his Albert N'Yanza: in every page\nthere is fresh and vivid interest. The author, who is admirable in\nmany things, is a model narrator, and there is no romance at all equal\nin attraction to the simple and unvarnished, but full and picturesque,\naccount of his protracted and exciting travels.\n\n\n--------\n\n{834}\n\n\nTranslated from the French.\n\nTHREE WOMEN OF OUR TIME.\n\nEUG\u00c9NIE DE GU\u00c9RIN--CHARLOTTE BRONT\u00cb--RAHEL LEVIN.\n\nBY GABRIEL CERNY.\n\n\nIt is now quite a number of years since it became the fashion to study\nwomen, and writers of note have called to life more than one who would\nhave preferred being left to oblivion under her cold tombstone. Is it\nnot enough to have lived once even if we have lived wisely? \"No one\nwould accept an existence that was to last forever,\" said a\nphilosopher who had suffered from the injustice of mankind.\n\nIt seems, for example, as if the heroines of the seventeenth century\nmust smile in pity to see the pettiest actions of their lives as well\nas the deepest inspirations of their hearts given up for food to the\nindiscreet curiosity and vivid imagination of the eminent philosopher\nwho had so lovingly resuscitated them. And the intellectual women who\ncame after them, are not they not often wounded by the judgments\npassed upon them by the most inquisitive and fertile of critics?\n\nIn two works entirely devoted to woman, a _fantaisiste_ who was once\nan historian, has tried to explain the best means to insure happiness\nto the fairer half of the human race, with a minuteness very tender in\nintention but often quite repugnant to our taste. He states in detail\nthe hygienic care indispensable to creatures weak in body, feeble in\nmind, and so helpless when left to themselves that in truth there are\nbut two conditions in the world suitable for them--to be courtesans if\nthey are beautiful, and maid-servants if they are destitute of\nphysical charms; nay, such is the arrogance of this literary _C\u00e9ladon_\nthat he would assign to the wife an inferior position and leave the\nhusband to superintend not only business affairs but household\nmatters. In short, when we read these books we seem to be attending a\nsession of the Naturalization Society, teaching the public to rear and\ndomesticate some valuable animal much to be distrusted.\n\nNot even the toilettes of the eighteenth century have failed to arouse\nthe interest of two authors of our day, who, displeased perhaps with\nthe slight success of their book, have now abandoned the range of\nrealities for the dreary delusions of a lawless realism. In a work as\nlong as it is tiresome, they have described with feminine lucidity the\nvarious costumes of the ladies of the court of Louis XV., of the\nRevolution, and the Empire.\n\nA book has now appeared which, according to its title, promises to\nshow us the \"Intellect of Women of our own Time,\" but in reality\nconfines itself to giving three interesting biographies. The author\nwas already known to the public through a romance which reveals true\ntalent \"Daniel Blady,\" the story of a musician, is written in the\nGerman style, and shows an elevation of sentiment, a straightforward\nhonesty of principle, and above all a simplicity of devotion rarely to\nbe met with in the world. M. Camille Selden admires modest women,\nincapable of personal ambition or vanity, who consecrate all the\ntender and enlivening faculties of soul and reason to the service of a\nhusband, father, or brother, and such a woman he portrays in \"Daniel\nBlady.\"\n\n{835}\n\nIn order to represent fairly the women of our day M. Selden has\nselected three different characters; three names worn modestly,\nusefully, and honorably; three contrasts of position, race, doctrine,\nand education: a French Catholic, an English Protestant, a German\nJewess: Eug\u00e9nie de Gu\u00e9rin, Charlotte Bront\u00eb, and Rachel Varnhagen von\nEnse. They were all affectionate, devoted, and self-forgetful; two of\nthem married, and the French-woman alone had the happy privilege of\nrestoring to God a heart and soul that had belonged to no one.\n\nI.\n\nEug\u00e9nie de Gu\u00e9rin du Cayla was born and bred _en province_, although\nof a truly noble family, of Venetian origin it is said. Her mode of\nlife was that of a woman of the middle class (_bourgeoise_) enjoying\nthat comparative ease which we see in the country; a large house\nscantily furnished, a garden less cultivated than the fields, and\nservants of little or no training, who seem to form a part of the\nfamily.\n\nMlle. de Gu\u00e9rin lost her mother early, and having two brothers and a\nsister younger than herself, became burthened with the care of a\nhousehold and family. Her letters and journal show her to us as she\nwas at twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of age, not one of those\npersons of morose and frigid virtue who are good for nothing but to\nmend linen and take care of birds, but a woman of intelligent and\nunembarrassed activity. She made fires, visited the poultry-yard,\nprepared breakfast for the reapers, and when her work was done, betook\nherself in all haste to a little retreat which she dignified with the\nname of _study_, where she ran through some book or wrote a few\npages--always charming, always strong--of a sort of journal of the\nactions of her life. Eug\u00e9nie's especial favorite was her brother\nMaurice, who was five years younger than herself, and it would be\nimpossible to speak of her without recalling the passionate maternal\ntenderness with which from her earliest youth she regarded this\nbrother whom she had loved to rock and nurse in infancy.\n\n\"I remember that you sometimes made me jealous,\" she wrote to him one\nday, \"it was because I was a little older than you, and I did not know\nthat tenderness and caresses, _the hearts milk_, are lavished on the\nlittle ones.\"\n\nDevotion was the principle motive-power of Eug\u00e9nie's actions; ardent\nprayer and charity profoundly moved her; wind, snow, rain-storms,\nnothing checked her when she knew that in some corner of the village\nthere were miseries to be relieved, tears to be wiped away. She felt\nsympathy with all living creatures, even if they were inanimate like\ntrees and flowers; she sighed when the wind bowed them down; \"she\npitied them, comparing them to unhappy human beings bending beneath\nmisfortune,\" and imitating the example of the great saint, Francis of\nAssisi, she would gladly have conversed with lambs and turtle-doves.\n\nMlle. de Gu\u00e9rin pitied the educated peasants who knew how to read and\nyet could not pray. \"Prayer to God,\" she said, \"is the only fit manner\nto celebrate any thing in this world.\" And again, \"Nothing is easier\nthan to speak to the neglected ones of this world; they are not like\nus, full of tumultuous or perverse thoughts that prevent them from\nhearing.\"\n\nShe loved religion with its festivals and splendors; and breathed in\nGod with the incense and flowers on the altar, nor could she ever have\nunderstood an invisible, abstract God, a God simply the guardian of\nmorality as Protestants believe him to be.\n\nMost women become useful only through some being whom they love and to\nwhom they refer the actions of their lives; it is their noblest and\nmost natural instinct to efface and lose themselves in another's\nglory. Having no husband or children, Mlle. de Gu\u00e9rin attached herself\nto her brother Maurice, a delicate nature, a sad {836} and suffering\nsoul, destined to self-destruction, a lofty but unquiet spirit that\nwas never to find on earth the satisfaction and realization of his\nhopes. \"You are the one of all the family,\" he wrote to her, \"whose\ndisposition is most in sympathy with my own, so far as I can judge by\nthe verses that you send me, in all of which there is a gentle\nreverie, a tinge of melancholy, in short, which forms, I believe, the\nbasis of my character.\" Mlle. de Gu\u00e9rin's letters to her brother were\nnot only tender and consoling, but strong and healthy in their tone.\nIndeed, he needed them, for terrible were his sufferings from the\nill-will and indifference of others. He wrote and tried to establish\nhimself as a critic; but some publishers rejected him and others\nevaded his proposals with vague promises, until with despair he saw\nevery issue closed to him, and knew not what answer to make to his\nfather, who grew impatient at the constant failure of his\nexpectations.\n\nThough ignorant of the world, Mlle, de Gu\u00e9rin did not the less suspect\nthe dangers that Christian faith may encounter. One day, a voice that\nseemed to come from heaven told her that Maurice no longer prayed; and\nthen we find her trembling and uneasy. \"I have received your letter,\"\nshe says, \"and I see you in it, but I do not recognize you; for you\nonly open your mind to me, and it is your heart, your soul, your\ninmost being that I long to see. Return to prayer, your soul is full\nof love and craves expansion; believe, hope, love, and all the rest\nshall be added. If I could only see you a Christian! Oh! I would give\nmy life and everything else for that.\" . . . Like all persons who try\nto dispense with the divine restraints of the precepts of the gospel,\npoor Maurice struggled in a dreary world; his sensitive and poetic\nsoul saw God everywhere except in his own heart; he longed sometimes\nto be a flower, or a bird, or verdure; his brain and imagination ran\naway with him, and his soul poured itself forth without restraint, and\nlost its way through wandering from the veritable Source of life.\n\nThis passion for nature led him to write a work which shows genuine\npower even if it be unproductive; a prose poem in which Christianity\nis forgotten for the sake of fable and antiquity. But thanks to his\nsister's prayers, Maurice was one of those who return to God. He\npassed away without agitation or suffering, smiling on all, and\nbegging his sister Eug\u00e9nie to read him some spiritual book. At the\nbottom of his heart he had never ceased to love God, and he returned\nto him as a little child returns to its mother.\n\nEug\u00e9nie did not give herself up to vain despair after Maurice's death.\nThinking perpetually of him whom she had loved so deeply, she busied\nherself with the writings which he had left behind him, and prayed for\nhis soul, recommending him also to the prayers of her friends. She\nstill addressed herself to him, and oppressed with sadness unto death,\ncommuned with his absent soul, imploring him to come to her. \"Maurice,\nmy friend, what is heaven, that home of friends? Will you never give\nme any sign of life? Shall I never hear you, as the dead are sometimes\nsaid to make themselves heard? Oh! if it be possible, if there exist\nany communication between this world and the other, return to me!\"\n\nBut one day she grew weary of this unanswered correspondence, and a\nmoral exhaustion took possession of her. \"_Let us cast our hearts into\neternity_,\" she cried. These were her last words, and she died, glad\nto see her life accomplished, confiding in the mercy of God, in his\ngoodness who reunites the soul which he has severed here below, but\nnever has forgotten in their bereavement.\n\n\n\n{837}\n\nII.\n\nCharlotte Bront\u00eb, (Currer Bell,) whom M. Camille Selden offers to us\nas a type of energy and virtue, was the daughter of a country\nclergyman. Sad was the childhood and sad the youth of the poor English\ngirl. Her mother was an invalid, her father a man of gloomy and almost\nfierce disposition, their means were so limited as to border upon\npoverty, and as if to complete the dreary picture, the scenery about\nthe parsonage was \"austere and lugubrious to contemplate, like the sea\nbeneath an impending tempest.\"\n\nIn England the clerical profession is totally unlike the holy mission\nof a Catholic clergyman. The ecclesiastical life there is a career,\nnot a vocation. \"Mr. Bront\u00eb never left home unarmed,\" a singular\nmethod of preaching peace to the world and reconciliation among\nbrethren. He was a good father, no doubt--almost all Englishmen are\nso. But he kept his family at a distance, and spoke to them seldom,\nand then in a curt and supercilious manner. His morose spirit did not\nrelish the society of children, and if he became the preceptor of his\nlittle family, it was rather in order to fulfil a duty and conform\nhimself to custom, than from a feeling of tenderness or even\nsolicitude for their future welfare. Thus the minister's children\nlived amid influences which were cold and serious, but upright, and in\na certain sense strengthening. There are so many children in every\nEnglish family that parents of the middle class are obliged to treat\nthem less as subordinates than as auxiliaries. The children are less\nfamiliar with their parents but more respectful than among us; life is\nnot so easy and gentle, education more masculine.\n\nIndependence is the goal toward which all young English people tend,\nand both girls and boys are early taught that labor alone can lead\nthem to it. In France we long impatiently for the time to shut up our\nchildren in the high-walled barracks which we dignify with the name of\nboarding-schools; for it is extremely necessary, we say, to be rid of\nidle, noisy boys. Girls are generally educated at home, but either\nthrough weakness or indifference, they are treated with far too much\nindulgence. \"Poor little things!