{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_48790/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_48790","id":"gutenberg_48790","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48790","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Art","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Journals","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Catholic Church -- Periodicals"],"text":"THE\n\n                          CATHOLIC WORLD.\n\n                                 A\n\n                         MONTHLY MAGAZINE\n\n                                OF\n\n                  GENERAL LITERATURE AND SCIENCE.\n\n\n                             VOL. XV.\n                 APRIL, 1872, TO SEPTEMBER, 1872.\n\n                             NEW YORK:\n                  THE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION HOUSE,\n                         9 Warren Street.\n\n                               1872.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n      Acoustics and Ventilation, 118.\n      Affirmations, 77, 225.\n      Aix-la-Chapelle, 795.\n      Ambrosia, 803.\n      Art and Religion, 356.\n      Art, Faith the Life of, 518.\n\n      Bad Beginning for a Saint, A, 675.\n      Belgium, Religious Processions in, 546.\n      Bolanden\u2019s The Progressionists, 433, 618, 766.\n      Bryant\u2019s Translation of the Iliad, 381.\n\n      Caresses of Providence, 270.\n      Catholic Congress in Mayence, The Twenty-first, 45.\n      Catholic Church in the United States, 577, 749.\n      Chaumonot, F. (A Bad Beginning for a Saint), 675.\n      Charity, Official, 407.\n      Church, The, 814.\n        \u201c    and the Press, The, 413.\n        \u201c    The Symbolism of the, 605.\n      \u201cChips,\u201d Max M\u00fcller\u2019s, 530.\n      Cicero, A Speech of, 182.\n      Craven\u2019s (Mrs.) Fleurange, 60, 226, 342, 473, 591, 734.\n\n      Donkey, Jans von Steufle\u2019s, 92.\n      Duties of the Rich in Christian Society, The, 37, 145, 289, 510.\n\n      Easter Eve, 42.\n      Education, The Necessity of Philosophy as a Basis of Higher,\n        632, 815.\n      English Literature, Taine\u2019s, 1.\n      Essay on Epigrams, An, 467.\n      Etheridge, Miss, 501.\n\n      Faith the Life of Art, 518.\n      F\u00eate-Day at Lyons, A, 362.\n\n      Gothic Revival in England, History of the, 443.\n      Greatness, True, 539.\n\n      Handkerchief, The, 849.\n      History of the Gothic Revival in England, 443.\n      House of Yorke, The, 18, 150, 295.\n      How I Learned Latin, 844.\n\n      Iliad, Bryant\u2019s Translation of the, 381.\n      India, Protestant Missions in, 690.\n      Intellectual Centres, 721.\n\n      Jans von Steufle\u2019s Donkey, 92.\n      Jewish Convert, A Reminiscence of Vienna, 211.\n\n      Lamartine, The Mother of, 167.\n      Last Days before the Siege, The, 457, 666.\n      Letters of His Holiness Pius IX. on the \u201cUnion of Christian\n        Women,\u201d 563.\n      Little Love, 554.\n      Lyons, A F\u00eate-Day at, 362.\n\n      Max M\u00fcller\u2019s \u201cChips,\u201d 530.\n      Miracles, Newman on, 133.\n      Miss Etheridge, 501.\n      Mission of the Barbarians, The Roman Empire and the, 102, 654.\n      Misty Mountain, On the, 705, 823.\n      Mother of Lamartine, The, 167.\n      Music, On, 733.\n\n      Newman on Miracles, 133.\n\n      Odd Stories, 124.\n      Official Charity, 407.\n      On Music, 733.\n      On the Misty Mountain, 705, 823.\n      Orl\u00e9ans and its Clergy, 833.\n\n      Paris before the War, A Salon in, 187, 323.\n      Philosophy as a Basis of Higher Education, The Necessity of,\n        632, 815.\n      Philosophy, Review of Dr. St\u00f6ckl\u2019s, 329.\n      Press, The Church and the, 413.\n      Progressionists, The, 433, 618, 766.\n      Protestant Missions in India, 690.\n      Providence, Caresses of, 270.\n\n      Quarter of an Hour in the Old Roman Forum during a Speech of\n        Cicero\u2019s, 182.\n\n      Religion, Art and, 356.\n      Religious Processions in Belgium, 546.\n      Reminiscence of Vienna, A, 211.\n      Review of Mr. Bryant\u2019s Iliad, 576.\n      Rich, Duties of the, in Christian Society, 37, 145, 289, 510.\n      Rights of Women, How the Church Understands and Upholds\n        the, 78, 255, 366, 487.\n      Roman Empire, The, and the Mission of the Barbarians, 102, 654.\n\n      St. James\u2019s Mission at Vancouver, Decision against the, 715.\n      Salon in Paris before the War, A, 187, 323.\n      Siege, Last Days before the, 457, 666.\n      Spain: What it was, and what it is, 397.\n      Spaniards at Home, The, 783.\n      St\u00f6ckl\u2019s Philosophy, Review of, 329.\n      Stories, Odd, 124.\n      Summer in the Tyrol, A, 646.\n      Symbolism of the Church, The, 605.\n\n      Taine\u2019s English Literature, 1.\n      Tennyson: Artist and Moralist, 241.\n      True Greatness, 539.\n      Twenty-first Catholic Congress in Mayence, The, 45.\n      Tyrol, A Summer in the, 646.\n\n      \u201cUnion of Christian Women,\u201d Letters of His Holiness Pius IX.\n        on the, 563.\n      United States, The Catholic Church in the, 577, 749.\n      Use and Abuse of the Stage, 836.\n\n      Vancouver, Decision against the St. James\u2019 Mission at, 715.\n      Ventilation, Acoustics and, 118.\n\n      Women, How the Church Understands and Upholds the Rights\n        of, 78, 255, 366, 487.\n\n      Yorke, The House of, 18, 150, 295.\n\n\n\n\nPOETRY.\n\n\n      After Reading Mr. Tupper\u2019s Proverbial Philosophy, 466.\n      Anniversary of Baptism, 149.\n\n      Blessed Virgin, Fragments of Early English Poems on the, 319.\n      Books, Old, 729.\n\n      Clerke at Oxenforde, 674.\n\n      Dante\u2019s Purgatorio, Canto III., 730.\n      De Vere\u2019s The Last Days of Oisin the Bard, 76.\n         \u201c     Legends of Oisin the Bard, 208, 320.\n      Devota, 269.\n\n      Faber\u2019s The Papacy, 748.\n      Fragments of Early English Poetry, 590.\n          \u201c       \u201c       on the Blessed Virgin, 319.\n\n      Oxenforde, The Clerke of, 674.\n\n      Papacy, The, 748.\n      Passion, The, 91.\n      Passion, Fragments of Early English Poems on the, 17.\n      Pledges, The Three, 127.\n      Proverbial Philosophy, After Reading Mr. Tupper\u2019s, 466.\n      Purgatorio, Dante\u2019s, Canto III., 730.\n\n      Super Omnes Speciosa, 166.\n\n      To Wordsworth, 538.\n      Troubadours of Provence, On the, 294.\n\n\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\n      Allibone\u2019s A Critical Dictionary of English Literature, 564.\n      Anderdon\u2019s Christian \u00c6sop, 719.\n      Announcements, 144, 288, 432, 576.\n      Arias\u2019 Virtues of Mary, Mother of God, 568.\n      Augustine, St. Aurelius, Works of, 423.\n      Aunt Fanny\u2019s Present, 432.\n\n      Baker\u2019s Dozen, A, 859.\n      Betrothed, The, 425.\n      Bolanden\u2019s Old God, 856.\n      Book of Psalms, 137.\n      Books and Pamphlets Received, 144.\n      Burke\u2019s The Men and Women of the Reformation, 285.\n      Burke\u2019s Lectures and Sermons, 852.\n      By the Seaside, 859.\n\n      Catholic Review, The, 860.\n      Christian Counsels, 859.\n          \u201c     Free Schools, 432.\n      Clare\u2019s (Sister Mary Frances) Hornehurst Rectory, 857.\n      Coleridge\u2019s Life and Letters of St. Francis Xavier, 423.\n      Conscience\u2019s The Merchant of Antwerp, 720.\n      Craven\u2019s (Mrs.) A Sister\u2019s Story, 287.\n      Curtius\u2019 The History of Greece, 139.\n\n      De Croyft\u2019s (Mrs.) Little Jakey, 432.\n      Dorward\u2019s Wild Flowers of Wisconsin, 287.\n      Dubois\u2019 Zeal in the Work of the Ministry, 137.\n\n      Erckmann-Chatrian\u2019s The Plebiscite, 858.\n      Excerpta ex Rituali Romano, etc., 574.\n      Extracts from the Fathers, etc., 569.\n\n      Fashion, 140.\n      Fiske\u2019s The Offertorium, 574.\n      Fitton\u2019s Memoirs of the Establishment of the Church in\n        N. E., 857.\n      Formby\u2019s Parables of Our Lord, 286.\n         \u201c    School Songs, 286.\n         \u201c    The Devotion of the Seven Dolors, 286.\n         \u201c     \u201c  School Keepsake, 286.\n         \u201c     \u201c  Seven Sacraments, 286.\n      Fox\u2019s Fashion, 140.\n      French Eggs in an English Basket, 425.\n      Fullerton\u2019s (Lady) Constance Sherwood, 422.\n\n      Gardner\u2019s Latin School Series, 575.\n      Gagarin\u2019s The Russian Clergy, 719.\n      Gleeson\u2019s History of the Church in California, 428.\n      Gould\u2019s Legends of the Patriarchs and Prophets, 432.\n      Gould\u2019s Lives of the Saints, 576.\n      Green\u2019s Indulgences, Absolutions, Tax Tables, etc., 720.\n\n      Half-hour Recreations in Popular Science, 431.\n      Half-hours with Modern Scientists, 431.\n      Hare\u2019s Walks in Rome, 432.\n      Harpain, Marie Eustelle, Life of, 285.\n      Hart\u2019s A Manual of English Literature, 427.\n      Haskins\u2019 Six Weeks Abroad, 571.\n      Hengstenberg\u2019s Kingdom of God under the Old Testament, 429.\n      House of Yorke, The, 420.\n      Humphrey\u2019s Divine Teacher, 855.\n\n      Lamon\u2019s Life of Abraham Lincoln, 718.\n      Little Pierre, the Pedlar of Alsace, 284.\n      Liquefaction of the Blood of St. Januarius, 136.\n      Longfellow\u2019s The Divine Tragedy, 427.\n\n      McQuaid\u2019s (Bp.) Christian Free Schools, 432.\n      Maggie\u2019s Rosary, 425.\n      Maguire\u2019s Pontificate of Pius IX., 856.\n      Maistre\u2019s A Journey Around My Room, 138.\n      Manning\u2019s Sermons on Ecclesiastical Subjects, 142.\n      Manzoni\u2019s The Betrothed, 425.\n      Martin\u2019s Going Home, 858.\n      May\u2019s (Sophie) Little Prudy\u2019s Flyaway Series, 144.\n      Memoir of Roger B. Taney, 853.\n      Merrick\u2019s Lectures on the Church, 430.\n      Monnin\u2019s Life of the Cur\u00e9 d\u2019Ars, 719.\n      Mulloy\u2019s Passion Play, 427.\n      Mumford\u2019s A Remembrance for the Living to Pray for the\n        Dead, 144.\n      Mystical City of God (Abridged), 720.\n\n      Newman\u2019s Discussions and Arguments on Various Subjects, 421.\n      Newman\u2019s Historical Sketches, 855.\n\n      Oakeley\u2019s The Order and Ceremonial of the Mass, 856.\n\n      Paine\u2019s Physiology of the Soul, etc., 430.\n      Pellico\u2019s Duties of Young Men, 575.\n      Ph\u00e6drus, Justin, and Nepos, 575.\n      Proctor\u2019s Half-Hour Recreations in Popular Science, 431.\n      Proctor\u2019s Strange Discoveries Respecting the Aurora, 431.\n      Public School Education, 860.\n\n      Rawes\u2019 Great Truths in Little Words, 856.\n      Reports on Observations of the Total Solar Eclipse, 431.\n      Roscoe, Huggins, and Lockyer\u2019s Spectrum Analysis, 431.\n\n      St. Teresa, The Book of the Foundations of, 142.\n      St. Thomas of Aquin: His Life and Labors, 568.\n      Saunders\u2019 Salad for the Solitary and the Social, 143.\n      Sedgwick\u2019s Relation and Duty of the Lawyer to the State, 430.\n      Sermons by Fathers of the Society of Jesus, 425.\n      Sir Humphrey\u2019s Trial, 860.\n      Smiddy\u2019s An Address on the Druids, Churches, and Round Towers\n        of Ireland, 143.\n      Spectrum Analysis, 431.\n      Souvestre\u2019s French Eggs, 425.\n\n      Taine\u2019s Notes on England, 719.\n      Tondini\u2019s The Pope of Rome, 427.\n      Travels in Arabia, 432.\n      Tyler\u2019s Life of Roger B. Taney, 853.\n\n      Una and Her Paupers; or, Memorials of Agnes E. Jones, 569.\n\n      Vaughan\u2019s St. Thomas of Aquin: His Life and Labors, 568.\n      Veith\u2019s Via Crucis; or, The Way of the Cross, 426.\n      Vetromile\u2019s Travels in Europe and the East, 857.\n      Virtues and Defects of a Young Girl, 571.\n\n      Warner\u2019s Saunterings, 719.\n      Welsh\u2019s Women Helpers in the Church, 572.\n      Wiseman\u2019s Witch of Rosenburg, 720.\n      Women Helpers in the Church, 572.\n      Woodland Cottage, etc., 432.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\n                        THE CATHOLIC WORLD.\n\n                  VOL. XV., No. 85.--APRIL, 1872.\n\n  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by Rev.\n   I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at\n                         Washington, D. C.\n\n\n\n\nTAINES ENGLISH LITERATURE.[1]\n\n\nIn so far as we may judge from the notices in periodicals and\nnewspapers, this work appears to have been received, both in\nEngland and the United States, not only with general favor, but\nwith enthusiastic admiration.\n\nA history of English literature based on a system new to the great\nbody of English readers, and written with freshness, _verve_, and\ncertain attractive peculiarities of style, could not fail to fix\ntheir attention and engage their interest from the beginning to\nthe end of its two bulky octavo volumes. The author of the work in\nquestion is so well known in the world of letters by his essays on\nthe philosophy of art that he needs no introduction to our readers.\n\nM. Taine starts out with the assumption that the literature of any\ngiven country is the exponent of its mental life, or, as he states\nit (p. 20), \u201cI am about to write the history of a literature,\nand to seek in it for the psychology of a people.\u201d In France and\nGermany, we are told, history has been revolutionized by the study\nof their literatures.\n\n  \u201cIt was perceived,\u201d says M. Taine, \u201cthat a work of literature is\n  not a mere play of imagination, a solitary caprice of a heated\n  brain, but a transcript of contemporary manners, a type of a\n  certain kind of mind. It was concluded that one might retrace,\n  from the monuments of literature, the style of man\u2019s feelings\n  and thoughts for centuries back. The attempt was made, and it\n  succeeded.\u201d\n\nUnquestionably the style of man\u2019s feelings may be traced in\nliterature for centuries back. That is M. Taine\u2019s first approach.\nBut between the successful insight into this or that writer\u2019s\nopinions and modes of thought and the opinions and modes of\nthought of a nation, the void is so enormous--unless, indeed, we\ndangerously reason from particulars to generals--as to require to\nfill it more subjective literary productions than any country has\never yet produced.\n\nFrom this system it would follow that if a nation has no\nliterature it can have no history. If it have--as is too often\nthe case--no literature but that of a despotism or of a dominant\nminority, it follows that you cannot discern a single idea nor hear\na single pulsation of the heart of a great people. But granting\nthe literature to exist, although we are told that a work \u201cis not\na mere play of the imagination,\u201d we nevertheless know full well\nthat some of the most brilliant portions of every literature are\nprecisely what that phrase describes. Beyond that, we also know\nthat all writers are not only not sincere, but too often unfaithful\nbecause too often venal, and cannot therefore be relied upon.\n\nIn certain writings enumerated by him, M. Taine says: \u201cThe reader\nwill see all the wealth that may be drawn from a literary work:\n_when the work is rich, and one knows how to interpret it_, we\nfind there the psychology of a soul, frequently of an age, now and\nthen of a race.\u201d Partially true. And M. Taine might have instanced\nthe _Confessions_ of St. Augustine, but he does not. We may indeed\nfind what he indicates under certain conditions, for, as he very\ncorrectly adds, \u201ctheir utility grows with their perfection.\u201d\nUnfortunately, such works occur in literature at the rarest\nintervals.\n\nIt cannot be questioned that M. Taine\u2019s theory contains a germ\nof truth. But, in fact, so far as it is true it is a very old\nstory. What is true in his theory is not new, and what is new is\nquestionable. Since history has risen to be something more and\nsomething better than a mere roll of warriors and a correct list\nof kings and queens--which latter class of good people are fast\ndisappearing, never again, we trust, to return--since the historian\nhas been elevated from the rank of a mere annalist to be the\ninterpreter to his own age of not only the acts and sufferings,\nbut the mind and the heart of dead generations, he has become avid\nof the most trifling details concerning their transitory passage\nhere on earth. He desires to discover and relate how they lived,\nslept, and ate--how they talked, toiled, and travelled--what they\nsaid, what they thought--what, in a word, was their social and\npsychological life. To obtain the knowledge he seeks, all sources\nare equally valuable--written manuscripts that speak as well as\nstone ruins that are dumb.\n\nSuch knowledge as this the new school of German historians,\nhaving first exhausted all literary material, have sought to\ngather from the most remote and even repulsive sources; and from\nphilological analysis, from works of art, from monuments, old\nroads, half-corroded coins, almost obliterated inscriptions, broken\npottery, partially effaced frescoes, and from the very fragments of\nmere kitchen utensils, they have created afresh and revealed to us,\nin all its details, the daily and familiar life of ancient Rome,\nand poured a flood of light upon the living man of the that day.\n\nAnd yet, before the results of their arch\u00e6ological and ethnological\nlabors were given to the world, we thought we knew our Roman\nwell and familiarly. For what literature, unless it be that of\nGreece, presents so rich and so complete a portrait gallery of all\nthe types of its people as the literature of Rome? From Virgil,\nwho gives us the ploughman and vinedresser, and C\u00e6sar, through\nwhose pages marches the Roman soldier, to Livy, Sallust, Tacitus,\nJuvenal, and Horace, we have a score of writers in whose pages all\nthe virtues and vices, the grandeur and the shame, the nobility\nand the grovelling sensuality, of Rome are spread before us in\nlanguage so attractive and so grand as to promise to outlast many\nmodern masterpieces.\n\nM. Taine sneers at \u201cLatin literature as worth nothing at the\noutset,\u201d being \u201cborrowed and imitative.\u201d To this we reply, _Adhuc\nsub judice_, etc., and, bad or not, it tells the story of the Roman\npeople, and very nearly reveals to us the ancient Roman as he\nwalked on earth.\n\nWe have no such faithful picture of the English people in English\nliterature.\n\nWe fear that M. Taine mistakes a part for the whole.\nUnquestionably, literature has its uses, and high ones, for the\nelucidation of many a problem and the illumination of many a page\nof history; but, if we set out to find the history of a nation\nin its literature, outside of history proper and the new aids\nto historical research we have referred to, we merely adopt a\ndeceptive guide that can lead us only to disappointment. For these\ngrand theories, so symmetrical and so plausible, when presented\nby their generally eloquent framers, stand, when put into actual\nservice, very little wear and tear. Accordingly, we find that there\nhappens to M. Taine precisely what happens to every man who starts\nout to construct a work strictly according to a given system.\nAnd what thus happens is a serious matter. This it is. Facts are\ntreated as of secondary importance. They are put upon their best\nbehavior. They must show themselves up to a certain standard, or\nthey are counted as worthless. If they are so wrong-headed as to\ncome in conflict with the author\u2019s theory--the old story--why, so\nmuch the worse for the facts, and our theorist ruthlessly tramples\nupon and walks over them straight to his objective point, which is,\nnecessarily, his foregone conclusion.\n\nIt would detain us too long to present an analysis of M. Taine\u2019s\nintroduction, from which alone it would not be difficult to\ndemonstrate the insufficiency of his theory. It contains passages\nwhich, in the stately march of his eloquent phrase, seem to sound\nas though they announced newly discovered truths of startling\nimport, but which, translated into familiar language, turn out to\nbe but little more than the text-book enunciation of some familiar\nprinciple. Thus:\n\n  \u201cWhen you have observed and noted in man one, two, three, then\n  a multitude of sensations, does this suffice, or does your\n  knowledge appear complete? Is a book of observation a psychology?\n  It is no psychology, and here as elsewhere the search for causes\n  must come after the collection of facts. No matter if the facts\n  be physical or moral, they all have their causes; there is a\n  cause for ambition, for courage, for truth, as there is for\n  digestion, for muscular movement, for animal heat. Vice and\n  virtue are products, like vitriol and sugar, and every complex\n  phenomenon has its springs from other more simple phenomena on\n  which it hangs.\u201d\n\nM. Taine, it is evident, cannot be charged with sparing his readers\neither the enunciation or the elucidation of first principles.\n\nThe author commences by disposing of the Anglo-Saxons, their\nliterature, and six centuries of their annals, in a short chapter\nof twenty-three pages, which, so far as our observation has\nextended, has been passed over both by English and American\ncriticism almost without remark. Some reviewers account for its\nconciseness by saying that Anglo-Saxon literature has but little\ninterest for the general reader, except as a question of philology.\nAs of general application, the remark is not widely incorrect, but\nit is signally out of place with reference to M. Taine\u2019s work, for\nhe announces as part of his task that of \u201cdeveloping the recondite\nmechanism whereby the Saxon barbarian has been transformed into the\nEnglishman of to-day.\u201d\n\nNow, fairly to understand the Englishman of to-day, we must, by M.\nTaine\u2019s own announcement, have the Saxon original placed before\nus; for, he says, \u201cthe modern Englishman existed entire in this\nSaxon\u201d (p. 31). The Saxon must be produced to our sight, and we\nmust have him evolved strictly on M. Taine\u2019s principles, viz., _as\nthe psychological product of his literature_. If this is done, he\nwill fulfil his engagement of \u201cdeveloping the recondite mechanism,\u201d\netc., or, in other words, of presenting us a full exposition of\nAnglo-Saxon literature.\n\nWe feel bound to say that none of these promises are kept, and\nnone of these results are reached, by M. Taine; nay, more, that he\nnot only totally fails in presenting a fair or even intelligible\nabstract of Anglo-Saxon literature, but that he appears to be\nwanting in the necessary information which might enable him to do\nit. We think it less derogatory to him to say that his knowledge of\nthe subject is defective than to make the necessarily alternative\ncharge.\n\nWe find, however, some excuse for M. Taine\u2019s limited acquirements\nin Anglo-Saxon literature in the fact that he appears to have\nrelied to a great extent on Warton and on Sharon Turner. Dr.\nWarton\u2019s well-known history of English poetry is unquestionably\na work of great merit and utility, in so far as it treats of\nEnglish poetry from the period of Chaucer down, but as authority\non any matter connected with Anglo-Saxon literature, it is next\nto worthless. Warton knew very little about it. Sharon Turner as\nauthority on Anglo-Saxon history, and Sharon Turner as authority\non Anglo-Saxon literature, are two very different persons. The\nknowledge of Anglo-Saxon literature has made great strides since\nhis day. For his history he was not dependent on Anglo-Saxon\ndocuments. Latin material was abundant.\n\nIt must be borne in mind that, although the English tongue is so\ndirectly derived from it, Anglo-Saxon is, nevertheless, a dead\nlanguage, and when, in the sixteenth century, its study was to\nsome extent revived, it had not only been dead four hundred years,\nbut buried and forgotten. That revival occurred at a time when\nreligious controversy ran high in England, the motive prompting it\nbeing to discover testimony among Anglo-Saxon ecclesiastical MSS.\nas to the existence of an English Catholic Church separate from\nand independent of Papal authority. Thus far the search has not\nbeen attended with any marked success. In the seventeenth century,\nAnglo-Saxon was studied for the light it threw on the early history\nand legislation of England. Since the commencement of the present\ncentury, the study has been pursued with greater success than\never for objects purely literary and philological. Indeed, it may\nbe said that, until within some forty years, the cultivation of\nAnglo-Saxon was confined to a very small circle of scholars.\n\nThe most remarkable monuments of its literature are of\ncomparatively recent publication, and there happened at the outset\nto the study of Anglo-Saxon precisely what happened to the study of\nSanskrit. It was that many scholars, aware of its literary wealth,\nand, possibly, in possession of copies of some of its productions,\nwere without adequate means of pursuing or even of commencing their\nstudies on account of the want of dictionaries and grammars. It\nwas for this reason that Frederick Schlegel, before writing his\ngreat work on _The Language and Wisdom of the Indians_, was obliged\nto leave Germany and go to England, in order to avail himself of\nthe resources of the British Museum; and when we consider the\ndifficulties under which Dr. Lingard made his Anglo-Saxon studies,\nand wrote his _Antiquities of the Anglo-Saxon Church_, of which\nwork M. Taine does not appear to have heard, we are more than ever\nsurprised at the ability displayed by the great English historian.\n\nWhen we undertake to trace the gradual development of the\nAnglo-Saxon of Anno 500 into the Englishman of 1800, the first\nphase is immeasurably the most interesting and the most important,\nfor in that phase he was at once civilized and christianized.\nTake away the introduction and development of Christianity from\nAnglo-Saxon history, and you have left nothing but a list of kings\nand two or three battles. Now, M. Taine\u2019s exposition of how,\nwhen, and through what agencies civilization and Christianity\nwere brought into England may be descriptively characterized as\n\u201chow not to do it.\u201d His great effort in his introductory chapter\nis to eliminate Christianity from Anglo-Saxon history, and to\ngive us, as it were, the play of Hamlet with the part of Hamlet\nomitted--an effort so systematic and persistent as to make us\nalmost regret our volunteered plea for his excuse on the ground\nof want of familiarity with his subject. Here is his device to\nescape the necessity of relating the all essential story of the\nconversion to Christianity: \u201cA race so constituted was predisposed\nto Christianity by its gloom, its aversion to sensual and reckless\nliving, its inclination for the serious and sublime.\u201d M. Taine has\njust described (pp. 41-43) the leading characteristics of the\n_pagan_ Anglo-Saxon mind as manifested in its poetry--\u201ca race so\nconstituted\u201d--and cites in support of his exposition two passages\ntranslated from what he asserts to be pagan Anglo-Saxon poetry.\nThe first, _Battle of Finsborough_, we know was found on the cover\nof a MS. book of homilies, written by some monk, although it may,\nperhaps, be of pagan origin. The second, and more important one,\n_The Battle of Brunanburh_, containing the line, \u201cThe sun on high,\nthe great star, God\u2019s brilliant candle, the noble creature\u201d[2] (p.\n43), is Christian and monkish beyond all peradventure, for it forms\na portion of the _Saxon Chronicle_, begun as late as the days of\nAlfred. The battle was fought in the year 939!\n\nWe continue: \u201cIts aversion to sensual and reckless living.\u201d This\nis simply astounding when we remember that M. Taine has just been\ntelling us, through twenty pages, of their \u201cravenous stomachs\nfilled with meat and cheese, heated by strong drinks,\u201d \u201cprone to\nbrutal drunkenness,\u201d becoming \u201cmore gluttonous, carving their hogs,\nfilling themselves with flesh; swallowing all the strong, coarse\ndrinks which they could procure,\u201d etc.\n\nAnd then follows the far more surprising psychological result:\n\u201cThese utter barbarians embrace Christianity straightway, _through\nsheer force of mood and clime_\u201d (p. 44).\n\nNow, M. Taine knows--as we all know--that these pagan Anglo-Saxons\nwere brutal and sensual to the last degree. In personal indulgence,\nthey were what he describes and more. They were pirates, robbers,\nand murderers.\n\nThe rewards promised them by their gods after death were that they\nshould have nothing to do but eat and drink. Even the paganism\nof their Scandinavian and Teutonic forefathers, a mixture of\nmassacre and sensuality, was corrupted by them, and the emblems\nof their bloody and obscene gods were naked swords and hammers,\nwith which they broke the heads of their victims. The immortality\npromised them in their Walhalla was a long continuance of new\ndays of slaughter, and nights of debauch spent in drinking from\ntheir enemies\u2019 skulls. Such was the race found by M. Taine so\nconstituted as to be \u201cpredisposed to Christianity by its gloom,\nits aversion to sensual and reckless living\u201d; such the people who\n\u201cthrough sheer force of mood and clime\u201d laid aside their cruelty,\nbrutality, carnage, and sensuality, gave up feasting for fasting,\nproud independence for obedience, indulgence for self-denial! Truly\nremarkable effects of atmosphere. The climate of England must have\ngreatly changed since the year 597.\n\nIn the course of a debate which once arose in the British House of\nCommons on the subject of negro emancipation, it was urged against\nthe measure that you could not civilize the negro; he belonged to\nan inferior race which offered human sacrifices and sold their\nown children into slavery. Whereupon, a member promptly replied\nthat was just what our ancestors in England did--they offered\nhuman sacrifices and sold their children into slavery. This will\nnaturally recall to the reader\u2019s mind the touching incident which\nled to the conversion of the Anglo-Saxons, the fair-haired and\nblue-eyed children offered for sale, and their redemption by the\ngreat Gregory, who said they were not only Angles, but angels.\nFrom that moment the mission to England was resolved upon. We all\nknow the story. Gregory\u2019s departure, his capture by the citizens\nof Rome and forcible return, his elevation to the pontifical\nthrone, the departure of St. Augustine and his forty companions,\ntheir trials, sufferings, and danger of death on the route,\ntheir arrival in England, their labors, the gradual and peaceful\nconversion of the people, their successful efforts in bringing the\nSaviour, his Gospel, and his church to benighted heathens, and\ntheir civilization and social amelioration of the Anglo-Saxons. To\nthe immortal glory of these men be it said that neither violence\nnor persecution was resorted to by them, their disciples, or their\nprotectors for the triumph of civilization and religion. It is one\nof the grandest Christian victories on record. Of all this, here is\nM. Taine\u2019s record:\n\n  \u201cRoman missionaries bearing a silver cross with a picture of\n  Christ came in procession, chanting a litany. Presently the high\n  priest of the Northumbrians declared, in presence of the nobles,\n  that the old gods were powerless, and confessed that formerly \u2018he\n  knew nothing of that which he adored;\u2019 and he among the first,\n  lance in hand, assisted to demolish their temple. At his side a\n  chief rose in the assembly, and said:\n\n  \u201cYou remember, O king, what sometimes happens in winter when\n  you are at supper with your earls and thanes, while the good\n  fire burns within, and it rains and the wind howls without. A\n  sparrow enters at one door, and flies out quickly at the other.\n  During that rapid passage and pleasant moment it disappears,\n  and from winter returns to winter again. Such seems to me to be\n  the life of man, and his career but a brief moment between that\n  which goes before and that which follows after, and of which we\n  know nothing. If, then, the new doctrine can teach us something\n  certain, it deserves to be followed.\u201d[3]\n\nThe Protestant historian, Sharon Turner, says of the conversion of\nthe Anglo-Saxons: \u201cIt was accomplished in a manner worthy of the\nbenevolence and purity [of the Christian religion]. Genuine piety\nseems to have led the first missionaries to our shores. Their zeal,\ntheir perseverance, and the excellence of the system they diffused\nmade their labors successful.\u201d He gives a detailed narrative of the\naction of Gregory the Great, of the devotion and self-sacrifice\nof St. Augustine and his companions, of their long and perilous\njourney, their landing in England, and, in describing their\nprocession on the Isle of Thanet, writes: \u201cWith a silver cross and\na picture of Christ, they advanced singing the litany.\u201d M. Taine,\nwith a stroke of the pen, copies this line almost word for word,\nand makes it do duty for a full and detailed account of the labors\nof St. Augustine and his forty companions for two score years!\n\nWhat period of time the word _presently_ represents to M. Taine\nwe do not know. It may be an hour, or a day, or a month, but the\nincident which he refers to as occurring \u201cpresently\u201d took place\nabout forty years after the \u201cprocession.\u201d\n\nAnd now it is sought to belittle or decry the victory of the\nChristian missionaries in two ways: 1st. It was the most natural\nthing in the world for the brutal, bloody, slave-dealing, drunken\nbarbarian to embrace the new religion, because his paganism so\nstrongly resembled Christianity. 2d. But after conversion they\nremained, after all, substantially, barbarous pagans as before, and\ntheir songs remind M. Taine of \u201cthe songs of the servants of Odin,\ntonsured and clad in the garments of monks.\u201d \u201cThe Christian hymns\nembody the pagan\u201d (p. 46).\n\nTo demonstrate this, and to show that the songs of these converted\nSaxons are \u201cbut a concrete of exclamations,\u201d have \u201cno development,\u201d\nand are nothing but paganism after all, M. Taine gives five prose\nlines of imperfect translation from a poem by C\u00e6dmon. Here is a\ncorrect rendering of the opening of the poem in the original metre.\nLet the reader judge of the amount of pagan inspiration it contains:\n\n    \u201cNow must we glorify\n    The guardian of heaven\u2019s kingdom,\n    The Maker\u2019s might,\n    And his mind\u2019s thought,\n    The work of the worshipped father,\n    When of his wonders, each one,\n    The ever-living Lord\n    Ordered the origin,\n    He erst created\n    For earth\u2019s children\n    Heaven as a high roof,\n    The holy Creator:\n    Then on this mid-world\n    Did man\u2019s great guardian,\n    The ever-living Lord,\n    Afterward prepare\n    For men a mansion,\n    The Master Almighty.\u201d[4]\n\nM. Taine continues:\n\n  \u201cOne of them\u201d [those servants of Odin, take notice], \u201cAdhelm,\n  stood on a bridge leading to the town where he lived, and\n  repeated warlike and profane odes alternately with religious\n  poetry, in order to attract and instruct the men of his time. He\n  could do it without changing his key. In one of them, a funeral\n  song, Death speaks. It was one of the last Saxon compositions,\n  containing a terrible Christianity, which seems at the same time\n  to have sprung from the blackest depths of the _Edda_.\u201d\n\nM. Taine has here given rein to his imagination, and made terrible\nwork with Saxon chronology and other matters. For Adhelm read\nAldhelm, in Saxon _Ealdhelm_, so King Alfred spelt it. The name\nsignifies _Old Helmet_; Aldhelm was of princely extraction.\n\u201cWarlike and profane odes\u201d does not correctly translate \u201c_carmen\ntriviale_.\u201d Aldhelm was a learned priest, a Greek, Latin, and\nHebrew scholar, with a profound knowledge of the Holy Scriptures.\nHis present reputation rests on his Latin works. His contemporary\nreputation was founded on his Anglo-Saxon productions. He composed\ncanticles and ballads in his native tongue, and, remarking the\nhaste of many of the Anglo-Saxon peasants to leave church as soon\nas the Sunday Mass was over, in order to avoid the sermon, he would\nlie in wait for them at the bridge or wayside, and, singing to\nthem as a bard, attract their attention, and in the fascination\nof a musical verse teach them the truths of religion they would\nnot wait to hear from the pulpit. It was not for the pleasure of\nsinging that Aldhelm thus labored: it was to save souls. Without\nthe slightest authority, M. Taine puts in his mouth this beautiful\nAnglo-Saxon fragment:\n\n  \u201cDeath speaks to man: \u2019For thee was a house built ere thou\n  wast born; for thee was a mould shapen ere thou camest of thy\n  mother. Its height is not determined, nor its depth measured,\n  nor is it closed up (however long it may be) until I bring thee\n  where thou shalt remain, until I shall measure thee and the sod\n  of earth. Thy house is not highly built, it is unhigh and low;\n  when thou art in it the heelways are low, the sideways low. The\n  roof is built full nigh thy breast; so thou shalt dwell in earth\n  full cold, dim, and dark. Doorless is that house, and dark it is\n  within; there thou art fast prisoner, and Death holds the key.\n  Loathly is that earth-house, and grim to dwell in; there thou\n  shalt dwell, and worms shall share thee. Thus thou art laid, and\n  leavest thy friends; thou hast no friend that will come to thee,\n  who will ever inquire how that house liketh thee, who shall ever\n  open the door for thee, and seek thee, for soon thou becomest\n  loathly and hateful to look upon.\u2019\u201d\n\nThe composition is not by Aldhelm, who, probably, never heard of\nit. All of Aldhelm\u2019s Anglo-Saxon MSS. perished when the magnificent\nmonastery at Malmesbury was sacked under Henry VIII. The Protestant\nhistorian, Maitland, thus tells the story: \u201cThe precious MSS.\nof his [Aldhelm\u2019s] library were long employed to fill up broken\nwindows in the neighboring houses, or to light the bakers\u2019 fires.\u201d\n\nAll that we know of _The Grave_ is that it was found written in\nthe margin of a volume of Anglo-Saxon homilies, preserved in the\nBodleian Library. It is of a period following Aldhelm\u2019s era, and\nis in the dialect of East Anglia, while Aldhelm was of Wessex.\nBut M. Taine himself demonstrates that it could not be Aldhelm\u2019s.\nAt page 50, he tells us Aldhelm died in 709, having previously\nstated (p. 46) that the fragment \u201cwas one of the last Anglo-Saxon\ncompositions.\u201d But among the finest Anglo-Saxon poetical\ncompositions are the celebrated _Ormulum_, and various poems by\nLayamon, which were written about the year 1225. _The Grave_,\nmoreover, so far from containing \u201ca terrible Christianity,\u201d has\nso essentially the tone and spirit of many well-known Catholic\nmeditations on death, that it might have been written in a Spanish\nmonastery or taken from a book of Christian devotions.\n\nOf course, \u201cthe poor monks\u201d can do nothing creditable in M.\nTaine\u2019s eyes, and he comes to sad grief in undertaking to go, by\nspecification, beyond the common counts of the ordinary declaration\ndictated by bigotry. At page 53, vol. i., he thus refers in\ncontemptuous terms to the monks who compiled the _Saxon Chronicle_:\n\n  \u201cThey spun out awkwardly and heavily dry chronicles, a sort\n  of historical almanacs. You might think them peasants, who,\n  returning from their toil, came and scribbled with chalk on a\n  smoky table the date of a year of scarcity, the price of corn,\n  the changes in the weather, a death.\u201d\n\nAnd here a word as to this _Chronicle_, which is a national history\ngenerally conceded to have been established by King Alfred, under\nthe advice of his counsellor Pflegmund, Archbishop of Canterbury,\nabout 870 A.D. It begins with a brief account of Britain from\nC\u00e6sar\u2019s invasion, and becomes very full in its narrative after the\nyear 853.\n\nThe _Chronicle_ shares with Bede\u2019s history the highest place among\nauthorities for early English history. Seven original copies of it\nare still in existence, and, making due allowance for the ravages\nof time and the elements, and the destruction by war, demolition\nof the monasteries, theft, spoliation, and the wilful mischief of\nreligious bigotry, the survival of these seven copies would go\nfar to prove the former existence of several hundreds. The copies\nyet extant are all evidently based upon a single original text,\nand it is presumed that the _Chronicle_ was continued at all the\nmonasteries in England, each one forwarding its local annals to\nsome one special monastery, where a brief summary was compiled\nof the whole, copies of which were supplied to all the religious\nhouses, to be incorporated with the general _Chronicle_, thus\nkeeping up from year to year the general history of the nation.\nM. Taine gives some half-dozen dry-as-dust extracts from the\n_Chronicle_ of this nature:\n\n  \u201c902. _This year there was the great fight at the Holme, between\n  the men of Kent and the Danes._\u201d\n\nHe adds:\n\n  \u201cIt is thus the poor monks speak, with monotonous dryness, who\n  after Alfred\u2019s time gather up and take notes of great visible\n  events; sparsely scattered we find a few moral reflections, a\n  passionate emotion, nothing more\u201d (vol. i. p. 53).\n\nBut at page 42, M. Taine has given us as belonging to a period\npreceding Christianity in England, as a part of \u201cthe pagan\ncurrent,\u201d an extract from the song on Athelstan\u2019s victory, of which\nhe speaks in terms of enthusiastic admiration. \u201cIf there has ever\nbeen anywhere a deep and serious poetic sentiment, it is here,\u201d\netc. Now, this song, under the date of A.D. 937, _is a part of the\nSaxon Chronicle, written by some poor monk \u201cafter Alfred\u2019s time_.\u201d\n\n    \u201cThis year King Athelstane, the Lord of Earls,\n    Ring-giver to the warriors, Edmund too\n    His brother, won in fight with edge of swords\n    Lifelong renown at Brunanburh. The sons\n    Of Edward clave with the forged steel the wall\n    Of linden shields. The spirit of their sires\n    Made them defenders of the land, its wealth,\n    Its homes, in many a fight with many a foe.\u201d[5]\n\n\u201cIt is thus the monks speak with monotonous dryness\u201d! And so\nspeak they often in their _Chronicle_. The death of Byrhtnoth\nreferred to by M. Taine in note 2, p. 36, is also from the _Saxon\nChronicle_, and Mr. Morley specifies numerous other poetical\npassages in it. Nevertheless, we find that M. Taine is not at\nall embarrassed by his somewhat uncertain and limited command of\nAnglo-Saxon literature. On the contrary, he qualifies as _amusing_\n(p. 30) a discussion on a point of Anglo-Saxon history by two such\ndistinguished scholars as Dr. Lingard and Sharon Turner! These\nhistorians \u201camuse\u201d M. Taine!\n\n  \u201cWhat is your first remark,\u201d asks Mr. Taine, \u201cin turning over\n  the great, stiff leaves of a folio, the yellow sheets of a\n  manuscript? This, you say, was not created alone. It is but a\n  mould, like a fossil shell, an imprint, like one of those shapes\n  embossed in stone by an animal which lived and perished. Under\n  the stone there was an animal, and behind the document there\n  was a man. Why do you study the shell, except to represent to\n  yourself the animal? So do you study the document only in order\n  to know the man\u201d (Introduction, p. 1).\n\nIn this we almost agree with our author. It is well to study\nshells, and well to study men in the shells of leaves, sheets,\nmanuscripts, or other literary exuvi\u00e6 they may have left. Our\nobjection to M. Taine is that he has piles and heaps of such\nshells, which he resolutely refuses to study, behind which he\npersistently refuses to look. The trouble with him lies here.\nBehind every shell is a monk, a priest, or a bishop, whose piety\nand whose virtues are not subjects of agreeable contemplation to\na writer who announces his belief that religion is a mere human\ninvention; that man makes a religion as he paints a portrait or\nconstructs a steam-engine. Thus M. Taine states it: \u201cLet us take\nfirst the three chief works of human intelligence--religion, art,\nphilosophy\u201d (p. 15).\n\nAccordingly, of the great minds of Anglo-Saxon England during\nwhole centuries we see nothing in M. Taine\u2019s pages. They are\ncarefully kept out of sight. One of the most majestic figures in\nall literary history, that of the Venerable Bede, is absent from\nhis chapters, being referred to only twice by name, once as \u201cBede,\ntheir old poet\u201d! The learned Aldhelm is made a mere gleeman on the\nhighway. Roger Bacon\u2019s name is not mentioned--the name of the man\nwho was a prodigy of learning, and who announced the principles\nof the inductive system nearly four hundred years before Lord\nVerulam appropriated the glory of its discovery.[6] Augustine,\nPaulinus, Wilfred, Cuthbert, and scores of others are not referred\nto. These men and their companions were at once monks, preachers,\nschoolmasters, book-makers, scribes, authors, physicians,\narchitects, builders, surveyors, and farmers. _Laborare est orare_,\nLabor is prayer, was their device. Barren moors, repulsive marshes,\nfever-bearing fens, and wasted tracts they cultivated, and made\nglad fields of gloomy swamps.\n\nThe sandy plains and barren heaths of Northumbria, and the marshes\nof East Anglia and Mercia, the monks transformed by intelligent\nlabor and enduring toil from uninhabited deserts into rich fields\nyielding abundant harvests. Around these isolated monasteries\nsoon sprang up, as around so many centres of life, schools,\nworkshops, and settlements. The wilderness blossomed. And the monks\nwrote Christianity and civilization on the hearts of the people\nand on the soil of England. Not to mention the grand literary\nmonuments dedicated to the record of their pious labors by Count\nMontalembert in his _Monks of the West_, all these victories for\nhumanity are clearly discernible to scores of modern Protestant\nwriters, who have borne eloquent testimony to the noble devotion\nand glorious services of these holy men, whose real merits have\nbeen too long obscured by the historical conspiracy against truth.\nThey have looked behind shells and manuscripts, and found something\nto reward their search.\n\nThus Carlyle finds a man behind the old MS. of Jocelin of Brakelond:\n\n  \u201cA personable man of seven-and-forty, stout made, stands erect\n  as a pillar; with bushy eyebrows, the face of him beaming into\n  you in a really strange way: the name of him Samson: a man worth\n  looking at.... He was wont to preach to the people in the English\n  tongue, though according to the dialect of Norfolk, where he\n  had been brought up. There preached he: a man worth going to\n  hear.... Abbot Samson built many useful, many pious edifices;\n  human dwellings, churches, steeples, barns;--all fallen now and\n  vanished, but useful while they stood. He built and endowed \u2018the\n  Hospital of Babwell\u2019; built \u2018fit houses for the St. Edmunsbury\n  schools.\u2019 ... And yet these grim old walls are not a dilettantism\n  and dubiety; they are an earnest fact. It was a most real and\n  serious purpose they were built for? Yes, another world it was,\n  when these black ruins, white in their new mortar and fresh\n  chiselling, first saw the sun as walls, long ago. _Gauge not,\n  with thy dilettante compasses, with that placid dilettante\n  simper, the Heaven\u2019s-Watchtower of our Fathers, the fallen God\u2019s\n  Houses, the Golgotha of true Souls departed\u201d!_\n\nWith the advantage of eleven hundred years of accumulated knowledge\nin his favor, the cultivated M. Taine can well afford to sneer at\n\u201ca kind of literature\u201d with which he credits these monks. The \u201ckind\nof literature\u201d they most affected, and in which they unceasingly\nlabored, was the kind known as \u201cthe Scriptures.\u201d Of a verity,\nstrange occupation for \u201csons of Odin,\u201d for the most meagre summary\nof Anglo-Saxon, monastic labor in this field is a magnificent\nmemorial of their imperishable glory.\n\nIn default of types and power-presses, volumes of the Scriptures\nwere multiplied by copying, and every talent and gift of man was\nenlisted to preserve, beautify, and bring them within the reach\nand comprehension of the great body of the people. Its light was\nnot hidden in the obscurity of an unfamiliar tongue. In the fourth\ncentury, on the banks of the Danube, Ulphilas had translated the\nentire Scriptures into the then barbarous M\u0153so-Gothic. In England,\nC\u00e6dmon had sung the Scripture story of God\u2019s power and mercy, and\nput into verse all of Genesis and Exodus, with other portions of\nthe Old Testament, besides the life and passion of our Lord and\nthe Acts of the Apostles. The Venerable Bede had translated St.\nJohn\u2019s Gospel, and written numerous expositions of the Old and New\nTestaments. Aldhelm had translated the Psalms. The entire four\nGospels have come down to us in the Anglo-Saxon of King Alfred\u2019s\nday. \u00c6lfric translated the whole of the Pentateuch and the Book of\nJob. The Normans in England had various translations besides their\nmetrical romance, and a verse translation of the Bible. In 1327,\nWilliam of Shoreham translated the Psalter into English. A few\nyears later, Richard Rolle translated the Psalms and part of the\nBook of Job into the dialect of Northumberland. The four Gospels\nissued in 1571 by Parker, with a dedication to Queen Elizabeth by\nFoxe, the martyrologist, _are copied from two Anglo-Saxon versions\nof the tenth and eleventh centuries_. From the original copy, _Tha\nHalgan Godspel on Englisc_, they appear to have been divided and\narranged for reading aloud to the people. Many of these, it will\nbe noticed, are versions adorned and heightened by literary labor\nand poetic inspiration. Plain prose Bible translations existed\nin large numbers, which, as being more exposed, were the first\nto perish from the effects of time, the elements, and the wilful\ndestruction of bigotry. The metrical versions were generally better\nbound and better cared for in special libraries, and in the hands\nof the wealthy. And yet of these how few copies survive! And who\nshall tell us of scores of hundreds more of which we have never\nheard? An immense body of Anglo-Saxon Scriptural literature has\nperished and left no trace.\n\nBut M. Taine, it may be objected, was surely under no obligation\nto write the history of your Anglo-Saxon monks! Certainly not. But\nhe was under some sort of obligation not to represent the product\nof Christianity, viz., the Anglo-Saxon man, as the product of pure\npaganism. That he has done so, we have shown from the remarkable\nmanner in which he has spoken of the products of Anglo-Saxon\nliterature, and we have not taken into account the full and\nrich material at command, written in the Latin language by the\nAnglo-Saxons.\n\nWhen we get further on in M. Taine\u2019s work, we find in his fifth\nchapter, book the second, a yet more flagrant violation of his\npromise to show us the Englishman as the psychological product of\nhis literature, and to \u201cdevelop the recondite mechanism whereby\nthe Saxon barbarian has been transformed into the Englishman\nof to-day.\u201d Does he present to us the nature of the English\nReformation as evolved from the writings of Englishmen of the\nsixteenth and seventeenth centuries? Not at all. It would not\nbe pleasant to show that, as politics was the leverage of the\nReformation in Germany, plunder was the leverage in England, and he\ncandidly admits, in phrase of studied delicacy (p. 362), that \u201cthe\nReformation entered England by a side door.\u201d\n\nAnd so he travels all the way to Germany, and gives us, instead of\nEnglish opinion and English mind, the echoes of Martin Luther\u2019s\n\u201cbellowing in bad Latin,\u201d[7] and passages from his beery, boozy\n_Table-Talk_, bolstered up with extracts from a modern history of\nEngland by the late Mr. Froude. No study of shells and animals and\nmanuscripts here. No elaborate development of recondite mechanism!\n\nBut we have scarcely space left for a few remarks we desire to make\nconcerning\n\n\nTHE SHAKESPEARE OF M. TAINE.\n\nAnd, at the outset, we do not agree with those critics who ascribe\nM. Taine\u2019s utterly fantastic and distorted appreciation of\nShakespeare to the general incapacity of the Gallic mind to grasp\nthe great dramatist. We find something more than this. We discover\na labored effort at depreciation, negatively, positively, and\nby comparison. Of Shakespeare the man, the careful student must\nadmit that we know very little--almost nothing, indeed. Hence the\nsharpened avidity of his biographers to seize upon every floating\npiece of gossip, every stray tradition concerning him, whereof to\nmake history. With aid of such loose and unreliable material, M.\nTaine makes of Shakespeare a man of licentious morals and loose\nhabits.\n\nOur author\u2019s \u00e6sthetic starting-point renders simply impossible for\nhim any fair appreciation of the great English poet. Corneille and\nRacine are his models in tragedy--Moli\u00e8re in comedy. To them and to\ntheir productions he subordinates Shakespeare at every step. Listen!\n\n  \u201cIf [a poet] is a logician, a moralist, an orator, as, for\n  instance, one of the French great tragic poets (Racine), he will\n  only represent noble manners; he will avoid low characters; he\n  will have a horror of valets and the plebs; he will observe\n  the greatest decorum in respect of the strongest outbreaks of\n  passion; he will reject as scandalous every low or indecent word;\n  he will give us reason, loftiness, good taste throughout; he will\n  suppress the familiarity, childishness,\u201d etc.... \u201c_Shakespeare\n  does just the contrary, because his genius is the exact\n  opposite_\u201d (vol. i. p. 311).\n\nAt page 326, we are told: \u201cIf, in fact, Shakespeare comes across\na heroic character worthy of Corneille, a Roman, such as the\nmother of Coriolanus, he will explain by passion[8] what Corneille\nwould have explained by heroism.\u201d \u201c_Reason_,\u201d M. Taine further\ninforms us, \u201c_tells us that our manners should be measured_; this\nis why the manners which Shakespeare paints are not so.\u201d Again,\n\u201cShakespeare paints us as we are; his heroes bow, ask people for\nnews, speak of rain and fine weather,\u201d etc. (p. 312). As M. Taine\nfinds that Shakespeare\u2019s heroes bow, we should like to know his\nopinion of the exordium of the grand rhetorical effort which\nCorneille puts in the mouth of the master of the world, C\u00e6sar\nAugustus:\n\n  \u201c_Prends un si\u00e8ge, Cinna._\u201d[9]\n\nIt cannot in reason be expected that the man who admires the\nstiff and frigid artificiality of French tragedy should reach any\nclear perception of Shakespeare. Nor can we expect the appreciator\nof Shakespeare to find any superiority in Corneille and Racine.\nA distinguished German scholar (Grimm) admirably expresses the\ngeneral German and English estimate of these French poets in a\nletter he addressed to Michelet: \u201cMust I tell you the opinion\ncommonly expressed among us here in Germany? With the greatest\npossible amount of good-will, I have again and again opened Racine,\nCorneille, and Boileau, and I fully appreciate their superior\ntalents; but I cannot read them for any length of time [_mais je ne\npuis en soutenir la lecture_], so strong upon me is the impression\nthat a portion of the most profound sentiments awakened by poetry\nare a sealed book for these authors.\u201d\n\nA French writer so able and so thoroughly skilled as M. Taine, is\nat home in _persiflage_, and throughout his work he freely indulges\nin it at the expense of \u201cthose excellent English.\u201d From the moment\nthe Norman sets his foot in England, he is the Englishman\u2019s\nsuperior. With the Norman came in education and intelligence. These\npoor Anglo-Saxons appear to have been their inferiors. Wherever\nopportunity occurs, English models suffer in comparison with French\nthroughout the work, which closes with an extravagant rhapsody on\nAlfred de Musset, and this line: \u201cI prefer Alfred de Musset to\nTennyson.\u201d\n\nMany scholars of high acquirements, admirers of Shakespeare, having\nexhausted with praise the catalogue of Shakespeare\u2019s serious and\nsolid qualities, find that his pre-eminent superiority lies in wit\nand humor--the wit bright and sparkling, the humor kindly and\ngenial, more akin to wisdom than to wit, and, indeed, in itself a\nparticular form of wisdom, so that it might almost be said that\nhis fools give us more wisdom than the philosophers of ordinary\ndramatists. M. Taine is of a diametrically opposite opinion.\nHere it is: \u201cThe mechanical imagination produces Shakespeare\u2019s\nfool-characters: a quick, venturesome, dazzling, unquiet\nimagination produces his men of wit.\u201d\n\nWould you know what is true wit? You may learn from page 320, vol.\ni.:\n\n  \u201cOf wit, there are many kinds. One, altogether French, which\n  is but reason, a foe to paradox, scorner of folly, a sort of\n  incisive common sense, having no occupation but to render\n  truth amusing and evident, the most effective weapon with an\n  intelligent and vain people: such was the wit of Voltaire and the\n  drawing-rooms.\u201d\n\nThe conclusion is thus forced upon us that this is by no means the\nwit of Shakespeare. M. Taine falls into a mistake common to many\npersons who understand Shakespeare but imperfectly. It is that\nof attributing to him a certain style: \u201cLet us, then, look for\nthe man, and in his style. The style explains the work.\u201d Ordinary\nwriters have a style easily recognizable after slight study, but\nShakespeare has fifty styles, certainly at least one for every\ncharacter of marked individualism. This is not M. Taine\u2019s view, for\nhe says: \u201cShakespeare\u2019s style is a compound of furious expressions.\nNo man has submitted words to such a contortion. Mingled contrasts,\nraving exaggerations, apostrophes, exclamations, the whole fury of\nthe ode, inversion of ideas, accumulation of images, the horrible\nand the divine jumbled into the same line; it seems, to my fancy,\nas though he never writes a word without shouting it\u201d (p. 308).\n\nIf there is one peculiarity or merit of Shakespeare which,\nmore than another, has received the general assent of critics\nand scholars, it is his eminently objective power. It is looked\nupon as a striking proof of the great dramatist\u2019s deep, clear\ninsight into the depths of the human heart, that he never thrusts\nhis individuality into his conception of characters. He never\nmistakes the operations of his own mind for those of others, and\nnever confounds his personality with that of any of his dramatic\npersonages. Every page of Milton\u2019s writings, it is said, exhibits a\nfull-length portrait of the author. Byron\u2019s heroes, Lara, Conrad,\nManfred, and the rest, might interchange reflections and speeches,\nand not seriously interfere with each other\u2019s identity, and the\nsentimental rubbish and trashy sophistry poured out from the mouths\nof any of Bulwer\u2019s men and women might answer for all of them. But\nnothing that Romeo says could by possibility enter the mind of\nHamlet, and King Lear has not a line which would be fitting in the\nmouth of Othello.\n\nBut M. Taine is not of this way of thinking. His theory is\ndiametrically opposed to this, and he finds Shakespeare eminently\nsubjective. He is always Shakespeare. \u201cThese characters are all\nof the same family. _Good or bad, gross or delicate, refined or\nawkward, Shakespeare gives them all the same kind of spirit which\nis his own_\u201d (p. 317). Hamlet is Shakespeare, the melancholy\nJaques[10] is Shakespeare, Othello is Shakespeare, and--Falstaff is\nShakespeare!\n\nNo, we do not exaggerate. Here are M. Taine\u2019s words: \u201cHamlet,\nit will be said, is half-mad; this explains his vehemence of\nexpression. The truth is that Hamlet here is Shakespeare\u201d (p.\n308). \u201cHamlet is Shakespeare, and, at the close of this gallery of\nportraits, which have all some features of his own, Shakespeare has\npainted himself in the most striking of all\u201d (p. 340).\n\nThings equal to the same are equal to each other. Lara being George\nGordon Noel Byron, and Conrad also being the same George, we see at\nonce why there exists a striking resemblance between them; but when\nwe are told that Hamlet and Falstaff, morally as far apart as the\npoles, are yet painted from the same model, we find that too much\nis asked of our credulity. Of Falstaff M. Taine says: \u201cThis big,\npot-bellied fellow, a coward, a jester, a brawler, a drunkard, a\nlewd rascal, a pot-house poet, is one of Shakespeare\u2019s favorites.\nThe reason is that his manners are those of pure nature, and\n_Shakespeare\u2019s mind is congenial with his own_\u201d (p. 323). Wherein\nthis \u201cdrunkard and lewd rascal\u201d resembles Prince Hamlet, and\nwherein Shakespeare resembles either or both of them, is beyond the\nrange of any Anglo-Saxon or Teutonic mind to comprehend. Perhaps M.\nTaine may be able to explain it. His book totally fails to do so.\n\nNo one can read this long chapter of fifty-five octavo pages on\nShakespeare without being struck by the skill with which the author\navoids mention of or reference to the dramatist\u2019s most admirable\npassages, and also by his elaborate and painstaking exposition of\nthe defects of Shakespeare\u2019s inferior characters. Of the beauties\nof Romeo and Juliet--the Queen Mab description alone excepted--we\nhear nothing, but are regaled with two pages concerning \u201cthe most\ncomplete of all these characters--the nurse,\u201d and a long and severe\ncommentary on her \u201cnever-ending gossip\u2019s babble.\u201d[11] The same\nremark may be made of Hamlet, a play of which M. Taine evidently\nhas no comprehension, if Coleridge, Hazlitt, Lamb, Ulrici, Tieck,\nGoethe, and Schlegel at all understand it. Concerning Othello,\nmany paragraphs are frittered away in small criticism on the\ncharacters of Iago and Cassio. Of the grand features of Othello\nthe reader obtains no glimpse, while a scandalous industry is\nexercised in bringing out from under the cover of obscure texts\nshocking pruriencies that are not perceived by the average reader\nof Shakespeare.\n\nWe may be told that tastes differ, that what through tradition or\nhabit, perhaps, to us appear beauties, do not so strike a foreigner.\n\nLet us test this by the criticism of another foreigner--not a\nGerman, but a Frenchman--and we will find him selecting, as\nprominent beauties on the first hearing of the play, the very\npassages which also strike us on long and familiar acquaintance.\n\nIn the winter of 1829-30, a French version of Othello was\nrepresented in a Parisian theatre, and that theatre--shades of\nCorneille and Racine--the Th\u00e9\u00e2tre Fran\u00e7ais! Mademoiselle Mars was\nthe Desdemona. The piece was a decided success, and in the _Revue\nFran\u00e7aise_ for January, 1830, there appeared an admirably written\narticle which was at once a _compte-rendu_ of the representation\nand a criticism of the tragedy. It was from the pen of the Duc de\nBroglie, and commanded universal attention. His description of the\ndesperate struggles of the two cliques--the Classical and the\nRomantic--who were, of course, present in force, his account of the\neffect of the piece upon the general audience, his analysis of the\nmotives of French admiration or blame of Shakespeare, are all most\ninteresting. But what we specially have to do with is his criticism\non the play and the dramatist. Here it is:\n\n  \u201cThe effect of Othello\u2019s narration was irresistible. This portion\n  of the play is translated into all languages--its beauty is\n  perfectly entrancing, its originality is unequalled. Even La\n  Harpe could not refuse it the tribute of his admiration. But\n  perhaps the scene which precedes and that which follows are even\n  still more adapted to exhibit Shakespeare in all his greatness.\n  How wonderful a painter of human nature was this man! How true is\n  it that he has received from on high something of that creative\n  power which, by breathing on a little dust, can transform it into\n  a creature of life and immortality!\u201d\n\nEven as the Christian Anglo-Saxon was doomed to suffer at M.\nTaine\u2019s hands the outrage of attributed paganism, so also was\nShakespeare ignominiously foreordained (from the thirty-sixth page\nof his first volume) to be a maniac Berserkir. And all because the\nauthor has his little theory to carry out. Do you find it wonderful\nthat under such treatment the facts should suffer? Alas! other and\nmore important things must also suffer if such a work as this is\nto receive the sanction of recognized critical authority, and be\nplaced in the hands of the rising generation.\n\nTo do M. Taine justice, he does not for a moment lose sight of\nhis Berserkir, and keeps him, in the soul of Shakespeare, well up\nto his work. And so, Shakespeare\u2019s Coriolanus is \u201can athlete of\nwar, with a voice like a trumpet; whose eyes by contradiction are\nfilled with a rush of blood and anger, proud and terrible in mood,\na lion\u2019s soul in the body of a steer\u201d (vol. i. p. 329).\n\nFor M. Taine, the grand trial act in the Merchant of Venice is\n\u201cthe horrible scene in which Shylock brandished his butcher\u2019s\nknife before Antonio\u2019s bare breast,\u201d and King Lear is \u201cthe supreme\neffort of pure imagination, a disease of reason which reason\ncould never have conceived.\u201d But reason has so decidedly done the\ncontrary that an experienced physician of long practice in an\ninsane asylum (in the United States) has written an essay[12] to\nshow that Shakespeare\u2019s physiological and psychological knowledge\nand acquirements, as displayed in his tragedies, were in advance\nof those of his age by fully two centuries, and, he adds, that the\nwonderful skill and sagacity manifested by the great dramatist in\nseizing upon the premonitory signs of insanity (as in King Lear),\nwhich are usually overlooked by all, even the patient\u2019s most\nintimate friends and the members of his family, and weaving them\ninto the character of his hero as a necessary element, without\nwhich it would be incomplete, like those of inferior artists, is a\nmatter of wonder to all modern psychologists.\n\nTo the Voltairian school of literature in the last century, the\nplays of Shakespeare were \u201c_ces monstrueuses farces que l\u2019on\nappelle des tragedies_,\u201d and Hamlet, in particular, in Voltaire\u2019s\njudgment, \u201c_seems the work of a drunken savage_.\u201d When you have\nread M. Taine on Shakespeare, first let the coruscations of his\nverbal pyrotechnics subside, await the end of his epileptic\ncontortions of style, then scratch off a thin varnish of polite\nconcession, and you will find under it a Voltairian: although\nnot, we hope, brutal and cynical as was the great original in\nhis denunciation of those Frenchmen who were willing to claim\nsome talent for Shakespeare. Voltaire called them _faquins_,\n_impudents_, _imb\u00e9ciles_, _monstres_, etc. Such people were, he\nsaid, a source of _calamity and horror_, and France did not contain\na sufficient number of pillories to punish _such a crime_. (\u201cLetter\nof Voltaire to Count d\u2019Argental,\u201d July 19, 1776.)\n\nOne of the most interesting books to be found in the English\nlanguage is Carlyle\u2019s _French Revolution_. But it is interesting\nonly on condition that the reader is already familiar with\nthe history of that period. And we pay M. Taine\u2019s work a high\ncompliment in saying that, in like manner, his _History of\nEnglish Literature_ will be found an interesting work to those\nwhose opinions on art and literature are formed, whose religious\nprinciples are fixed, and whose judgments are sufficiently mature\nto be in no danger of being affected by the artificial, erroneous,\nand false views of man and his responsibilities, with which the\nbook abounds.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[1] _History of English Literature._ By H. A. Taine. Translated by\nH. Van Laun. With a Preface prepared expressly for this Translation\nby the author. New York: Holt & Williams. 1871.\n\n[2] Literal translation of the original falls thus into English\nrhythm:\n\n        \u201cThe field streamed with warriors\u2019 blood,\n    When rose at morning tide the glorious star,\n    The sun, God\u2019s shining candle, until sank\n    The noble creature to its setting.\u201d\n\n[3] We have here substituted for M. Taine\u2019s translation one that we\nconsider better, and we add the following poetical paraphrase of\nthe passage by Wordsworth:\n\n    \u201cMan\u2019s life is like a sparrow, mighty king.\n    That, while at banquet with your chiefs you sit,\n    Housed near a blazing fire, is seen to flit,\n    Safe from the wintry tempest. Fluttering,\n    Here did it enter, there, on hasty wing,\n    Flies out, and passes on from cold to cold:\n    But whence it came we know not, nor behold\n    Whither it goes. Even such, that transient thing,\n    The human soul, not utterly unknown,\n    While in the body lodged, the warm abode;\n    But from what world she came, what woe or weal\n    On her departure waits, no tongue hath shown.\u201d\n\n[4] M. Taine mildly states Milton\u2019s obligations to C\u00e6dmon in\nsaying, \u201cOne would think he must have had some knowledge of C\u00e6dmon\nfrom the translation of Junius.\u201d It would be easy to show that some\nof Milton\u2019s finest descriptions of the fallen angels are taken from\nC\u00e6dmon. Sir F. Palgrave says that there are in C\u00e6dmon passages so\nlike the _Paradise Lost_ that some of Milton\u2019s lines read like an\nalmost literal translation.\n\n[5] Version by Mr. Henry Morley.\n\n[6] \u201cWithin Roger Bacon\u2019s mind,\u201d says Dr. Whewell, \u201cwas at the\nsame time the Encyclop\u00e6dia and the Novum Organum of the thirteenth\ncentury.\u201d\n\n[7] Expression of the historian Hallam.\n\n[8] In his introductory chapter (vol. i. p. 36), M. Taine describes\nthe Berserkirs as fighting pagan maniacs. He coolly makes up his\nmind that Shakespeare is a lineal descendant of a Berserkir! \u201cWith\nwhat sadness, madness, waste, such a disposition breaks its bonds,\n_we shall see in Shakespeare and Byron_\u201d! And yet stupid English\nbiographers and historians are puzzling their brains and burning\nmidnight oil over the question of Shakespeare\u2019s grandfather!\n\n[9] \u201cTake a seat, Cinna.\u201d\n\n[10] \u201cA transparent mask, behind which we perceive the face of\nthe poet\u201d (p. 346). Then follows a comparison between Moli\u00e8re and\nShakespeare, altogether to the disadvantage of the latter.\n\n[11] We know of but one English author (of a Diary) with whose\nappreciation of this tragedy M. Taine would be likely to be\npleased. It is that of the distinguished Mr. Samuel Pepys, who,\nhaving seen Romeo and Juliet acted in March, 1672, pronounces the\nplay \u201cto be the worst he had ever heard.\u201d \u201cA Midsummer Night\u2019s\nDream\u201d is also, in the opinion of Pepys aforesaid, \u201cthe most\ninsipid, ridiculous play that ever I saw in my life.\u201d\n\n[12] Published in a small volume. We regret we cannot recall the\ntitle of the work and the author\u2019s name.\n\n\n\n\nFRAGMENTS OF EARLY ENGLISH POEMS ON THE PASSION.\n\n\nWarton, in his _History of English Poetry_, has published a few\nfragments of poems on the Passion, which he ascribes to the reigns\nof Henry III. and Edward I. There is a harmony in the versification\nof the following that one scarcely looks for at so early a date:\n\n    \u201cJhesu for thi muckle might\n      Thou gif us of thi grace,\n    That we may day and night\n      Thinken of thi face:\n    In myn herte it doth me gode\n      Whan y thinke on Jhesu blod,\n    That ran down bi ys side;\n      Fro ys herte dou to ys fot,\n    For us he spradde ys hertis blod,\n      His wondes wer so wyde.\u201d\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    \u201cEver and aye he haveth us in thought,\n    He will not lose that he so dearly bought.\u201d\n\nOne fragment more, which is taken from a sort of dialogue between\nour Lord on the Cross and the devout soul:\n\n    \u201cBehold mi side,\n    Mi woundes spred so wide,\n    Restless I ride,\n    Lok on me, and put fro ye pride:\n    Dear man, mi love,\n    For mi love sinne no more.\u201d\n\n    \u201cJhesu Christe, mi lemman swete,\n      That for me deyedis on rood tree\n    With al myn herte I the biseke\n      For thi woundes two and thre:\n    That so fast in mi herte\n      Thi love rooted might be,\n    As was the spere in thi side\n      When thou suffredst deth for me.\u201d\n\n             --_Christian Schools and Scholars._\n\n\n\n\nTHE HOUSE OF YORKE.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nBOADICEA\u2019S WATCH.\n\nIt was rather late when Mr. Yorke came down Sunday morning. The\nstorm was yet violent, and he did not mean to go out; and besides,\nhe had been tormented all night with disagreeable dreams. When he\nappeared in the breakfast-room, Patrick had been to the village,\nand had seen Father Rasle. The priest was resolutely keeping his\nfast, and even hearing confessions.\n\nThe occurrence of the night before had stirred up the sluggish\nfaith and piety of those few Catholics who had not meant to attend\nto their religious duties, and they crowded about their pastor at\nthe last moment.\n\nIt would, perhaps, be just as well not to describe the manner in\nwhich Mr. Yorke received the news they had to tell him, for his\nanger was scarcely greater toward the mob than toward his own\nfamily. He would eat no breakfast, would scarcely stop to change\nhis slippers for boots, but started off to see Father Rasle.