\" we say pathetically; \"who can tell\nwhat fate awaits them in married life?\" for in this country we so far\nforget Christian duty as to make marriage a necessity, an obligation,\na matter of business, instead of seeking therein, as the English do, a\nbasis of true happiness.\n\nChildren, educated as they are in England, early acquire habits of\nobservation and reflection; sitting around the tea-table in the\nevening, they listen to the conversation of their grandparents, and\nare often questioned upon the most serious subjects. This is\nProtestantism, you say. Not at all: it is the remains of the Christian\nspirit anterior to the Reformation. This spirit is exhibited in habits\nas in laws. If family life among us were truly catholic, we should\npossess all this and in greater perfection.\n\nThere is another practice in England which is often beneficial, and\nwhich we do not dare to adopt openly in France. I mean the habit of\nwriting out one's impressions. This seems to be as natural in England\nas thought; and mothers, young girls, and men consider it a duty to\nkeep an account of the good ideas that occur to them or of the\ninteresting facts they may observe.\n\nIn France, on the contrary, true literary culture is closed to women,\nand there is a general outcry whenever any woman takes the liberty of\npublishing a work under her own name. It is thought quite natural that\na young girl, with a dress outrageously _decollet\u00e9e_ and her head\ncovered with flowers, should appear upon a stage and sing a _bravura_;\nbut let her venture to write, and the world accuses her of want of\nreserve.\n\nA Frenchman has such a horror of anything methodical and serious that\nhe prefers to educate his daughters without thought or reflection, at\nhap-hazard and with no provision for {838} the future. Frenchwomen\nunderstand everything without study, it is said; this may be true, and\nthe merit is not so great as to make it worth while to deny the\nassertion. What a superficial method! what an incredible way to\nacquire knowledge and judgment!\n\nEnglishwomen on the contrary, devote themselves to a regular course of\ninstruction; they read a great deal, making extracts and critical\nnotes, and thus avoid idleness and _ennui_, those two terrible\ndiseases that affect womankind. Unfortunately abuses glide into their\nreading, and novels or even newspapers hold a place there which they\nought not to occupy. This is a fruit of Protestantism, of free\ninquiry, and if our faith were firm and practical, we should know how\nto avoid the abuse and accept the useful side of this custom.\n\nBut there is again a situation which Englishwomen meet with a better\ngrace than Frenchwomen--we mean the _misfortune_ of remaining\nunmarried at twenty-eight or thirty years of age--of becoming _old\nmaids_. With us, as soon as a daughter comes into the world we begin\nto think of amassing her dower; for it is the value of this dower\nwhich is to secure a good or bad marriage for her. We persuade her\nthat it is almost a disgrace to remain unmarried, but by a tacit\nagreement we conceal from her the fact that marriage, as the Church\ninstituted it, is the union of two souls equal in the sight of God,\nand that in giving her hand to a man, she becomes half of himself and\nflesh of his flesh. No, it is not a question of heart or of duty; she\nmarries a man whom she has known scarcely two months, and her family\ntriumphantly congratulate themselves on being freed from the\nunpleasant possibility of harboring _an old maid_. To avoid this, some\nmarriages are a mere _sale_, a present shame, a future misery, and a\nfinal sin.\n\nAs in England daughters have no dower, and sons are valued much more\nhighly, young women are early prepared not to marry, and are neither\nsadder nor more unfortunate on that account. Care of the little ones\nin the family; that pleasant occupation belonging by right to maiden\naunts, (_tantes berceuses,_) study, attentive observation of men and\nthings, and the consciousness of intellectual worth, sustain the\nEnglishwomen until the moment, often distant, and never to arrive for\nmany a one, when a good, sincere, and intelligent man shall unite her\nlot to his; but as she has self-respect and does not consider loss of\nyouth as loss of caste, she does not accept the suitor unless she\nknows him well and is certain that he does not wish to take her or buy\nher _pour faire une fin_.\n\nCharlotte, like Eug\u00e9nie and like Rahel, of whom we shall speak in her\nturn, was rather insignificant in appearance; her features were\nirregular, her forehead prominent, and her eyes small but deep and\npiercing in expression. She was educated with two of her sisters in a\nboarding-school, where the regimen was hard and unhealthy, the uniform\ncoarse, and the food insufficient and ill cooked. Mr. Bront\u00eb turned a\ndeaf ear to his eldest daughter's complaints for a long time, and did\nnot decide to take his children home until one of them had already\nsunk under the injudicious treatment. Charlotte was then placed with\nMiss W----, with whom she lived eight years as pupil and second\nteacher. And here M. Camille Selden gives us some excellent remarks\nupon the difference existing between the French lay _pension_ with its\nsupplementary course, and the English boarding-school.\n\n\"In the former, as in a well-disciplined army, every movement, every\nmanoeuvre must be executed in union, even the recess is subject to\nrules. In the midst of her battalion of teachers and sub-mistresses,\nthe French directress, _en grande tenue_, resembles a brilliant\ncolonel marching proudly at the head of his squadron in a review.\"\n\n{839}\n\n\"The object of education in England is at once simpler and gentler. It\nis thought there to be the duty of a woman, as of a man, to develop\nthe judgment by study; that reflection and observation are equally\nnecessary to teach both sexes how to live wisely and think justly.\nTherefore we never hear of courses of study where under the pretext of\nmaternal education, gentlemen in black coats give out _bribes_ for\nhistory, geography--nay, even philosophy, to little girls who come\nthere apparently to study under maternal supervision, but in reality\nto learn to receive company and dress tastefully; in one word, to\nrehearse the worldly comedy which a little later they will be\ncondemned to enact.\"\n\nThe author should have completed his picture by giving an exact\naccount of our houses of religious education; but I think he knows\nlittle about them, and cares little to get information concerning\nthem, which accounts for certain wants in his book.\n\nPoor Charlotte Bront\u00eb was never young, partly because of her childish\nsufferings, but chiefly because of her serious and inquiring nature,\nwhich applied its powers to investigating and analyzing the sources of\neverything. She did not indulge in the childish ideas of a school\ngirl, and being free from the dangerous enthusiasm that imagination\nengenders, she understood the full extent of human misery without\nexaggerating it, and if she was deprived of illusions at least she was\nspared disappointment. And yet she suffered; her vigorous soul, her\nfertile intellect imprisoned in this common-place situation, were\nstifled as in a cage; and to complete her misery came religious\nterrors, frightful visions of \"failing grace and impossible\nsalvation,\" until her awe-struck heart recoiled in affright.\n\nLike all souls ardently loving goodness and thirsting from the true\nlove, she sighed after the bliss of heaven: \"I would be willing,\" she\nexclaimed, \"I would be willing to exchange my eighteen years for gray\nhairs--or even to stand on the verge of the grave, if by that means I\ncould be assured of the divine mercy;\" but alas! in the practices of\nthat dry and personal religion in which each one answers to himself\nfor himself, and whence confidence is banished as a weakness, where\nshould she look for help?\n\nMeanwhile the circle of poverty was drawing closer and closer about\nCharlotte and her sisters, and a thousand thoughts sprang up in the\nbrain of the courageous girl: \"I wish to make money, no matter how--if\nonly the means be honest! nothing would discourage me,\" said she; \"but\nI should not care to be a cook--I should prefer being housemaid.\" In\nthe evening, when every one else was in bed, she used to meet her\nsisters in the little parlor, and they would read to each other their\nliterary efforts in a low voice. They decided with one accord that\nCharlotte must write to Southey and send him a book of her poems. The\npoet saw no great merit in these effusions and tried to discourage\nCharlotte, giving her at the same time excellent moral advice upon the\nnothingness of celebrity and the dangers of ambition.\n\nShe decided then to make a journey to Belgium in order to study\nFrench, but she was almost immediately recalled home. The old aunt who\nhad kept house during her absence was dead, her father was becoming\nblind, and her brother was subject to attacks of delirium in which he\nthreatened his father's life. It was amid these terrible calamities\nthat Miss Bront\u00eb wrote \"Jane Eyre,\" the most powerful of her novels.\n\nThe next plan was that she and her sisters should all write together\nand get a volume printed at their own expense under the names of\nEllis, Acton, and Currer Bell. It may well be imagined that this\nunfortunate book, sent out like a foundling into the literary world,\nmet with no success, for if the beginnings of any career are\nprecarious, the obstacles presented by literature are insurmountable\nto any one {840} not possessed of immense energy. We know Charlotte\nwell enough to feel sure that she was not a woman to waste away in the\ndejection of sterile discouragement; she began to write again, and\ncomposed \"The Professor.\" Alas! the poor little book travelled about\nfrom publisher to publisher without finding rest anywhere; and such\nwas the na\u00efvet\u00e9 of its author, that in her eagerness to send her\nrejected book to each new bookseller, she forgot to remove the old\npostage stamps from the package--not an encouraging recommendation to\nany editor to accept the _leavings_ of his _confr\u00e8res!_\n\nIt was at Manchester, during six weeks that she passed there with her\nfather, who was forced to undergo an operation for cataract, that Miss\nBront\u00eb finished \"Jane Eyre.\" Messrs. Smith and Elder of London\naccepted the manuscript without hesitation, and from that time the\nobscure young girl was a celebrity whom every one longed to know and\nto receive.\n\nCharlotte's literary success brought a ray of joy into Mr. Bront\u00eb's\nmelancholy household, but it was of short duration. Twice within two\nmonths the inhabitants of Haworth saw the window-blinds of the\nparsonage closed, and heard the bell toll a death-knell. Charlotte's\nbrother, prostrated by excesses, and consumed internally, died in the\ncourse of fifteen minutes; but they were minutes of awful anguish; in\nthe grasp of the death-agony the dying man started to his feet, crying\nout that he would die standing, and that his will should give way only\nwith his breath. Her elder sister, Emily, left home for the last time\nwhen she followed his bier to the grave; and another sister, the\nyoungest and Charlotte's well-beloved, Anna Bront\u00eb, sustained herself\nawhile by dint of care and tenderness, but her lungs were affected and\nshe soon began to languish; she too declined and died.\n\nPoor Charlotte now found herself alone with her father who had lost\nfive of his six children. She devoted herself to writing, as much to\ndistract her grief as to deceive the long hours of the day; and\nhenceforth her personality presented two distinct faces. She was a\nconscientious Englishwoman, a clergyman's daughter attached to her\nduties, and an authoress, ardent and active in defence of her\nconvictions, and not without a certain obstinacy. \"Her success\ncontinued, and she was obliged to submit to the exhibition to which\nEnglish enthusiasm and bad taste subject their favorites. Miss Bront\u00eb\nhad to go to dinner-parties, and to reunions of unlooked-for luxury\nand splendor; but the distinction that flattered her most was being\nplaced by Thackeray in the seat of honor to hear the first lecture of\nthis celebrated author at Willis's Rooms.\"\n\nBut solitude which had been the foundation and habit of her life,\nrendered her unfit for the world. Miss Bront\u00eb had suffered too much to\npreserve that serenity of temper and freedom of spirit necessary to\nenable one to talk easily and agreeably, and often would she sit\nsilent amid a cross-fire of conversation all around her \"I was forced\nto explain,\" she said, \"that I was silent because I could talk no\nmore.\"\n\nCharlotte Bront\u00eb had arrived at the age of thirty-eight years without\nhaving had her heart touched with any emotion stronger than dutiful\naffection for her family. But--and here prose intrudes itself a\nlittle--her father had a vicar, and what could an English vicar do but\nbe married? He loved Charlotte, and moreover, she had become a good\nmatch; but on one hand the fear of a refusal, and on the other the\ndread of the embarrassment for a clergyman of sharing the existence of\na literary woman, prevented him from declaring his affections. At\nlast, however, he took courage, and I ask myself if this courage was\nnot rendered more attainable by Charlotte herself. At all events she\naccepted his offer without hesitation; but her father, who was too\nselfish to allow his daughter to occupy herself with any one but\nhimself, opposed the marriage, and the enamored vicar left Haworth.\n\n{841}\n\nThe privation that Mr. Bront\u00eb experienced after his vicar's\ndeparture--a privation that Miss Bront\u00eb's temperament must have made\nhim feel more sensibly--was such that he recalled the suitor, and the\nmarriage took place. It was a dreary ceremony: no relations, no\nfriends, so that the bride positively had no one to lead her to the\naltar; for her father had refused to be present at the marriage for\nfear of feeling agitated, faithful to the end to the dry and\negotistical line of conduct he had marked out for himself.\n\nThe wife devoted herself bravely to seconding her husband in the\nduties of his ministry. She visited the poor, had a Sunday-school,\nimprovised prayers and knew the Bible by heart. She was happy--but her\nhappiness was of short duration, for physical and moral sufferings had\nexhausted her, and she died just as life had become harmonized\naccording to her wishes.\n\nA celebrated author, a strong and courageous woman, aspiring after a\nChristian life, she gave all that a heart can give which is not\npossessed of the true light; and M. Selden is right in saying at the\nclose: \"Charlotte is better than her heroines.\" There are few authors\nof whom one could say as much.\n\n\n\nIII.\n\nFrom England _with its maintien compass\u00e9_, and cold religious tenets,\nM. Camille Selden takes us to Germany, the land of sentiment and\nintellectual research, and introduces us to a Jewess in Berlin, that\nwe may see what a German _salon_ was at the end of the eighteenth\ncentury.\n\nRahel Levin was only twenty years old when she lost her father, a\nwealthy Israelite, gloomy and violent in his bearing at home, but\namiable and attractive in society.\n\nThe young Rahel, endowed with great intelligence and unerring tact,\nunited to a truly kind heart, was valued and sought by every one as\nsoon as she appeared in society. She was exceedingly amiable, full of\nan obliging good temper that made her anticipate wishes, divine\nannoyances in order to relieve them, and forget herself in seeking to\nmake others happy. Rare too was her loyalty; not only was her soul\nincapable of falsehood, but of any want of sincerity. Her husband who\nhad the good taste not to be jealous of his wife's superiority and\nsuccess, said of her \"that she did not think to lose by showing\nherself as God had made her, or gain by hiding anything.\" \"Natural\ncandor, absolute purity of soul, and sincerity of heart are the only\nthings worthy of respect--the rest is only external regularity and\nconventionality,\" she often said to those who lavished upon her\nexpressions of respect and admiration.\n\nUnhappily for Mlle. Levin, circumstances concurred in alienating her\nfrom her family. Her mother and brothers, notwithstanding their ample\nfortune, showed a rapacity worthy of their race, and most unlike\nRahel's broad and generous ideas; and her position would have been\npitiable, but for the illustrious friends who frequented her mother's\nhouse. Among them the young girl forgot the petty meanness of her home\nlife; and inexhaustible in ideas, perceptive faculty, and wit, she\nhandled the gravest subjects with delicate skill, and almost as if she\nwere playing with them. Full of unfailing good temper, she could\ndiscuss the most varied, the most opposite subjects, without dogmatism\nor eccentricity.\n\nBut this want of union with her family, which had deprived her of the\ndomestic happiness so indispensable to every affectionate woman had\nrendered her paradoxical and even a little sceptical. See, for\nexample, what she wrote to her youngest sister, who had consulted her\nabout a proposal of marriage: \"The want of durability in everything,\nand the inevitable separation between an object and its {842} motive,\nafford, you see, the final explanation of all that is human. You do\nnot wish to belong to humanity; very well, destroy yourself. I feel\nquite differently: only transitory things, only what is human can\ntranquillize and console me.\" How at variance is this bitterness with\nthe ardent hopefulness of the spiritual Eug\u00e9nie de Gu\u00e9rin! and how\nexcellent a proof, if we needed any new one, that true happiness is\nunattainable without that deep religious feeling which raises us above\nall passing things! Charlotte Bront\u00eb had at least that Protestant\nseverity which stifles all tender quailing of the heart and soul, like\na miser trembling lest he should lose a farthing of the merits of his\nsacrifice; but poor Rahel possessed only the intellectual resources of\nthe mind, and they can do little for us.\n\nGoethe, whose countrywoman she was so proud of being; Goethe, little\ninclined to exaggerate the value of a woman's mind, took pleasure in\ncalling her a generous girl. \"She has powerful emotions and a careless\nway of expressing them,\" he said: \"the better you know her, the more\nyou feel yourself attracted and gently enthralled.\"\n\nBut it was a long time before she enthralled any one. At last one of\nher friends, Varnhagen von Ense, a young man twenty-six years old,\noffered her his hand. Let him describe to us the charm of his first\ninterview with Rahel.\n\n  \"From the first, I must say that she made me experience a very rare\n  happiness, that of contemplating for the first time a complete\n  being--complete in intelligence and heart, a perfect union of nature\n  and cultivation. Everywhere I saw harmony, equilibrium, views as\n  na\u00efve as they were original, striking in their grandeur as in their\n  novelty, and always in accordance with her slightest actions. And\n  all was pervaded with a sentiment of the purest humanity, guided by\n  an energetic sense of duty, and heightened by a noble\n  self-forgetfulness in the presence, of the joys and griefs of\n  others.\"\n\nRahel was then thirty-six years old, and this great disparity of age,\nadded to her want of beauty and fortune, must have inspired her with\ndoubts of the duration of a feeling, which perhaps her heart,\naccustomed to independence, did not at first reciprocate. But in\nGermany marriages are not made as they are in France; people do not\nmarry without knowing each other, or with a precipitation which might\nlead one to suppose that on both sides there was something to conceal,\nor that the intention was to make a good bargain of duty. According to\nthe fashion of their country the two friends were betrothed, and were\nthen forced to separate.\n\n\"I am not afraid; I will wait for you; I know you will never forsake\nme,\" wrote the indulgent Rahel eight years later, when a Frenchwoman\nwould have lost patience a thousand times over.\n\nIn France, where dower, beauty, name, or position, rank before\naffection, such a separation would certainly have proved fatal. Had he\nno cause to fear that some one else might supplant him with Rahel? Was\nshe untroubled by dread of the cruel dangers that threaten and disturb\nthe affections? Might not her heart, naturally sceptical, and shaken\nby contact with the world, distrust the effect of opinion upon so\nyoung a man? \"But true love has nothing to fear from worldly talk or\nmaterial considerations; a whiff of a passing breeze cannot destroy\nstrongly rooted affections, whose living germ lies sheltered in the\ndepths of the heart.\" Such love can wait, for it does not know how to\nchange. Such love was Rahel's; was it Varnhagen's? We shall see.\n\n{843}\n\nRahel was not an author, and had no thought of publication; it was\nonly after her death that her husband sought some slight consolation\nin publishing her letters. These letters which make three volumes,\nwere written in the course of forty years, and therefore they reveal\nthe different phases of development in the young girl, the independent\nwoman, and the matron. Through the generous feelings which she\nexpresses, with a soul sympathizing with all sorts of interests, there\npierces a certain delicate irony which seems to find pleasure in\nfollowing out to the end any singular or original idea: We feel\npainfully that this woman has lost much, suffered deeply. In the life\nof Rahel the Jewess, as in that of Charlotte the Protestant, we\ndiscern the absence of our Saviour's cross; we see nowhere the gentle\nvision of the Virgin Mother.\n\nIn one of her letters, Mlle. Levin describes the impression which a\nvisit to a Catholic convent had made upon her mind. She had entered\ninto the services in the chapel like an artist: \"I would gladly go\nthere again, if it were only to hear the music, and breathe in the\nodor of the incense,\" said she. But the mortifications of the\nreligious seemed to her more eccentric than touching; she pitied them\nfor having to fulfil the functions of gardener and cook, to prepare\nmedicines and feel the pulse of their patients. \"Without exception\ntheir hands looked coarse,\" she said, \"and their masculine tread\nsounded like the tramp of a patrol.\" And yet later in life Rahel was\nto perform, voluntarily, the same work as these nuns, and moreover she\nhad a true sentiment of piety, which sometimes rose to an expression\nof faith.\n\n\"In moments of suffering,\" she wrote, \"how happy faith makes me feel!\nI love to rest upon it as on a downy pillow.\"\n\nWe read these words so full of simple piety, with a full heart,\nthinking sadly how little assistance this woman would have needed to\nbecome an ardent convert to the true religion. It is really surprising\nthat she should not have sought out Christianity.\n\n\"Never try to suppress a generous impulse, or to crowd out a genuine\nfeeling,\" she wrote to a friend: \"despair or discouragement are the\nonly fruits of dry reasoning; examine yourself carefully, and dread\nabove all things the decisions of wisdom unenlightened by the heart.\"\n\nRahel and Varnhagen had agreed to meet again one day; but absence is\noften fatal to the strongest ties, and more than once this one was on\nthe point of snapping.\n\n\"A woman who has passed thirty,\" says our author, \"may well fear lest\nyouth, proved by the parish register, should win the day against youth\nof mind and soul.\"\n\nIt would have been very hard to find a rival to a woman so gifted as\nRahel; but the first moment of enthusiasm over, Varnhagen began to\nthink that his betrothed had been very prompt in her acceptance of the\npromises by which he had bound himself when a young and inexperienced\nman; and perhaps his memory recalled certain confidences of\nill-matched pairs, who had assured him that generosity is a snare.\n\n\"For nothing in the world, of course, would he have renounced this\naffection of which he was proud; but he thought that she would accept\nhis fidelity without his name, and he presumed to offer his devotion\nin lieu of the projected union.\"\n\nRahel could not accept a compromise as humiliating to her heart as\ndangerous to her reputation. She refused it, but--and this was less\ndignified--she refused sadly and plainly to free Varnhagen from his\nengagement. This was what she wrote:\n\n\"Bitterness at least equals suffering, when you, the single, solitary\nsoul who knows me thoroughly, would turn away from me, or what is the\nsame thing, when you would be false to yourself, and forsake me: hard\nwords, my friend, but none the less true. I must be severe to the only\nbeing who has given me a right to expect anything from him. In you\nalone had I hoped, and I think I should insult you in saying that I\nhad ceased to hope.\"\n\n{844}\n\nTo this bitter trial was added another one, which was very severe,\nthough merely connected with material matters, especially for a person\nwho was no longer young. Half abandoned, and half _exploit\u00e9e_ by her\nfamily, Rahel had become poor. Valiant and strong, she had long\nsucceeded in hiding from her friends the privations which she imposed\nupon herself, in order to maintain her household properly. She had\njust lost her mother, and one of her brothers, who died blessing her\nfor her devotion, and these afflictions must be added to the money\ntroubles, which increased every day. Alas! there was no consolation in\nthis distress, for Rahel could not say like the august daughter of a\ngreat king, \"I thank God for two things; first, for having made me a\nChristian, and next, for having made me unhappy.\"\n\nEconomy was not her chief virtue, and kindness, that luxury which she\ncould not live without, led her to deprive herself of the necessaries\nof life, in order that her servants might want for nothing. \"It is\nmere selfishness,\" she said, laughing; \"I prefer spoiling them to\nspoiling myself.\"\n\nThe misfortunes of war completed the ruin of her purse and her health.\nShe assisted her countrymen by collecting contributions, and when\nmoney failed, she paid with personal exertions, fulfilling the\nadmirable precept, \"When you have given everything, give yourself.\"\nThe vehemence of her feelings exhausted her strength, and her frail\nhealth gave way beneath the excess of privation and fatigue. She fell\nill, and was forced to keep her bed for three months.