\n\n\u201cI shall bring the priest home with me; or, if he will not come,\nshall stay with him, and defend him with my life from any further\noutrage,\u201d he said as he went out the door, addressing no one in\nparticular.\n\n\u201cWe expect him to return with you, Charles,\u201d his wife said; but he\npaid no attention to her.\n\n\u201cCoddled like a great booby!\u201d he muttered to himself as he strode\ndown the avenue. \u201cAmy should have more respect for me, or, at\nleast, more regard for my reputation. It is a wonder she does not\ndress me in petticoats, and set me spinning.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind, mamma!\u201d Clara said, kissing her mother, and leading\nher into the house. \u201cThis storm will cool papa off nicely. He will\ncome home penitent, you may be sure. I only hope that you will hold\noff a little, and not forgive him too readily.\u201d\n\nMrs. Yorke wiped away the tears which had started at her husband\u2019s\nunusual severity.\n\n\u201cNever think to comfort your mother, my dear, by speaking\ndisrespectfully of your father,\u201d she said, but, while chiding,\nreturned her daughter\u2019s caress. \u201cAnd do not think that I could\nremember one moment any hasty word or act of his when I knew that\nhe was sorry for it. I do not at all wonder that your father is\nannoyed at not having been called: I quite expected it.\u201d\n\n\u201cMother, I give you up,\u201d Clara exclaimed. \u201cWhere Mr. Charles Yorke\nis concerned, you have not a sign of--may I say spunk? That is what\nI mean.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, you may not,\u201d replied Mrs. Yorke with decision. And so the\nconversation dropped.\n\nPatrick drove Edith to the church. When they entered, they found\nthe people all gathered; and in a few minutes Mass began. The scene\nwas touching. The congregation, prostrate before the altar, wept\nsilently; the choir, attempting to sing, faltered, and stopped in\nthe first hymn; and the priest, in turning toward his people,\ncould not trust himself to look at them, but closed his eyes or\nglanced over their heads. Tears rolled down the faces of the\ncommunicants when they knelt at the altar; and at the benediction\nmany wept aloud.\n\nIt was a Low Mass, and when it was over the priest addressed them.\nHe talked only a little while, but in those few words they found\nboth comfort and courage. They were not to mourn, but rather to\nrejoice that he had been found worthy to suffer ignominy for\nChrist\u2019s sake. He translated and gave them for their motto these\nwords of St. Bernard: \u201c_Pudeat sub spinato capite membrum fieri\ndelicatum_.\u201d They should not seek persecution, indeed, but when\nGod sent it upon them they should accept it joyfully. For pain was\nthe only real treasure of earth, and real happiness was unknown,\nsave in anticipation, outside heaven. They belonged to the church\nmilitant; and as their great Captain had marched in the van, with\nshoulders bleeding from the lash, and forehead bleeding from the\nthorn, they should blush to walk delicately and at ease in his\nensanguined footsteps. He implored them to pray constantly, and\nkeep themselves from sin, and, since they might for some time be\ndeprived of the sacraments, to take more than ordinary pains to\npreserve the sacramental grace which they had just received. There\nwere a few words of farewell, uttered with difficulty, then he\nceased speaking.\n\nWhen Father Rasle went out with Mr. Yorke, the weeping congregation\ngathered about him, falling on their knees, some of them catching\nat his robe as he passed by. He was obliged to tear himself away.\n\nThe storm was now over, and the sun burst forth brilliantly as\nthey stepped into the air. A carriage was in waiting, and, when he\nhad seated himself in it, with Mr. Yorke and Edith, Father Rasle\nleaned out, looked once more with suffused eyes at his mourning\npeople, and raised his hand in benediction. Then the door closed\nupon him, and they were alone.\n\nA second carriage followed this containing four men, well armed,\nand several other men, armed also, took the shorter road, through\nEast Street and the woods, to Mr. Yorke\u2019s house. Whatever they\nmight suffer, these men did not mean that any further violence\nshould be offered to their priest or to the man who protected him.\n\nAs the carriage drove up the avenue, Mrs. Yorke and her two\ndaughters came down the steps to receive their guest. Both Mrs.\nYorke and Clara, who were speechless with emotion, gave a silent\nwelcome; but Melicent, much to her own satisfaction, was able to\npronounce an eloquent little oration. In the entry Betsey stood\nstiffly, the two young Pattens in perspective. Thinking, probably,\nthat one of her abrupt courtesies was not enough for the occasion,\nthis good creature made a succession of them as long as the priest\nwas visible, young Sally bobbing in unison. Paul, duly instructed\nby his mother, waited till the proper moment, then bowed from the\nwaist, till he made a pretty accurate right-angle of himself.\n\nAll that day, besides the regular guard, the Irish were coming and\ngoing about the house, and when toward night they retired to their\nhomes, the guard was doubled.\n\nSally Patten came over in the evening and offered her services.\nJoe could take care of the young ones, and her desire was to stay\nall night and keep watch at the Yorkes\u2019. It was in vain for them\nto say that she was not needed. With every sort of compliment, and\nevery demonstration of respect, she persisted in staying. Betsey,\nshe said, had slept none the night before, and would be needed\nabout the house the next day, and they might all rest better if\nthere were a vigilant watcher in-doors as well as out. Men were\nslow and stupid sometimes, but there was no danger of her letting\nslumber steal over her eyelids.\n\n\u201cWell, it is true, my head does feel like a soggy batter-pudding,\u201d\nBetsey owned, beginning to waver. \u201cI had a jumping toothache all\nFriday night, and last night I never slept one wink.\u201d\n\n\u201cBesides,\u201d continued Boadicea, growing heroic, \u201cwhen the two eldest\nof my offspring are in the jaws of destruction, my place is beside\nthem.\u201d\n\nIt was impossible to resist such an argument, and she was permitted\nto have her way.\n\n\u201cI was going to leave the door unlocked, so that the men could come\nin and get their luncheon,\u201d Betsey said. \u201cBut as you are here,\nperhaps you will carry it out to them.\u201d\n\nA dignified bow was the only reply. Mrs. Patten considered so\ntrivial a subject as luncheon irrelevant to these thrilling\ncircumstances. The question in her mind at this moment was what\nweapon she should use in the event of an attack. Her taste was\nfor the medi\u00e6val, and she would have welcomed with enthusiasm the\nsight of a battle-axe or a halberd; but since these were not to\nbe had, she inclined toward a long iron shovel that stood in the\nchimney-corner, reaching nearly to the mantelpiece. This would give\na telling blow, and would, moreover, allow of a fine swing of the\narms in its wielding.\n\n\u201cNow, here are two coffee-pots full,\u201d Betsey said. \u201cThis is done, I\nthink, and will do to begin with. You might put water to the other\nso as to have it ready about twelve o\u2019clock. I believe in having\nsomething to eat and drink, no matter what happens. About all that\nkeeps me from joining the Catholic Church is their fasting. I\ncouldn\u2019t praise God on an empty stomach; I should be all the time\nthinking how hungry I was. If it warn\u2019t for that, I do believe,\nthe folks here act so like the old boy, I\u2019d turn Catholic just for\nspite, if nothing else. Give \u2019em as many of them pumpkin-pies as\nthey want to eat. Give \u2019em all there is in the closet, if they want\nit.\u201d\n\nSally listened, superior, and merely bowed in reply.\n\nBetsey set out a private lunch, and poured a cup of coffee. \u201cNow,\nyou take this, Mrs. Patten,\u201d she said, \u201cand make yourself as\ncomfortable as you can. It will help you to keep awake.\u201d\n\nBoadicea hesitated, then, with a smile of lofty disdain, swallowed\nthe coffee. Why should she attempt the vain task of making that\nunheroic soul comprehend the emotions which agitated her own\nspirit? Pumpkin pies and coffee help to keep her awake! Well, she\nswallowed them, but merely to escape the multiplying of trivial and\ninconsequent words.\n\nAt length the happy moment came when all in the house had gone to\nbed, and she was left alone.\n\nAnd now indeed her soul swelled within her, and visions of possible\nheroic adventure rose before her mind\u2019s eye. She put out the lamp,\nand pushed the logs of the fire so closely together that only a\ndull-red glow escaped. She set the doors all open, and walked\nstealthily from room to room, gazing from window after window,\nstopping now and then to listen, with her head aside and her arms\nextended. There was a smoldering knot of wood in both the parlor\nand sitting-room fireplaces, and the faint light from them and from\nthe kitchen threw gigantic fantastic shadows of her on the walls\nand ceiling as she moved about.\n\nClara, feeling restless, came softly down once, and, seeing this\nstrange figure, stole quickly back to bed again, and lay there\ntrembling with fear all night.\n\nBut Boadicea kept her watch in glorious unconsciousness of\nrealities. The place had undergone a change to her mind during\nthose lonely hours. It was no longer a common, wooden country\nhouse, but a castle, with walls of stone, and battlements,\nbarbacan, and drawbridge. Mrs. Yorke was a fair ladie sleeping in\nher bower (not even in thought would Sally have spelt lady with a\n_y_), Mr. Yorke was a battle-worn warrior, Father Rasle the family\nchaplain and my lady\u2019s confessor. Without, the retainers watched,\nand an insidious foe lurked in the darkness, ready for bold attack\nor treacherous entry through a chink in the wall. Even now some\nvile caitiff might have obtained entrance, and be lurking behind\nyonder arras.\n\nAt that thought, Sally seized the kitchen shovel, and crept\nstealthily toward the parlor window, a grotesque shadow\naccompanying her, leaping across the ceiling in one breathless\nbound. She paused, and stared at the heavy drapery that seemed to\noutline a human form, and the shadow paused. She crept a step or\ntwo nearer, and the shadow dropped down and confronted her. She\ngrasped the weapon firmly in her right hand, and, stretching the\nleft, with one vigorous twitch pulled down Mrs. Yorke\u2019s damask\ncurtain.\n\nFor a moment Sally felt rather foolish. She put the curtain up as\nbest she could, and then went to give the garrison their midnight\nlunch.\n\n\u201cAnd what is it ails the old lady?\u201d asked one of the men of a\ncompanion. \u201cIs it dumb that she is?\u201d For this great, gaunt creature\nhad given them their refreshments in utter silence and with many a\ntragical gesture.\n\nShe bent suddenly toward the speaker, raised her hand in warning,\nand whispered sharply, \u201cBe vigilant!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat does she mean at all?\u201d exclaimed the man in alarm, as Sally\nstalked away, very much bent forward, and looking to right and left\nat every step, as one sees people do on the stage sometimes. His\nimpression was that something awful had taken place in the house.\n\nIn short, it was a glorious night for this poor addled soul--a\nnight which would grow more and more in her imagination, till,\nafter the passage of years, her most sincere description of it\nwould never be recognized by one of the real actors.\n\nDaylight came at length without there having been the slightest\ndisturbance. Betsey came down to relieve guard, and Sally, weary\nbut enthusiastic still, went home to electrify Joe with the recital\nof her adventures.\n\nClara, coming down before the rest of the family, was astonished to\nfind the kitchen shovel reclining on one of the parlor chairs, and\na crimson curtain put up with the yellow lining inside the room.\n\nFather Rasle appeared in a few minutes, and took an affectionate\nleave of the men who had spent the night in guarding his rest; and,\nas soon as breakfast was over, he and Mr. Yorke started for Bragon.\n\nEdith saw him go without any poignant regret for her own part,\nfor she was to remain in Seaton but a few weeks longer. But her\nheart ached for the poor people who were so soon to be left utterly\nfriendless. The burden of the pain had fallen, where it always\nfalls, on the poor. A group of them stood at the gate when the\ntravellers went through, and others met them in North Street, and\nall gazed after the carriage, with breaking hearts, as long as it\nwas in sight. When might they hope to see a priest again? When\nagain would the Mass-bell summon them to bow before the uplifted\nHost, and the communion cloth be spread for their heavenly banquet?\nThey cared little for the mocking smile and word, but covered their\nfaces and wept when their pastor disappeared from their gaze.\n\nPatrick went down to the post-office, and came back bringing\na letter for Edith, which had lain in the office since Sunday\nmorning. The letter was from Mrs. Rowan-Williams, and contained but\na line: \u201cMy son is at home, dangerously sick with a fever.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe sentiment which attends the sudden revelation that _all is\nlost_,\u201d says De Quincey, \u201csilently is gathered up into the heart;\nit is too deep for gestures or for words, and no part of it passes\nto the outside.\u201d\n\nNor is the silence more profound when a slight possibility, over\nwhich we have no control, still interposes between the heart and\nutter loss.\n\nEdith put the letter into her aunt\u2019s hand. \u201cI must go immediately\nto Bragon, to take the cars,\u201d she said quietly. \u201cWill you tell\nPatrick to get a carriage? I will be ready in a little while.\u201d\n\nShe went up-stairs to put on a travelling-dress, and pack what she\nwished to take with her. The selection was calmly and carefully\nmade. There was no need of haste. In less than an hour everything\nwas ready, and the carriage at the door.\n\n\u201cI have sent a telegram to your uncle, and he will meet you, and go\non to Boston with you to-night,\u201d her aunt said.\n\nMelicent offered her a cup of coffee, and she put it to her lips,\nand tried to drink it; but all the muscles of her mouth and throat\nseemed to be fixed, and she could not swallow a drop. She gave back\nthe cup, without uttering a word.\n\n\u201cI have put some fruit and a small bottle of sherry into this\nluncheon-bag for you,\u201d Mrs. Yorke said hastily. \u201cYou must try to\ntake a little on the way. You do not want to lose your strength,\nand these will be refreshing.\u201d\n\nNo one mentioned Dick Rowan\u2019s name to Edith, or offered a word of\ncomfort. They even refrained from expressing too much solicitude\nand affection, and only kissed her silently when she went out.\n\u201cDo nothing but what is necessary,\u201d Mrs. Yorke had said to her\ndaughters. \u201cThere is no greater torture, at such a time, than to\nbe fretted about trifles. Think of her feelings, not of expressing\nyour own.\u201d\n\nNeither Betsey nor her assistants were allowed to appear, and\nPatrick had orders to speak only when he was spoken to, and not on\nany account to mention Mr. Rowan\u2019s name.\n\n\u201cIf he dies, it will kill Edith,\u201d Mrs. Yorke said, letting her\ntears flow when her niece was out of sight.\n\nSome such thought was in Edith\u2019s own mind during that long drive.\nIf Dick Rowan should die, her peace and joy would die with him; not\nthat he was everything to her, but because she could never accept a\nhappiness which was only to be reached over his grave. Edith loved\nCarl Yorke with all her heart, he attracted her irresistibly, and\nseemed rather a part of herself than a separate being; yet at\nthat moment the thought of his death would have been to her more\ntolerable than the thought of Dick Rowan\u2019s.\n\nMrs. Yorke\u2019s telegram was at the priest\u2019s house awaiting her\nhusband when he arrived, and he went at once to the hotel where his\nniece was to meet him. Soon they were on the way.\n\n\u201cThe Catholics here are in a state of the wildest excitement,\u201d\nhe said. \u201cThe news arrived before we did, and the Irish want to\ngo down and burn Seaton to the ground. Father Rasle will have\ndifficulty in quieting them. The better class of Protestants,\neven, cry out against the outrage. They have called an indignation\nmeeting for to-night, and the Protestant gentlemen are contributing\nto buy the priest a watch. His watch and pocket-book were stolen\nSaturday night, you know.\u201d\n\nThough Edith said but little in reply, it was not because she had\nmore important matter in her mind. The number of seats in the car\nshe counted over with weary persistence, the number of narrow\nboards in the side of the car she learned by heart. She knew just\nhow the lamp swung, and could have described accurately afterward\nthe face and costume of the boy who sold papers and lemonade\nand pop-corn. Not till the weary night was over, and her uncle\nsaid, \u201cHere we are in Boston!\u201d did she awaken from that nightmare\nentanglement of littlenesses. Then first she showed some agitation.\n\n\u201cDrive directly to Mrs. Williams\u2019s,\u201d she said, \u201cand, while I sit in\nthe carriage, go to the door, and ask how he is. If they tell you\nthat he is better, say it out loud, quickly, but if--if the news is\nnot good, don\u2019t say one word to me, only take me into the house.\u201d\n\nA telegram had been sent to Mrs. Williams, and Edith was expected.\nAs Mr. Yorke went up the step, the door opened, and Dick\u2019s mother\nstood there.\n\nEdith leaned back in the carriage, and covered her face with her\nhands. She had not dared to look at the house, lest some sign of\nmourning should meet her glance. \u201cO Mother of Perpetual Succor!\u201d\nshe exclaimed.\n\n\u201cHe is no worse, my dear,\u201d her uncle said at the carriage-door. \u201cI\nthink you need not fear. Come! Mrs. Williams is waiting for you.\u201d\n\nEdith lifted her hands and eyes, and repeated her aspiration, \u201cO\nMother of Perpetual Succor!\u201d but with what a difference!--not with\nanguish and imploring, but with passionate gratitude. Dick would\nlive, she saw that at once. If the blow had not fallen, then it was\nnot to fall now.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI.\n\nDICK\u2019S VISION.\n\nWhen Dick Rowan came home the first time after his mother\u2019s\nmarriage, both she and her husband had desired him to select a\nchamber in their house which should always be his. He chose an\nunfurnished one nearly at the top of the house, and, after several\nplayful skirmishes with his mother, who would fain have adorned it\nwith velvet and lace, fitted it up to suit himself. It was large,\nsunny, and quiet; and there was but little in it besides an Indian\nmatting, an iron bed, a writing-table, wicker chairs, and white\nmuslin curtains, that did not even pretend to shut out the light.\nThere was nothing on the walls but a book-case and a crucifix,\nnothing on the mantelpiece but a clock. The young man\u2019s tastes were\nsimple, almost ascetical, and he protested that he could not draw\nfree breath in a room smothered in thick upholstery. Sunshine,\nfresh air, pure water, and cleanliness--those he must have. Other\nthings might be dispensed with.\n\nIn this chamber Dick lay now, his body a prey to fever, his mind\nwandering in wild and tumultuous scenes. He was at sea, in a storm,\nand the ship was going down; he was wrecked, and parched with\nthirst in a wilderness of waters; he was sailing into a strange\nport, and suddenly the shore swarmed with enemies, and he saw huge\ncannon-mouths just breaking into flame, and flights of poisoned\narrows just twanging from their bows; he was at Seaton again, a\npoor, friendless boy, and his father was reeling home drunk, with a\nrabble shouting at his heels. And always, whatever scene his fancy\nmight conjure up, his ears were deafened by the strong rush of\nwaves, adding confusion to terror and pain.\n\nOne day, when he had been crying out against this torment, a pair\nof cool, small hands were clasped tightly about his forehead, and a\nvoice asked, low and clear, \u201cDoesn\u2019t that make the waves seem less,\nDick?\u201d\n\nHe left off speaking, and lay listening intently.\n\n\u201cThere are no waves nor storm,\u201d the voice said calmly. \u201cYou are\nnot at sea. You are safe at home. But your head aches so that it\nmakes you fancy things. What you hear is blood rushing through the\narteries. I am going to put a bandage round your head. That will do\nyou good.\u201d\n\nDick turned his head as Edith took her hands away, and followed her\nwith his eyes while she took a few steps to get what she wanted.\nShe smiled at him as she stood measuring off the strip of linen,\nand making up little rolls of linen to press on the arteries of\nthe temples; and though her face was thin and white, and her eyes\nfilled, in spite of her, when she smiled, the image was a cheerful\none in that darkened room. She wore a dress of green cloth, soft\nand lustrous, and had a rosebud in her hair. The effect was cool\nand sweet. As she moved quietly about, the patient gazed at her,\nand his gaze seemed to be wondering and confused, rather than\ninsane.\n\nShe drew the bandage tightly about his head, pressed hard on the\nthrobbing arteries, and sprinkled cold water on the linen and his\nhair. She had observed that he started whenever ice was put to his\nhead, and therefore kept it cool, and avoided giving a shock.\n\n\u201cYou are sick, and I am going to make you well,\u201d she said. \u201cYou are\nnot to think, but to obey. I will do the thinking. Will you trust\nme?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Edith,\u201d he answered, after a pause, looking steadfastly at\nher, seeming in doubt whether it were a real form he saw, a real\nvoice he heard.\n\n\u201cThis is your room, you see,\u201d she said, laying one hand on his, and\npointing with the other. \u201cThat is your book-shelf, there is your\ntable and your crucifix. You know it all; but sickness and darkness\nare so confusing. Now, I\u2019m going to give you one little glimpse of\nout-doors, only for a minute, though, because it would hurt your\nhead to have too much light.\u201d\n\nShe went to the window, and drew aside the thick green curtain, and\na golden ray from the setting sun flew in like a bird, and alighted\non the clock. Those sick eyes shrank a little, but brightened. She\nreturned, and leaned over the pillow, so as to have the same view\nthrough the window with him. \u201cThat green hill is Longwood,\u201d she\nsaid; \u201cand there is the flagstaff on the top of Mr. B----\u2019s house,\nlooking like the mast of a ship. Now I shall drop the curtain, and\nyou are to go to sleep.\u201d\n\nSo, as his feverish fancies rose like mists, her calm denial or\nexplanation swept them away; or, if the delirium fit was too strong\nfor that, she held his hand, to assure him of companionship, and\nwent with him wherever his tyrannical imagination dragged him,\nand found help there. When he sank in deeps of ocean, he heard\na voice, as if from heaven, saying, \u201cHe who made the waves is\nstronger than they. Hold on to God, and he will not let you go.\u201d\nIf foes threatened him, he heard the reassuring text: \u201c_The Lord\nis my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the\nprotector of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?_\u201d If he groped\nin desolation, and cried out that every one had deserted him, she\nrepeated: \u201c_For my father and my mother have left me, but the Lord\nhath taken me up_.\u201d \u201c_Expect the Lord, do manfully, and let thy\nheart take courage, and wait thou for the Lord._\u201d\n\nShe followed him thus from terror to terror, imagining all the\nbitterness of them, trying to take that bitterness to herself, till\nthey began to grow real to her, and she was glad to escape into the\nwholesome outer world, and see with her own eyes that the universe\nwas not a sick-room.\n\nHester had come up, and she called and took Edith out for a drive\nevery day; and sometimes she went home to Hester\u2019s house, and\nplayed with the children a while. She found their childish gayety\nand carelessness very soothing.\n\n\u201cCarl and I are fitting up the house for the family,\u201d Hester said\none day. \u201cThey are all to come up the last of the month. I shall\nbe so glad! It is delightful to go through the dear old familiar\nrooms, and look from the windows, just as I used to. We new-furnish\nthe parlors only. Mamma wishes to use all the old things she can.\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot stop to-day,\u201d Edith said; \u201cbut I would like to see the\nhouse soon. You know I saw only the outside of it when I was here\nbefore.\u201d\n\n\u201cCarl is going to England before they come up,\u201d Hester said\nhesitatingly. \u201cI don\u2019t know why he does not wait for them, but he\nhas engaged passage for next week. I believe he means to be gone\nonly a month or two.\u201d\n\nEdith leaned back in the carriage, and made no reply. When she\nspoke, after a while, it was to ask to be taken back to Mrs.\nWilliams\u2019.\n\nFrom Dick Rowan\u2019s wandering talk, she had learned the history\nof his last few weeks. She perceived that Father John and his\nhousehold must have known perfectly well what their visitor\u2019s\ntrouble was, and that they had watched over and sympathized with\nhim most tenderly. Dick\u2019s pride was not of a kind that would lead\nhim to dissemble his feelings or conceal them from those of whose\nfriendship and sympathy he was assured. Why should he conceal what\nhe was not ashamed of? he would have asked. She learned that he had\nspent hours before the altar, that he had fasted and prayed, that\nhe had gone out in the storm at night, and walked the yard of the\npriest\u2019s house, going in only when Father John had peremptorily\ncommanded him to. These reckless exposures, combined with mental\ndistress, had caused his illness. Dick had never before been ill\na day, and could not believe that a physical inconvenience and\ndiscomfort, which he despised, would at last overpower him.\n\nOne Sunday afternoon, a week after Edith\u2019s arrival, the patient\nopened his eyes, and looked about with a languid but conscious\ngaze, all the fever and delirium gone, and, also, all the human\ndross burned out of him. No person was in sight, and his heavy lids\nwere dropping again, when his glance was arrested by a pictured\nface so perfect, that, to his misty sense, it seemed alive. It\nwas an exquisite engraving of Rubens\u2019 portrait of St. Ignatius,\nnot the weak and sentimental copy we most frequently see, but one\nfull of expression. Large, slow tears, unnoted by him, rolled down\nhis face. The lips, slightly parted, and tremulous with a divine\nsorrow, were more eloquent than any words could be. His finger\npointed to the legend, \u201c_Ad majorem Dei gloriam_,\u201d and one could\nsee plainly that in his fervent soul there was room for no other\nthought. With such a face might St. John have looked, bearing for\never in his heart the image of the Crucified.\n\nThe first glance of Dick Rowan\u2019s eyes was startled, as though he\nsaw a vision, then his gaze became so intense that, from very\nweakness, his lids dropped, and he slept again. In that slumber,\nlong, deep, and strengthening, the slackened thread of vitality in\nhim began to knit itself together again.\n\n\u201cAll we have to do now is to prevent his getting up too soon,\u201d\nthe doctor said. \u201cIt would be like him to insist on going out\nto-morrow.\u201d\n\nThe danger over, a breath of spring seemed to blow through the\nhouse. The servants told each other, with smiling faces, that Mr.\nRowan was better. Mrs. Williams waked up to the fact that her\npersonal appearance had been notably neglected of late, and, after\nkissing Edith with joyful effusion, went to put on her hair and a\nclean collar. Miss Williams opened her piano, put her foot on the\nsoft pedal, and played a composition which made her father look\nat her wonderingly over his spectacles. Had it not been Sunday,\nhe would have thought that Ellen was playing a polka. In fact, it\nwas a polka, and sounded so very much like what it was that Mr.\nWilliams presently ventured a faint remonstrance.\n\n\u201cOh! nonsense, papa!\u201d laughed the musician over her shoulder. \u201cIt\nis a hymn of praise, by Strauss.\u201d\n\n\u201cStrauss?\u201d repeated her father doubtfully. He thought the name\nsounded familiar.\n\n\u201cMendelssohn, I mean,\u201d corrected she, with the greatest hardihood,\nand shook a shower of sparkling notes from her finger-ends.\n\nMiss Ellen was one of the progressive damsels of the time.\n\nMr. Williams looked toward the door, and smiled pleasantly,\nseeing Miss Yorke come in, and she returned his greeting with one\nas friendly. There was a feeling of kindness between the two.\nThis gentleman was not very gallant, but, being in his wife\u2019s\nconfidence, and aware therefore that Edith had been looked on by\nher as a culprit, he had taken pains to make her feel at ease\nwith him. Moreover, in common with a good many other middle-aged,\nmatter-of-fact men, he had a carefully-concealed vein of\nsentimentality in his composition, and was capable of being deeply\ninterested in a genuine love affair. With a great affectation of\ncontempt, Mr. Williams would yet devour every word of a romantic\nstory at which his daughter would most sincerely turn up her nose.\nIt is indeed on record, in the diary of the first Mrs. Williams,\nthat her husband sat up late one night, on pretence of posting his\nbooks, and that, after twelve o\u2019clock, she went down-stairs and\nfound him, as she expressed it, \u201csnivelling over\u201d _The Hungarian\nBrothers_. \u201cWhich astonished me in so sensible a man as John,\u201d the\nlady added.\n\nEdith took a chair by a window and looked out into the street, and\nMr. Williams turned over the book on his knee. It was a volume\nof sermons which he was in the habit of pretending to read every\nSunday afternoon. Intellectually, Mr. Williams was sceptical; and\nhad one propounded to him, one by one, the doctrines he heard\npreached every Sunday, and asked him if he believed them, he would\nprobably have answered, \u201cWell, no, I don\u2019t know as I do exactly\u201d;\nbut early education by a mother whose religion was earnest if\nmistaken, and that necessity for some supernatural element in the\nlife which is the mark of our divine origin, impelled him to an\nobservance of what he did not believe, for the want of something\nbetter which he could believe.\n\nWhen Dick waked again, the first object he saw was his mother\u2019s\nface, full of tearful joy. She smiled, quivered, tried to speak,\nand could not.\n\n\u201cPoor mother! what a trouble I am to you!\u201d he said, and would have\nheld his hand out to her, but found himself unable to raise it. He\nlooked, and saw it thin and transparent, glanced with an expression\nof astonished inquiry into his mother\u2019s face, and understood it\nall. \u201cI must have been sick a long time, mother,\u201d he said.\n\nShe kissed him tenderly. \u201cYes, my dear boy. But it is all over now,\nthank God!\u201d\n\n\u201cPoor mother!\u201d he said again. \u201cI must have worn you out. Have you\ntaken all the care of me?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo! Edith was here,\u201d she answered timidly. \u201cShe is a good nurse,\nDick.\u201d\n\n\u201cEdith?\u201d he echoed with surprise; and, after a moment\u2019s thought,\nadded quietly, \u201cYes, I recollect seeing her. She helped me a great\ndeal, I think, dear child!\u201d\n\n\u201cWould you like to see her?\u201d his mother asked. \u201cShe has only just\nleft the room.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot now, mother,\u201d he answered. \u201cShe will come presently. I cannot\ntalk much now.\u201d\n\nHe closed his eyes again, and lay in that delicious trance of\nconvalescence, when simply to breathe is enough for contentment--the\nlips slightly parted, the form absolutely at rest, the eyes not so\nclosed but a faint twilight enters through the lashes--a sweet,\nhappy mood. When his mother moved softly about, Dick lifted his\nlids now and then, but was not disturbed. Sometimes, before closing\nthem again, his half-seeing eyes dwelt a moment on some object in\nthe room. After one of these dreamy glances, there entered through\nhis lashes the vision of a face that seemed to cry aloud to him a\npiercing summons.\n\nHe started up as if electrified, and stretched his arms out. \u201cStay!\nstay!\u201d he cried, and saw that it was no vision, but a pictured,\nsaintly face, with tears on the cheeks, and lips from which a\nmessage seemed to have just escaped.\n\n\u201cDick, what is the matter?\u201d his mother exclaimed in terror.\n\nHe sank back on the pillows. \u201cI saw it before, and thought it was a\ndream,\u201d he whispered. \u201cI was thinking of it as I lay here.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe picture?\u201d his mother asked. \u201cEdith hung it there. I will take\nit away if you don\u2019t like it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do like it,\u201d he answered faintly. \u201cIt is a blessed, blessed\nvision.\u201d He lay looking at it a while, then slipped his hand\nunder the pillow and found a little crucifix that he had always\nkept there. At the beginning of his illness his mother had taken\nit away, but Edith had returned and kept it there, seeing that\nhe sometimes sought for it. He drew it forth now, pressed it\npassionately to his lips, then, holding it in the open palm of\nhis hand, on the pillow, turned his cheek to it with a gesture of\nchildlike fondness. \u201cO my Love!\u201d he whispered.\n\n\u201cShall I tell Edith to come in?\u201d his mother asked, catching the\nwhisper.\n\n\u201cNot now, not to-night, mother,\u201d he answered softly.\n\nBut the next morning he asked to see the whole family, with the\nservants, and, when they came, thanked them affectionately for what\nthey had done for him, taking each one by the hand. When Edith\napproached, a slight color flickered in his cheeks, and he looked\nat her earnestly. Her changed face seemed to distress him. \u201cDear\nchild, I have been killing you!\u201d he said.\n\nAt his perfectly unembarrassed and friendly address, Edith\u2019s worst\nfear took flight. If Dick had reproached or been cold to her, she\nwould have defended herself without difficulty; but if he had\nshrunk from her, she could scarcely have borne it.\n\nThe doctor was quite right in saying that their only difficulty\nwould be in keeping their patient quiet, for Dick insisted on\nsitting up that very day.\n\n\u201cThe doctor wishes you to lie still,\u201d his mother said.\n\n\u201cAnd I wish to get up,\u201d he retorted, smiling, but wilful.\n\n\u201cThe Lord wishes you to lie still, Dick,\u201d Edith said.\n\nHe became quiet at once. \u201cDo you think so?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cFather John will tell you,\u201d she answered, as the door opened to\ngive admittance to the priest.\n\nOf course Father John confirmed her assertion. \u201cEverything in its\ntime, young man,\u201d he said cheerfully. \u201cThis enforced physical\nillness may be to you a time of richest spiritual benefit. You have\nnow leisure for reading and contemplation which you will not have\nwhen you go out into active life again. You must let Miss Edith\nread to you.\u201d\n\nBefore leaving his penitent, the priest proposed to give him Holy\nCommunion the next morning; but Dick hesitatingly objected. \u201cNot\nthat I do not long for it, father,\u201d he made haste to add; \u201cbut I\nwish to recollect myself. Like St. Paul, _I desire to be dissolved\nand be with Christ_, but I wish to endure that desire a little\nlonger, till I shall be better prepared to be with him.\u201d\n\nSeeing the priest look at him attentively, he blushed, and added:\n\u201cOf course I do not mean to compare myself with St. Paul, sir,\u201d and\nwas for a moment mortified and disconcerted at what he supposed\nFather John would think his presumption.\n\n\u201cThere is no reason why you and I may not have precisely the same\nfeelings that St. Paul had,\u201d the priest said quietly.\n\nEdith found letters in her room from Seaton. Her aunt wrote that\nthey were busily making the last arrangements for their moving, and\ngave her many kind messages from her friends. The house in Seaton\nhad been leased advantageously, and they hoped that the lessee\nmight be able to buy it after a while, as he wished to. They were\nto bring all their household with them, Betsey, Patrick, and the\nyoung Pattens. The prospect of being left behind had so afflicted\nthese faithful creatures that she had not the heart to desert them.