\n\nHer resources were exhausted, and poverty approached with great\nstrides. She decided to ask one of her brothers, who was rich, to send\nher a little money; but he not only refused, but took a cruel pleasure\nin taunting the poor girl, with what he called her crazy liberality.\n\nFor six months the war intercepted all communications, so that she\ncould receive no tidings of him whom she still called her betrothed.\nBut this anxiety was the last. On waking one morning Rahel saw a\nletter which had just been brought in, and by a sudden inspiration,\nworthy of one who had never despaired, she guessed what this note\ncontained: \"a living hope, which never dies out in valiant souls,\ncried out that at last she had grasped happiness;\" and the hope proved\ntrue: ten days later she married August Varnhagen, who having\nrecovered from his hesitation, fulfilled his vows with a good will.\n\n\"You will never repent marrying me,\" she wrote to him, with na\u00efvet\u00e9, a\nlittle while before her marriage; \"Love me, or love me not, as God\nwills; whatever happens I shall be yours for ever, you can rely on me:\nI am constant, as you have been constant. Rahel shall never fail you.\"\n\nHer husband was afterward made Prussian minister, and Rahel as\nambassadress was once more surrounded as in the pleasantest days of\nher youth.\n\nShe was sixty-two years old when the disease attacked her of which she\ndied. Varnhagen never left her, or ceased trying to make her forget\nher sufferings by reading the books to her which she loved best; and\nHeinrich Heine, learning that she was ordered to apply fresh\nrose-leaves to her inflamed eyes, sent her his first poems, lying at\nthe bottom of a basket of exquisite roses.\n\nMadame von Varnhagen had always loved the Bible, and, especially,\nJewess though she was, the New Testament. She was never tired of\nlistening to the history of the sufferings and death of our Lord Jesus\nChrist. One day finding herself more feeble, she said, taking her\nhusband's hand and pressing it on her heart: \"I feel better, my\nfriend. I have been thinking a long time of Jesus, and it seems as if\nI had never felt as at this moment how truly He is my brother, and the\nbrother of all men. It has comforted me.\" . . . These were her last\nwords.\n\n{845}\n\nDo these women explain _the women of our times_? It is at least\ndisputable; but we must recognize in them three interesting\ncharacters. We will not try to compare them; the differences between\nthem are self-evident; and certainly though Eug\u00e9nie de Gu\u00e9rin, the\nFrenchwoman and the Catholic, played in a worldly sense the most\nobscure part, no person of elevated views can contest the fact that\nhers was the most beautiful life of the three.\n\n\n\n--------\n\n\nFrom The Lamp.\n\nHENRI PERREYVE.\n\n\nThe Church of France sustained a great loss when, in the flower of his\nage, Henri Perreyve was cut off. Had his life been prolonged he would\ndoubtless have attained a high position in the diocese of Paris, and\ndone a very great work. A memorial of him--for it can hardly be called\na \"Life\"--has been recently given to the world by his friend and\nconfidant, P\u00e9re Gratry of the French Oratory; and thus the record of\nthis young priest is now made immortal by the eloquent pen of one of\nthe greatest spiritual writers in France. Henri Perreyve was born in\nApril, 1831, and died June, 1865. His was, therefore, but a brief\nlife--brief, but brilliant, like a short, bright summer-day.\n\nThe comparison is not an inapt one. The life of this young man was,\ncompared to that of the minority of his fellow-creatures, a bright and\nhappy one. No great exterior sorrows met him during his earthly\ncareer; and for the interior, there could not be much real suffering\nfor one who from his early childhood had given himself to God, and who\nfollowed the standard of his Divine Master with a courage that could\nnot be dismayed, with an ardor which was never cooled. He was a son of\nChristian parents, who early discerned his genius, and gave no\nopposition to the workings of God's grace in him. He was educated at\nthe Lyc\u00e9e St. Louis; but he did not distinguish himself there. He was,\nhowever, at the head of the catechism-class in St. Sulpice; for the\nchild's heart was given to God, and he could not devote himself\nardently to secular studies until he had learnt to consecrate even\nthem to the service of God. At twelve years old he made his first\ncommunion. This act, which is the turning-point in the life of so\nmany, proved such to him. In after-years he thus described it:\n\n  \"May 29, 1859.\n\n  \"You know that I always date from my first communion the first call\n  from God to the ecclesiastical state. This thought gives me\n  happiness. I can recall now, as if it were yesterday, the blessed\n  moment when, having received our Lord at the holy table, I returned\n  to my place, and there kneeling on that red-velvet bench, which I\n  can see now, I promised our Lord, with a movement of sincere\n  affection to belong to him always, and to him only. I feel still the\n  kind of certainty I had from that moment of being accepted. I feel\n  the warmth of those first tears for the love of Jesus, which fell\n  from my childish eyes; and the ineffable shrinking of a soul, which\n  for the first time had spoken to God, had seen him and heard him.\n  Intimate and profound joy of the sacerdotal espousals!\"\n\nAs years passed on, he kept his faith with his Lord. Naturally seeking\nhis friends from among those like-minded with himself, he became soon\nsurrounded by and closely bound to some of the most remarkable and\n{846} devoted men of the day. The P\u00e8re Gratry was the guide of his\nyouth; and among those who followed his direction were a group of\nyoung ardent men, burning to devote themselves to the cause of God and\nhis Church. Meeting a little later on with the P\u00e8re P\u00e9t\u00e9tot, they\nbecame the foundation-stones of the newly-revived French Oratory of\nSt. Philip Neri. Henri Perreyve was obliged, however, before long, by\nthe feebleness of his health, to withdraw from the congregation; but\nhe was ever linked to it by the ties of the closest affection. P\u00e8re\nCharles Perraud, one of the Oratorians, was throughout life his bosom\nfriend. They learnt together and prayed together, and were called\ntogether to serve God in the priesthood. Charles Perraud was the first\nto attain this dignity; and on the occasion of his saying his first\nmass, Henri thus wrote to him.\n\n  \"Hy\u00e8res, Dec. 16, 1857.\n\n  \"May the Lord be with thee! These are the sacramental words of the\n  deacon, the only ones I have the right of addressing to you, my dear\n  friend and brother, before the holy altar. I address them to you\n  with all the fulness of my heart, and with all the deep meaning that\n  befits these holy words. Yes, may the Lord be with you, dear\n  brother!\n\n  \"With you this morning at the altar of your first mass, to accept\n  your bridal promise, and reply to your perpetual vow by that\n  reciprocal love which passes all other love. With you during the\n  whole of this great day, to maintain the perfume of celestial\n  incense in your soul, and the odor of the sacrifice which has begun,\n  but which--thanks be to God!--has no ending. With you to-morrow, to\n  make you feel that joy in God has somewhat of eternity in it, and\n  that it differs from the joys of earth because we can taste it\n  constantly without ever exhausting it. With you when, soon after\n  your holy ecstasy of joy, you will feel that you must be a priest\n  for men; and you will go down from Mount Tabor to go to those who\n  suffer, to those who are ignorant, to those who are hungering and\n  thirsting for the true light and the true life. With you in your\n  sorrows to console you; with you in your joys to sanctify them; with\n  you in your desires to make them fruitful.\n\n  \"'_Memor sit omnis sacrificii tui,\n    et holocaustum tuum pingue fiat_.'\n\n  \"With you, my Charles, if you are alone in life, if our friendship\n  be taken from you, if you have to walk on leaning only on the arm of\n  a Divine Friend.\n\n  \"With you, young priest, with you growing old in the conflicts of\n  the priesthood, and in the service of God and men. With you on the\n  day of your death, which shall bring to your lips, by the hands of\n  another, that same Jesus who has so often been carried to others by\n  your trembling hands.\n\n  \"O my friend! I gather up all that my heart can contain of happy\n  desires, wishes, and hopes for you. I gather them all up in one\n  single wish: May the Lord be with thee always!\n\n  \"It will be the life of a holy priest on earth; one day it will be\n  heaven.\n\n  \"The Lord be with thee!\n\n  \"My Charles, bless me! I embrace yon tenderly, and feel myself with\n  you pressed against the Heart of the Divine Master, beloved for\n  ever.\n\n  \"Henri Perreyve.\"\n\nHenri Perreyve was advancing rapidly toward manhood when the\nProvidence of God threw him in the path of one who was to exercise a\npowerful influence over his future. While Henri was a boy at school.\nFather Lacordaire held the pulpit of Notre Dame; and it might truly be\nsaid, \"All Paris was moved.\" What those wonderful conferences did\ntoward undoing the fatal spiritual havoc wrought at the Revolution,\nand in subsequent years, cannot be recorded in any mortal history. It\nwas given to men to see somewhat of the result of the labor; but the\nseeds of eternal life are scattered broadcast by a preacher's hand,\nand fall hither and thither unknown to any but God.\n\nHenri Perreyve, as a boy of thirteen, found his delight in listening\nto the conferences. Six years passed by, and found him still the\nattentive disciple at the feet of the great master of minds at that\nperiod; but he was too diffident and retiring to seek a personal\nacquaintance. One day, however, a friend insisted on introducing him.\nFather Lacordaire was busy, and the interview lasted but a moment; but\nHenri Perreyve resembled the ideal we may not unreasonably form of the\nyoung man on whom our Lord looked and loved. Nature had been prodigal\nof her gifts, and genius and innocence lent additional charm to his\nexterior beauty. Lacordaire's keen eye had discerned the treasures\nthat could be developed in that ardent soul.\n\n{847}\n\nA few days after this hasty introduction, Henri was astonished by the\nentrance of the great Dominican into his room.\n\n\"I received you very ill the other day,\" he said; \"I come to ask your\npardon, and talk with you.\"\n\nFrom that day began the closest friendship and intimacy between them.\nThey were literally like father and son; and at the death of\nLacordaire he bequeathed to his dear friend all that a poor monk had\nto leave--his letters and papers. Henri Perreyve is said to have been\nthe being on earth best loved by Lacordaire. \"You shall be,\" wrote the\nlatter to him, \"forever in my heart as a son and as a friend.\" Henri,\nby the pure devotion of his early youth to God, had deserved some\ngreat gift, and it was given to him in the friendship of Lacordaire.\nThat the rest of his life was spent in an earnest endeavor to imitate\nhis friend, we can scarcely wonder at Had he lived, no doubt he would\nhave been a second Lacordaire; but the \"sword wore out the sheath,\"\nthe frail body could not sustain the burning soul within. Lacordaire\ndied in the prime of life, Perreyve in the flower of his youth.\n\nA few more years from the time we are speaking of and he was made\npriest. Work poured in on him. \"The work of ten priests was offered to\nhim day by day.\" He refused a good deal; but what he reserved would\nhave been enough for three, and he had most feeble health.\n\nHe was preacher at the Sorbonne, director of the Conferences of St.\nBarbe, \"sermons everywhere, special works on all sides, endless\ncorrespondence, confessions, directions, reunions of young people,\nincessant visits.\"\n\nFrequent illness attacked him, and obliged him to withdraw for a time\nfrom his labors; but he returned to them with new zest. Of his\nliterary works the one most generally admired is the \"Journ\u00e9e des\nMalades.\" Here his genius was aided by that personal experience of\nillness which enables a person so readily to enter into the feelings\nof another. But many can know and feel the weariness and temptations\nwhich beset a sick person, and be very incapable of putting it into\nwords, while M. Perreyve's \"Journ\u00e9e des Malades\" will comfort many a\nheart.\n\nHis \"Rosa Ferrucci,\" an exquisitely written little biography, is\nalready to some extent known to our readers. He likewise published\n\"M\u00e9ditations sur le Chemin de la Croix; Entretiens sur l'Eglise\nCatholique;\" and he edited with the greatest care, and wrote an\nintroduction for, the celebrated Letters from Father Lacordaire to\nyoung people. He also wrote a \"Station at the Sorbonne,\" and \"Poland,\"\nbesides various little _brochures_.\n\nThe chief work of the Abb\u00e9 Perreyve was the guidance and influence\nover young men and boys.\n\nThe Conferences at St. Barbe were listened to by a most attentive\nauditory of this class, and his power over his hearers was large and\nincreasing.\n\n\"He possessed in a rare degree,\" says P\u00e8re Gratry, \"that sacred art of\nspeaking to men, of speaking to each one, and yet speaking to all.\nHence the universal success of his discourses.