\n\nClara wrote a long, gossiping letter. \u201cI must tell you what an\nabsurd little stale romance is being acted here,\u201d she wrote,\n\u201cfor mamma is sure to tell you nothing about it. Prepare to be\nastonished by the most surprising, the most bewildering, etc. (see\nMme. de S\u00e9vign\u00e9). Mr. Griffeth has proposed for Melicent, and\nMelicent is willing, so she says! Papa and mamma are frantic, and\nMel goes about with a persecuted, inscrutable look which distracts\nme. I sometimes think that she is only pretending in order to have\na fuss made over her, but one cannot be sure. You know she always\nprided herself on her good sense and judgment, and my experience is\nthat when such persons do a foolish thing,\n\n  \u2018They are So (ultra) cinian, they shock the Socinians.\u2019\n\n\u201cWe highfliers commit follies with a certain grace, and we know\nwhen we reach the step between the sublime and the ridiculous;\nbut these clumsy sensible people are like dancing elephants, and\nhave no conception how absurd they are. (Did you ever observe that\npeople who have no _un_common sense always claim to have a monopoly\nof the common sense?)\n\n\u201cIt seems that Mel has had no intercourse with the man lately,\nexcept what we have known, but he has been giving her some of those\nexpressive glances which are so effective when one has practised\nthem long enough. \u2018Oh! those looks which have so little force in\nlaw, but so much in equity!\u2019 Mamma said that she would rather see\na daughter of hers married to Mr. Conway than to Mr. Griffeth,\nfor Mr. Conway had principle if he was not clever, and Mel made\na pretty good answer. \u2018There is always hope,\u2019 she said, \u2018that an\nirreligious person may be converted, but there is no conversion for\nthe commonplace.\u2019 Mel thinks Mr. Griffeth remarkably intellectual,\nand papa ridiculed the idea. The little man, he said, resembled\nC\u00e6sar in one respect, for whereas C\u00e6sar wore the laurel wreath\nto cover his bald pate, the minister took refuge in verbiage to\nhide his baldness of thought. This having no effect, I gave the\n\u2018most unkindest cut of all.\u2019 I reminded her that he had tried both\nyou and me first, and we didn\u2019t know how many more. Her reply\nwas to hand me a copy of Browning\u2019s _Men and Women_, open at\n\u201cMisconceptions.\u201d She had marked the words:\n\n    \u201cThis is the spray the Bird clung to,\n      Making it blossom with pleasure,\n    Ere the high tree-top she sprang to,\n      Fit for her nest and her treasure.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I thought that her smile was something like that of one who is\ntaking medicine heroically, a sort of quinine-smile.\n\n\u201cThere is but one way if we do not wish to have this howling\ndervish in the family: we must exhibit, as the doctors say, a\ncounter-irritant--that is, find Mel another lover. I am convinced\nthat she will never voluntarily relinquish one romance except in\nfavor of one more.\u201d\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII.\n\nCARL YORKE\u2019S ORBIT.\n\nAs Dick Rowan gained strength in those first days of convalescence,\nEdith perceived that he had changed toward her. The manifestations\nof this change were slight, she was not sure that he was himself\nconscious of them, but they were decided. It was not that he\nshowed any unkindness, or even indifference, but his being seemed\nto be--scarcely yet revolving round, but--brooding round a new\ncentre. He frequently became absorbed in contemplation, from which\nhe recalled himself with difficulty, though always cheerfully. Not\na tinge of pain marred the peaceful silence of his mood. It was\nlike that exquisite pause we sometimes see in the weather, when,\nafter a violent storm, the winds and blackness withdraw, and there\ncomes an hour of tender, misty silence before the sunshine breaks\nforth. His eyes would turn upon her kindly, and, still looking,\nforget her, and she saw that something of more importance had\nusurped her image.\n\nHe was decided and self-reliant, too, in some things, and seemed\nrather displeased than grateful for too much solicitude on the part\nof others. He put aside entirely the usual sick-room inquiries. \u201cI\nam getting well,\u201d he said, \u201cand need not count how often I stumble\nin learning to walk again. My miserable body has received attention\nenough. Let us forget it, now that we may.\u201d\n\nEdith began to read, in obedience to Father John, but the books\nshe chose at first did not quite suit the listener. Even the _St.\nTheresa_ and _The Following of Christ_, which she found on his\nshelves, did not seem to be what he wanted then. She brought some\nof her books, but could see that his own meditations were more\nagreeable to him.\n\n\u201cI do not like to find fault with a pious writer,\u201d Dick said\nuneasily. \u201cThey are all good, but I have thought that some of them\nsometimes--\u201d He broke off abruptly. \u201cEdith, is there such a word as\n_platitudinize_?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not think that it is in the dictionary,\u201d she replied, smiling.\n\n\u201cIt is, then, an omission,\u201d said Dick.\n\n\u201cTry the Gospels,\u201d Father John said, when Edith told him her\ndifficulty. \u201cDifferent states of mind require different reading,\njust as different states of the body require different food and\nmedicine. I frequently advise people, whom I find having a distaste\nfor spiritual reading, to read the Gospels, and refresh their\nmemory of all the events recorded there by the simply-told story.\nI always find that they return with delight and profit to the\nmeditations of those holy souls whose lives have been spent in the\nstudy of these mysteries. These writers assume that the reader has\nfreshly in his mind that of which they treat. You cannot meditate\non a subject, nor follow clearly the meditations of another, when\nthe facts are not familiar to your own mind.\u201d\n\nEdith read the Gospels, therefore, and was astonished at their\neffect on Dick. Either his perceptions had been sharpened during\nhis illness, or some obstructions had been cleared away from the\npassage to his heart. This was not to him an old story, worn and\ndeadened with much telling, and slipping past his hearing without\nleaving a trace, but a tragedy newly enacted, none of its edge\ngone, every circumstance as sharp as a thorn, tearing in the\ntelling. While Edith read the story of the Lord as told by the four\ngreat witnesses, and added the outpourings of those fiery Epistles,\nthe listener\u2019s agitation was so great that she was often compelled\nto stop. At the chapters which related to the passion, Dick\u2019s\nhands trembled and grew cold, and his head dropped back against\nthe cushions of his chair. The Epistles of St. Paul stirred him\nespecially.\n\n\u201cNow, Dick, if you don\u2019t behave I won\u2019t read you another word!\u201d\nEdith exclaimed, one day, when he had started out of his chair, and\nbegun to walk about.\n\nHe came back with a stumbling step, and seated himself, wiping the\nperspiration from his forehead.\n\n\u201cI believe I shall have to postpone St. Paul till I am able to go\nout-doors,\u201d he said breathlessly.\n\nObserving his eyes frequently wander to the St. Ignatius, she\nremarked: \u201cHe looks as though he were present when our Lord was\ncrucified, and could not forget the sight.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe were all present!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cHow can we forget it?\u201d\n\nLong and intimate as their acquaintance had been, Edith thought now\nthat she had not known Dick Rowan well. She had praised, defended,\nand loved him with sisterly fondness, but always, involuntarily,\nalmost unconsciously, from a higher plane than his. Now she looked\nup to him as her superior. But, in truth, she had know him well,\nand done him full justice. The difference now was that the full\ncurrent of his nature was turned into a higher channel.\n\nOne day Hester sent the carriage to take Edith to see the family\nhouse, which was as complete as it could be before the arrival of\nthe family. Hester herself was detained at home by company, but she\nsent a line: \u201cCarl will be there, and the man who is putting up the\ncurtains, and the woman who is cleaning the closet in your room. So\nyou will not be lost, nor want for information.\u201d\n\nEdith had just begun her reading when the note was given to her.\nShe handed it to Dick to read.\n\n\u201cThat settles the question,\u201d he said, holding out his hand for the\nbook. \u201cWhile you read to me yesterday, the thought occurred to me\nthat I could do it for myself, and I meant that this should be your\nlast reading. Go and take the air, Edith. You have been too much\nshut up. This is your last day but one with me as an invalid.\u201d\n\nShe looked at him with a startled expression.\n\n\u201cBecause,\u201d he answered smilingly to her look, \u201cto-morrow I drive\nout, the day after I shall sit down-stairs, and the next day I\nshall forget that I have ever been sick.\u201d\n\nHe looked thoroughly contented and cheerful. There was no lurking\nsadness, nor reluctance to have her go. Dick was too transparent to\nhide it if there were. As well might the lake show a smooth surface\nwhile waves were rolling below. His soul had, indeed, always been\nmore placid than his manner.\n\nBefore Edith had left the room, he was turning over the leaves of\nthe book, a new one to him; and when she stepped into the carriage\nat the curbstone, he was so absorbed in reading as not to know that\nshe was looking up at the window where he sat. The book rested on\nthe wide arm of his chair, his elbow near it, the hand supporting\nhis forehead. His hair had been cut off, and thus his full brow and\nfinely shaped head were clearly displayed. His hands were beginning\nto look alive, his cheeks to get back their color. So he leaned and\nread, and she drove away.\n\nShe was going to meet Carl, and she was glad of it, though at\nSeaton she had thought that she must not see him again. The\nsecond thought had shown her how unnecessary and Quixotic this\nresolution had been, made in the first shock and confusion caused\nby Dick Rowan\u2019s distress, and her own discovery of the depth of\nher own affection for Carl. She had since then put aside her own\nimagination and that of others, and examined her heart as it was,\nnot as it might become under circumstances which she no longer\nexpected to find herself in. She and Carl were nearly related\nby marriage, and he had been her teacher, and kind and delicate\nfriend. She had lived in the same house with him seven years, a\nlonger time than she had been associated intimately with Dick\nRowan, and her intercourse with him had been such as to call out\nall that was most amiable in his character, and that at a time\nwhen her own mind was maturing, and capable of receiving its most\nprofound impressions. She asked herself what the charm had been in\nher intercourse with him, and the answer was immediate: a quick\nand thorough sympathy in everything natural. For the supernatural,\nso careful had he been not to offend her conscience, and so highly\nhad he appreciated religion in her, she had felt no sense of\ndiscordance, but only that he lacked a faith which she hoped and\nexpected he would one day possess. Carl had never intruded his\nscepticism on her. What, she asked herself then, had she wished\nregarding him? and the answer was no more doubtful; she had wished\nto be his most confidential and sympathizing friend, and had shrunk\nwith pain from the thought of any one coming nearer to his heart\nthan herself, or as near. Even of these wishes she had been almost\nunconscious till others had forced them on her attention. Of Dick\nRowan\u2019s friendships she could never have been jealous, and she\ncould never have suffered from them. Here she stopped, and set her\nChristian will and her maiden reserve as a firm barrier against her\nown imagination or the intrusive imaginations of others taking one\nstep further. She was ready to fling her _Honni soit qui mal y\npense_ in the face of any evil speaker.\n\n\u201cDick Rowan was a good friend to my childhood,\u201d she said, \u201cand\nprotected me from all physical danger and insult, and petted me\nwith childlike fondness; and I have been grateful to him beyond the\npoint of duty, and to my own hurt. Carl Yorke helped to form my\nopening mind, and patiently and carefully strove to endow me with\nhis own knowledge, and my debt to him is a still higher one. I have\na right, when he is going away, to bid him a friendly good-by, and\nI should be ashamed of myself if I were afraid to!\u201d\n\nCarl stood in the door of his old home, and came down the steps,\nhat in hand, to assist her. She saw in his face that he felt\ndoubtful whether his presence might not displease her.\n\n\u201cI am glad to see you, Carl,\u201d she said cordially. \u201cI could not\nbelieve that you meant to go away without bidding me farewell.\u201d\n\n\u201cI would not have gone away without seeing you,\u201d Carl replied\nquietly; and they went into the house together. His face had\nlighted at her greeting. Evidently he liked its frank kindliness,\nand the entire setting aside of all embarrassing recollections. He\nhad been in the cruel position of a man who, with a high natural\nsense of honor, has suffered himself to be betrayed into an act\nwhich he cannot justify, and is ashamed to excuse. Silence was best.\n\nEdith was delighted with the home-like look of everything in the\nhouse, and the good taste displayed in its arrangement.\n\n\u201cI can easily understand,\u201d Carl said, \u201cwhy you and my mother\nwished to have as little new furniture as possible. I think we all\nprefer that which has friendly or beautiful associations.\u201d\n\nHe lead her to a portrait, conspicuously placed in the sitting-room.\n\n\u201cI hung dear Alice\u2019s picture here,\u201d he said, \u201cbecause I thought\nthat her place was in the family-circle.\u201d He sighed. \u201cIt is\nastonishing how cruelly selfish men can sometimes be, without\nknowing it. Poor, dear Alice thought of me, and I thought of\nmyself. Well, she is safe dead, with no more need of me, and I am\nleft with an unfailing regret.\u201d\n\nEdith was grieved and touched by his self-reproach, and was about\nto say some comforting word, when he turned to her with a smile.\n\u201cAnd I am committing again the same fault which I confess,\u201d he\nsaid. \u201cEdith comes out of a sick-room, weary and depressed, and I\nsadden instead of cheering her. Shall we look about the house?\u201d\n\nThey went up-stairs, and he showed her the different chambers. \u201cBut\nwe all concluded that you would prefer the one I used to have for\nmy painting-room,\u201d he said. \u201cIt is up another flight of stairs, but\nwell repays you for the climbing. You are an early bird, and there\nyou will have the morning sunshine. It is the largest chamber in\nthe house, and has the best view. How do you like it?\u201d\n\nEdith exclaimed with delight. Nothing could have suited her better.\nThrough the windows were visible a wide sweep of sky and a pretty\ncity view. Inside, the room was large, charmingly irregular, with\nalcoves and niches, and the partial furnishing was fresh and of\nher own colors. Sea-green and white lace made it a home fit for a\nmermaid. It was evident that a good deal of care had been used in\npreparing the place for her.\n\n\u201cYou are so kind!\u201d she said rather tremulously.\n\nHe affected not to notice her emotion. \u201cAll I have done in this\nhouse has been a labor of love and delight,\u201d he said, and led her\nto a picture which bore the mark of his own exquisite brush, the\nonly picture on the walls. \u201cThis is to remember Carl by,\u201d he said.\n\u201cIt is painted partly from nature, partly from a description of the\nscene. It is a glimpse into what was called the Kentucky Barrens.\u201d\n\nAn opening in a forest of luxuriant beech, ash, and oak trees\nshowed a level of rich green, profusely flower-sprinkled. The\nmorning sky was of a pure blue, with thin flecks of white cloud,\nand everything was thickly laden with dew. The fringe of the\npicture glittered with light, but all the centre was overshadowed\nby a vast slanting canopy of messenger-pigeons, settling toward the\nearth. The sunlight on their glossy backs glanced off in brilliant\nazure reflections, looking as though a cataract of sapphires was\nflowing down the sky. Here and there, a ray of sunshine broke\nthrough the screen of their countless wings, and lit up a flower or\nbit of green. An oriole was perched on a twig in the foreground,\nand from the hanging nest close by, his mate pushed a pretty head\nand throat. Startled by the soft thunder of that winged host, they\ngazed out at it from the safe covert of their leafy home.\n\nThe two went down-stairs into the sitting-room again. \u201cNow, I want\nto tell you all my plans,\u201d Carl said.\n\nThey seated themselves, and he began: \u201cI have thought best to\nmake now the tour which I contemplated years ago. It must be now,\nor never, and I am not willing to relinquish it entirely. But I am\nnot sorry that I was disappointed in going when I first thought\nof it, for I was not then prepared to derive the benefit from the\njourney which I now hope for. I should have gone then for pleasure\nand adventure; now I make a pilgrimage to gather knowledge. I tell\nyou of this, Edith, but I have concluded not to tell my mother. It\nseems cruel, and there has been a struggle in my mind, but I cannot\ndo otherwise. I well remember how hard it was to win her consent\nbefore, and I believe she was truly glad of our loss of wealth,\nsince it kept me at home. If I should tell her now, the struggle\nwould be renewed, and she would be ill. I am afraid, too, that I\nmight be impatient with her, for I have no more time to throw away.\nSo I shall let her suppose that I am going to make a short visit in\nEngland, which is true. Once there, she will not be disturbed at\nmy going over to France for a few weeks. After France, Switzerland\nfollows of course, Italy is next door, and the East is not far from\nItaly. I have always observed that, when a thing is done, my mother\nmakes up her mind to it with fortitude; but, if it is left to her\nto decide on anything painful, she is unable to decide, and the\nsuspense is terrible to her. My father knows that. When he really\nmeans to do a thing, he is prompt, and makes no talk about it. And,\nEdith, I shall not tell my sisters nor father, because it will seem\nmore unkind if she is the only one who does not know, and it might\ncompel them to practise evasion. I tell you alone, and I want you\nto promise me that, if my mother should begin to suspect, you will\nat once tell her all, and do what you can to quiet her.\u201d\n\n\u201cI promise you, Carl,\u201d Edith answered.\n\n\u201cYou can also tell Mr. Rowan, if you have occasion to, if you wish\nto,\u201d he said, looking at her attentively.\n\nShe merely bowed.\n\n\u201cI think that you will approve of my plans,\u201d he went on with\nearnestness. \u201cI have found what I believe to be my place and work\nin this vortex of the nineteenth century, and I wish to fill that\nplace and do that work in the best manner I can. I have been\noffered a position as _attach\u00e9_ at one of our embassies, but I am\nnot ready for that yet. I am not fit for anything that I wish to\ndo.\u201d\n\nWarming with his subject, Carl stood up, and leaned on a high\nchair-back opposite Edith while he talked. His face became\nanimated, his manner had a charming cordiality and frankness.\nWhen his time should come for speaking or writing, or taking any\npart in the affairs of his country, he wished to be considered\nan authority, and to deserve that consideration. To that end,\nhe must have more knowledge, not of courts, or camps, or books,\nthough these were worth knowing, but of people as they live in\ntheir own homes, in their own lands, under laws strange to us. He\nwanted to know the world\u2019s poor, and the world\u2019s criminals, and the\nworld\u2019s saints, wherever he could find them. \u201cYou have observed,\nin drawing faces,\u201d he said, \u201chow one little line will alter the\nwhole expression. It is the same with arguments. A great, loose,\nsophistical generalization may be as completely upset by one sharp\nlittle fact, as Goliath was by David. I want to have a sling full\nof those facts. A plain hard truth may be made attractive by a\nsingle beautiful illustration; and I wish to gather illustrations\nfrom the whole world. I hate a sour patriotism, and I would not\nthink, nor speak, nor write narrowly on any subject.\n\n\u201cI can perceive, Edith, that we have much to learn in this country,\nand I wish to be first taught myself, then to do my part in helping\nto teach others. We need to learn that the order of society, as\nwell as of the heavenly bodies, depends on a centripetal, no less\nthan a centrifugal force. At present we are all flying off on\ntangents. We need to learn that there is beauty and dignity in\nobedience, as well as in independence. We should see that it is\nbetter for a people to be nobler than their laws, than for laws to\nbe nobler than the people; and that the living constitution of a\nliving nation is not found on any parchment, but is the national\nconscience brought to a focus. Why, Edith, those very persons who\nboast themselves the most on the glorious fathers of our country\nare, perhaps, the persons of whom those same fathers, could they\nbehold them, would be most unutterably ashamed. I do not mean to be\npresumptuous, dear; but I see which way my influence should go, and\nI mean to do my best to make that influence great, first by leading\nan honest life, and next by polishing my weapons to the utmost. I\nam talking confusedly. I give you but a rough sketch of my design.\nTwo years, I think, will be the limit of my stay. I am so well\nprepared by my studies that I shall lose no time, and I have every\nfacility of access to all places I wish to visit. What do you say\nto it, Edith?\u201d\n\n\u201cI say God-speed, with all my heart, Carl! Your aims are noble. I\nlike to see you in earnest.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am in earnest, dear,\u201d he said. \u201cI feel as a new planet might,\nthat has been turning on its own centre without progress, and is\nall at once set spinning off on its orbit.\u201d\n\nIn the momentary silence that followed, Edith went to a book-shelf\nfilled with pamphlets, and looked them over. \u201cO Carl!\u201d she said\nbrightly, \u201cdo you read these?\u201d\n\nThey were the numbers of _Brownson\u2019s Review_.\n\n\u201cI have read them more attentively than anything else,\u201d he\nanswered, \u201cand learned more from them. An American best understands\nthe American mind. Pure reason is, of course, cosmopolitan; but\nreason is seldom so pure but a colored ray of individual or\nnational character intrudes; and I like to choose my color. I\nthink,\u201d he said, smiling, \u201cthat I have been quoting that _Review_\nto you. I leave them for my father to read.\u201d\n\nEdith\u2019s eyes sparkled. \u201cI thank God that you are on this track,\nCarl!\u201d she said. \u201cThe first I ever read in this _Review_ was an\narticle on De Maistre, and it solved for me a great difficulty. The\nfragments of truth that I had seen in the mythologies of different\nnations, and the beautiful Christian sentiments I had found among\nthe pagans, had been a stumbling-block to me; but, when I read\nthat, all became plain. You make me very happy, dear Carl!\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not think that I am pious,\u201d he said, after a moment. \u201cMy\nmind is clear on the subject, but my heart is unmoved. I do not\nwonder at that, and I am not sure but I prefer it so; to have\nlight pour over my mind till my heart melts underneath, rather\nthan have a mind imperfectly illuminated, and a heart starting up\nat intervals in little evanescent flames, which die out again, and\nleave ashes. The former is light from heaven, the latter suggests\nthe lucifer-match to me. As soon as the time shall come, which I\ncalmly await, when I have a clearer realization of the necessity\nof baptism, I shall ask to be baptized. Till then, I wish my\nintellectual convictions to be getting acclimated. My sacrifice\nmust be ready before I invoke upon it fire from heaven.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! you remind me of St. John of the Cross,\u201d Edith said. \u201cHe says,\n\u2018Reason is but the candlestick to hold the light of faith.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cPrecisely!\u201d Carl replied. \u201cBehold me, then, illuminated by a\ncandlestick, instead of a candle, but--aware of that lack. A friend\nof mine, a convert, told me lately that he had always regretted\nhaving hurried into the church, and to the sacraments, as he did.\nHe did not realize anything, but received supernatural favors like\none in a dream. He said that, though he was sincere, and would\nhave given his life for the faith that was in him, he was, for a\nlong time, tormented by the habit of doubt. When, at length, that\nhabit was broken, he used sometimes to long to receive baptism\nover again, or wished, at least, that his first communion had been\npostponed to the time of peace. A strong movement of the heart\nmight, perhaps, have saved this trouble; but neither he nor I have\nbeen so favored.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd yet,\u201d Edith said thoughtfully, \u201cI should have supposed that\nthe first conviction of truth would have moved your feelings. When\nmy mind pointed that way, my heart followed quickly, and pretty\nsoon took wings, and flew along by itself, and left my thoughts\nbehind. I am not sure that I have any intellect in religion. I can\nthink of reasons for everything, if I try, but it does not seem to\nme worth while, unless some one outside of the church wishes to\nknow.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is a woman\u2019s way,\u201d Carl said, pleased with her pretty\nearnestness. \u201cA woman goes heart first, or her head and heart go\nhand in hand, and her finest mental power is the intellect of noble\npassions. A man goes head first, and his highest power is reason.\u201d\n\nThe silvery bell of a clock warned them how long their interview\nhad been. Edith rose. \u201cI must say good-by to you for two years,\nthen, Carl; but you have taken away the sting of parting. While you\nare on the road to truth, I am not afraid of any road for you on\nsea or land.\u201d\n\nShe gave him her hand. Large, bright tears stood in her eyes.\n\n\u201cDear Edith, good-by!\u201d he said, and could not utter another word.\n\nThey went down the steps together. The carriage-door opened and\nclosed, there was one last glance, and they lost sight of each\nother.\n\nThey parted with pain, yet not unwillingly; for duty and honor yet\nstood with hands clasped between to separate them. Dick Rowan\u2019s\npale face, as they had seen it that night sinking backward into the\nriver, could be forgotten by neither.\n\nWhen we have wronged a person, though it were unconsciously, we\ncan no longer take the same delight in that pleasure which has\ngiven him pain. The pleasure may be no less dear to us, but the\nthought that it is to be reached only through the sufferings of one\nwho has even a fancied claim on us makes renunciation seem almost\npreferable to possession.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DUTIES OF THE RICH IN CHRISTIAN SOCIETY.\n\nNO. III.\n\nSOCIAL DUTIES.\n\n\nUnder this head we include duties toward certain classes or\nindividuals who are dependent on the rich for their well-being and\nhappiness. The rich furnish employment to those who live by labor.\nBy their wealth, their knowledge, their power of various kinds,\nthey set agoing and direct those great branches of human enterprise\nand industry in which the majority of persons in civilized society\nare the workmen. The welfare and happiness of the majority depend,\ntherefore, in a great measure upon the right discharge of their\nduties by the minority, in whose hands the direction is placed.\nIn order that these duties may be rightly discharged according to\nChristian principles, the small number who possess the largest\nportion of wealth and power must be stimulated and governed by\nthe motive of true philanthropy, the love of their fellow-men,\nChristian charity. Those who are dependent need, on their part,\nthe spirit of resignation to the will of God, contentment with\ntheir lot, respect and affection toward those who are in a superior\nposition. Where this mutual charity, springing from Christian\nprinciples, does not exist in great strength, binding all classes\ntogether, sooner or later the rich will despise and oppress the\npoor; and the poor will hate the rich, biding their time to revolt\nagainst and destroy them. The rich ought, therefore, to devote all\ntheir thoughts and energies to such an administration of the trust\ncommitted to them as may produce the greatest possible amount of\nwell-being and happiness among the dependent classes in society,\nand earn for themselves the respect, love, and gratitude of all.\n\nWe will now leave off generalizing, and descend to some\nparticulars. Merchants and others in similar positions ought to\ntake more interest than they do in the welfare and happiness\nof their clerks. Those who know something of the hardships,\nprivations, and moral danger to which this class of young men\nare exposed in New York will not dispute the assertion we have\nmade.[13] It may be extended to the corresponding class of young\nwomen. And we have here the opportunity of citing the example of\na work undertaken by one of our merchants, which illustrates our\nthesis much better than pages of explanation. We refer to the great\ninstitution contrived, and now almost completed, by Mr. Stewart,\nwhich may be seen, and is worth being seen by every one, on the\ncorner of Fourth Avenue and Thirty-third Street. This princely\nundertaking is a sample of that benevolent and magnanimous effort\nin behalf of a numerous and interesting class of the employees of\nthe rich which we are aiming to recommend.\n\nThe need of looking after the interests of those who are engaged in\nthe harder and rougher kinds of labor is much more stringent. The\ntenements and daily surroundings of the laboring class of people\nin great cities, the many squalid discomforts and miseries which\ninvest their lot in life, have been the frequent theme of those\nwho, either from real or pretended philanthropy, concern themselves\nwith social questions. Here again, we may cite the example of\nanother princely merchant, Mr. Peabody, as an illustration of\nwhat might be undertaken and accomplished, if the whole body of\nwealthy men had the same spirit and would make similar efforts.\nThe condition of the laboring class is too hard. They are too\nmuch neglected. It is not safe to leave them in this condition,\nand, more than this, it is not right to do so. Let us specify\nsome particular instances of the ill-treatment or neglect of\ncertain classes of workingmen. There are not a few who are most\nunreasonably and cruelly overworked both by day and by night,\nespecially such as fill the most arduous kinds of employments about\nrailroads. The life of the Southern negro slave was paradisaic,\ncompared to that of the miserable drudges who work in the stables\nof our horse railways. The conductors and drivers of our city cars\nand omnibuses are worked to death on a pay so meagre that stealing\nhas become a kind of recognized necessity of their situation. How\ncan these men go to church on Sundays, approach the sacraments,\nor enjoy an innocent holiday? There is a wonderful amount of\nbreath and ink expended in our enlightened city upon our religious\nrights and liberties. Yet the men who are employed to take care of\nthe Central Park cannot find even a single half-hour on a Sunday\nmorning to go to Mass.\n\nLet any one who wishes to appreciate the blessing of living in this\nnineteenth century, in this land of light and liberty, and enjoying\nthe fruits of that advanced civilization which communicates the\ngreatest amount of happiness to the greatest number, take a tour of\nthe New England factories. He will there see spectacles to rejoice\nhis heart, if he is both a wealthy and a righteous man, and cause\nhim to exclaim: \u201cGod, I thank thee that I am not as other men,\n_especially as these Irishmen_, and that my wife and children are\nnot like theirs!\u201d The writer of these articles has had a long and\nextensive experience as a missionary among the Catholic population\nof the factory towns of New England. In almost every instance, the\npersons who have had charge of the factories have been extremely\npolite and obliging during the continuance of the missions. Often\nthey have manifested an interest in their success, and have\ngranted facilities to the operatives to attend the exercises.\nSo, undoubtedly, has it been with the masters of slaves on the\nSouthern plantations. These things cannot, however, make slavery\nto be freedom, or the condition of operatives in factories one\nthat is fit to exist in a society which pretends to be Christian\nor civilized. There are plenty of kind-hearted, philanthropic men\namong New England capitalists. We do not suppose that all those\nwho give so largely to foreign missions and Bible societies have\neither made their fortunes by selling opium and rum to the heathen,\nor are seeking merely to salve over a remorseful conscience and\ngain applause from men by their liberality. Yet even those who are\nconscientious and benevolent are carried along by a system which is\nbad and cruel. We do not mean that it is bad and cruel by accident\nmerely. Many of its crimes and cruelties are purely accidental, and\nprove only the wickedness of particular persons. If a building is\nput up in such a slight manner that it falls and crushes hundreds,\nthis is the crime of those particular persons who caused it to be\nbuilt in such a manner. If the superintendent of a factory abuses\nhis power to corrupt those who are under him, that is his own sin.\nBut if the principles and laws of the system produce moral and\nphysical misery independently of the individuals who carry it on,\nthe system is essentially vicious. It is even the cause of the\naccidental and exceptional villanies which occur under it, because\nit tends to produce a cruel and tyrannical spirit.\n\nThe essential vice of the system lies in this. Capitalists seek\nto make exorbitant profits, without regard to anything but their\nown selfish interests. They care not for their operatives. These\nare, consequently, overworked, and employed at too tender an age,\nand to a great extent are underpaid. They are regarded and treated\nas working machines, and not as moral and religious beings. There\nis something repulsive, gloomy, and uncivilized about the aspect\nand surroundings of a factory or a factory town. The life which is\nled there has the most stern and sombre elements of the monastic\ninstitute, without the compensating charms and attractions. It\nhas something also of the state-prison discipline, something of\nthe poor-house, and a great deal of the _Commune_. There is a\ndismal and frightful regularity, like that of a treadmill, in the\nexistence of the population of our factory towns of New England.\nEverything is arranged both in the mills and the boarding-houses\nwith such clock-work regularity, and with such scanty allowance\nfor any other functions of life except those which are physical,\nthat the place would suit much better for a variety of apes with\nsufficient intelligence to work machines than for human beings.\nSunday is free, it is true, thanks to the small amount of Christian\nlaw which still survives in our country. Catholics can therefore\ngo to Mass and sermon, as they do in thousands, crowding the vast\nchurches which they have built for themselves, in spite of the\nweariness of their week\u2019s labor. But as for confession, it is made\nalmost impossible, and without that they cannot enjoy the greatest\nof their Sunday privileges, holy communion. We will not enlarge\non the obvious fact that the regular amount of work exacted is\nexcessive. But what is to be said of those who take even more than\nthe regular and excessive number of hours in the day from their\noverworked rational animals? At Manchester, N. H., during a mission\nin which the writer was engaged, the operatives of one factory were\nemployed until half-past nine in the evening. Some of them, who\nmade a desperate effort to snatch what they could of the advantages\nof the mission, complained to us that they were half-dead with\nfatigue, and too jaded to care whether they had souls or not. We\nasked if the extra hours of work were not voluntary. The answer\nwas, that they were so in appearance and in pretence, but that\nthey did not dare to refuse volunteering for extra work, for fear\nof being punished by the ill-will of their overseers, and even\ndischarged at the first convenient opportunity.