\"\n\nOne of the great orators of the day, after hearing him preach at the\nSorbonne, exclaimed, \"He who has not heard that, does not know how far\nhuman eloquence can go.\"\n\nThe Count de Montalembert was one day among the audience. He wrote\nafterward: \"I have been touched and delighted in a way I have not been\nfor twenty years; since the time when he of whom you are the worthy\nsuccessor enchanted my youth at N\u00f4tre Dame.\"\n\nBut as the P\u00e8re Gratry justly observes, his success in colleges such\nas the Lyc\u00e9e St. Louis and St. Barbe is still more remarkable than\nthat at the Sorbonne. One secret of it might be found in an\nacknowledgment that he made to his friend. He had for these {848}\nyoung people such a love, such a respect, such an idea of the\n_possible future_ of each soul, such an esteem of the hidden treasures\nin each heart, that he seemed to hold the key of their souls, and to\ncome before them as the friend of each.\n\nOn one occasion he had to speak on the most delicate and difficult\ntopic it was possible a priest could have to deal with before such an\nassembly. He told a story: he spoke of a death which he had witnessed,\nand of the crime which had caused that death; a crime which is not\npunished by human laws, but which works ruin and death on all sides.\n\n\"And this man,\" said he, with that voice of his which thrilled to the\nhearts of his hearers--\"and this man is in society honorable and\nrefined; perhaps even not without religion. Gentlemen, is this the\nhonor that shall be yours, and is this the religion which you will\nhave?\"\n\nNever can those who heard him that day forget it; they were moved to\nthe very depths of their souls, and tears flowed from the eyes of\nthose who are not easily made to weep. When he had concluded, many of\nhis auditors gathered around him said: \"Thanks, sir; you have opened\nour eyes for ever.\"\n\nThe popularity of M. Perreyve survived even the severe trial of having\nto address the boys of the preparatory school and the students of St.\nBarbe at an hour on Sunday which would otherwise have been at their\nown disposal. The sermon was to be given every fortnight, and the\naudience the first time were in anything but an amiable mood. The next\nday a petition was sent up by them that the sermons might be given\nevery week.\n\nThus his life passed away; and the end hurried on all too rapidly for\nthose who loved him and hung upon his words. His lungs were again\naffected, and he passed the last winter of his life m the south of\nFrance. There he thought he had improved, and wrote flattering\naccounts of himself; so that when he returned to Paris on Palm Sunday,\nApril the 9th, his family and friends were in consternation at his\naltered looks. Doctors could not reassure them, and the complaint made\nrapid progress. It was a terrible confirmation of his relatives' fears\nwhen they found he was unconscious of his danger, and, like all those\nin the same fatal disease, busy in making plans for the future. He\nplanned how he should resume his sermons at the Sorbonne, even while\nhe was too weak to bear the fasting necessary for his Easter\nCommunion; and it was with great difficulty, and leaning on the arm of\nhis friend the Abb\u00e9 Bernard, that he communicated on May 1st in the\nlittle chapel of our Lady of Sion, close to his home. He then went\ninto the country, where he rallied for a short time, and then grew\nrapidly worse. The news of his change spread amongst those who loved\nhim because they knew him, and those who loved him because they knew\nhis worth in the Church.\n\nA \"league\" of prayers was organized for his recovery, and Henri began\nto realize his state. He looked the prospect calmly in the face. Fame,\nopportunities for doing good, the love and esteem of friends, were\ninstantly and willingly resigned.\n\n\"I think of death, and accept it without regret or fear. I am grateful\nfor all these prayers for me; but I do not desire life. I cannot pray\nwith that intention.\"\n\nThen he thought of his sins, and his unworthiness, and of the Divine\nFace he was about to behold; and he shrank back. He was reminded of\nthe mercy of God. \"Truly,\" he said, \"I who have so often preached to\nothers the mercy of God ought to trust in it myself.\"\n\nHis greatest grief was the rarity of his communions. He consoled\nhimself by saying: \"Missionaries are often obliged to pass a long time\nwithout communion, and then one feels God _also_ by privation.\"\n\n{849}\n\nA love of solitude began to grow on him, for he was preparing himself\nto be alone with God. When begged to try a new treatment, he\nconsented, saying, \"I ask myself, as I often do, what would P\u00e8re\nLacordaire have done in my place? It seems to me he would have thought\nit an indication of Providence.\"\n\nHe returned to Paris; and every effort of medical science was made to\narrest the malady, but all in vain. An alarming fainting fit on the\n14th of June made his friends fear death was nearer to him than they\nhad imagined, and the Abb\u00e9 Bernard thought it right to warn him.\n\n\"You surprise me,\" he said quietly. \"I thought myself very ill, but\nnot so near death; but it is so much the better; you must give me the\nholy viaticum and extreme unction.\"\n\nThe abb\u00e9 went to fetch the blessed sacrament and holy oils from St.\nSulpice, the parish church of their childhood, of their first\ncommunion, where they had prayed and wept together, where they had\nasked many things from God, where they had together been consecrated\npriests. There their whole Christian life had run by; and now one had\ncome to fetch for the other divine succor for his last hours.\n\nThe invalid insisted on rising, and was dressed in his cassock to\nreceive the holy sacraments. P\u00e8re Gratry and other friends were\npresent. \"I can see him now,\" says the former, \"as full of grace and\nenergy as ever, smiling as usual, and saying, 'I am in perfect peace,\ndear father--in perfect peace.' I shall remember that sight all my\nlife, thank God; that noble bearing, that face pale as marble, those\nlarge speaking eyes, his tender glance, and his last words, 'in\nperfect peace.'\" He made his profession of faith, begged pardon of all\nwhom he had offended or scandalized, thanked all for the kindness they\nhad shown him; and implored them \"not to say, as was too often done,\n'he is in heaven;' but to pray much for him after his death.\" Then he\nsaid the \"Te Deum\" in thanksgiving for all the mercies of his life;\nand at last he said to his friend, \"You cannot think what interior joy\nI feel since you told me I was going to die.\"\n\nThe next day the Archbishop of Paris came to see him. He would be\ndressed in his cassock to receive the visit, and would kneel for the\nbishop's blessing. He then had a long private conversation with him.\n\nTo this dying chamber came some of the most celebrated names in Paris:\nP\u00e8re P\u00e9t\u00e9tot, the Count do Montalembert, the Prince de Broglie,\nAugustin Cochin, Mgr. Buguet, the Vicar-general, the cur\u00e9 of St.\nSulpice, General Zamoiski, and a hundred others. One of them said, \"We\nare a long way off from knowing now what he is. We shall know it one\nday.\" \"Dear friend,\" said he to Father Adolphe Perreud of the Oratory,\n\"we shall not cease to work _together_ for the cause of God and his\nchurch. Before you leave me, give me your blessing.\" \"On condition you\ngive me yours,\" said the Oratorian; and blessing each other, the\nfriends parted for ever on earth. His bodily sufferings were severe.\nHis bones were nearly through his skin, and his cough shook him to\npieces. He grew weaker and weaker, and at last the end came. \"Give me\nthe crucifix, sister,\" said he to the nursing sister who attended on\nhim; \"not mine, but yours, that has so often rested on dying lips. If\nI die to-morrow, mother, it will be my first communion anniversary.\"\n\"Dear child,\" she answered, weeping, \"we were both happy that day.\"\n\"Well,\" he answered, \"we must be still happier to-morrow.\"\n\nThe agony came on; he kissed the crucifix again and again, murmuring,\n\"Lord, have pity on me; Jesus, take me soon; Jesus, soon.\" Suddenly a\ngreat terror seized him; his eyes were dilated with fear, gazing at\nsomething invisible to all around; and he cried out, \"I am afraid, I\nam afraid.\"\n\n{850}\n\nThe Abb\u00e9 Bernard said, \"You most not fear God; abandon yourself to his\nmercy, and say, In thee, Lord, have I hoped; let me not be confounded\nfor ever.\"\n\nHe looked at him and said, \"It is not God whom I fear; oh! no. I fear\nthat they will prevent my dying.\" Then he grew calm.\n\nThe abb\u00e9 brought him the cross of P\u00e8re Lacordaire, and said, \"My God,\nI love thee with all my heart in time and in eternity.\"\n\n\"Oh! yes, with all my heart,\" he said, kissing the image of his Lord.\nIt was his last act and his last words.\n\n\"Depart, O Christian soul!\" prayed his friends Charles and Adolphe\nPerreud.\n\n\"I absolve thee from all thy sins,\" said the Abb\u00e9 Bernard; and in a\nfew minutes the last struggle was over, and his soul was set free.\n\nAmong his papers was found the following:\n\n\"In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. I die in the faith of\nthe Catholic Church, to whose service since I was twelve years old I\nhave had the happiness of consecrating my life.\n\n\"I tenderly bless my relations and friends; I implore all those who\nremember me to pray for a long time for my soul, that God, turning\naway from the sight of my sins, may deign to receive me into the place\nof eternal rest and happiness. I bless once again all those who are\ndear to me--my relations, my benefactors, my masters, my fathers and\nbrothers in the priesthood, my spiritual sons, the number of dear\nyoung people who have loved me, all the souls to whom I have been\nunited on earth by the tie of the same faith and the same love in\nJesus Christ.\"\n\nThe inscription on his tomb was chosen by himself:\n\n\"Lord, when I have seen thy glory, I shall be satisfied with it.\"\n\nThese words were as a key to his life. An insatiable, ardent desire\nfor God had possessed him, animated his actions; and at last the very\nardor of his longings wore out the feeble body that enclosed so grand\nand beautiful a soul.\n\n\n--------\n\nFrom The Dublin University Magazine.\n\nSONNET.\n\n  Upon a rose-tree bending o'er a river\n    A bird from spring to summer gaily sang;\n  For love of its sweet friend, the rose, for ever\n    Its beating heart with happy music rang,\n  In sunshine warm and moonlight by the shore,\n  Whose waves afar its voice melodious bore,\n  Blent with its own. But when, alas! the sere\n  Grey autumn came, withering those blooms so dear,\n  Still full of love but full of sadness too,\n  Changed the sweet song as changed the rose's hue\n    Mourning each day some rich leaf disappear\n  Until the last had dropped into the stream,\n    Anguished by wintry breezes blowing keen.\n  Then, on the bough forlorn, mute as a dream.\n    Awhile the poor bird clung, and soon was seen no more.\n\n\n----------\n\n{851}\n\n\nFrom Once a Week.\n\nCARDINAL TOSTI.\n\n\n\nBY BESSIE RAYNOR PARKER.\n\n\nIt was in the afternoon of Friday, the 23d of March, that Rome heard\nof the death of the \"learned and venerable Tosti.\" This aged cardinal,\nlong the director of the great establishment of San Michele, (which is\na hospital and school combined,) had attained to nearly ninety years.\nNow he was dead, and laid out in state in his own room at San Michele,\nwhither we went about five o'clock, and, threading the vast corridors,\nwhich run round a court blossoming with oranges and lemons, ascending\na long flight of stone stairs, got into upper regions filled with a\nperceptible hum, soldier sentinels stationed by the opened doors, who\nmotioned us on from room to room till we came to the last of all.\nThese rooms were perfectly empty of all furniture, save a few\nbook-cases under glass; but the yellow satin walls of one, and the\ndelicately-tinted panels of another, showed that they had but lately\nformed the private apartments of him who was gone. Three or four\ntemporary altars were erected in the empty space, adorned by tall\nunlighted candles. A thrill crept over us as we neared that last open\ndoor, a silent sentinel at either side; as we crossed the antechamber,\nand came in a direct line with the aperture, we saw a figure,\nsplendidly attired, reposing on a great sloping couch of cloth of\ngold. The face of this figure indicated extreme age; the brow was\nsurmounted by the bright scarlet berretta, which caught the light from\nthe setting sun. The shrunken frame was clothed in the soft purple of\nits ecclesiastical rank. The hands were crossed and held a crucifix;\nthe feet were turned up in new and pointed shoes. There he lay,\nCardinal Tosti, who for five-and-twenty years was the handsomest of\nall the Sacred Conclave, and towered above his brethren when they\nwalked in procession, drawing the admiration of beholders.