\n\nAt another New England town, West Rutland, Vermont, we found that\nfor a considerable time the workmen in the marble quarries had\nbeen forced to take _store-pay_ for their wages. All the land, the\nhouses, the different branches of business, were in the hands or\nunder the control of a few capitalists, who would not permit any\nof the Irish laborers to acquire property or gain a permanent and\nindependent footing on the soil.\n\nThese are scattered instances, but they tell a great deal, and\nwell-informed readers will know how to fill up the picture for\nthemselves. Many persons engaged in the system of which we\nare speaking will admit its evils and hardships. They excuse\nthemselves, however, by the plea that they can personally do\nnothing toward changing it for a better one. Private efforts,\nthey say, would only injure those who made them, by enabling the\nmerciless and unscrupulous to fill up the market and sweep up all\nthe profits. Legislation, they say, is hopeless, because controlled\nby these very unscrupulous capitalists. Senator Wilson has made\nthis assertion in regard to New York. He says it is controlled by\nwhat he calls a feudal moneyed aristocracy. Others would probably\nextend the observation to a much wider sphere than New York. We do\nnot generally agree in opinion with Senator Wilson. But we agree\nwith him most heartily in condemning and denouncing such a regime\nas this. Only, we would suggest that a more appropriate name for it\nwould be, instead of _feudal_, FOODLE ARISTOCRACY. It is not only\ncruel, but despicable. Mammon was the \u201cmeanest spirit that fell,\u201d\nand the worship of the golden calf is the most degrading of all\nidolatries.\n\nThe miserably poor, the helpless, the suffering, and even the\nmorally degraded and vicious classes of the community have also\ntheir claims on the charity of the rich. We have no wish to deny\nthat these claims are very generally acknowledged in modern\nsociety, and a great deal done to acquit them, both by organized\nand by individual liberality and effort. We occasionally see\nextraordinary instances of generous philanthropy towards one or\nanother suffering class of men. Very lately, we have seen the\nRoosevelt Hospital opened, an extensive institution founded by\none of the old Knickerbocker gentlemen of New York, who left\n$900,000, the bulk of his fortune, for this purpose. The miseries\nof our social system are nevertheless so vast and fearful that the\nremedies furnished by either public or private care are wholly\ninadequate. Perhaps many persons will say that they are remediless.\nThere are those who look on the world and life with cold and\nmerciless eyes. It is a struggle of animals for their selfish\nenjoyment. Let each one look out for himself, and the unlucky take\ntheir chance. When such persons are prosperous and powerful, they\nscorn and oppress the weaker individuals who are dependent on them.\nKnowing their own depravity, they believe in that of all other men.\nThey are therefore perfectly pitiless toward their fellow-men. \u201cThe\ntender mercies of the wicked are cruel.\u201d Others who are not cruel\nare sad and disheartened. Although they mourn over the appalling\nmiseries of life, they look on them as the inevitable destiny of\nthe human race, and do not believe it is possible to help them. The\nphilosophy of the first class is diabolical, that of the second is\nunworthy of Christians. We do not mean that they err in respect\nto the point of fact that these miseries have always existed and\nwill exist. But we do say that they err in ascribing them to the\nessential order of the world, to the constitution of society, to\nhuman _destiny_, and not to the wilful sins and negligences of\nmen; they err in not believing that God has provided a remedy\nwhich on his part is sufficient and adequate for these miseries;\nand, therefore, they err practically, if they do not endeavor to\napply that remedy as far as they can to those miseries with which\nthey come in contact. Does one of these ask what hope there is of\na fundamental reformation in society which will remedy the crying\nevils all benevolent persons see and deplore? We answer, that, with\nall its faults, the nineteenth century is really remarkable on\naccount of the general interest which is felt in the improvement of\nthe condition of the working and suffering classes. What is wanted\nis the knowledge and application of the right principles and means\nfor accomplishing the result. Communism, secularism, and every\nkind of system which denies or ignores Christianity, is a remedy\nworse than the disease, which can only produce death. Imperfect\nor sectarian Christianity, although capable of producing partial\nand limited improvement, is too weak for the task which its more\ngenerous and enterprising professors exact from it, and endeavor to\nstimulate it to undertake. It is only the Catholic Church which\nis competent to such great and universal works. She alone has the\nwellspring of divine charity, and the supernatural agencies for\ndistributing its health-giving, fructifying streams. Therefore, the\nhope of a thorough application of the divine remedy to the dreadful\ndiseases of humanity is precisely commensurate with the hope of a\nreturn of the whole people of nominal Christendom to true Catholic\nChristianity.\n\nMeanwhile, the duty of each individual is to do what he can for\nthe benefit of those who are within the sphere of his own efforts\nor influence. Let him pay attention to his own dependents, and\nto the poor and suffering who are immediately around him. No one\nwho has wealth, power, or influence of any kind will have any\nreason to complain that he lacks the opportunity of doing good\nto his fellow-men, if he is really desirous of doing it. Even if\nhis position is altogether that of a private person, he can do\nhis part, and that a good and noble one, in the general work of\nhuman redemption. If he has the power and the opportunity to act\nupon society, as a public man in a greater or lesser sphere, let\nhim remember that he is a Christian, and act accordingly, and\nhe will be doing precisely what those great and good men did in\nformer times who were the creators and improvers of our Christian\ncivilization.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[13] An incident has been related to the writer of this article,\nwithin a few days, which may serve as a sample of some of the\ngrievances, and these not the worst, of this class of young men.\nComplaint was made to the head of a large house that the clerks\nwere obliged to stand up during the whole day, and the reply was\nmade that they must keep on standing if they died for it. One\nmore fact which we have heard reported is worth recording: that\nin certain places, deduction is made from the wages of clerks for\nChristmas and New-Year\u2019s Day. We cannot help wishing that a New\nYork Douglas Jerrold may start up from behind some counter, or out\nof some comfortless sleeping-bunk, to do justice to this fruitful\ntheme.\n\n\n\n\nEASTER EVE.\n\n\nThe midnight chimes had just done ringing, and the old church was\nvery still. All day long there had been comers and goers, and the\naltar had been wreathed, the stone church carpeted, the clustered\npillars entwined with flowers and with evergreens. Round the\naltar, that stood among the carven stalls like a May-shrine in\na dark forest-glade, was an amphitheatre of blossoming verdure;\nboys\u2019 hands had piled up the lilies, the violets, the roses, the\nfuchsias; and monks\u2019 hands had reared up the pyramid of palm, and\nivory magnolia, and many-colored rhododendron beyond. The palms\nwere golden, not green it is true, but they were very precious, and\ncould not be spared to-day from the festive decoration, for they\nhad come from Palestine, and only last Sunday had been offered to\nthe church. An Eastern guest had walked in the procession on Palm\nSunday, and had dedicated these lovely foreign boughs to the God of\nEast and West alike.\n\nEverything was ready for the early celebration of the Paschal\nMass--even the golden chalice lay under its pall of satin upon the\naltar of sculptured cedar-wood. Perhaps the transverse timbers\nof the rare wood had not forgotten the time when the sea-breezes\nblew on them on Lebanon\u2019s heights, and when the voice of the young\ncrusader, Hugh of Devereux, had bidden them fall in the service of\nGod and help to build him another sepulchre in a Christian land.\n\n\u201cThe voice of the Lord breaketh the cedars!\u201d\n\nAnd now there was no one in the old church but the youngest\nchorister, Benignus, the nephew of the monk Cuthbert. The child\nwas never happy save by the altar, and had no friend but Cuthbert,\nbecause he was of the blood of the lords of Devereux, and his poor\nbetrayed mother was no more.\n\nMidnight chimes are sweet, and the child had a weird passion for\ntheir sound, and would sit entranced while they slowly rang out an\nold well-known church-chant. But when they had done, and he thought\nthere was silence, he heard a sound he knew not growing out of the\nchimes, but different from them, something graver than his childish\ncompanions\u2019 prattle, something sweeter than the monks\u2019 low tones,\nsomething that seemed like his own soul speaking to itself.\n\nIt came from the belfry, straight like an arrow of sound, and\nmuffled itself in a faint echo among the flower-forest round the\naltar.\n\nAnd presently he could make out the words:\n\n\u201cI have spoken to God, and offered him the last vows of dying Lent,\nand woven into song the speechless prayers breathed over and yet\ntrembling on thy jewelled brim.\u201d\n\nAnd the child knew it was the angel of the bell who spoke.\n\nAnd presently there rose a sound from the dim-robed altar, and the\nvoice of the angel of the chalice made answer: \u201cMy cup is as a\nbell uplifted, with its song of joy hushed in the very words of\nGod, and drowned in the flood of ruby light that quivers, living\nand sensitive, within my golden walls.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd my cup,\u201d returned the voice of the bell, \u201cis as a chalice\ninverted, with its saving wealth outpoured in strains that reach\nthe human ken; endowed with a speaking, living tongue that can\ntouch the human heart.\u201d\n\n\u201cI speak of men to God, while my fragile stem bears the wondrous\npurple flower of the precious blood, and while I am reared aloft\nwith the divine burden weighing on me, even as the cross was reared\nup high over Jerusalem\u2019s walls.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I speak of God to men while my brazen clangor is heard afar\nlike the trumpets of Israel before the crumbling walls of Jericho.\u201d\n\nAnd here the soft breeze from the open lancet-windows rustled among\nthe sweet-smelling shrubs around the altar\u2019s base, and, as the\nnight-wind passed over them, their voices seemed to be blended into\nits sighs, and to have found an interpreter in its fitful sound.\n\n\u201cWe are children of many climes, and some of us are exiles in\nthis land, but under this roof we are at home again, and at this\nfestival none of us are strangers. We too, in all our variety,\nhave scarce one blossom among us that is not a chalice or a bell;\nthat holds not high its crimson cup towards heaven to receive the\ncrystal dew, or hangs not its white or purple bell with golden\ntongue towards the unheeding earth. On the altar of green turf,\non the swaying columns of interwoven boughs, on the storm-tossed\nbelfries of vine-surrounded trees, in southern swamp or northern\nforest, in tropical wilderness or rosy-tinted orchard, everywhere\nis stamped the semblance of the church, with chalices upreared,\nwith bells anxiously bent human-ward. O brothers of the altar and\nthe tower, let us sing together the same hymn.\u201d\n\nAnd the child Benignus said softly to himself:\n\n\u201cO God! make _my_ heart a chalice, and _my_ lips a Christian bell.\u201d\n\nThe voices of the flower-chorus spoke again, and the lilies of the\nvalley sang a silver peal behind their grass-green curtains:\n\n\u201cEvery day we die by thousands, but our seed is borne afar, and\ndrops in some fair nook at last, beside a running brook or beneath\na spreading beech, even as the last echo of the unwearied bell that\nknocks at some heart\u2019s door, far away in the mountains of worldly\ncare, and strikes a well-known, long-silent chord, and draws the\nexile back to the fruitful plains of God\u2019s own church.\u201d\n\nThe voice from the wind-rocked steeple came in swift and loving\nanswer:\n\n\u201cEven so, my blossom-sisters, for to us the word was given to\nincrease and multiply and fill the earth, and at every step bring\nforth fresh glory and conquer fresh realms for the God of our\ncreation.\u201d Then the living gems stirred again under the breath\nof the still midnight breeze, and the voice came forth anew as\nthe royal cactus and the purple morning-glories flashed like\nsun-touched clouds in the dusky foliage:\n\n\u201cEvery day our lives are drained and our treasures rifled to adorn\nwith living beauty the banquets of great men, and to strew the\nhalls of marble palaces, and yet every day, as the sun comes forth\nagain, our parent stem is laden once more with exhaustless riches\nand a more abundant harvest of loveliness, even as the lavished\ntreasures and the scattered wealth of the daily chalice are ever\nbeing shed without intermission from the altar into the hearts of\nthankless men.\u201d\n\nAnd the sweet low voice came back from the shrouded altar: \u201cYes,\ndear emblems of God\u2019s loving prodigality, for hath he not said:\n\u2018Cast your bread upon the waters, and after many days it shall\nreturn to thee\u2018\u2019?\u201d\n\nThe scarlet fuchsia shook its clusters of purple bells, planted\non a blood-red cross, as if it would say to men that none could\nproclaim God save they proclaimed him from Calvary. The tall Nile\nlily, whose cup is as a spotless shroud wrapped round a golden\nnail, swayed in the night air as if whispering that the way to\nthe resurrection lay across the instruments of the passion:\nthe ivory-tinted roses, the first-born among their kind, whose\nclustering, half-blown buds made a sculptured reredos of living\nalabaster behind the altar-cross, wept tears of dew when the\nmidnight breeze shook their curled petals, as if weeping like\nsinless virgins over the wrongs they knew only by name. A carpet of\nviolets was spread below, the last offering of Lent, the fringes of\nthe sweet pall of penance under whose folds the church spends her\nyearly vigil of reparation.\n\nThe heart of the child Benignus was breaking with joy and love, and\nhe longed to be a flower himself, that he might sing the hymn the\nliving grove had sung.\n\nThe voice of the angel of the bell answered his unspoken wish:\n\n\u201cWish not that thou wert other than that thou art, for Jesus said,\n\u2018Unless ye become even as little children, ye shall not enter into\nthe kingdom of heaven.\u2019\u201d\n\nAnd the flowers sighed, and gave forth a sweeter fragrance, because\nthey longed to be little children, and could not.\n\nThen Benignus wished he might be an angel, if he could not be a\nflower, and the voice from the altar sounded very softly, so low he\nthought no one could hear it but himself:\n\n\u201cThis wish will I put into my cup, and when to-morrow dawns, and\nJesus finds the first-fruits of this new Easter laid at his feet,\nthou shalt have thy answer.\u201d\n\nThen came a soft chorus of welcome and congratulation, breaking\nforth among the flowery worshippers, but the angel of the bell held\nhis peace.\n\nAnd in the morning, when the sun flung his golden curtains across\nthe east window and crowned the saints and virgins thereon with\nricher gems than living monarchs wear, the Paschal procession came\nwinding through All Hallow\u2019s church, and no one missed the little\nchorister Benignus. But when his turn in the anthem came, a voice\nseemed to float from some unseen corner, and a shower of bell-like\ncrystal tones rang in triumphant cadence to the very roof, and no\none could tell if it were Benignus or an angel singing. The organ\nceased, and the monk Cuthbert looked anxiously along the lines of\nwhite-robed choristers, but the child was not there. Still the\nvoice sang on, and it seemed as if it floated now from the chalice\non the altar to the distant belfry-tower, and then back again to\nthe fragrant forest of exotics in the choir. And Cuthbert, looking\nup among the half-opened buds of the early roses that were piled\nup directly over the tabernacle, thought he saw one more lovely\nthan the others just break gently from the frail green stem, and\nfall in showering petals around the pall-covered chalice, at the\nvery minute the wondrous voice ceased in one long reverberating\n\u201cAlleluia.\u201d\n\nThen Cuthbert knew who had been singing and where Benignus was, and\nhe sang the \u201cGloria in Excelsis\u201d as he had never done before.\n\nBut the angel of the bell was sad, because the child would have\nhelped him to bear abroad the message of God\u2019s truth to men.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWENTY-FIRST CATHOLIC CONGRESS IN MAYENCE.\n\nFROM DER KATHOLIK.\n\n\nIt is evident that we have reached a turning-point in the history\nof the world; that a crisis of terrible interest for the church,\nfor Christian Europe, for peoples, and for nations, is at hand. It\nmust, indeed, soon be decided whether Christianity shall continue\nto be, in the life of the nations, what from its very nature and\ndesign it is intended to be; whether it shall remain what it has\nbeen acknowledged to be since it overcame the heathenism of old,\nthe light of the world, the supernatural leaven permeating all the\nrelations of life, purifying and ennobling them; or whether it\nshall be cast out of public life as an illusion, and at most--and\nwho knows how long even that?--be tolerated as a species of\nsuperstition. The nations--and especially the recently founded\nGerman Empire--must soon decide whether they shall accept as their\nbasis the laws of eternal justice, whose root is in the holy and\npersonal God, and in him alone; whether they will hold to that\nChristian civilization which reposes on the public recognition of\nChristianity, of the church as a divine institution not subject\nto the arbitrament of man; in fine, whether they will respect as\nsacred those prescriptive rights of mankind which every one must\nrespect who believes in the divine government of the world--rights\nof which history is the evidence; or whether they will yield to the\npressure of the revolution and of false science, throw Christianity\nand Christian civilization overboard, proclaim the present will\nof the dominant political powers or party the only and highest law\nof the state, and, having done this, to use their immense power to\ninfuse this \u201cmodern\u201d spirit and these \u201cmodern\u201d principles into the\nlife of the people, and force it on them by every means at their\ndisposal, through legislation, government patronage, their system\nof public instruction, and the whole organization of society; in\nshort, whether they will place naturalism and rationalism instead\nof Christianity, the vital principle of national and popular\nlife, and thereby--no intelligent person can doubt it, for reason\nand experience conspire to teach it--hasten for the nations the\ninevitable catastrophe of which the burning of Paris was only a\npremonitory symptom.\n\nAnd precisely at this fatal moment in the history of the world it\nis that, in Germany, a number of men, among them a few who have\ndeserved well of the church, blinded to a degree which it seems\nhard to account for, have raised the standard of rebellion against\ntheir mother, the church, because the \u0152cumenical Council did not\nthink fit to decide as they thought best, because it decided as\nit pleased the pastors of the church and the Holy Ghost. The\nfoundation-stone of the church, laid by Christ himself, to preserve\nunity and love within it for ever, has become a stumbling-block to\nthem. They have made shipwreck of the faith, and burst the bonds\nof love that held them in union with their brethren in the faith.\nFollowing the example of those who before them rebelled against the\nchurch, they call themselves defenders of the faith, while denying\nthe very principle on which all faith reposes. Proclaiming human\nscience the supreme authority in matters of religion, placing it\nabove the highest authority in the church, above the Pope and the\ncouncil, above the assent of the whole Catholic world, they have\nceased to be servants of God and of his church; they have gone over\nto the rationalism and naturalism which are striving so hard to do\naway with Christianity entirely, and to constitute themselves in\nits place a new cosmopolitan religion.\n\nThe turpitude of their rebellion against the church is equalled\nonly by that of the means which they have adopted to defend it and\nto spread its principles. Repeating the worst and most perfidious\nslanders of the past against the church, and giving them out as the\nresult of science, they proclaim to the world that the Apostolic\nSee has for a thousand years been the seat of well-concocted fraud\nand deceit, and that in the most sacred of matters; that the\nCatholic Church is dangerous both to the state and to morals; and\nthat the decree solemnly proclaimed by the \u0152cumenical Council,\nthat Christ will for ever preserve his visible representative on\nearth from all error in faith and morals--a belief which has always\nbeen the key-stone of Catholic faith, Catholic life, and Catholic\npractice--is a doctrine inimical to the rights of the state. Under\nthese pretexts, they require the state to deprive the Catholic\nChurch of its rights, and of the liberty which has been guaranteed\nto it by the state, and not to recognize the church represented\nby the bishops and the Pope, but themselves, who have renounced\nall allegiance to it, as the legal Catholic Church, the only one\nrecognized and promised protection by the state. Moreover, they\ndesire that those Catholics who have remained faithful to the\nchurch shall be looked upon as recreant to the state, accusing them\nof want of patriotism. Designating all those peoples embraced in\nthe Catholic Church by the name of the _Romanists_, they, in the\nname of what they designate Germanism, demand their oppression and\nextirpation.\n\nAnd, we are sorry to say, these attempts have not been without some\nsuccess. Individual governments have been induced to take steps\nagainst the church which, a short time ago, it was supposed it\nwould be impossible to take, and which the Catholics living under\nthose governments did nothing to warrant.\n\nDuring this condition of affairs, the one hundred and twentieth\nCatholic Congress met in the second week of September in Mayence,\nto give expression in no weak or ambiguous terms to their faith,\nand to their views on the condition of things; and they did it with\nthat unanimity and certainty which Catholic faith alone can give--a\nfaith neither anxious nor troubled with doubt, or weakened by the\nspirit of the age.\n\nThis they did by their resolutions on the Roman question, on the\nVatican Council, and on the more recent opposition that has been\nmade to its decrees--and rightly; for, in the Roman question,\nthe question of all external Christian law and order reaches its\nculminating point, as do theirs the constitution of the church\nitself, and the whole of Catholic faith, in the decrees of the\nVatican Council.\n\nThe occupation of Rome is simply robbery--a crime against the\nchurch, against every individual Catholic which nothing can\njustify, which no principle of international law can excuse\nor cover, which no prescription can make valid. The so-called\nguarantees made to the church by the Italian government can never\nbe accepted, because they are based upon the false principle that\nthe state alone has the right to declare under what conditions\nthe church and its pastors shall exercise their functions as\nteachers, priests, and shepherds of the flock--functions which\nthey exercise in virtue of the power conferred upon them by Jesus\nChrist himself; because these laws do not by any means guarantee\nto the Pope the free discharge of his supreme authority as chief\npastor, and, moreover, because there is not the least security that\nthese guarantees will be respected. The occupation of Rome and\nof the Quirinal is the culmination of the policy of the Italian\nrevolution, and the success of that policy the disgrace of this\nage. That the governments of European nations have done nothing\nto defend the Pope is an injustice to their Catholic subjects, a\nviolation of the law of nations, and paves the way, necessarily, to\nthe violation of all law and the overthrow of all order. And this\nis why it is that Catholics must for ever discountenance all these\nacts, and oppose them by all legitimate means. And their opposition\ncannot be rightfully construed as insubordination to the powers\nthat be, or as a want of patriotism on their part. On the contrary,\nCatholics may be sure that in so acting they will be doing their\ngovernment and their country the greatest possible service. Such\nservice has been rendered by the resolutions of the Catholic\nCongress in Mayence.\n\nIt was well that, at the first general meeting of the society\nafter the occupation of Rome, its members should give expression\nto their thought on the wicked act by which, for the third time\nin this century, it was attempted to destroy the work founded by\ndivine Providence since the christianizing of the world, in order\nto secure to the head of the church his liberty and the efficient\ndischarge of the duties of his high office. Nor could the members\nof the society express themselves concerning this crime otherwise\nthan in bold words of truth and justice--in words becoming an\noccasion when the interests of God and man are alike at stake--in\nwords such as nature itself puts into the mouth of those who have\nbeen the victims of great injustice or great misfortune. Worldly\npolicy may wait, and consider itself justified in waiting, to\ntake account of circumstances; but for us Catholics there is\nbut one thing to do when the question is simply this--whether\nChrist or Antichrist shall reign, namely, what the martyrs did\nunder circumstances still more aggravating, what God himself\nhas commanded us to do, what we see his representative on earth\ndoing--to proclaim the truth to those in power before kings and\npeoples.\n\nIt was, if possible, yet more necessary that the Catholic Congress\nshould make a public profession of its faith in the decrees of\nthe \u0152cumenical Council of the Vatican, that it should raise its\nvoice against those proceedings of the government which have no\nobject but to hinder the Catholic Church in the declaration of\nits doctrines, and to lead or force Catholics into heresy. And on\nthese points again the association, in its resolutions, speaks the\ntruth, and expresses the Catholic view on them, in the plainest and\nmost direct manner, without any show of diplomacy or of pedantry.\nWe joyfully profess, say they, our faith in everything which the\nchurch requires, particularly in the infallibility of the Pope\nteaching the universal church, and in the very sense in which\nthe Vatican Council has defined it, do we believe it. And we are\nconvinced that the definition of this truth in our time is no evil,\nbut the work of a kind and good Providence, intended to strengthen\nthe church, to preserve unity, to reclaim the erring. We reject\nwith horror the caricature of the doctrine of Papal infallibility\nwhich the opponents of the Vatican Council have drawn, and we\nrepudiate the slander that this doctrine or any other article\nof our faith is in conflict with our duties as subjects of our\ngovernment, or with the allegiance which we owe our fatherland.\nWe protest against the course of those governments which have\nendeavored to hinder the propagation of Catholic doctrine within\ntheir territories, and to favor the opposition to the church\nby their protecting the rebellion against it. In this manner,\nthey have overstepped the bounds of their rightful authority,\ninfringed the rights of conscience of their Catholic subjects, and\nmade themselves responsible before God for a host of evils. The\npolitical principles which have led to these things are in conflict\nwith the law of God, in fact with all law and order, and can never\nbe recognized by Catholics as right or just. Yet are we not without\nthe hope that the governments which have been guilty of these\nthings will at no distant future forsake the unholy path upon which\nthey have entered.\n\nBut the members of the Catholic Congress did not confine themselves\nto professing the Catholic faith, to raising a protesting voice\nagainst the encroachments on their liberties and on their\nrights--rights which should be ever inviolate; they pointed out\nthe fertile source from which have flown as well the most recent\nevils as the more ancient ones which have done so much injury to\nthe Catholic life of Germany. The source of all these evils, past\nas well as present, is in a science grounded on false principles,\nand which appropriates to itself exclusively, but not with any\nshow of reason, the name of German science. These evils can be\nhealed only by the cultivation of real Catholic science in Germany,\nand the most recent events demand absolutely that the reign of\nsuch a science should be inaugurated at once. But so long as the\nancient institutions founded for Catholic purposes ignore, for the\nmost part, the object of their being; when they have gone over,\nto a great extent, to infidelity or to secular management, it is\nextremely important, both to pastors and people, that new seats of\nscience, of education, of real science and Christian education,\nshould be established.\n\nSuch are the principal resolutions of the Catholic Congress held\nduring the present year. What these resolutions contain is only\nthe echo and essence of the thought of the assembly expressed in\nthe orations and sayings of the members--the deep, unanimous,\nand undoubted convictions of all. These same thoughts found\nexpression also in their addresses to the Holy Father, to the\nBishop of Ermeland, to the Bavarian Episcopate, to the Bishops of\nSwitzerland, as well as to the defenders of the Catholic faith in\nItaly and Austria. But is it right to assume that the voice of\nall Catholic Germany has been heard, and is heard, in the voice\nof this general meeting of Catholics? True it is that they would\nentirely misunderstand the essence and the spirit of the principles\nof the members of those meetings who would invest their doings or\ntheir sayings as a society with any authority; but they would err\nno less grossly who would consider these meetings as mere party\nmeetings, or as meaning nothing as merely the coming together of a\nfew private individuals. From the very significance of this year\u2019s\nmeeting\u2019s resolutions, it may not be amiss to examine the question\nsomewhat more closely--how much importance is to be attached, what\nsignificance and authority such Catholic meetings may have.\n\nThese general meetings are nothing more than the coming together\nof believing Catholics. They do not assume to have any power or\nauthority ecclesiastical or political. They have nothing in their\nown right that entitles them to be considered as possessed of such\npower or authority, nor have they a power of attorney of any kind\nto represent any one else in these meetings.\n\nIn the church no one has any power whatever except those to whom\nChrist has granted it, and only such power as he conferred upon\nthem. But he has granted no power to any one in the church but\nto Peter and the apostles. On this account the Catholic Church\nrecognizes no representatives, save only the pope and the bishops.\nThere is no such thing among Catholics as lay-participation in the\ngovernment of the church. Laymen have no power in church government\nthat is theirs of right, and they in no manner take the place of\nor represent even the inferior clergy. Every tendency in that\ndirection is heretical and schismatical.\n\nThe society in question, and all other societies of the same\nnature, have recognized, acted upon, this principle from the\nbeginning. Being Catholics and wishing to remain Catholics, they\nhave never interfered in the government of the church. On the\ncontrary, they consider it their duty to show to others the example\nof the most religious submission to the Pope and the bishops in\nmatters relating to faith and ecclesiastical discipline. They,\ntherefore, represent no party in the church. The church wants no\nparties and recognizes no parties within its bosom. Following the\nchurch, the general meeting of Catholics negatives every division\nin the body of the church. Its only desire is to find itself always\none with the church in all things, to be simply Catholic and\nnothing else.\n\nThere is no use in wasting words to show that the Catholic Congress\nand other Catholic societies claim no power of any kind whatever in\nthe state. They neither represent a political party, nor do they\nbelong to any, nor will they ever constitute themselves a political\nparty in the state.\n\nTrue, the members of the societies are very far removed, as they\nought to be, from an unreasonable, unmanly, unchristian, and\nun-Catholic indifference in matters pertaining to the nation. They\nare by no means of opinion that it matters nothing to a Catholic\nto which party in the country he belongs. They believe firmly that\nit is the duty of Catholics, as well as their right, to watch over\nthe rights of the church and of its members, and to defend them by\nthe exercise of their political franchises. They do not, however,\ndoubt that it is perfectly legitimate for Catholics, wherever they\nare, to organize themselves into a party for the exercise of their\npolitical rights. But as the political life of every individual\nCatholic is different from his religious life, and that, although\nhe may be guided in his politics by the principles of Christianity,\nin like manner these associations of Catholics, inasmuch as\nthey are Catholic, are something higher and broader than mere\npolitical associations. Their objects are not the political, but\nthe religious and ecclesiastical rights of Catholics. This has been\nthe universal understanding of the members of these associations\nfrom the very beginning of their organizations. These have been the\nprinciples which have always guided them, and which they have found\nit well to be guided by. These associations have never allowed\nthemselves to forget these principles. They have never forgotten\nthem, not even in times of the greatest political excitement. And\nin the last general meeting, the members of the association did not\nswerve from these principles by as much as a hair\u2019s breadth.\n\nAnd precisely because these associations have held to their\nprinciples as Catholics, to the very principles we have been\nmentioning above, are they entitled to attention. They manifest,\nin a manner that can be relied upon, the mind and conviction, the\ndetermination and feeling, of those who are true to the church\nand to the faith. It thus happens that this general meeting of\nCatholics has given expression to the thought and feeling of the\nCatholic clergy and Catholic people. And hence it is that those who\nwould learn what Catholics think and feel on the stirring questions\nof the present must turn their attention to the resolutions of\nthis Catholic Congress. There is unmistakable evidence that these\ngeneral meetings express the feeling and ideas common to all\nCatholics. For twenty-three years they have enjoyed the complete\nconfidence of the bishops of the church. The Holy Father and the\nbishops of Germany have never hesitated to bless and to approve\nthe efforts of the Catholic association. This were impossible if\nthese meetings did not give expression to the Catholic mind on\nthe questions of the day, if there were any danger in them of\na departure from the principles of the faith or of the church.\nMoreover, we may ask, Who are they that take part in these\nmeetings? They are precisely those persons who with living faith\npartake of the sacraments, and are in habitual attendance at the\nservices of the church, and in the life of the church generally.\nDuring the twenty-three years of their existence, these Catholic\nassociations have in every German diocese and everywhere been\none with the clergy on all subjects. Zealous and true Catholics\nof every social position have been largely represented in them.\nHither have come the Catholic nobleman, the Catholic of the middle\nclass, the Catholic peasant, the physician of souls--the priest\nhimself sprung from the people--the Catholic _savant_, the teacher,\nauthor, and publicist. Here, too, have been represented those\nCatholic societies made up of those who really love the church.\nIn short, in those societies are represented those even who are\nmost despised and seldom represented anywhere else. The members of\nthe Catholic Congress are not representatives of their individual\nopinions; they seek no worldly interest. It were more than folly\nfor any one to come to those meetings with any such intention.\nNeither do these meetings represent any party on which they are\ndependent. They represent no majority or minority to whom they are\nresponsible. Their faith and Catholic feeling it is that bring them\nto these meetings, and those they have in common with the hundreds\nand thousands from whose midst they come. There is a yet stronger\nargument to show that these general assemblies really represent the\nmind of all true Catholics. It is their unanimity on all questions\nbearing on religion and on the church--a mark which belongs to\nCatholics exclusively.\n\nAfter all this, we feel ourselves warranted to say that these\nmeetings express decidedly the feelings and convictions of those\nCatholics who are _worthy_ of the name.\n\nBut these general assemblies not only give expression to the\nprinciples and sentiments of Catholics on the questions of the\nday, they also tend to keep Catholic life awake and active. And\njust here is the great use of Catholic societies. There never was\na more senseless saying than this: \u201cWe need no special societies;\nour society is the Catholic Church.\u201d Precisely because the Catholic\nChurch is a divine and all-embracing society, the society of\nsocieties, does it from its inexhaustible fertility call forth from\nits own bosom, in all times, other smaller societies--societies\ncalculated to meet the peculiar wants of the time. The life of\nChristian societies, of church societies, is, indeed, a standard\nby which Catholic life at any particular time or place may be\nmeasured. And in our own day, when the spirit of evil more than\never seeks the destruction of the church, mimicking it as he does\nafter his own fashion--to leave the power which societies are\ncalculated to wield entirely to the enemies of Christianity, to\nthose governed exclusively by the spirit of the world, would be to\nbe more than blind.\n\nAt the general meeting held at D\u00fcsseldorf, Dr. Marx agreed to take\nupon himself the difficult task of collecting the statistics of the\nCatholic societies of Germany. At the assembly held this year, he\npresented the results of his labors. His work is imperfect, it is\ntrue, but it is a foundation on which others may build. It embraces\nthe statistics of most of the German dioceses, and of a number of\nthose of Austria.\n\nThe amount of vitality in anything or anywhere cannot be made to\nappear in a table of statistics, and the best things often thrive\nin secret. Hence it is that the Catholic life of Germany is much\ngreater than even these tables or any others would give one reason\nto believe. On the other hand, much that appears on paper in\nstatistics of this kind is of no importance whatever, or of almost\nno importance. Yet the statistical tables before us demonstrate\nthat numerous live Catholic associations, and of the most varied\ncharacter, have arisen during the last twenty-three years, and that\neach general assembly has made itself felt--now in one place, now\nin another--furthering the creation of such local associations.\nSocieties purely religious, such as brotherhoods, sodalities,\ncongregations, are not at all or scarcely at all referred to\nin these tables. It was part of the plan of the work that they\nshould be excluded from its tables. Yet they are of the very first\nimportance to the life of the church. Well-conducted societies and\nsodalities for young people and of adults like those which, thanks\nbe to God, are springing up on every side, and particularly in the\nRhine lands, are the best nurseries of real Catholics. Rightly,\ntherefore, do these general assemblies continue to commend such\nsocieties, as the general assembly did this year the \u201cSociety of\nYoung Merchants,\u201d which was so worthily represented at the meeting.\nNeither have our Christian social societies and associations been\nnoticed in these tables. And for this reason, again, are we much\nricher in associations than we should suppose from these tables. On\nthe other hand, these statistics combine with daily experience to\nshow that we are yet only in the beginning of the development of\nthis society-life; that, much as we have to be thankful for, the\ntime has not yet come when we can repose upon our laurels. Rather\nmust we work with all our strength, with inexhaustible patience\nand devotion at the establishment of Catholic societies. In many\nparts of Catholic Germany there are no, or scarcely any, Catholic\nsocieties, that is, live societies, while in others those which\nhave been begun are now neglected. It is so convenient to allow\nthings to go on in the old way, and so hard--for the most modest\nassociation demands some sacrifice on the part of individuals--to\nestablish anything new. Yet a thing which in the great struggle\nbetween the church and Antichrist is one of the most powerful\nmeans of victory is really worth the highest sacrifice. Is it not\ntime to see that all Christian men should organize themselves into\nsocieties, when infidels and free-thinkers so-called are organizing\non every side to draw everything to themselves? Our indolence would\nbe all the worse, all the more inexcusable, were we to yield the\nfield to our adversaries, since we, whenever there is a question\nof real live associations, possess so great an advantage over\nevery other body, not on account of our own merits, but because\nof the spirit and strength of Catholic Christendom. Let the world\nsurpass us in material means, let it be far above us in its appeal\nto worldly interests; it is wasting the vital power of faith and\nCatholic love, which alone are able to establish and to develop\nassociations possessed of real life--associations which can be\nproductive of real good.\n\nHow true this is, is shown by the history of the Catholic\nassociation founded by the departed but never-to-be-forgotten\nKolping. Based only on Catholic faith and relying for support\non the very simplest of human means, it has during the past\ntwenty-five years had a steady growth and accomplished untold good.\nAnd it will ever be so, so long as it holds to the simple Catholic\nprinciples of Kolping. To these associations of young people\nfounded by Kolping others have been joined recently--associations\nin which the masters of these young people meet. To complete the\ngood work, there is nothing now needed but similar societies for\napprentices.\n\nWhat Kolping did for young mechanics must, with suitable\nmodifications, be now done for those of both sexes occupied\nin factories and other such establishments. This is the most\nimportant step that can be taken by Catholics, to solve certain\nsocial questions, and which can be solved only on Catholic\nprinciples. Indeed, the greatest social danger of the age is the\ndechristianization and demoralization of the laboring classes\nof mechanics and the employees in manufacturing establishments.\nThis dechristianization and demoralization are, to a great\nextent, the cause of the wretchedness of these classes, and make\nthat wretchedness, even under the most favorable circumstances,\nincurable. What enormous dimensions has this evil assumed under\nthe, in part at least, so unnatural, social, and economic relations\nwhich modern liberal political economy has brought about! But\neven the evils resulting from this condition of affairs might be\nhealed, if the laboring classes could be restored to Christianity.\nThe Society of Young Mechanics, founded by Kolping, demonstrates\nthat, even under the most unfavorable circumstances, the laboring\nclasses can be redeemed from evil and reclaimed to right, provided\nthey can be made to enter the atmosphere of Christianity in which\nthe members of these societies live. Let us work unanimously and\nfor the same object, and we shall see the number of Christian\nlaborers increase. We shall see them living more and more in one\nanother, associating with one another, and being strengthened\nby that association. When we have such men, and not before, it\nwill be possible to make those associations really useful in the\nimprovement of the material condition of the laboring classes. So\nlong, indeed, as the laboring classes themselves remain unchristian\nand immoral, it will be impossible to do anything for their\nmaterial improvement; for they will never be satisfied. Only by\nstrengthening the spirit of Christianity in all classes of society\ncan legislation itself be made Christian, and it will become\nChristian just in proportion as the several classes of society\nbecome Christian.\n\nLet us now examine in brief the most important movements which the\ngeneral assembly of this year has initiated toward the establishing\nof Catholic societies.\n\nFor a number of years, the principal subject that has engaged one\nsection of the Catholic Congress is the Christian solution of the\nso-called social question. Through the efforts of the assembly,\nthe question has been fairly brought before the clergy and the\nlaity. The session of this year has, under this head, recommended\nthe establishment of Christian social associations, the raising of\nhelping funds, the encouragement of appropriate literature, the\ncirculation of the _Christian Social Journal_, and the erection\nof dwellings for the laboring classes. They have pointed out\nhow important it is to study on every hand the condition of the\nlaboring classes, in order to discover the principles on which\nwe must proceed, in order to legislate concerning labor and the\nlaboring classes in a just and Christian manner.\n\nThe general assembly has, moreover, recommended the Catholic\nmissionary associations in the most emphatic manner. Among these,\nthe first place belongs to the Society of St. Francis Xavier for\nForeign Missions, and the Society of St. Boniface.\n\nConsidering the terrible blows that have fallen upon France and\nupon Rome, it has become our duty to redouble our efforts in behalf\nof the missions to foreign parts, and in behalf of the Society of\nSt. Francis Xavier; for on those efforts must depend, in a great\nmeasure, the permanency and spread of Catholic missions the world\nover. Unfortunately, the Society of St. Francis Xavier has gone\nbackward rather than forward, in Germany, during the last ten\nyears. In many places it has ceded to other societies. And yet it\nshould not be so. The Society of St. Francis Xavier is and must\nremain the first and most important of all missionary associations.\nIt embraces the missions to all parts of the world, and they all\nlook to it for support. Even Germany has been helped by it more\nthan by any other association; and now, although the Society of\nSt. Boniface has extended so widely, it cannot be dispensed with.\nTherefore it is that all Catholics, and, above all, the clergy,\nwho are always in all matters pertaining to Christianity the\ndivinely appointed leaders of the people, should take the deepest\ninterest in the Society of St. Francis Xavier. The Society of St.\nBoniface will suffer nothing from this. On the contrary, the more\nthe Catholic spirit is strengthened, the more will this and every\nother Catholic society thrive. As truly as the church embraces the\nwhole world, so truly can we not be real Catholics if we feel an\ninterest only in the missions of our own country, but none in the\nmissions to other parts of the world.\n\nTrue it is that charity demands us to look first to the wants\nof those who are our nearest neighbors. And on this account the\nSociety of St. Boniface cannot be too strongly recommended to our\nbenevolence. The general meeting has done its duty in this matter.\nIt has recommended the society in very earnest terms.\n\nBesides these great societies, there are other smaller ones with\nspecial objects of charity in view--smaller, but by no means\nunimportant. The Society of the Holy Sepulchre is, independently of\nits religious object, the most powerful auxiliary of the missions\nin the East. The Society of St. Joseph is doing the work of the\nSociety of St. Boniface among the large and exposed Catholic\nGerman population in large and foreign cities, and especially such\ncosmopolitan cities as Paris and London.\n\nA work of the highest importance is to care for the emigrants to\nAmerica. Here it is possible to do a great deal with little means.\nThe Committee on Emigration, presided over by Prince von Isenburg,\nhas placed its cards of recommendation at the disposal of all\nparish priests, in order that emigrants presenting those cards\nto the agents of the Catholic Emigration Society in America may\nreceive proper advice and direction in their new homes, and--who\nwould have imagined it?--those cards of recommendation have been\nused much less than one might rightfully expect.\n\nHow great is sometimes our ignorance or indifference concerning\nthe interests of religion! It was, certainly, only right that the\ngeneral assembly of this year should have approved the founding\nof an association, that of the Archangel Raphael, whose sole\nobject it is, besides the saying of a few prayers for the success\nof this movement in behalf of the emigrants, to defray the heavy\nexpenses of the same, and thus to relieve the president of the\ncommittee of that charge. We hear many exclaim just here, We have\ntoo many associations, too many meetings! We know very well that,\nwhen societies increase beyond measure, even when those societies\nare benevolent ones, there may be danger. But that there may be\ndanger is no reason why we should not encourage the organization\nof such societies when they may be necessary or useful. We do not,\nhowever, wish to blame the taking of steps to prevent too great a\ncompetition of societies having charitable or other objects in view.\n\nThe Catholic Congress this year could not well help--as, indeed,\nall those which preceded it did--considering the school question.\nThere can be no question that the anti-Christian party in the state\nis straining every nerve to do away, by means of legislation,\nwith the right of Catholic parents to a Catholic education\nof their children in Catholic schools--with the right of the\nchurch to instruct her people in a Catholic manner, and to found\ninstitutions for that purpose. The members of the assembly spoke\non these matters in no ambiguous terms, and took, besides, into\nconsideration what they should do in case the state, siding with\nthe liberalism of the day, should banish the Catholic religion,\nthe Catholic Church, from the schools of the nation. Should this\nhappen, there was nothing left but to appeal to the consciences\nof parents. It then became the duty of bishops to tell their\npeople that it was not allowed them to send their children to\nunchristian schools. Liberty of education must be defended to\nthe utmost, and every sacrifice made in order to give Catholic\nchildren opportunities for a Catholic education from the primary\nschools to the university. But the impression is not hereby\nintended to be conveyed that in this Catholics see the salvation\nof the church, of her children, and of the nation. No; they will\nalways remind princes and states that it is their solemn duty to\ngovern a Christian people in a Christian manner, and, leaving out\nof consideration the sacredness of the foundations and the right\nof the church to teach, to give their Catholic subjects Catholic\nschools--schools standing in proper relations with the church.\n\nYet, on account of the more universal questions, and the great\ncontests which the church is waging for her most important\npossessions, for the independence and for the integrity of its\nfaith, the school question, even at this meeting, was held somewhat\nin the background.\n\nThe general assembly was content with adopting a few resolutions,\nembodying the simple principles which must guide Catholics,\nshould the state break with the church on the school question,\nand, violating the natural and prescriptive rights of Catholics,\nintroduce a system of non-Catholic schools--principles not\nsufficiently recognized by even well-meaning Catholics. These\nresolutions are worded thus: \u201cThe monopoly of the school system by\nthe state is an unwarranted restriction of liberty of conscience,\nand therefore to be opposed by all Catholics. Very many of the\nschools have notoriously been founded by Catholics, and it is only\njust that they should continue to accomplish those ends for which\nthey are established. In these schools, and in all Catholic schools\nyet to be established, the Catholic Church must possess perfect and\nunrestricted liberty in its capacity as a teacher.\u201d Thus, while\nthe school question was not the most prominent before the general\nassembly, the words spoken at that meeting will not, we hope, be\nwithout beneficial results in the province of Catholic education.\n\nAll rights and liberties avail nothing in the end if Catholic\neducation itself is not what it ought to be. And the great battle\nthat is waging, that education may not be deprived of its Christian\ncharacter, can be won by us only on condition that teachers and\neducators themselves, as well as parents and the clergy, understand\nprecisely the full bearing of the question.\n\nIt was, therefore, a happy thought to unite teachers, clergy, and\nparents into one grand society, in order to further the great\nmatter of Christian education--a matter on which our whole future\nfor weal or woe depends. The association of teachers founded in\nBavaria, approved by the bishops, embracing among its members many\ndistinguished men, and directed by one evidently called by God to\nfill that very position, Ludwig Aner, has sought and is seeking\nto carry this thought into practice. The Catholic Congress held\nat D\u00fcsseldorf had already called attention to the importance of\nestablishing similar societies elsewhere, only modified in their\ncharacter by the different nature of place or other circumstances.\nThe realization of this thought was a matter for the meeting at\nMayence to consider more closely yet. There was here assembled a\ngoodly number of educators and friends of youth from every part\nof Germany, among them a number of the most widely known teachers\nin the country; and they took occasion to most earnestly confer\non this matter each day of the meeting. They gave a general plan,\nand threw out some very practical hints for the organization of\nCatholic educational associations.\n\nWe give them here with the hope that they may prove as fertile\nin blessings as did those thrown out on a former occasion, and\nwhich resulted in the Society of St. Boniface, and in the Catholic\nAssociation for Young Men, so often recommended by those meetings\nsince.\n\nThe matter is one of at least as much importance, and the general\nplan of the organization of these societies at least as simple and\npractical. Here are the broad outlines of the plan: \u201cThe task of\neducation, rendered more than ever before difficult on account of\nthe times in which we live, and the school question, now everywhere\nlooming into such immense proportions, render the foundation of\nCatholic educational institutions imperative.\u201d\n\nThe Mayence Association of Teachers--pointing to the association\nalready existing in Bavaria--suggests the following as the ground\nprinciples of the new associations:\n\nI. The Catholic educational associations recognize as their\nfoundation, first and last, the faith of the Catholic Church.\n\nII. Excluding all party issues, their only object is the\nfurtherance of the temporal and eternal welfare of youth.\n\nIII. The Catholic educational associations desire that the youth of\nthe age should profit by all that the world has of good, and that\nin their education all that it has of evil should be avoided.\n\nTherefore, they are ready to accept and to use all that there is\nof real worth in the educational systems of the age, all that can\npromote real progress.\n\nIV. These associations consider the proper education of youth in\nthe family, the schools, and later in life, that is, after the\nyouth have left the schools, as their exclusive object.\n\nTherefore is it that they accept as members, parents, teachers, the\nclergy, and all who, in any manner, are interested in the education\nof youth.\n\nV. They recommend to these associations, 1. The defence and\npropagation of Catholic principles in education by word, writing,\nand action. 2. The defence of the rights of parents to the\nChristian education and Christian instruction of their children. 3.\nThe improvement of the family education of children, of schools,\nand the providing of means for the continuance of education after\nchildren leave schools. 4. The furtherance of the interests of\nteachers, to support them in their efforts in the direction of\neducation, and particularly to help to elevate their material and\nsocial position; the collecting of funds to aid in the education of\nteachers, and in the support of their widows. 5. The encouragement\nof literature bearing on the interests of education. 6. Founding\nand caring for educational institutions of all kinds--schools for\nchildren, boys, girls, apprentices, etc.\n\nVI. The means for attaining the objects of these associations\nare, besides the means suggested by the very nature of our holy\nreligion, 1. Periodicals; 2. Appropriate publications for teachers\nand for families; 3. The establishment of libraries and literary\nassociations; 4. Co-operating with other associations--the\npecuniary assistance needed in any case to be obtained by regular\nfees from the members, presents, etc.\n\nVII. The getting up of particular by-laws to be left to the\nassociations from each separate province, but the by-laws to be got\nup in such a manner that the above principles be not ignored.\n\nThe elevation of the tone and the support of the Catholic press\nmust ever be one of the principal objects of all Catholic\nassociations, and of the general meetings.\n\nThis year a great number of Catholic publishers and editors came\ntogether at this meeting. All the principal organs of the Catholic\ndaily press were represented. The principal object gained was that\nthey became acquainted with one another, which is the first step\ntowards their understanding and appreciating one another.\n\nAs far as the press is concerned, we Catholics have nothing to\ndo but to look at things just as they stand. It is certain that\nthe unrestricted freedom of the press, which every one is ready\nto abuse, and which allows every one to constitute himself a\nteacher of the public, can be defended neither on principles of\nreason nor of faith. It is certain, too, that the rank growth of\nperiodicals which has followed with all its attendant evils, and\nthe heterogeneous character of the reading of a great many people,\nis a deplorable evil. But as, unfortunately, an unchristian press\nis guaranteed the fullest liberty and the evils that flow from that\nliberty, are widely spread, it becomes not only our privilege, but\nour solemn duty to combat the unchristian by a really Christian\npress--a matter on which the church and the head of the church\nhave spoken in an unmistakable manner. Yes, it is absolutely\nnecessary to call a Catholic journal into existence on every hand,\nand to spare no sacrifice to do so. The beginnings of the Catholic\npress have been everywhere small, and those who have interested\nthemselves in it have everywhere had to contend with untold\ndifficulties. This is true particularly of the larger journals,\nwhich, to enable them to compete with other journals, need support\nfrom other sources besides that derived from subscriptions and\nadvertisements. It is certainly the duty of Catholics, out of\npure love for God and for the church, to establish Catholic press\nassociations, in order to provide means for the support of Catholic\npapers, just as the government and political parties find funds\nto support their own organs. The financial difficulties which\nthe larger journals have to fear consist sometimes only in the\napprehension of too great a competition on the part of smaller\nor other journals. There may be such a thing as a reprehensible\ncompetition, when, for example, as in the same locality attempts\nare made to found or establish new journals of the same nature as\nthose already existing, when those already existing are sufficient\nto supply the demand. But, on the whole, we have by no means thus\nfar enough Catholic papers. There was a time, and it is not yet\nentirely over, when Catholic Germany had very few papers among\nthe daily press of the country. And almost every one of these few\npapers had an equal prospect, and it naturally enough seemed to be\nthe ambition of the editor or proprietor of each to make his paper\nthe central organ of the whole of Catholic Germany.\n\nNaturally enough, too, those pecuniarily or otherwise interested\nin these journals looked with a rather jealous eye upon all\nattempts to found other Catholic journals. Whenever a new paper\nwas established, the old ones lost a number of subscribers, and\nsometimes fears were entertained for the existence of the older\npapers themselves. But experience has shown that these fears were\nunfounded. Wherever and whenever a paper was properly managed\nand ably edited, it has contrived to live and to do well. Thus\ncompetition has, on the whole, worked advantageously rather than\notherwise.\n\nIf we look at the matter closely, we will see that it is quite an\nabnormal state of affairs that Catholic Germany should possess so\nfew of the larger political papers. Compared with the time when\nCatholics had no press at all, the existence of even one good paper\nthrough which they can give expression to their thoughts is a great\nblessing and a great gain; but that certainly does not enable\nthem to give their voice that weight in the questions of the day\nto which it is entitled. Besides, it must be remembered that, if\nCatholics have not this class of papers, they will take periodicals\nwhich are not Catholic. Experience teaches, and it might be\nexpected from the very nature of things that a paper can rarely\nobtain a very large circulation outside of the locality in which\nit is published. Outside of these bounds it will find only a few\nisolated subscribers. Hence it follows that every large city ought\nto have its own Catholic paper, one that will worthily represent it.\n\nThese papers outside of the place of their publication will thus\nfind a number of subscribers--a number which will always depend\nupon the ability with which they are edited, the reliability of\nthe views they advocate, and the interest which on other grounds\nthey may awaken. We cannot, however, be satisfied with a so-called\ncentral organ, or with a small number of large papers. No, every\nlarge city should have its Catholic paper, and support it, cost\nwhat it may. We thank God that such papers have, during the past\nyear, been established in many parts. That such a journal should\nbe established in the capital of the new German Empire, at the\nseat of government, was an evident necessity; and it is one of the\nmost pleasant events in the history of our time that a paper like\nthe _Germania_ should have in a short time taken its position as a\nfirst-class and widely circulated Catholic journal.\n\nAll our already existing Catholic journals, and all those to be\nhereafter established, instead of hindering, will help one another,\nand that from the very fact that they exist; for, the stronger\nthe Catholic press becomes, the more the attention of the nation\nis called to it, the more secure must become the existence of\neach individual journal. Therefore, we hope that there will be no\njealousy between those interested in different Catholic journals;\nthat, on the contrary, they will help support one another at all\ntimes. Still more important is it to take a proper view of the\nsmaller local press. It would be a great absurdity were Catholics\nto neglect the establishment of smaller Catholic journals lest they\nshould interfere or compete with the larger ones. This competition\nis not dangerous; but it is dangerous to put no antagonist in\nthe field to meet and to oppose the unchristian press in smaller\nplaces. The large journals can neither be paid for nor read by\nthe vast majority of the inhabitants of such places--and does it\nnot seem wrong to leave them, or the Catholics among them, to the\nevil influence of a press totally antagonistic to the faith? The\nestablishment and support of such papers is not hard, and the\nfinancial difficulties which stand in the way of the larger papers\nfor the larger cities are not to be here encountered. Wherever the\nmatter of the establishment of such papers has been rightly taken\nin hand, it has proved successful. If the clergy only take the\nmatter under advisement, they will find those willing and able to\ncarry the matter through. It is not a very hard matter to purchase\na press and find subscribers in such places. A feature which will\ncontribute not a little to aid in the matter is the finding of\nthe proper person to carry the papers around and to canvass for\nsubscribers and advertisements. By being thus practical, Catholic\nmen have established Catholic papers in localities where one might\nhave despaired of ever establishing them; and not only have they\nbeen established, but they have succeeded. No matter what the\ncondition of our press, it is far from being in a state to despair\nof. Oh! if the children of light were only as wise as the children\nof the world, we should witness wonders. It is true that evil makes\nits way in this world better than goodness does; but it is also\ntrue that goodness does not prosper, because those who represent it\ntake the matter too lightly, or do not go about it as they should.\nMore is often done for the worst cause than men are willing to do\nor to sacrifice for the best. A great deal has of late years been\ndone for the local press, and we sincerely hope that a great deal\nmore will be done and more universally, and need requires us not\nonly to pray, but to act and make sacrifices.\n\nOther proposals were made at the general meeting to carry out\nprojects, which of course the general meeting itself could neither\nundertake nor perfect, as, for instance, the furtherance of\nthis or that literary undertaking; yet these proposals are not\nwithout their use. They suggest something or call attention to\nsomething already existing. Thus, at the present general meeting\nthe establishment of a journal as the organ for the various\nassociations of young Catholics was recommended. The proposer of\nthe resolution was informed that there already existed a journal\nof that character, and a very good one; that it was published by\nthe associations of young Catholics in Austria, and edited in a\nvery able manner, under the name of the _Bund_ in Vienna; and the\ngeneral meeting, therefore, recommended it for the purpose named.\nMany other things relating to the press were touched upon. We feel\nassured that the general meeting has done much for the Catholic\npress of the whole country.\n\nWe pass over many things bearing on Catholic charity, which ever\nengages anew the attention of the general meeting. We can only\nmention that the members of St. Vincent\u2019s Association held a\nspecial meeting.\n\nMay the blessing of God, which has never failed the Catholic\nCongress, bless their efforts of this year!\n\n\n\n\nFLEURANGE.\n\nBY MRS. CRAVEN, AUTHOR OF \u201cA SISTER\u2019S STORY.\u201d\n\nTRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH, WITH PERMISSION.\n\n\nPART FIRST.\n\nTHE OLD MANSION.\n\n\nVII.\n\nFleurange\u2019s education did not allow her to yield to her feelings\nwithout bringing herself to an account for them, and it was\nsurprising she had thus unresistingly allowed herself to be swayed\nso long by a vague and unreasonable preoccupation. And could there\nbe one more so than this about an unknown person--a stranger she\nhad only had a glimpse of, with whom she had not exchanged a single\nword, and whom she would probably never behold again? This was the\nthird time she had heard him spoken of since the day she saw him in\nher father\u2019s studio, and each time she felt agitated and disturbed.\nWhen questioned by Dr. Leblanc, her first emotion was overpowered\nby surprise, and especially by the sad remembrances awakened.\nAfterwards, when Julian Steinberg mentioned Count George at the\nChristmas dinner, his name gave her a thrill, but she attributed\nthis keen sensation to a natural interest in the hitherto unknown\nindividual who purchased the picture which had played so important\na _r\u00f4le_ in her life. But this time the quickened pulsations of\nher heart and the ardent curiosity with which she listened to\nevery word that was uttered were succeeded by a prolonged reverie\nwhich almost merited the name of madness. \u201cYes, Julian was right!\nThat is really what he looks like!\u201d she exclaimed aloud. And every\nhero with whom history, poetry, or old legends had peopled her\nimagination, passed one by one before her, but always under the\nsame form. Then, as there is no hero without heroic feats, and no\nheroism without combats and perils, a series of terrible events\nsucceeded each other in her waking dream--battles, shipwrecks,\ndesperate enterprises, and dangers of all kinds, in which the\nsame person was the chief actor, and in all these phantasmagoric\nadventures she saw herself enacting an inexplicable and indistinct\npart.\n\nA whole hour passed thus, but the declining day recalled a habit\ncontracted in childhood which changed the current of her thoughts\nand brought her to herself. It was sunset--in Italy, the hour of\nthe Ave Maria. Fleurange never forgot it. Every evening at that\nhour, a short prayer rose from her heart to her lips.\n\nEvery one is aware of the power of association. We have all felt\nthe influence of a tone, a flower, a perfume, and even things more\ntrifling, in recalling a host of remembrances of which no one else\ncould see the connection. What a natural and touching thought,\nthen, to associate a holy memory with the hour that links day with\nnight!--the hour of twilight, when the dazzling sunlight is fading\naway, work is suspended, and propitious leisure brings on long,\nsweet, and sometimes dangerous reveries! In such a case, it is not\nsurprising the evening star becomes a safeguard. Has not the effect\nit had on Fleurange been experienced a thousand times by others?\n\nA sudden clearness of perception, strength to prevail over all\nearthly phantoms, an aspiration towards heaven, an instantaneous\nrevival of early impressions, an influx of salutary thoughts\ndispelling the confused, illusory ideas floating in her mind--such\nwas the effect now produced by the remembrance indissolubly\nassociated with that evening hour. She resolutely got up. Her\nattitude, that had been languishing, her look lost in space, were\nnow transformed. She awoke to a sense of duty, and the feeling was\nnot a transient one. What was this madness that had overpowered\nher? Putting this question to herself brought a blush of confusion\nto her face, and made her resolve to resist and overcome reveries\nso vain and absurd. And to this end she would cut them short. She\nreopened her note-book, and began by tearing out the page on which\nwas the name but just written; then, with no further examination\nof her thoughts, even for the purpose of self-reproach, which\nwould have been another way of prolonging them, she seated herself\nat her table, and took up a volume of Dante which lay there. She\nhad promised Clement to mark some passages of the canto they read\ntogether the evening before, and to add some notes from her own\nmemory. She at once set herself to work, and endeavored to give\nher whole mind to the occupation. It is often easier, we all\nknow, to abstain from an act than to repress a thought. Perhaps\nthe volition is at fault in the latter case; but Fleurange was so\nfirmly resolved to obtain a victory of this kind that, at the end\nof half an hour\u2019s effort to keep her mind on her work, she thought\nherself successful. She would have been more sure of herself had\nshe foreseen all that was so soon to come to her aid, and banish\nfrom her mind for a long time all vain illusions, vague reveries,\nand especially all exclusive self-preoccupation.\n\nIt was quite dark when she rose from the table. She heard the\nclock strike, and felt ashamed of remaining so long in her room\nby herself, at a time she should have been unusually attentive\nto others. This was the last evening Clara would spend at home\nprevious to her marriage, and it ended a period of unalloyed\nhappiness in the Old Mansion. One place in the family was about\nto be vacated, a beloved form disappear, a cherished one cease to\nmake part of their daily life. They would probably see each other\nagain, but it would not be as before. The happiness of her who\nwas to leave them would change its nature, but even her mother\nhoped she would be so happy as never to regret the paternal roof.