\n\nThere was no sound, as we knelt by the dead man's couch; through the\nwindow could be seen the swift Tiber, swollen by the recent rains, and\non the other side of the river rose the green slopes of the\nhalf-deserted Aventine, with its few solitary churches, Santa Sabina,\nSanta Alessio, and its gracious crown of trees. Here had Tosti dwelt\nfor many a year, in rooms which looked to the golden west. Here he\noccupied himself with his books, and with the school for industrial\nand artistic pursuits which was due to his efforts at San Michele. I\nhave never seen anything so marvellously picturesque and impressive as\nthat dead man, lying on his couch of cloth of gold, the closing scene\nof a long life, which stretched back far beyond the wars of the first\nNapoleon, even to the period when Papal Rome received the royal\nrefugees of the French Revolution.\n\nPresently, a group of white-robed priests entered, and began reciting\nthe office for the dead. This was the signal for the gathering of a\nlittle crowd of Romans. Brown-cowled monks, peasant women with their\nchildren in arms, boys and girls with large wondering dark eyes.\nTogether they crowded to the door of the dead man's chamber, and knelt\nupon the floor, so that above and {852} beyond their bowed heads could\nbe seen that pale splendor upon its shining couch. We left with\nreluctant footsteps, feeling a fascination in the picture which it is\nhard to describe.\n\nLate in the evening, an hour after the _Ave_, the corpse was to be\nconveyed by torch-light to Santa Cecilia, the cardinal's titular\nchurch; and at Santa Cecilia we found ourselves in the starry night.\nThe torches were just entering the church as we drove up; and for some\nminutes the doors were inexorably shut, and we feared we had lost all\nchance of an entrance. But we were presently admitted, and saw indeed\na striking scene! The small church of Santa Cecilia in Trastevere,\nfamous as being built upon the site of the young martyr's dwelling,\nwas draped in black and gold from ceiling to pavement, and where the\naltar-piece is generally to be seen was a great flat gold cross on a\nblack ground. The sanctuary was greatly enlarged for the morrow's\nservice, and hung with black; and in the nave, not very far from the\ngreat portal, rose a large empty couch, exactly resembling that which\nwe had seen in the cardinal's private chamber. At its foot was a low\nbier, whereon now lay the same white image of a man in its purple\nrobes, and a group of attendants crowded reverentially around it,\nflashing torches in their hands, which formed a centre of light in the\ndark church, reminding one of the famous Correggio; only, instead of\nthe new-born Babe, the illumination of humanity for all time to come,\nwas the aged dead, no longer capable of communicating the living light\nof intelligence or of faith, but lying in a pale reflection under the\ntorches, and gathering into itself all the meaning of the whole scene.\n\nWe perceived that something remarkable was about to take place, and\nretired discreetly behind a pillar, that our accidental presence might\nattract no notice. The truth was, that the cardinal was about to be\nlaid out for the great funeral service of the morrow; and by chance we\nhad gained admission at this purely private hour. The body was taken\non the little bier into the sacristy, and there we supposed that some\nchange was made in the raiment; when it was brought back the hands\nwere gloved, and instead of the scarlet berretta was a plain\nskull-cap. Then, with difficulty and much consultation, but with\nperfect reverence of intention, the straight image was lifted on to\nthe great couch; the assistant men being grouped on ladders, and an\neager voluble monsignore directing the whole. The ladders, the\ntorch-light, the mechanical difficulty of the operation, again\nreminded me of one of those great depositions in which the actual\nscene of the Cross is so vividly brought out by art. At length the\ndead cardinal lay placidly upon his cloth of gold, and they fetched\nhis ring to put upon his hand, and his white mitre wherewith to clothe\nhis gray hairs. We left them performing the last careful offices,\nmaking the strangest, the most gorgeous torch-light group in the\nmiddle of that dark church that poet or artist could conceive.\n\nThe next morning the Pope and the College of Cardinals came to\nofficiate at the funeral mass. The square court in front of Santa\nCecilia was filled with an eager crowd of Romans and _Forestieri_,\nwith the splendid costumes of the Papal Guard, with prancing horses\nand old-fashioned chariots, gorgeous with gilding and color. They were\nmuch such a company of equipages as may be seen in our Kensington\nMuseum, but so fresh and well-appointed in spite of the extreme\nantiquity of their design, that one felt as if carried back to the\ndays of Whittington, Lord Mayor of London. Into Santa Cecilia itself\nwe could not penetrate, by reason of the crowd and the stern vigilance\nof the soldiers, who, attired in the red-and-yellow costume designed\nby Michael Angelo, kept a considerable space in the nave empty for the\nmoment when the Pope should walk from the altar to the bier. But {853}\nthrough the open door we saw the lights upon the black-draped altar\nand in front of that gorgeous couch, with its motionless occupant, his\nwhite mitre being now the conspicuous point in the picture. And when\nthe Pope left the dim church and came out into the sunshine, the\nbrilliant rays fell upon his venerable white hair and scarlet cap,\nwhile the weapons flashed and the crowd shouted, as he ascended his\nwonderful chariot with the black horses, and drove away.\n\n\n--------\n\nMISCELLANY.\n\n\n_Microscopic Plants the Cause of Ague_.--Owing to the prevalence of\nague in the malarial district of Ohio and Mississippi, Dr. Salisbury\nundertook a series of experiments in 1862, with a view to determine\nthe microscopic characters of the expectorations of his patients. He\ncommenced his experiments by examining the mucous secretions of those\npatients who had been most submitted to the malaria, and in these he\ndetected a large amount of low forms of life, such as algae, fungi,\ndiatomaceae, and desmidiae. At first he imagined that the presence of\nthese organisms might be accidental, but repeated experiments\nconvinced him that some of them were invariably associated with ague.\nThe bodies which are constantly present in such cases he describes as\nbeing \"minute oblong cells, either single or aggregated, consisting of\na distinct nucleus, surrounded with a smooth cell-wall, with a highly\nclear, apparently empty space between the outer cell-wall and the\nnucleus.\" From these characters Dr. Salisbury concludes that the\nbodies are not fungi, but belong properly to the algae, in all\nprobability being species of the genus _Palmella_. Whilst the\ndiatomaceae and other organisms were found to be generally present the\nbodies just described were not found above the level at which the ague\nwas observed. In order to ascertain exactly their source, he suspended\nplates of glass over the water in a certain marsh which was regarded\nas unhealthy. In the water which condensed upon the under surface of\nthese plates, he found numerous palmella-like structures, and on\nexamining the mould of the bog, he found it full of similar organisms.\nFrom repeated researches Dr. Salisbury concludes: (1.) Cryptogamic\nspores are carried aloft above the surface at night, in the damp\nexhalations which appear after sunset (2.) These bodies rise from\nthirty to sixty feet, never above the summit of the damp\nnight-exhalations, and ague is similarly limited. (3.) The day-air of\nague districts is free from these bodies.\n\n\n_Use of Lime in Extracting Sugar_.--Peligot long ago demonstrated\nthat owing to the insoluble nature of the compound formed of lime with\nsugar, the former substance would be a most valuable agent in the\nmanufacture of the latter. Peligot's suggestion is now being carried\nout on a large scale in MM. Schr\u00f6tter and Wellman's sugar-factory at\nBerlin. The molasses is mixed with the requisite quantity of hydrate\nof lime and alcohol in a large vat, and intimately stirred for more\nthan half an hour. The lime compound of sugar which separates is then\nstrained off, pressed, and washed with spirit. All the alcohol used in\nthe process is afterward recovered by distillation. The mud-like\nprecipitate thus produced is mixed with water and decomposed with a\ncurrent of carbonic acid, which is effected in somewhat less than half\nan hour. The carbonate of lime is removed by filtration, and the clear\nliquid, containing the sugar, evaporated, decolorized with animal\ncharcoal, and crystallized in the usual manner. The sugar furnished by\nthis method has a very clear appearance, and is perfectly crystalline.\nIt contains, according to polarization analysis, sixty-six per cent of\nsugar, twelve per cent of water, the remainder being uncrystallizable\norganic matter and salts. The yield, of course, varies with the\nrichness and degree of concentration of the raw material; on an\naverage, thirty pounds of sugar were obtained from one hundred pounds\nof molasses.\n\n{854}\n\n_Russian Coal Resources_.--Recent explorations and surveys appear to\nshow that the Russian coal resources are much vaster even than those\nof the United States of America. In the Oural district coal has been\nfound in various places, both in the east and west sides of the\nmountain-chain; its value being greatly enhanced by the fact that an\nabundance of iron is found in the vicinity. There is an immense basin\nin the district of which Moscow is the centre, which covers an area of\none hundred and twenty thousand square miles, which is therefore\nnearly as large as the entire bituminous coal area of the United\nStates. The coal region of the Don is more than half as large as all\nof our coal measures. Besides these sources, coal has lately been\ndiscovered in the Caucasus, Crimea, Simbirsk, the Kherson, and in\nPoland.\n\n--------\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\n\nMedical Recollections Of The Army Of The Potomac.\nBy Jonathan Letterman, M.D., late Surgeon U.S.A., and Medical Director\nof the Army of the Potomac. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 8vo, pp. 194.\n\nThe preface to this volume announces the intention of its author: \"It\nis written in the hope that the labors of the medical officers of the\narmy may be known to an intelligent people, with whom to know is to\nappreciate; and as an affectionate tribute to many, long my zealous\nand efficient colleagues, who, in days of trial and danger which have\npassed, let us hope never to return, evinced their devotion to their\ncountry and the cause of humanity without hope of promotion or\nexpectation of reward.\" It is a sketch of the Medical Department of\nthe army of the Potomac under Dr. Letterman's administration, from\nJuly, 1862, to January, 1864, and affords a concurrent view of the\nmilitary movements of that army during the period specified.\n\nWithout infringing upon military details properly so called, an\nexcellent general idea is given of the battles fought, and the\nstrategic value of the great changes of position which were executed\nwith such remarkable promptitude and precision.\n\nDr. Letterman confines himself strictly to the period of his own\nadministration, and the account of the alterations and improvements\nintroduced under his direction, and chiefly through his means, in the\nworking of the medical department.\n\nThe system which he adopted became the system substantially of all the\narmies of the United States, and with occasional modifications to suit\nparticular occasions has proved to be the best and most efficient as\nwell as manageable that could have been devised. To Dr. Letterman\nbelongs the great praise of having studiously and laboriously\nperfected the principles and details of these changes, and succeeded\nin securing their recognition and enforcement.\n\nThe total inadequacy of the old system was painfully obvious to all\ncompetent and thoughtful observers at the breaking out of the war. It\nwas especially so to those who were placed in responsible executive\npositions at the front, while the authority in the rear remained bound\nto its old ideas, and incapable of understanding the great issues\ninvolved, and the expenditure of independent intelligence and\n_mat\u00e9rial_ necessary to accomplish any adequate result. The immediate\nconsequence was an unnecessary waste of life, of national strength and\nresources, and an amount of misery inflicted and suffering endured\nwhich can never be computed and had best now be dismissed for ever.\nThese causes led early in the war to the appointment of a young,\nvigorous, bold, and undeniably able man as Surgeon-General. He made a\ncomplete reformation in the department, and shared the fate of\nreformers. He was sacrificed as a victim to the genius of\nindifference, neglect, parsimony, and cruelty, which had hitherto held\nundisputed or but feebly disputed sway over the fallen on battlefields\nand the sick of armies. {855} This is not the time or place to discuss\nex-Surgeon-General Hammond; but it is due to him at all hands, that he\nhas probably been the means of mitigating the horrors of war as\nrespects the sick and wounded, and promoting the sacred cause of\nhumanity in these particulars to a greater degree than any man who\never lived. The magnitude of the reforms accomplished, the magnificent\nscale on which preparation was made, and the courage to order the\nnecessary expenditures in the face of the time-honored but mean and\ntimid traditions of the Surgeon-General's office, and the habits of\nthought and action engendered thereby in the bureaus of administration\nand supply, cannot be appreciated until some learned and philosophical\nphysician shall write the medical history of the war from its humane\nand social points of view.