\nClara\u2019s smiling face was grave and tearful to-day, as her tender\nglances wandered from her parents to her brothers and sisters, and\nlingered lovingly on the old walls she was about to leave. Julian\nwas terrified by her melancholy appearance, but felt reassured when\nClara, smiling and weeping at the same time, said to him na\u00efvely:\n\n\u201cJulian, it is you that I love! To-morrow I shall leave them all\nfor you, and I truly feel I never could give you up for them. Is\nnot this enough?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo. If I do not see you calm and full of trust, I shall not enjoy\nmy happiness.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy trust in you is boundless.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd yet you tremble, and your eyes are turned away.\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause the unknown happiness of a new life makes me anxious, and\nterrifies me in spite of myself.--I tremble, I acknowledge, but I\ndo not hesitate. I am afraid, but I wish to be yours, and no fear\nwould induce me to resume the past or repulse the future--for the\nfuture is you!\u201d\n\nIt may surprise some to learn that this young girl, in speaking to\nher betrothed of their approaching union, expressed unawares the\nsentiments death inspires in those souls whose love extends beyond\nthe grave, and who, triumphing over their weakness and limited\nknowledge, ardently long, in spite of their fears, for the eternal\nunion that awaits them.\n\nOne of these beings, holy and gifted, being asked, as her life was\nebbing away, what impression the prospect of death made on her,\nhesitated, and then replied:\n\n\u201cThe impression that the thought of marriage produces on a young\ngirl who loves, and yet trembles--who fears union, but desires it.\u201d\n\nFleurange, when she left her chamber, went down to the gallery,\nwhere she expected to find her cousins, but it was empty. The\npreparations for the morrow caused an unusual disorder throughout\nthe house, generally so quiet and well-ordered. Clara was doubtless\nwith her mother, but where was Hilda? The latter, she knew, would\nhave another sad farewell to utter the following day, and she\nreproached herself for having so long lost sight of this fact.\nShe passed through the gallery and opened the door of the library,\nwhere she found her whom she was seeking. Ludwig Dornthal and\nHansfelt were talking together, and near them Hilda, mute, pale,\nand motionless, was listening, without taking any part in the\nconversation that was going on before her.\n\nHansfelt was talking to this friend of his departure, and spoke as\none who was never to return. He was apparently thinking of nothing\nbut their long friendship, their youth passed together, and the end\nof their companionship, but his accents were profoundly melancholy,\nand all the harmony of his soul seemed disturbed.\n\nLudwig, however, was extremely agitated, and, while replying to his\nfriend, looked attentively and anxiously, from time to time, at\nhis daughter. Fleurange softly approached her; Hilda\u2019s cold hand\nreturned her pressure. \u201cI am glad you have come,\u201d she said in a low\ntone, \u201cvery glad.\u201d Fleurange did not venture to make any reply,\nand scarcely looked at her, for fear of increasing her emotion\nby appearing to observe it. Seeing an open jewel-case lying on\nthe table, she exclaimed--glad to find something to say: \u201cWhat a\nbeautiful bracelet!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is a wedding present Hansfelt has just brought Clara,\u201d said the\nprofessor.\n\n\u201cYes, a wedding present, and a parting gift which Ludwig has\nallowed me to offer one of his daughters,\u201d said Hansfelt. \u201cAs for\nthe other,\u201d continued he in a troubled tone, \u201cthe time for her\nwedding presents will doubtless soon come also, but the time for a\nparting gift has already arrived. Ludwig, in memory of the pleasant\nyears during which I have seen her grow up, and as a souvenir of\nthis last day, will you allow me to give Hilda this ring?\u201d\n\nThe professor made no reply.\n\nHansfelt continued: \u201cIn truth, a departure like mine is so much\nlike death, that it gives me a similar liberty to say anything.\nHilda, why should I not acknowledge it to you now in his presence?\nIt will do no harm. Well, you shall know, then, that the old poet,\nwhose forehead is more wrinkled than your father\u2019s, would perhaps\nbe foolish enough to forget his age were he to remain near you. It\nis therefore well for him to go.\u201d\n\nHe took the young girl\u2019s icy hand in his. \u201cIf he were younger,\u201d he\ncontinued, forcing himself to smile, \u201che might perhaps obtain the\nright to give you a different ring than this.\u201d--He stopped alarmed.\nHilda\u2019s face had become frightfully pale, and she leaned her head\nagainst Fleurange\u2019s shoulder. She seemed ready to faint.\n\n\u201cHilda, good heavens!\u201d\n\n\u201cZounds, Karl,\u201d cried the professor, rising abruptly. \u201cYou try my\npatience at last. Where are your wits?\u201d\n\n\u201cLudwig!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, where, if you cannot see that you are yet young enough to\nforce me to give you my daughter, if I would not behold her die\nwith grief?\u201d\n\n\u201cLudwig!\u201d repeated Hansfelt, quite beside himself.\n\n\u201cOf course I am displeased with her for her folly, and I am\nangry with you too, but I suppose I must forgive you both\nbecause--because she loves you.\u201d\n\n\u201cBeware, beware! Ludwig,\u201d said Hansfelt, growing pale. \u201cThere are\nhopes that prove fatal when blasted!\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, now, you must not die yet, nor she either!\u201d Then he tenderly\nfolded his daughter in his arms, and, as she opened her eyes and\nlooked around in confusion, he said in a low tone:\n\n\u201cHilda, my child, I give my consent. May you be as happy as you\ndesire. You have your father\u2019s blessing.--Come, now,\u201d said he to\nFleurange, \u201clet us go to your aunt, and leave them to make their\nown disclosures.\u201d\n\n\nVIII.\n\nMadame Dornthal was affected but not surprised at hearing what had\njust taken place. She had never been deceived as to her daughter\u2019s\nsentiments, and for a long time had endeavored to open her\nhusband\u2019s eyes. But he was incredulous, and persisted in declaring\nit was impossible for his friend, his contemporary, his \u201cold Karl,\u201d\neven to win the heart of a girl of twenty. \u201cIt is a mere fancy,\nwhich will pass away as soon as she meets a man of her own age who\nis worthy of her,\u201d he obstinately repeated.\n\n\u201cPerhaps so, but that is the difficulty,\u201d replied the sagacious,\nclear-sighted mother. \u201cBetween you and Hansfelt, Hilda has become\naccustomed to live in a rarer atmosphere than generally surrounds\nyouth. Whether this is fortunate or unfortunate, I know not; but\nas long as I perceive only pure and noble sentiments in her heart,\nwhich I read like an open page, I do not feel I have a right\nto oppose them. Believe me, we must not think too much of our\nchildren\u2019s happiness, and, above all, we must not plan for them to\nbe happy according to our notions. The important thing, after all,\nis not for them to be as happy as possible, but to fully develop\ntheir worth. Let their souls, confided to us, bear all the fruit of\nwhich they are capable. Is not this the chief thing, Ludwig?\u201d\n\nThe more worthy one is to hear such language, the less easy it\nis to reply, and this conversation, which took place the evening\nbefore, made Ludwig waver at the interview in the library, and drew\nfrom him unawares his consent.\n\n\u201cWe shall now lose them both,\u201d said the professor sadly.\n\n\u201cI should rather see them happy, as we are, than happy for our\nbenefit,\u201d courageously replied his wife, with a greater effort than\nshe wished to appear.\n\nAll misunderstanding being now cleared away, and the consent\nof every one obtained, it was at once decided that Hansfelt\u2019s\ndeparture should be delayed a fortnight, and at the end of that\ntime he should go, but not alone! The last evening the two sisters\nspent together under the paternal roof became therefore, doubly\nmemorable; but they were all calmer than might have been expected.\nThe professor, in spite of the suggestions of his reason, in spite\nof the evident wisdom of his opinion and opposition, could not look\nat his daughter without feeling that the profound and tranquil joy\nwhich beamed from her eyes was permanent and satisfying, and the\nreflection of that joy on Hansfelt\u2019s inspired brow and softened\nlook involuntarily showed the secret of her affection for him.\n\n\u201cWell, my venerable Karl, it must be acknowledged you look quite\nyouthful to-night!\u201d\n\n\u201cHow could it be otherwise? I was withering away, and now my\nfreshness has returned; my life seemed hopeless, and now it is lit\nup. This resurrection, this new existence, is like the restoration\nof youth, and, more than that, it elevates and ennobles. If\n_noblesse oblige_, so does happiness, and what would I not do now\nto merit mine?\u201d\n\nThe following day, the bright sun cast a brilliancy around the form\nof the young bride, which was declared a lucky omen, in addition to\nmany others carefully noted by the superstitious affection of those\nwho surrounded her.\n\nThe Mansion, as we have said, was very near the church, and the\nwedding procession was made on foot, to the great satisfaction\nof those who composed it, as well as of the curious spectators.\nClara, crowned with myrtle and clad in white, was as lovely a bride\nas one could wish to see, but there was no less admiration for\nthe two young girls who, followed by several others, two by two,\nwalked immediately behind. It will be guessed they were Hilda,\nwhose beauty was now radiant, and Fleurange, whose black hair and\ngeneral appearance distinguished her from the rest. The latter, as\nshe passed along, might have noticed more than one look, and heard\nmore than one word, calculated to satisfy her vanity, but she was\nwholly occupied in observing all the details of the wedding array\nwhich surrounded her for the first time in her life. They found a\ngreat crowd in church, and as the _cort\u00e9ge_ slowly approached the\naltar, Fleurange, casting her eyes around, suddenly met a friendly\nlook, accompanied by a respectful salutation. She bowed slightly in\nreturn, but without recognizing the person who saluted her, though\nhis face was familiar. Nor did she know the fresh young woman\nleaning on his arm. A few steps further on, and she recalled her\ntravelling companion, and Wilhelm, her husband, who was her uncle\u2019s\nclerk. It was he, she felt sure, and she eagerly turned to look at\nhim. She even stopped. At that moment she heard Felix Dornthal\u2019s\nname mentioned, followed by these words: \u201cThey say that is his\nintended who has just passed by.\u201d Fleurange felt they were speaking\nof her, and she blushed with displeasure. Then she heard Wilhelm\u2019s\nreply: \u201cWould it might be so! She might, perhaps, yet save him\nfrom--\u201d The rest escaped her as she was borne along by the throng.\nShe did not see Wilhelm or his wife again, and for the present\nthought no more of this incident.\n\nThe ceremony, the return, and the wedding dinner, all passed off\nwith joyful simplicity. At the end of the repast, Clara took off\nher myrtle wreath, and divided it among her young companions,\nwishing that they too, in their turn, might find good husbands, and\na happiness equal to her own.\n\nIt was Hilda who was first honored in this distribution. This\nsignified she would be married before the rest. She took the myrtle\nfrom her sister\u2019s hand without any embarrassment, as if she were\nnot ashamed to let others see she joyfully accepted the offering,\nand regarded it as more than a mere omen.\n\nAfter Hilda, came Fleurange, and then all the others down to little\nFrida, who had joined them with several other companions of her age.\n\n\u201cIn your turn, Gabrielle!\u201d said Hilda, as Fleurange fastened the\nsprig of myrtle in her belt. \u201cYour turn will soon come also to wear\nthis crown.\u201d\n\nFleurange shook her head, and replied with a seriousness she\nherself could not have accounted for: \u201cThat day will never come for\nme--no, never!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy do you say so?\u201d said Hilda, astonished.\n\n\u201cI do not know.\u201d And then she laughed.\n\nAn hour after, she perceived the myrtle had fallen from her belt.\nShe searched for it, having been charged by her cousin to wear it\nthe remainder of the day, but she could not find it.\n\nAt nightfall the newly married couple left the Old Mansion,\nescorted over the threshold and down the steps by all the family,\nwho, with kind wishes and congratulations, there bade them adieu\nwith more affection than sadness, for they were not to be widely\nseparated, or for any great length of time.\n\nClara\u2019s father and mother accompanied her to her new home. It was\na modest, pleasant house in one of the faubourgs of the city,\nwhich Julian, with loving interest, had been preparing more than\na year for her who was now to take possession of it. Her parents\ntook leave of her at the threshold. Madame Dornthal embraced her\ndaughter, and, while clasping her in her arms, said: \u201cRemember you\nare now beginning a new life. Continue to give us our share of your\naffection; but let nothing henceforth prevail over the love which\nis now your duty.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall merit a severe penalty,\u201d said Julian, \u201cif this duty ever\nbecomes a burden--if she ever regrets the day she joined her lot to\nmine.\u201d\n\nThe father and mother stood looking at them a moment as they\npaused at the entrance of the house. They observed the moved and\nrespectful look of the bridegroom. They saw, too, the confiding\nglance of the bride amid her tears, and they left them without fear\nunder the protection of God!\n\nOn their way homeward, the poor father, breaking the long silence,\nsaid: \u201cYears hence, when she in her turn is separated from a\nchild, she will understand all we have suffered to-day!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, my Ludwig,\u201d said Madame Dornthal, wiping away her tears; \u201cand\nHeaven grant she may then have, like us, a stronger feeling in her\nheart than that of grief, which will enable her to bear it!\u201d\n\nThey pressed each other\u2019s hands. Never, even in the brightest days\nof their youth, had this old couple felt so tenderly, so closely\nunited!\n\nThey found the Old Mansion brilliantly lighted up. The gallery and\nlibrary, illuminated and ornamented with flowers and wreaths, were\nfilled not only by the customary friends and relatives, but the two\nbrothers\u2019 whole circle of acquaintance in the city.\n\nIt was the custom at that time to end the wedding day with a\n_soir\u00e9e_, but a delicate sentiment forbade the newly-married pair\ntaking a part in the festivities, their happiness being considered\ntoo profound, too concentrated, to enjoy the noisy gaiety. But\nhere, the unrestrained gaiety was natural, infectious, and wholly\nexempt from an ingredient too often found in the corrupting\ninfluences of society--a sad and fatal ingredient, which inspires\nill-toned pleasantries whose effect is to excite smiles and\nblushes, and a gaiety as different from the other as the laughter\nof fiends from the smiles of angels! The gaiety here did not\nprofane by a word, a glance, or even a smile, the end of the day\nwhich had witnessed a Christian espousal.\n\nFelix Dornthal himself seemed less disposed to jest than usual.\nHe was even grave, absent-minded, and gloomy to such a degree as\nto excite attention in the morning at church, where he arrived\nlate, and at the wedding dinner, where, appointed to propose the\nhealth of the newly married pair, he acquitted himself of the\nduty with ease, but only to resume afterwards a complete silence.\nFamily festivals were doubtless little to his taste, and perhaps\nit was _ennui_ that produced so gloomy an aspect. Such, at least,\nwas the supposition of his cousins, who, after declaring him\ndisagreeable, left him to himself. He disappeared at the end of the\nrepast, and now in these crowded rooms he alone was wanting. His\nabsence, noticed by several persons, greatly excited his father\u2019s\nimpatience, who, to-day more than ever, ardently desired to witness\nbefore he died the marriage of his son. Illness had brought on the\nirritability of old age, and Heinrich Dornthal could no longer bear\ncontradiction.\n\n\u201cWhere can he be?\u201d repeated he for the tenth time to his neighbor,\nwho, with his look fastened on the door, seemed to share the uneasy\nexpectation of the banker. At that instant Fleurange passed by.\nShe stopped as she saw Wilhelm M\u00fcller again, at her uncle\u2019s side.\nThis time she recognized him at once, and, with the natural grace\nthat gave a charm to her every movement, she approached and renewed\nher acquaintance with him. She learned in a few words that he had\nbeen absent, that his wife was restored to health, and had not\nforgotten her. Fleurange, in return, sent her many affectionate\nmessages. Then she passed on, while her uncle, gazing at her,\nfelt an increased regret, which she was as far from imagining as\nsympathizing with.\n\nThe piano was open. Several pieces had already been played with\ngreat success, and now all the younger members of the party\nwere seized with the unanimous desire of dancing, which is so\ncontagious, and in youth often a kind of necessary manifestation of\njoyousness. The Germans are all musicians, and Clement excelled.\nHe at once divined the general feeling, and seized his violin.\nHilda seated herself at the piano. Hansfelt took his place at her\nside, and the gaiety she fully participated in did not inspire her,\nlike the rest, to leave her place. She was, therefore, in the best\nmood possible to acquit herself of the _r\u00f4le_ which Clement with a\nglance assigned her in this improvised orchestra. The brother and\nsister struck up a waltz, and played with that skill, perfect time,\nand particular animation which, like the waltz itself, is peculiar\nto the German nation. In an instant there was universal animation.\n\nFleurange had occasionally danced with her cousins in the winter\nevenings, but she had never experienced, as on this occasion, the\ninspiriting effect of so much liveliness and so general an impulse.\nShe involuntarily rose up with a desire to take a part in it, and\nat that very moment she heard these words addressed her: \u201cWill you\nfavor me with this waltz?\u201d--an invitation so in accordance with\nthe wish of the moment that she replied in the affirmative, and\nleft the place before realizing it was her cousin Felix who was her\npartner. They danced around twice. Poor Heinrich Dornthal saw them\nsweep by, and uttered a joyful exclamation--the last that a feeling\nof hope or of paternal joy would ever draw from him again in this\nworld!\n\nFelix conducted Fleurange back to her seat. She was breathless,\npale, and annoyed. While waltzing, he had uttered words she wished\nhad never been said. Scarcely seated, her first impulse was to\nleave the spot where he stood, and even the room, but she could\nnot. Felix\u2019s hand, placed on hers, forced her to sit down again.\nThen Fleurange rose above her embarrassment. She comprehended that\nthe time had come to be firm, calm, and decided--not a difficult\nthing when the heart and the will are perfectly in accord. That\nwas the case in this instance, and Fleurange almost coolly awaited\nwhat her cousin had to say.\n\n\u201cI only beseech you for one word, Gabrielle,\u201d said Felix, with more\nemotion and respect than usual--\u201cone word, and, if you understood\nme, an answer.\u201d\n\n\u201cI heard you,\u201d said Fleurange.\n\n\u201cAnd understood?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; and with regret, Felix.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me plainly, Gabrielle, do you understand that I love you?\u201d\n\nFleurange blushed and made no reply.\n\n\u201cThat I love you to such a degree, my happiness, my future\nprospects, and my life are in your hands?\u201d continued he vehemently.\n\u201cAnd this is true, literally true.\u201d\n\nFleurange frowned. \u201cDo you wish to frighten me?\u201d she said coldly,\nturning her large eyes toward him.\n\n\u201cNo; I have told you the truth without thinking I could frighten\nyou; but, since you ask the question, here is my sincere reply:\nOnly promise to accept my hand, promise it through fear or love,\nterror or joy, I will be satisfied, and ask for no more.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen,\u201d said Fleurange slowly, \u201cit is all the same to you whether I\nesteem or despise you, love or detest?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo woman can for ever detest a man who endeavors to win her\nlove--when that man is her husband, and could be her master, but\nonly wishes to be her slave.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is great fatuity in your humility, Felix; but you are frank,\nand I wish to be so too. I shall never--mark my words--never be\nyour wife!\u201d\n\nFelix turned pale, and his face assumed a frightful expression.\n\u201cTake more time, Gabrielle,\u201d said he--\u201ctake more time to think\nof it. But, first, listen to me. I am going to say something that\nmay touch you more than a threat or a declaration--\u201d He stopped\nan instant and then continued: \u201cIf you saw a man on the edge of a\nprecipice, would you stretch forth a hand to save him?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d said Fleurange, affected in spite of herself,\nand suddenly recalling the words she heard that morning in the\nchurch.\n\n\u201cI ask if you would put out your hand to aid a man in such peril?\u201d\nHe had, in truth, found the means of making her hesitate, but it\nwas only for a moment.\n\n\u201cYou are speaking figuratively, I suppose,\u201d said she at length;\n\u201cand it is a question of a soul in peril, is it not?\u201d\n\n\u201cA soul in peril? Yes,\u201d replied Felix, with a bitter smile.\n\n\u201cWell, I tell you, in a danger of this kind, I would offer no\nassistance that would inevitably lead to my own destruction.\u201d\n\nFelix rose: \u201cAnd is this your final decision?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Felix, a decision unhesitatingly made, but not without\nsorrow, if it afflicts you.\u201d\n\nHis only reply was a loud laugh which made Fleurange shudder.\nShe turned towards him, but there was no longer in his look the\nrespect, or the sadness, or the emotion he had so recently shown.\nHis face had resumed its habitual expression of irony and proud\nassurance.\n\n\u201cI thank you for your frankness, cousin. That is a trait I trust\nyou will retain. It somewhat detracts from the charm you are\nendowed with, but it will preserve you from some of the dangers to\nwhich your eloquent glances expose you. Adieu!\u201d\n\n\u201cFelix, give me your hand as a token you bear me no ill-will,\u201d said\nFleurange softly.\n\n\u201cIll-will?\u201d replied Felix. \u201cOh! be assured I am too good a player\nnot to bear bad luck cheerfully. Besides, one is not always, and\nin everything, unfortunate. Certain defeats, they say, are pledges\nof victory. Come, Gabrielle, forget it all. Give me your hand, and\nwish me _good luck_.\u201d\n\nBefore Fleurange could make any reply, he was gone. This\nconversation had been so rapid that the waltz was not yet ended.\nThe noise, motion, and music, added to Fleurange\u2019s agitation, made\nher dizzy. She went to an open window near the piano. At that\nmoment the music ceased, and all resumed their places. Fleurange\nfound herself nearly alone. Clement was still near, and, observing\nher, quickly laid down the violin he held in his hand.\n\n\u201cYou are very pale. Are you ill?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no, let me go out. I only wish to take the air a moment.\u201d\n\nClement cast a rapid glance around the room, and then followed her\ninto the garden:\n\n\u201cYou were dancing just now?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, and I did wrong.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour partner left you before the waltz was over?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\nClement remained thoughtful a few moments, and then said:\n\u201cGabrielle, pardon me if I am indiscreet, but I wish I dared ask\nyou one question.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat a preamble! Did we not agree to speak freely to each other?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, will you tell me why Felix went away?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Clement, and I think you will be surprised. He asked me to\nmarry him. What do you think of that?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you gave him his answer?\u201d\n\n\u201cAssuredly. I said no, without hesitating.\u201d\n\nClement started so abruptly that Fleurange looked at him with\nsurprise. She saw an expression of joy on his countenance which he\ncould not conceal.\n\n\u201cI see you are no fonder than I of our cousin,\u201d she said, \u201cand are\ndelighted with his ill-success.\u201d\n\n\u201cDelighted? No. Were he my worst enemy, I should pity him at such\na moment; but I am very glad of--glad of--\u201d Clement hesitated,\ncontrary to his usual practice, which was to go straight to the\npoint. \u201cI am very glad of a decision,\u201d said he at length, \u201cwhich\nwill dispense me from ever speaking of him again to you.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat would you have done if I had accepted him?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat I am glad not to be obliged to do.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow you are talking enigmatically in your turn.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; enigmas are intended to be guessed, and I beg you to forget\nwhat I have just said.\u201d\n\nIt is uncertain what answer Fleurange was about to make Clement,\nwho was less candid than usual, and therefore provoking, but at\nthat instant she noticed a sprig of myrtle in the button-hole of\nhis coat.\n\n\u201cWhat! you with myrtle?\u201d she said. \u201cI thought it was only worn by\nyoung maidens on such a day.\u201d\n\nClement blushed, and snatched the myrtle from his coat: \u201cIt is\nyours, Gabrielle. Pardon me. I saw it fall from your girdle, and\npicked it up.\u201d\n\n\u201cMine? Indeed!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; here, take it, unless,\u201d said he, hesitating a little--\u201cunless\nyou will consent to give it back to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery willingly, Clement; keep it as a gift from me. It is a good\nomen, they say, predicting a fair bride when your turn comes.\u201d\n\nClement replaced the myrtle in his coat, and gravely said: \u201cThat\nday will never come for me; no, never!\u201d\n\n\u201cNever; no, never! Oh! how strange!\u201d cried Fleurange, in a tone\nthat surprised Clement.\n\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing.\u201d\n\nWhat struck her as strange was that Clement, _\u00e0 propos_ of this\npiece of myrtle, had, without being aware of it, uttered precisely\nthe same words she herself had said some hours before.\n\nOn the whole, this _soir\u00e9e_ she found so pleasant at its\ncommencement, ended in a painful manner. She returned to her\nchamber less cheerful than she left it, but with the satisfaction\nof feeling she had had no difficulty throughout the day in\nbanishing from her mind the fantastic image she had formed the\nevening before of Count George.\n\n\nIX.\n\nMore than a fortnight had elapsed. Hilda was married and gone\nfrom the paternal roof. Clara and her husband were on their way\nto Italy, where they intended to remain till spring. Those who\nremained in the Old Mansion were suffering from the reaction that\nalways follows the confusion and agitation of any event however\npleasant--a reaction always depressing even when there is no real\nsadness in the heart. But this was not exactly the case with\nFleurange. Her cousins were both married and happy. She loved them\ntoo sincerely not to rejoice at this, but it was not the less\ntrue that the house seemed to have grown more spacious, the table\naround which they gathered enlarged, the library immense, and\nthe garden deserted. The least to be pitied was Fritz, who still\nhad his brother, and was not so much affected by the change; but\nlittle Frida mourned for her sisters, and clung more than ever\nto Fleurange, whose talent for amusing and diverting children\nwas again brought into exercise. Fleurange, on her part, greatly\nappreciated this distraction as a benefit. The child seldom left\nher cousin\u2019s room, and they became almost inseparable. One day,\nwhile there as usual, Fleurange singing a long ballad in a low\ntone, and Frida listening with her head against her cousin\u2019s\nshoulder, a knock at the door made them both start. And yet it was\nbut a slight rap, that gave no cause for the alarm with which she\nput the child down and hastily ran to the door. She found her kind\nof presentiment justified.\n\nIt was Wilhelm M\u00fcller, Heinrich Dornthal\u2019s clerk, who knocked. It\nwas quite evident from the expression of his countenance and his\nagitated manner, as well as his unexpected appearance at such an\nhour, that something unusually sad had occurred.\n\n\u201cExcuse me, mademoiselle,\u201d he said hurriedly. \u201cI was not looking\nfor you; but M. Clement has gone out, and the professor also, they\ntell me. Do you know where they are to be found?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not know where Clement is, but my uncle and aunt are gone to\nM. Steinberg\u2019s. They have charge of the garden during his absence.\u201d\n\n\u201cSteinberg\u2019s! It would take more than an hour to go there. What is\nto be done! What is to be done!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat has happened, Monsieur Wilhelm? For pity\u2019s sake, tell me what\nmisfortune has occurred.\u201d\n\n\u201cMisfortune!\u201d he replied, after a moment\u2019s hesitation. \u201cAh! yes,\nmademoiselle, a great misfortune has befallen us--but I cannot stop\nan instant. Pray send for M. Ludwig with all possible speed, and\ntell him his brother--his brother is dying!\u201d\n\n\u201cDying!\u201d cried Fleurange. \u201cUncle Heinrich! Oh! take me to see him\nwhile they are gone for his brother.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no, mademoiselle, you must not go. I cannot consent to it.\u201d\n\nFleurange insisted, and had already left her room when she met\nClement, who had just returned, and heard his uncle\u2019s clerk was in\nsearch of him.\n\n\u201cUncle Heinrich is dying!\u201d exclaimed Fleurange, before he could\nask a question. \u201cLet us go to him instantly, Clement, while they\nare gone for your parents.\u201d And she drew him toward the stairs.\nMeanwhile, Wilhelm approached and whispered a few words in\nClement\u2019s ear. The latter turned pale, but, instantly surmounting\nhis violent emotion, he took Fleurange by the hand.\n\n\u201cRemain here,\u201d he said. \u201cYou must not go. Believe me, you must not.\nWhen it is suitable, I will come for you.\u201d And he led her back\nkindly, but firmly, into her chamber, and then went out, closing\nthe door behind him. In less than two minutes the street door was\nheard to shut in its turn. Fleurange was left alone, or, at least,\nwith only little Frida, who, frightened, was crying. She tried to\nsoothe her, endeavoring at the same time to be calm herself, and\npatiently bear the torture of waiting anxiously, without the power\nof action.\n\nIt was about five o\u2019clock when Wilhelm came to her door, and of\ncourse still light, as it was summer. But day declined, and night\ncame on, finding Fleurange still waiting. Frida, after crying a\nlong time, had gone to sleep in her arms. Fleurange, in spite of\nher usual activity, wished to remain where she was, that Clement\nmight find her at once when he returned. She heard him order the\ncarriage as he went out, and knew he had sent for his father and\nmother. She looked at the clock, and counted the hours. Not a\nthird of the time was required to go to the faubourg, and yet they\nhad not returned. They had evidently gone directly to the dying\nman\u2019s house. And what was now taking place there? Why had Clement\ndissuaded her from going? She joined her hands in silent prayer:\nthen began to listen again with a feverish and ever-increasing\nanxiety.\n\nAt last she heard the rumbling of a carriage. She softly placed the\nsleeping child on the bed, and was about to go down-stairs to meet\nher uncle and aunt, whom she supposed to have arrived. But before\nshe had time, she heard Clement ascending the stairs in great\nhaste. An instant more and he opened the door. Before she could ask\nthe question on her lips, he said:\n\n\u201cGabrielle, poor Uncle Heinrich is no more!\u201d Then he added after a\nmoment\u2019s silence: \u201cA dreadful shock caused his instantaneous death.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! my heart told me I should hear sad news.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sad indeed,\u201d said Clement. And in spite of himself he seemed\nfor a moment suffocated by an emotion too violent to be surmounted.\n\nFleurange looked at him. There was something besides the shock\nand grief caused by this sudden death. \u201cClement, what else has\nhappened? Tell me everything. Tell me at once, I implore you!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Gabrielle,\u201d he said, making an effort to command his voice,\nusually so firm and mild. \u201cYes, I am going to tell you everything.\nI came on purpose to spare my poor father and mother this\nadditional pain. Listen, or, rather, read this yourself!\u201d\n\nFleurange with a trembling hand took the letter he offered her, and\nread as follows:\n\n\u201cFATHER: I have abused your confidence. Your name, which you\nallowed me to make use of, has hitherto enabled me to conceal my\nlosses. With the hope of repairing them, I rashly aimed at an\nimmense prize which chance seemed to offer me. Had I obtained it,\nall would have been saved. I have been unsuccessful. Ruin has\nfallen not only on us, but on all whose property is in our hands.\nFarewell, father, you will never see me again. Do not be afraid of\nmy taking my own life. That would only be another base act. But\nthere are lands where they who seek death can find it. I hope to\nhave that good luck. May I speedily expiate what I can never repair!\n                                                            \u201cFELIX.\u201d\n\nFleurange silently clasped her hands. Pity mingled with the\nrepugnance, now so well justified, with which Felix had always\ninspired her, and she could not utter a word. Clement continued:\n\n\u201cThis letter, imprudently given to my unhappy uncle this morning,\nimmediately brought on one of the attacks to which he was liable,\nand which (perhaps happily for him) has proved fatal. He had not\ntime to realize the blow that had befallen him.\u201d\n\nFleurange herself hardly comprehended its extent. \u201cBut where is\nFelix, then?\u201d she said at length.\n\n\u201cHe has been gone a fortnight.\u201d\n\n\u201cA fortnight!\u201d she exclaimed, with a painful remembrance of their\nlast interview.\n\n\u201cHe left the day after the _soir\u00e9e_ at the time of Clara\u2019s\nmarriage.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat evening,\u201d she said with emotion, \u201che spoke of an abyss into\nwhich my hand would prevent him from falling. O God!\u201d she continued\nwith the greatest agitation, \u201ccould I really have saved him by\nconsenting? Would the sacrifice of my life have prevented this\nterrible disaster?