\n\nWe are disposed to give Dr. Letterman all the merit which his book\nwould seem to claim, and a much higher degree of praise than his\nwell-known modesty would expect, but we cannot pass over in silence\nthe gigantic and unrequited labors of his predecessor, Colonel Chas.\nS. Tripler, Surgeon U.S.A., the first Medical Director of the army of\nthe Potomac, which paved the way for the improved methods Dr.\nLetterman had the honor of introducing. We are aware that many of the\nmost important were in contemplation, and if we mistake not, the\nambulance system originated with Dr. Tripler. The terrible experiences\nof the Seven Days and the Chickahominy opened the eyes of the military\nauthorities to the tremendous necessities of the case, and made the\nwork of medical reform comparatively easy. There is no teacher like\nsuffering, for Generals as well as _mortals_.\n\nThe military mind is to a great degree governed by the traditions of\nthe middle ages, when surgery was an ignoble because ignorant and\nconsequently cruel craft. The rights and privileges of rank have been\nslowly and reluctantly conceded, and every effort has been made to\ndeprive the surgeon of the dignity which belongs to the combatant and\na participation in common toils and dangers. These prejudices have\ngiven way rapidly during the late war, where the courage, skill, and\nself-sacrificing charity of medical officers have been most\nconspicuous. Many surgeons have proved their manhood in most trying\nscenes, and have certainly stood fire as well as the line and staff.\nThe record of killed and wounded places them on a level with any staff\ncorps in these respects.\n\nMilitary prejudice in the regular army, and the ignorance, stupidity,\nand arrogance of many volunteer officers, were an obstacle to the\nmedical department in the beginning. They gradually gave way under the\nsteady pressure of intelligence, courage, and determination, till in\nthe end ambulances became as much respected as battery wagons, and\nevery able and good officer the friend, supporter, and defender of the\nmedical department.\n\nDr. Letterman has done an excellent service to his profession at large\nby his book, which is another vindication of the claims of legitimate\nmedicine upon the respect, confidence, and gratitude of the public.\n\nThe work is well written and handsomely issued. It is a great subject,\nand capable of being developed to a much, higher degree in extent and\nscope, which we hope Dr. Letterman will have time and opportunity to\ndo.\n\n\n\nTHE NEW-ENGLANDER, July, 1866.\n\nThis periodical emanates from the venerable and classic shades of Yale\nUniversity, and is edited by some of the younger professors, two of\nwhom are inheritors of the distinguished names of Dwight and Kingsley.\nIt is marked by the refined literary taste, polished style, and\namenity of spirit which are characteristic of the New Haven circle of\nscientific and clerical gentlemen. There is very much in the general\ntone of its principles and tendencies which gives us pleasure and\nawakens our hope for the future. We may indicate particularly, as\nillustrations of our meaning, the principle of the divine institution\nand authority of government; the sympathy manifested with an ideal and\nspiritual system of philosophy, and the decided opposition to the new\nEnglish school of anti-biblical rationalism.\n\nThere are several notices of recent Catholic publications which are\nwritten in a courteous style, contrasting very favorably with that\nemployed by most Protestant periodicals. Dr. Brownson's \"American\nRepublic\" receives a respectful and moderately appreciative notice.\nThe \"Memoir and Sermons of F. Baker\" is also honored with one which is\nvery {856} kind and sympathetic, expressing the \"intense and mournful\ninterest\" of the writer in the book, and still more in its author, for\nwhich no doubt he will be duly grateful, although we know of no reason\nwhy his friends should go into mourning for him during his lifetime.\nThe writer, after remarking that the arguments contained in the book\nare chiefly addressed to Episcopalians, and therefore need not trouble\nany other Protestants, throws out a couple of rejoinders to what he\nsupposes the author might say to these last, if he were disposed. One\nof these remarks is an assertion that the Paulists and their brethren\nof the Catholic clergy do not preach Christ. Does the writer really\nknow nothing of the Catholic system of practical religion except what\nhe has read in D'Aubign\u00e9 and the \"Sch\u00f6nberg-Cotta\" romance? If not, we\nrecommend him to acquire more correct information from our best\nwriters. If he has it already, we cannot understand how he could make\nsuch a statement. His winding-up apostrophe to the Paulists, \"O\nfoolish Paulists, who hath bewitched you? you observe days and months\nand times and years,\" is more witty than wise. The Paulists observe,\nin common with other Catholics, sixty days in the year as obligatory,\nand of these fifty-two are observed with much greater rigor than we\ninsist upon by the Congregationalists of New Haven. When the writer\ngives us a good explanation of his doctrine of the Christian Sabbath\nin harmony with St. Paul's teaching to the Galatians, we will\ncheerfully undertake the vindication of the other eight holidays, and\nwill endeavor to convince him that it is just as reasonable to have\nhandsome altars, statues, pictures, and flowers, in churches, as it is\nto have fine churches, marble pulpits, frescoed ceilings, well-dressed\nclergymen, and handsome houses with pretty flower-gardens for these\nclergymen.\n\nIn our view, there is better work for the learned scholars of New\nHaven to do than to indulge in light skirmishing with Catholics and\nEpiscopalians. They have all the treasures of science and learning at\ncommand, with leisure and ability to use them. There are great\nquestions respecting the agreement between science and revelation, the\nauthenticity and credibility of the sacred books, the fundamental\ndoctrines of philosophy and religion, pressing on the attention of\nevery man who thinks and cares about God and his fellow-men. The\npeople around us are drifting rapidly into infidelity and sin. There\nis no remedy for this but a re\u00ebstablishment of first principles; and\nwe would like to see our learned friends apply themselves to this\nwork. It may justly be expected from such an old and world-renowned\nuniversity as Yale College, that it should produce the most solid\nworks, not merely in classic lore and physical science, but in the\nhigher branches of metaphysics and theology. Dr. Dwight was a great\ntheologian, and is so styled by D\u00f6llinger. Drs. Taylor and Fitch were,\nboth, able and acute metaphysicians. Since their day, we are afraid\nthat our friends have fallen asleep in these departments. They set out\nto reform Calvinism, to reconcile orthodox Protestantism with reason,\nand to find a method of bringing the practical truths of Christianity\nto bear on men universally. In spite of their able and zealous efforts\nin this direction, religious belief and practice have been steadily on\nthe wane around them. As for morality, the article on \"Divorce,\" which\nwe shall make the topic of a separate article hereafter, makes\ndisclosures which are indeed startling. We would like to have them\nresume their work, therefore, once more, from the beginning, and go\nback to the most ultimate principles. In what state was man originally\ncreated? What is the relation of the race to Adam? What is original\nsin? Whence the need of a Divine Redeemer and a revelation? What are\nthe means established by Jesus Christ for the regeneration and\nsalvation of mankind? What is the remedy for the present deplorable\ncondition of both Christendom and heathendom? Of course, the\ndiscussion of these fundamental questions will involve a thorough\nsifting of the Catholic doctrines. We are anxious to have it made, and\nwhen the discussion is carried on upon fundamental grounds, a result\nmay be hoped for which cannot be gained by skirmishing around the\noutposts.\n\nThe clergy and people of New Haven, and of Connecticut generally, have\nalways been remarkable for their friendly behavior toward Catholics.\nThere has never been any disposition to persecute them, and, at\npresent, the relations between the Catholic and non-Catholic sections\nof the population are just what they should be in a land of religious\nfreedom. A judge in New Haven has recently pronounced, in open court,\nhis decision that the Catholic religion is just {857} as much the\nreligion of the state as the Protestant; and the last Legislature has\npassed the most just and favorable law regulating the tenure of church\nproperty that exists in the United States. The conductors of the\n\"New-Englander\" will surely join us in the wish that all the people of\nthe state may ere long become one in the belief and practice of the\npure and complete Christian faith as Christ revealed it.\n\n\nA PLEA FOR THE QUEEN'S ENGLISH.\nStray Notes on Speaking and Spelling, by Henry Alvord, D.D., Dean of\nCanterbury. Tenth thousand. Alexander Strahan.--THE DEAN'S ENGLISH. A\nCriticism on the Dean of Canterbury's Essays on the Queen's English.\nBy G. Washington Moon, Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature.\nFourth edition. Alexander Strahan.\n\nAmong the critics of the English press there seems to be but one\nopinion concerning the merits of the two combatants in this literary\njoust; that the Dean is deservedly castigated, and that Mr. Moon is an\nunapproachable paragon of literary effulgence. However, this is not to\nbe wondered at. These same critics, and the English press to which\nthey contribute, sadly need a champion, if we may believe his\nreverence of Canterbury. Gross inaccuracies in syntax, unpardonable\nfaults in style, and frequently occurring examples of slip-shod\nsentences would appear, from the \"Plea for the Queen's English,\" to\nbe, on the whole, characteristic of the modern English press.\n\nWe, transatlantic barbarians that we are, of course know nothing of\nthe English language, and have not the presumption, we hope, to think\nthat we can either speak or write one faultless sentence of the\nlanguage which we inherit as a means of intercommunion with our\nfellows. It is our duty to feel \"umble,\" and we do feel \"umble.\" But,\nwhile perusing these two books, we have had an 'umble and an 'arty\nlaugh in the depths of our 'umiliation. It may have been very sinful\nin us, we know, but we could not help it. As the youthful culprit\nreplied, when caught laughing in church, we say, 'umbly of course, \"We\ndidn't laugh, it laughed itself!\" At the risk of not being believed by\nthose who have not yet read these, two books, we give the astounding\ninformation that even an Englishman, an educated Englishman, a\ndignitary of the English church, a poet, whose verses we republished\nin America, (and, confound us, left out the u's,) not only speaks and\nwrites bad English, but also on his own showing, by the light of Mr.\nMoon's volume, presumes to teach others to do the same. Yes, these\npublished lessons of the Very Rev. Dean, in speaking and spelling, are\nso outrageously ungrammatical, and so faulty in style, that we should\nnot be surprised if the prediction of his antagonist would come true,\nthat henceforth people will speak of bad English as Dean's English.\nYet with all its faults it is a useful book; and we think that neither\nMr. Moon nor the newspaper critics have done the author justice. We do\nnot like \"Dean's English,\" and it is humiliating, even to an American,\nto discover that he has carelessly spoken or written it; but we like\nthe Dean's book better than we do Mr. Moon's. We like the schoolboy's\nwalk better than the schoolmarm's. Mr. Moon's style is faultlessly\nprim and precise, and defies literary criticism; but we have felt,\nmore than once, a wish to take up some of his exact sentences and give\nthem a good shaking, so as to get a little of the stiffness out of\nthem. The Dean has written as most people speak; Mr. Moon writes as\nnobody ever did or ever will speak. We should write correctly, it is\ntrue, but there is a comparison (however paradoxical it may appear)\neven in correctness. Mr. Moon aims to write \"most correctly,\" and we\nthink that his style is far less pleasing than it would have been if\nhe had simply written correctly. There is such a thing as\n\"punctiliousness in all its stolidity, without any application of the\nsound or effect of one's sentences.\" As is his style, so is his\ncriticism. Nothing escapes his eye; the want of a comma, a sentence a\ntrifle too elliptical, a careless tautology, (Mr. Moon would have us\nsay--a carelessly written tautological expression,) are blemishes at\nwhich he turns away his face in rhetorical disgust. Nevertheless, we\nsay again, we like the Dean's book. It deserves to be studied by all\nour young writers, who need to be warned against the use of many\npopular phrases, and have their attention directed to common faults in\nconstruction. It is a lively, chatty book, and keeps us in a good\nhumor from the first to the last page.\n\n{858}\n\nThe sharp criticism of Mr. Mood is well worth reading. It furnishes us\nwith an index to the blunders of the Very Rev. Dean. So closely has he\nexamined these faults and calculated their guilt, that he actually\nsums up for us, in one instance, the number of possible readings of\none unfortunate sentence. It contains only ten lines, and may be read\nten thousand two hundred and forty different ways, as Mr. Moon shows\nus. Severely as he was attacked, and despite certain personal\ninnuendos, not by any means creditable to his adversary, the\ngood-natured Dean (we are sure of his good nature, from his book)\ncomes off victor, in our opinion, by inviting his enemy to dinner.\nWhen a little time shall have healed the bruises of the literary\ncastigation he has received, he will doubtless re-write his book, and\ngive us under another form the profitable hints and helps which at\npresent need a more exact classification.\n\n\nCOSAS DE ESPA\u00d1A.\nIllustrative of Spain and the Spaniards as they are. By Mrs. Wm. Pitt\nByrne, author of \"Flemish Interiors,\" etc. 2 vols. 12mo. Alexander\nStrahan, London and New York. 1866.\n\nThe publications of Mr. Strahan are well known for the taste and\nelegance displayed in their exterior dress. The book before us merits\na full meed of praise in this respect; but it is one of the most\nwretched pieces of English composition that has come under our notice.\nIt has a preface of forty pages, which prefaces nothing, being in fact\nnothing more than a few statistics of railways, the army, the mineral\nand other products of Spain, jumbled together, with no attempt at\norder or classification. The first chapter, styled \"introductory,\" is\njumble number two, on national character, entertainments,\nmanufactures, railways again, infanticide, education, authors and\nauthoresses, sobriety and smoking.\n\nIn the second chapter we are surprised to find the authoress has not\nyet left Dover. We thought we were in Spain long ago. It is not until\nthe middle of the third chapter that we are permitted to get to the\nfrontier, and by this time we confess we are tired of our gentle\nguide, and decline going any further. When we are conversing with an\nEnglishman or an Englishwoman, we prefer the English language to that\naffected jargon which consists in italicizing and translating into a\nforeign language every emphatic word. It is scarcely an exaggeration\nto say that there are three or four such italicized foreign words,\nFrench, Spanish, Latin, or Greek, on each and every page of these two\nvolumes. Our readers may wish to see a specimen. \"The first obstacle\nthat met us on this same bridge was a crowd of _ouvriers_ in blouses,\"\np. 26. \"The cathedral rather disappointed us, _quoad_ its outward\naspect, and offers nothing _very_ remarkable within,\" p. 27. \"There\nare, it is true, some districts which present a very curious and\ninteresting picture _en_ bird's eye,\" p. 28. \"One day it was a\n_fiesta_, on which we made sure of admission, because the _entr\u00e9e_ is\n_libre_ on Sundays, and in all _else_, a _fiesta_ is synonymous with a\nSunday; and finally, at the last attempt we made, on the _right_ day,\nhour, etc.,\" p. 41, vol. ii. \"Boleros and Fandangos are national\ndances, but they are among the _d\u00e9lassements_ of the _plebs_,\" p. 145,\nvol. ii. Scattered here and there through these intolerable pages we\nfind numerous examples of wit unequalled in dreariness. Speaking of\nSpanish authoresses the writer facetiously remarks, \"One or two have\nso far exceeded the ordinary limits of female capacity in Spain, as\neven to dip the tip of their hose into the cerulean ink-bottle.\" Of\nthe domestic pottery she says: \"There is what we may call a jar-ring\nincongruity between the roughness of the material and the striking\nelegance of the form.\" Aquatic gambolling at Biarritz, we are told,\n\"is not the only gambling to be seen there.\" A visit to the tomb of an\narchbishop elicits the following: \"It is an object of great\nattraction, and renders the spot chosen by the archbishop an excellent\nsite for a tomb, as it cannot fail to keep the memory of him whose\nbones it covers before all who frequent the church, and there can be\nnow little left _besides_ his bones. This is as it should be. '_De\nmortuis nil nisi bonum_.'\"\n\nHad the book been expurgated of the hundreds of foreign words, and of\nall these dead-and-alive puns, which deface its pages, and the subject\nmatter been arranged with the slightest view to order, it would have\nbeen quite readable, for the authoress is good-natured and\ncommunicative, and has an eye for the beautiful and the picturesque,\nas well as {859} intelligence to appreciate the moral and the useful;\nbut, as it is, we think the quotations we have made from it are quite\nsufficient to prove the justice of our opinion concerning it.\n\n\n\nLETTERS OF EUG\u00c9NIE DE GU\u00c9RIN.\nEdited by G. S. Trebutien. 12mo, pp. 453. London: Alexander Strahan;\nNew York: Lawrence Kehoe. 1866.\n\nOur readers have already been presented in our pages with several\narticles and notices of Eug\u00e9nie de Gu\u00e9rin's character and writings,\nand they are doubtless sufficiently familiar with both to waive any\nfurther reflections upon either in this place. The volume of letters\nbefore us is, like her journal, a delicious literary repast, from\nwhich we rise with mind and heart equally gladdened and refreshed. Our\nspace will not permit us to give but one or two short extracts. \"23d\nDecember, 1863. I write to you, dear Louise, to the sound of the\n_Nadalet_, to the merry peal of bells, announcing the sweetest\nfestival of the year. It is, indeed, very beautiful this midnight\ncelebration, this memorial of the manger, the angels, the shepherds,\nof Mary and the infant Jesus, of so many mysteries of love\naccomplished in this marvellous night. I shall go to the midnight\nmass, not in hope of a pie, coffee, and such a pleasant dish as your\nnocturnal cavalier; nothing of the kind is to be found at Cahuzac,\nwhere I only enjoy celestial pleasures, such as one experiences in\npraying to the good God, hearing beautiful sermons, gentle lessons,\nand, in a quiet corner of the church, giving oneself up to rapturous\nemotion. Happy moments, when one no longer belongs to earth, when one\nlets heart, soul, mind, wing their way to heaven!\"\n\nThe following to M. de la Morvonnais he must have received and read\nwith intense emotion:\n\n  Cayla, 28th July, 1835.\n\n  Did you imagine, Monsieur, that I should not write to you any more?\n  Oh! how mistaken you would have been! It was your journey to Paris,\n  and, after that, other obstacles, which prevented my speaking to you\n  earlier of Marie. But we will speak of her to-day; yes, let us speak\n  of her, always of her; let her be always betwixt us. It is for her\n  sake I write to you: first of all, because I love her and find it\n  sweet to recall her memory; and then, because it seems to me that\n  she is glad you should sometimes hear terms of expression that\n  _vividly recall_ her. I come, then, to remind you of that sacred\n  resemblance so sweet to myself when it strikes you. How I bless God\n  for having bestowed it upon me, and thus enabled me to do you some\n  good! This shall be my mission with regard to you, and with what\n  delight shall I fulfil it!\n\n  Do not say that there is any merit or act of profound charity in\n  this acceptation. My heart goes out quite naturally toward those who\n  weep, and I am happy as an angel when I can console. You tell me\n  that your life will no longer have any bright side, that I can\n  elicit nothing from you but sadness. I know this; but can that\n  estrange me--I, who loved the Marie you weep? Ah! yes; let us weep\n  over her; lean on me the while, if you will. To me it is not painful\n  to receive tears: not that my heart is strong, as you believe, only\n  it is Christian, and finds at the foot of the cross enough to enable\n  it to support its own sorrows and those of others. Marie did the\n  same . . . . let us seek to imitate the saints. You will teach this\n  to your daughter beside the cross on that grave whither you often\n  lead her. Poor little one! how I should like to see her, to\n  accompany her in that pilgrimage to that tomb beside the sea, and\n  under the pines, to pray, to weep there, to take her on my knees and\n  speak to her of heaven and of her mother. This would be a joy to me:\n  you know that there are melancholy ones.\n\nWe give only these little tastes of the charming volume, which will\nfind its way, after the \"journal,\" into many a circle, to afford in\nits perusal the most unqualified delight to all its readers.\n\n\n\nTHE VALLEY OF WYOMING; the Romance of its History and its Poetry; also\nSpecimens of Indian Eloquence.\nCompiled by a Native of the Valley. 12mo, pp. 153. New York: R. H.\nJohnston & Co. 1866.\n\n\"This little volume,\" says the author in his prefatory note, \"has not\nthe slightest claim to be either a history or a study of romance.\" We\nare sorry that it has not, for we cannot see that (apart from the\nrepublication of Campbell's \"Gertrude of Wyoming\") it has the\nslightest claim to be anything else. We thank the author, however, for\ngiving us the following amongst the specimens of Indian eloquence. It\nis part of the reply of the celebrated chief Red Jacket to a\nProtestant missionary,\n\n{860}\n\n\"_Brother_, continue to listen. You say you are sent to instruct us\nhow to worship the Great Spirit agreeably to his mind, and that if we\ndo not take hold of the religion which you teach, we shall be unhappy\nhereafter. How do we know this to be true? We understand that your\nreligion is written in a book. If it was intended for us as well as\nyou, why has not the Great Spirit given it to us: and not only to us,\nbut why did he not give to our forefathers the knowledge of that book,\nwith the means of rightly understanding it? . . . .  _Brother_, you\nsay that there is but one way to worship and serve the Great Spirit.\nIf there is but one religion, why do you white people differ so much\nabout it? _Why not all agree, as you can all read the book?_\"\n\nWe should like to know what answer the missionary made, or could make,\nto that argument.\n\n\n\nSHAKESPEARE'S DELINEATION OF INSANITY AND SUICIDE.\nBy A. O. Kellogg, M.D., Assistant Physician State Lunatic Asylum,\nUtica, N. Y. 12mo, pp. 204. New-York: Hurd and Houghton. 1866.\n\nDr. Kellogg's essays upon some of the characters in Shakespeare are\nthe evidence of an expert in support and illustration of the intuitive\napprehension and scientific fidelity of genius to truth. The\ndifference between the creations of genius and those of industry is,\nto a certain degree, the difference between the limning of the sea and\nthe laborious skill of the engraver. The mind gives its unquestioning\nand conscious assent to the psychological _delineations_ of\nShakespeare, but it is doubtful if Shakespeare ever made it a special\nsubject of study. He was undoubtedly a thorough reader of the ancient\nclassics, and a close and critical observer of the persons and events\nof his own time, and that we believe to have been the substance of his\neducation, properly so called.\n\nThe essay on Hamlet is the best, and we quite agree with Dr. Kellogg's\nconclusion on this much disputed subject, that the dramatist meant to\ndescribe a mind unsettled by distress, and gradually culminating in\ncomplete madness. If we were allowed to draw a personal conclusion\nfrom reading this book, we should say that Dr. Kellogg is admirably\nadapted for that department of his noble profession which he has\nchosen.\n\nThe volume is well printed and beautifully bound.\n\n\n\nHOMES WITHOUT HANDS.\nBeing a Description of the Habitations of Animals, classed according\nto their Principles of Construction. By Rev. J. G. Wood, M.A., F.L.S.,\netc. With new designs by W. F. Keyle and E. Smith. 8vo, pp. 651. New\nYork: Harper and Brothers. 1866.\n\nThis is a delightful book, full of scientific knowledge communicated\nin the most pleasing and attractive style. It is admirably calculated\nto awaken a love for natural science and original collection and\nexploration. We consider this class of studies of the highest value,\nespecially on account of their reflex action on the mind and\ncharacter, and their powerful influence in the direction of morality\nand religion. We would suggest this book as an admirable one for\nprizes in our Catholic boarding-schools, and we wish natural science\nwere more prized and cultivated in them than it at present seems to\nbe.\n\nIt is printed and bound in a very handsome manner.\n\n\n\nA PRACTICAL GRAMMAR OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.\nBy T.E. Howard, A.M. Metropolitan Series. New York: D. & J. Sadlier &\nCo. 1866.\n\nThis is an excellent little manual for our schools, and we doubt not\nthat it will come into extensive use.\n\nIt bears throughout the unmistakable signs of having come from the\nhand of an experienced teacher, from whose pen books of this character\nmust come to possess any practical worth. The style in which it is\npublished is, to our thinking, and according to our experience, unfit\nfor a school-book. The copy sent us would be in tatters in the hand of\na school boy before he had studied one tenth of it.","title":"The Catholic World, Vol. 03, April to September, 1866","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":541621}