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; the great stake he made that night was his sole resource\nagainst ruin. Why did he talk to you in such a manner? Was it\nthrough madness or perversity? It must have been madness, the\nunfortunate fellow loved you without doubt. I pity him, but--\u201d\nClement hesitated and then rapidly continued: \u201cListen to me,\nGabrielle. I am going to tell you something it might be better to\nkeep to myself, but I must justify myself and reassure you, and it\ncannot injure him now. I regarded Felix with contempt because,\u201d and\nfor a moment there was a flash in Clement\u2019s eye--\u201cbecause he wished\nto make me as despicable as himself, and once played the vile\n_r\u00f4le_ of a tempter to me who was then but a boy--because he would,\nif he could, have drawn me after him into the path which to-day\nhas ended so fatally. Therefore, cousin,\u201d he continued with still\nmore emotion, \u201chad he succeeded in winning your hand, I should have\nfelt it my duty to have warned you of his unworthiness, of which I\nwas too well aware, for I have never forgotten you called me your\nbrother. But I was reluctant to denounce him, and glad, oh! so\nglad, that evening, not to be obliged to do so--glad you were saved\nby your own self! And if I tell you all this now, it is to put an\nend to the fears you have just expressed.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I am grateful to you for banishing them. But, Clement, tell me\nonce more--here, in the presence of God, have I nothing to reproach\nmyself with?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing, on my honor, Gabrielle, believe me!\u201d\n\nClement, as we have remarked, possessed great firmness of\ncharacter, and a kind of premature wisdom which gave him great\nascendency over others. When this trait is natural, it is manifest\nat an early age, and a day often suffices for its complete\ndevelopment. That day had arrived for Clement, and henceforth no\none would ever dream of calling him a boy.\n\n\nX.\n\nRuin!--a word at once positive and yet extremely vague--very\nplain in itself, and yet conveying the idea of a multitude of\nundefined consequences, often more alarming than actual misfortune,\nand sometimes suggesting chimerical hopes. And it has a deeper\nsignification when it happens to a person unaccustomed to the\ncalculations of material life, given up to thought and study, and\nmoreover delivered from the necessity of exertion through long\nyears of prosperous ease.\n\nSuch was the nature, and hitherto such the position, of Professor\nLudwig Dornthal. Of all the misfortunes in the world, that which\nhad now befallen him was the last he would have dreamed of, and\nhe was less capable of comprehending it than of supporting it\ncourageously. Besides, the word _ruin_ may also be taken in a\nrelative sense which mitigates its severity, and this was the way\nthe professor regarded it. With only a faint idea of the extent\nof the catastrophe, he remained inactively expectant of something\nto partially remedy what merely related to his finances, being\nmore preoccupied about his nephew\u2019s shameful flight and its fatal\nconsequence--the death of his brother.\n\nMeanwhile, Clement, with the aid of Wilhelm M\u00fcller, examined the\nstate of affairs with a promptitude and sagacity that greatly\nedified the honest and intelligent clerk who initiated him into\nthis new business. Seeing him so quick of comprehension, so firm\nin decision and prompt in action, he exclaimed with despair in the\nmidst of their frightful discoveries:\n\n\u201cAlas! alas! if your unfortunate cousin had only had your head on\nhis shoulders!\u201d\n\n\u201cMy head! It is not equal to his,\u201d responded Clement to one of his\ncompanions. \u201cNo, no, it is not that, but something else, he lacks.\nWhy have not I, on the contrary, his capacity and wit! Then I might\nbe capable of retrieving our fortunes, whereas my only talent is\nthat of knowing how to endure poverty. Oh! if it threatened me\nalone, how little I should dread it!\u201d\n\n\u201cPoverty!\u201d interrupted Wilhelm. \u201cBut do you not understand all I\nhave explained to you?\u201d\n\n\u201cWith respect to my uncle\u2019s creditors?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes. Do you not see that the principal creditor, the first of all\non the list, is M. Ludwig Dornthal, whose whole fortune nearly can\nbe saved from shipwreck?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, on condition of the ruin of the remainder.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut their claims are not equal to his: he was not his brother\u2019s\npartner. He had only entrusted his property to him, like so many\nothers.\u201d\n\nClement made no reply. After a short silence he observed: \u201cThe\nentire renunciation of my father\u2019s property would enable us to\nrepay all the creditors without exception, would it not?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, all.\u201d\n\n\u201cWould there not be a single debt in this case?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d replied Wilhelm, smiling; \u201cnot a debt--not a penny.\u201d\n\nClement again took up one of the papers on the table, and silently\nread it over once more with the most profound attention.\n\n\u201cYes, it is really so,\u201d said he rising. \u201cEverything is plain now.\nI must leave you, Wilhelm. It is after four o\u2019clock, and I am\nexpected at home. I shall see you again this evening, and we will\ndecide on some definite course of action.\u201d\n\nThis conversation took place in a lower room of the banker\u2019s house,\nwhich had been Wilhelm M\u00fcller\u2019s office for many years. He pressed\nthe young man\u2019s hand, and Clement proceeded rapidly towards home.\n\nIt was their dinner hour, and his parents were waiting for him.\nThe habits of the family had resumed their ordinary course. The\nsad routine of life is seldom interrupted more than a day even\nby the most overwhelming disaster, and this exterior regularity,\nhowever painful a contrast to the grief that has changed everything\ninteriorly, helped restore calmness to the soul, and with calmness\nthe courage and strength to act.\n\nClement was a quarter of an hour late. He went directly to the\ndining-room, knowing his father\u2019s punctuality. As he supposed, the\nfamily were at dinner, and he took his place after some hasty words\nof apology at his entrance, and then fell into a profound silence.\n\nThe fine, spacious room in which they were was one of the\npleasantest in the house. Rare old china lined the _\u00e9tag\u00e8res_, and\nthe dark panels were relieved by old portraits, all original and\nof great value, and the most celebrated part of the professor\u2019s\ncollection. The open windows commanded a view of the garden.\nVerdure refreshed the eye, and the perfume of the flowers pervaded\nthe room. The glass and silver reflected the rays of the sun,\nthough there was a large awning before one of the windows. An air\nof quiet, opulent comfort everywhere reigned.\n\nClement look around. All these things, to which he was daily\naccustomed, now made a new impression on him. He noticed to-day\nthe objects he often forgot to observe, but this examination did\nnot have the effect of weaning him from his sad thoughts. On the\ncontrary, it only increased them, and Clement was deeply plunged in\ngloomy reverie when he was aroused by his little sister\u2019s voice:\n\n\u201cPapa,\u201d said Frida, \u201cwe shall start for the sea-shore in a week,\nshall we not?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, my child,\u201d replied the professor.\n\n\u201cAnd then we shall go to see Hilda?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, she expects us in a month.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd after that?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe shall return home. It will be time, I think, after two months\u2018\u2019\nabsence.\u201d\n\nIn fact, that was the longest time the professor had ever been\nabsent from his cherished home.\n\nThese few words produced an expression of suffering on Clement\u2019s\nface which he could not conceal. His mother observed it and\nquestioned him with a look. But Clement turned his eyes away, and\ndid not raise them again till the end of the silent meal, though he\nkeenly felt another look besides his mother\u2019s fastened on him.\n\n\u201cClement, I have something to say to you,\u201d said his mother as soon\nas dinner was over. He rose instantly, and followed her into the\ngarden, but before leaving the room he said:\n\n\u201cFather, will you allow me a few minutes\u2018\u2019 conversation with you\nafterwards? I have several things to tell you.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, my dear son, I will wait for you.\u201d And the professor turned\ntowards the library, where he always spent an hour after dinner.\n\n\u201cCome, tell me everything now,\u201d said Madame Dornthal, leading the\nway to a bench where they could not be seen from the house.\n\n\u201cYes, mother, dear mother, it is to you I will refer a decision\nwhich my honor and my conscience tell me is required. You shall\ndecide whether we ought to evade or submit to it.\u201d\n\nHe began his account, and, while she was attentively listening\nwithout interrupting him once, laid before her the details, in all\ntheir reality, of the situation in which his uncle\u2019s death and his\ncousin\u2019s flight had left them.\n\nMadame Dornthal, more accustomed to the practical details of life\nthan her husband, had not shared his illusions. She was much better\nprepared than he for the sad consequences of a reverse of fortune,\nbut had been far from anticipating its extent. They would be much\nless wealthy than before, have some privations to endure, and for a\ntime be obliged to practise considerable economy; such had been the\nextent of her fears. But all this did not appear to so excellent a\nmanager a trial beyond her strength. During the past week she had\ndeclared, as often as her husband, that the loss of money was the\nsmallest part of the misfortune that had befallen them.\n\nNow she realized that this loss was something real, something\nalmost as appalling as death, for it involved the end of the life\nshe had been accustomed to for twenty years--an end she must face\nand at once accept. And she was courageous enough not to hesitate.\nShe embraced her son, and said:\n\n\u201cGod be blessed for giving me a son like you! Yes, dear Clement,\nyes, you are right--a thousand times right.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen you agree with me, mother, that the ruin of the Dornthals\nshould not cause the ruin of any one else?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, my child.\u201d\n\n\u201cOur name must remain without reproach, and nobody in the world\nhave a right to curse it?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly, Clement, whatever be the consequence.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhatever be the consequence!\u201d repeated Clement firmly. \u201cThanks,\ndear mother. I must leave you. It is not my place, but yours, to\ninform my father.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Clement, it is my place.\u201d She put back her son\u2019s thick hair,\nand gazed silently at him for a moment with profound attention and\nemotion. Never had Clement\u2019s eyes expressed more clearly than now\nthe firmness, integrity, and energy of his nature.\n\n\u201cNo!\u201d thought she, \u201cthere is not among those who effect great\nthings in the world, and leave behind them a glorious and\nillustrious name, a nobler or more courageous heart than yours, my\nson! God be praised! Your life will be blessed, even though your\nworth and all the faculties you possess remain hidden and for ever\nunknown but to him alone!\u201d\n\nSuch were Madame Dornthal\u2019s thoughts, as she gazed with maternal\nfondness into her son\u2019s eyes, but she did not give them utterance.\nShe pressed her lips once more to his brow, and placed her hand on\nhis head as if in benediction. Clement in return kissed her hand\nwith grave and tender respect. Then he rose and left the garden at\nonce, and, soon after, the house.\n\nHe remained absent several hours. It was nearly nine o\u2019clock when\nhe returned. His mother was waiting in the entry for him, and\nopened the door when he rang. He was very pale, and held a pile of\npapers in his hand.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Madame Dornthal, \u201cis everything arranged?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, mother, everything! These papers only lack my father\u2019s\nsignature. He is willing to give it, is he not?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou cannot doubt it, I think.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, but my poor father was so far from supposing--\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, that was it, I did not fear any hesitation on his part, but\nonly the complete illusion he was under. I only dreaded the effect\nof surprise and the shock. O Clement! I know not what terror came\nover me from the frightful remembrance of the other day! My poor\nLudwig!\u201d\n\nMadame Dornthal stopped a moment to brush away her tears, then\nsmiled as she continued:\n\n\u201cBut be easy, he knows everything now. He comprehends the state of\naffairs, and feels as we do. It is better, however, that I alone\nshould see him this evening. Give me those papers. And you, my boy,\nsee after your brother and sister. I have not had time to think of\nthem. Ah! and Gabrielle, poor child, perhaps it would be well to\nlook for her also and tell her all. We have nothing to conceal from\nany one, above all from her.\u201d\n\nWithout awaiting a reply, Madame Dornthal abruptly left her son to\nrejoin her husband in the library, where she remained the rest of\nthe evening.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LAST DAYS OF OISIN, THE BARD.\n\nBY AUBREY DE VERE.\n\n\nIV.\n\nOISIN\u2019S QUESTION.\n\n    \u201cO Patrick! taught by him, the Unknown,\n      These questions answer ere I die:--\n    Why, when the trees at evening moan,\n      Why must an old man sigh?\n\n    \u201cNo kinsmen of my stock are they,\n      Though reared was I in sylvan cell:\n    Love-whispers once they breathed: this day\n      They mutter but \u2018farewell.\u2019\n\n    \u201cWhat mean the floods? Of old they said,\n      \u2018Thus, thus, ye chiefs, ye clans, sweep on!\u2019\n    They whiten still their rocky bed:\n      Those chiefs and clans are gone.\n\n    \u201cWhat Power is that which daily heaves\n      O\u2019er earth\u2019s dark verge the rising sun,\n    As large, the Druid, Alph, believes,\n      As Tork or Maugerton?\n\n    \u201cA woman once, in youthful flower,\n      An infant laid upon my knee:\n    What was it shook my heart that hour?\n      I live--Where now is he?\n\n    \u201cWhat thing is youth, which speeds so fast?\n      What thing is life, which lags so long?\n    Trapped, trapped we are by age at last,\n      In a net of fraud and wrong!\n\n    \u201cI cheated am by Eld--or cheat--\n      Heart-young as leaves in sun that bask:\n    Is that fresh heart a counterfeit,\n      Or this gray shape a mask?\n\n    \u201cSome say \u2018tis folly to be moved.\n      \u2018The dog, he dieth--why not thou?\u2019\n    They lie! We loved! The ill reproved!--\n      Is Oscar nothing now?\n\n    \u201cO Patrick of the crosier staff,\n      The wondrous Book, the anthems slow!\n    If thou the riddle know\u2019st but half,\n      Help those who nothing know!\n\n    \u201cWho made the worlds? the Soul? Man\u2019s race?\n      The man that knoweth, he is Man!\n    I, once a prince, will serve in place\n      Clansman of that man\u2019s clan!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nAFFIRMATIONS.\n\n\n\u201cInstead of considering the physical condition of a nation\ndetermining its moral character, we must always regard the moral as\ndetermining, as well as moulding and modifying, the physical.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs the divine modifies the moral, so the moral modifies the\nphysical, or external.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn education all sight has been lost of the _reality_ which is\nregeneration, and only when this is brought into the soul, will it\nbe fit to receive the spirit.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs the body grows older, the mind grows younger, when the will\nconceives with the divine will in the permanent ground.\u201d\n\n\u201cChrist is desirous to divorce the soul from Satan, and to do this\nhe begins by making the soul uneasy.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere are thousands who have been taught to think from learning\nhave yet to be taught to think from the living basis within the\nwill that sustains the thinker.\u201d\n\n\u201cKnow thyself is a false maxim. _Be whole_--_or one_--and one with\nthy Lord.\u201d\n\n\u201cOnly does the Jesus spirit in the soul make the soul exhibit the\ndivine essence.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE CHURCH UNDERSTANDS AND UPHOLDS THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN.\n\n\nFIRST ARTICLE.\n\nAGES OF MARTYRDOM.\n\nWomen are receiving just now, at the hands of a certain class\nof agitators, a degree of attention which may be flattering to\nsome, but which certainly is not only intrusive, but unnecessary\nwith regard to many. They are told that their rights are trampled\nupon, that they must assert and defend themselves, and take their\nplace in the great battle of life. Now, these exhortations have\ngenerally been met by copious references to all the undoubted\nprecepts of old, which made the domestic life woman\u2019s own sphere,\nand consecrated her the minister of all man\u2019s comforts. This sphere\nof home duties is incontestably theirs; and what is more, while\nthey can help man in his avocations, man, on the other hand, can\nscarcely help them in their own. But in addition to this, their\ninviolable territory which they intend never to abandon, let them\nboldly claim a share of man\u2019s kingdom, and let them make good\ntheir claim. People have listened to many women and to a few men\non the subject of the so-called \u201cWomen\u2019s Rights:\u201d let them listen\nwith indulgence to one woman more, who comes claiming far greater\nthings than they dream of, and yet showing that her claims are but\nlong-established and real _rights_, recognized, defined, limited,\nand protected by an older code of jurisprudence, and a longer\ntradition of immemorial custom, than they have as yet been told of\nby the press or in the lecture-room.\n\nThe existence of woman is a fact: it is equally a fact that\neverything that exists has some work to do in the order of the\nuniverse. God himself, in a few simple words, stated what her work\nwas: \u201cLet us make him a help like unto himself\u201d (Gen. ii. 18). The\nwords indeed are so simple that they hardly arrest attention, yet\nin them lies the whole relation of woman to man. She is to be _a\nhelp_; but no restrictive detail is added, so that it is clearly\nopen to her to help man intellectually, religiously, morally,\nas well as domestically. She is to be _like_ unto him; that is,\nemphatically not masculine, not a creature that is a _mere_ copy or\nreproduction of himself, but _like_ unto him, that is, sufficiently\nlike to understand him, sufficiently unlike to love him. Again, no\nprecise relation in which she is to stand to man is defined: she\nmay therefore be a help as a wife, mother, sister, in the domestic\ncircle; she may be a help as a consecrated virgin, as an adviser,\nas an intercessor, in the religious order; she may be a help as a\ngovernor, a regent, a queen, in the political order: lastly, she\nmay be a help as a friend and confidant in the social order.\n\nNow, having seen that God distinctly gave woman a mission, as\nhe has to every animate and inanimate creature, we must suppose\nthat he has also provided her with the means of fulfilling it.\nWe look around us to see how he has done so, and whether, when\nthe means were at hand, woman used them to her own distinction\nand advantage. In one place and under one set of circumstances\nalone do we find that it was so, and this not by exception, but\nby rule. This place is the Catholic Church; these circumstances\nare her laws and her history. The reason why it remained for our\ntimes to form \u201c_women\u2019s rights_\u201d associations, is simply that\nwomen\u2019s wrongs have, under the influence of the Reformation, been\nso shamefully multiplied. The present movement is a reaction\nagainst the Protestant atmosphere of repression which has\nsuffocated woman\u2019s highest aspirations for three hundred years.\nThe tribute unconsciously paid to the Catholic Church by the\nAnglican communities of monks and sisters is a proof of the wisdom\nof the old church in regard to its treatment of women. Sensitive,\nenthusiastic, earnest souls found themselves without the outward\nmeans of satisfying their craving after a more perfect life;\nothers with superabundance of energy and devotion, with the gift\nof tending the sick or instructing the young, found themselves\nconfined to the circle of their own unaided efforts and unorganized\nactivity. They hailed \u201csisterhoods\u201d as the newly opened gates of\nheaven, not knowing that sisterhoods were no new invention, but had\ntheir source in the very beginnings of the days of which the then\nunwritten Gospels became the after-history.\n\nIn a sermon recently delivered by one of the most popular preachers\nof New York, and reported in the columns of a widely-read journal,\noccur the following words, which are a singular corroboration of\nwhat we have just said: \u201cThere is nothing more dangerous than\nan educated community with nothing to do. There are thousands\nof educated women who do not work.... I do not wonder the bold,\neagle-like natures fret in their limits and detest life, or that\nthe great hearts dash themselves out in waste. There must be outlet\nfor these immense forces, or society will go on getting worse and\nworse to the end.\u201d A few days after these words were spoken, the\nfollowing appeared in a letter referring to the attempt made by\na woman to drop her vote in the ballot-box, at the New York City\nelection of the 7th of November, 1871. She gives a lamentable\naccount of woman\u2019s world, as it has grown to be under the shade of\nProtestantism. \u201cThe condition of involuntary servitude is favorable\nto the cultivation of all the vices of secrecy and deceit. As\nwomen, we have been schooled in hypocrisy and duplicity, until\nour deep souls revolt against the oppression that so compels us\nto belie our sincere and earnest natures. The most docile wife\nhas that latent fire in her heart which only needs the air of\nfreedom to fan into a flame. Many seemingly contented wives would\nalmost risk the salvation of their souls to make their masters\nfeel for one day the humiliation they have endured uncomplainingly\nfor years. If this is true of the favorites of fortune, what\nmay not be said of the great crowd of women who rush into every\nfolly, or are doomed to severest trial by stringent laws and the\noppressive customs growing out of them--laws and customs that\ndisfranchise them, prescribe their pleasures, limit their fields of\nlabor, and curtail their wages, all on the plea of sex? We have,\ngentlemen, very generally arrived at the knowledge that sex is a\ncrime punishable by law.\u201d The writer of this subscribes herself\n\u201cMary Leland,\u201d and is, no doubt, a fair representative of the\nindignant champions of indiscriminate equality between men and\nwomen. If the slumbering volcano she describes is really hidden\nbeneath the frivolous life of ordinary women, what a fearful\nresponsibility lies at the door of the system whose effect it is!\nThis spirit of rebellion can only exist as a reaction against the\nforced inactivity of woman\u2019s mind and will, and against the torpor\ninduced by the delicate flattery of those who would make her a\nsultana, or the brutality of those who would fain turn her into a\nbeast of burden. Both alike are forms of slavery; both alike are\nanti-Christian; both are contradictions against nature, and will\ninevitably bear their evil fruit. Since their true rights have been\ndenied them by the spirit of the Reformation; since the education\nof their children is taken out of their hands by the state; since\nnothing but a savory meal and a pleasant face are expected from\nthem--what wonder that the displaced pendulum of their mind should\nsway violently aside, and thus come in rude contact with the more\narduous sphere of man?\n\nBut it is not our purpose to give a lecture on the abstract\nprinciples concerned in the question of the rights of women; facts\nspeak more loudly and more convincingly than the most eloquent\narguments, the most fascinating pleas: we aim only at giving a few\nof these facts to our sisters of the present day, and showing them\nhow the church has ever regarded, and has long ago settled, the\nquestion now agitating them so painfully.\n\nOur only difficulty is in the mass of evidence from which to make\nselections, the matter that is to serve us as a witness being\nsimply the history of the church, and its abundance so rich that\nwe hesitate which of the countless examples to draw forth for\nthe admiration of _woman_-kind, and which to leave in undeserved\noblivion. If we take a cursory glance at the infant church on the\nshores of the Lake of Galilee, we shall find woman already in a\nconspicuous and honorable position. It is a remarkable fact that\nno nation of antiquity, save the Jews, had any respect for the\nfemale sex, beyond that which included women in the _possessions_\nof their husbands and fathers, and consequently could make no\ndifference between an insult to a virgin or a wife and a theft of\nany other precious chattel. The Jews--that is, the people whom\nGod himself guided and taught, and whose laws were his immediate\ndecrees--hedged in the chastity of women with the most stringent\nsafeguards, and defended it by the severest penalties. They allowed\nwomen to inherit from their parents and perpetuate their own\nname, and to be preferred before the male relations, that is, the\nbrothers or nephews of their father (Numb. xxvii. 8). Not only\nwere the wives and daughters of the Israelites inviolable; their\nhired servants, whether Jew or Gentile, and their captives, were\nequally protected from the licentiousness of man. The Old Testament\nhas numberless chapters consecrated to the praises of women, and\nto the precepts necessary for the education of their sex. In\nGenesis, chap. xxxiv., we find the sons of Jacob making war upon\nthe Sichemites, to revenge the insult done to their sister Dina by\nthe prince Sichem; in the Book of Judges, chap. xx., we read of a\nbloody and protracted war waged by the Israelites against one of\ntheir own tribes, the Benjaminites, to revenge the Levite\u2019s wife,\noutraged by strange men in the town of Gabaa; in the Second Book\nof Kings, chap. xiii., we see how promptly and fearfully Absalom\nresented the wrong done to his sister Thamar by their brother\nAmnon. In the Book of Judith, we are astounded at seeing the high\nand solemn eulogium pronounced upon this valiant woman. She speaks\nto the elders of Bethulia as one having authority, yet, with such\nhumility as befits even the most highly favored servant of God, she\ncomforts them and bids them hope, so that they acknowledge that her\nwords are true, and ask her to pray for them (chap. viii. 29). Her\nown prayer for guidance and success is full of wisdom, of poetry,\nof confidence in God and the right: her speech to Holofernes is\nconspicuous for tact, and the heathen general himself exclaims,\n\u201cThere is not such another woman upon earth ... in sense of words.\u201d\nWhen the great deed is done and Judith returns to the besieged\ncity, she sings a noble canticle, a true poem, full of grave beauty\nand deep meaning, and we are then told how highly she was honored\nby the high-priest Joachim, who came from Jerusalem, with all\nhis elders, to see her and bless her. He calls her the \u201cglory of\nJerusalem, the joy of Israel, and the honor of the people\u201d (chap.\nxv. 10), and bestows upon her precious vessels from the spoils\nof the Assyrians. He does not forget to extol her chastity as\nintimately connected with her success; indeed, this praise seems to\nsupersede the blessings with which she is hailed as a deliverer.\nWhen she died, the people publicly mourned for her seven days, and\nto the time of her death it is recorded that \u201cshe came forth with\ngreat glory on festival days.\u201d\n\nThis is not the only instance where we find woman in a responsible\nand elevated position, surrounded by friends of high degree, vying\nwith each other in bestowing upon her marks of esteem and respect.\nLater on we find Christian prelates acting the part of Joachim to\nsome new Judith, some woman distinguished for piety and virtue, and\nwhose influence or example is a powerful auxiliary of their own\nefforts.\n\nReverting for a few moments to the history of the Jews, we see how\nin numberless instances women were the instruments of grace and\ndeliverance, how they were gifted, and how they were esteemed.\nInstead of a marriage that was nothing but a bargain such as\nwas in use among heathen nations, the betrothal of Rebecca was\na most grave and solemn ceremony, and the consent of the maiden\nwas formally asked. Jacob had such a high idea of Rachel\u2019s worth\nthat he served her for fourteen years. When the walls of Jericho\nfell and the inhabitants were put to the sword, the woman Rahab\nwas spared, together with all those who chose to take refuge in\nher house. The child Moses was rescued and educated by a woman,\nand his sister, Mary, was a great prophetess whose canticle has\ncome down to us almost as a national hymn. Anna, the mother of\nSamuel, sang praises to God in language which the inspired writers\nthought worthy of transmitting to the perpetual remembrance of\nall generations; the Queen of Sheba was so enamored of wisdom and\nlearning that she came a long and tedious journey to pay homage to\nthe superior gifts of Solomon; Anna, the wife of Tobias, after her\nhusband had lost his sight, earned the wherewithal for their humble\nhome at \u201cweaving-work\u201d (Tob. ii. 19). Sara, the wife of the younger\nTobias, prayed God in words that have always been incorporated in\nthe sacred text. Mardochai said pointedly to Queen Esther, \u201cWho\nknoweth whether thou art therefore come to the kingdom that thou\nmightest be ready at such a time as this?\u201d and she answered by\neffectually interceding for her people, though, notwithstanding her\nregal position, it was only at the risk of her life that she could\napproach the king unbidden. Her prayer, like all the rest recorded\nin the Scriptures, is a poem in itself, and points to the true\nsource whence all real courage springs, while it also hallows with\nreligious feeling the deep patriotism peculiar to the Hebrew race.\nLater on, the mother of the Machabees showed such heroic fortitude\nunder persecution that the Scriptures say of her that she \u201cwas to\nbe admired above measure, and was worthy to be remembered by good\nmen.\u201d\n\nTurning to the New Testament, we find woman in equally prominent\npositions, honored by the special notice of the Man-God himself,\nand materially aiding in the establishment of his church. Not\nto speak of the Mother of God, whose influence on the fate of\nwoman has been simply paramount, and leaving aside the fact of\nhis undoubted voluntary subjection to her, as well as that of her\nintercession, being the immediate occasion of his first public\nmiracle and manifestation at Cana of Galilee--the place of woman in\nthe Gospel history is one that may justly be the pride of her sex.\nThe greater part of our Lord\u2019s miracles were worked in favor of\nwomen, most often on their own persons, at other times on persons\nwhom they held dearer than life. Of the first, witness the cure\nof the mother-in-law of Peter, of the woman healed of an issue of\nblood, of the daughter of the Chanaanitish woman, to whom Jesus\nsaid, \u201cO woman, great is thy faith; be it done to thee as thou\nwilt\u201d (St. Matt. xv. 28); of the woman bowed down with an infirmity\nthat had afflicted her for eighteen years; also the raising of the\ndaughter of Jairus. Of the second, witness the restoring to the\nwidow of Naim of her only son, whom Jesus raised to life \u201cbeing\nmoved with mercy towards _her_\u201d (St. Luke vii. 13), and whom, when\nhe had raised him, he \u201cgave to his mother.\u201d Lazarus, too, dear\nas he was personally to the Master, was yet raised to a new life\nchiefly through the prayers and the faith of his sisters, whose\nsorrow had touched the heart of the divine Saviour. Not only in\ntemporal things, but much more in spiritual, did our Lord seek out\nwomen for their cure and salvation. He did not disdain to speak\nlong and patiently with the woman of Samaria, and, instead of\nheralding his saving presence to her countrymen through his own\ndisciples, he preferred to let her be his messenger. He proposed\nthe modest almsgiving of the poor widow as a model of all true\ncharity. He protected the woman taken in adultery against her\npharisaical judges; he commended the woman Magdalen, and prophesied\nthat, wherever the Gospel should be preached, there should her name\nbe also remembered. When he was teaching the multitudes, it was a\nwoman who cried out in touching boldness and pathetic directness\nof speech: \u201cBlessed is the womb that bore thee, and the breasts\nthat gave thee suck.\u201d Again it was to women that he spoke when, on\nthe path to Calvary, he turned, and said, \u201cWeep not for me, but\nweep for yourselves and for your children.\u201d Women followed him\nbravely when men deserted, betrayed, and denied him; women stood\nbeneath his cross while his apostles were hiding in fear, and the\nsolitary friend who never left him was the most woman-like of all\nhis disciples. His last legacy on earth, the last precious thing\non which he turned his thoughts, was a woman, and the first person\nto whom he appeared after his resurrection was also a woman. When\nthe disciples were gathered together awaiting the coming of the\nParaclete, a woman was among them: \u201cThe mother of Jesus,\u201d as the\nGospel says, was there.\n\nLater on, in the Acts of the Apostles, we find women mentioned as\nmost efficacious helpers in the work of the infant church. Tabitha,\nfor instance, a \u201cwoman full of good works, and almsdeeds\u201d (Acts ix.\n36), and Priscilla, the wife of Aquila, a woman who accompanied St.\nPaul from Corinth to Ephesus, and there took Apollo, an eloquent\nand fervent man, and \u201cexpounded to him the way of the Lord more\ndiligently\u201d (Acts xviii. 26). Again, Lydia, a seller of purple,\n\u201cone that worshipped God,\u201d offered hospitality to St. Paul, and\n\u201cconstrained\u201d him to dwell in her house (Acts xvi. 14, 15). St.\nPaul has been quoted and misquoted so often that one almost shrinks\nfrom appealing to his arguments and precepts; yet perhaps even\nhere we may find something new to say, something to point out in\na new light, something that the controversialists on the subject\nof Women\u2019s Rights, on both sides, have, apparently at least,\noverlooked. We will not dwell on such portions of his Epistles\nas are always in the mouth of those who aim at relegating woman\nto an exclusively domestic sphere, but, on the contrary, we will\npoint out words of his, honoring woman so highly that no law of\nmodern times has been able to rival such deference, and no claim\nof strong-minded female associations would dare to lift itself to\nsuch importance. In his First Epistle to the Romans, chapter xvi.,\nhe says: \u201cAnd I commend to you Phebe, our sister, who is in the\n_ministry_ of the church ... that you receive her in the Lord as\nbecometh saints, and that you assist her in _whatsoever business_\nshe shall have need of you: for she also hath assisted many, and\nmyself also.\u201d Ministry, of course, stands for help, and is used\nhere in its strict and original sense, as when the Gospel says of\nour Lord, \u201cAnd angels came and ministered unto him,\u201d and as when\nwe say the _ministrations_ of charity. Some persons, indeed, have\naffected to see in this text an implied permission for women to\nact as priests; common sense and the general tone of the Epistles\nare sufficiently explicit, however, to undeceive all such as do\nnot on this head voluntarily deceive themselves. The same Epistle\nwe have quoted goes on to say: \u201cSalute Prisca [Priscilla] and\nAquila [her husband], my _helpers_ in Christ Jesus; who have for\nmy life laid down their own necks; to whom not only I give thanks,\nbut also _all the churches_ of the Gentiles; and the church which\nis in their house.\u201d Observe how St. Paul speaks of them without\ndistinction of sex as equally helpers, and how he even mentions\nthe woman\u2019s name first. Again he continues: \u201cSalute Mary, who\nhath _labored much_ among you ... salute Julia, Nereus, and his\n_sister_, and Olympias, and all the saints that are with them.\u201d We\nhave no space for recalling the well-known precepts St. Paul gives\nconcerning both the state of marriage and that of virginity; we\nwould only indicate by a passing notice how truly liberal is his\nteaching, including both states as honorable, _commanding_ neither\nmarriage nor continence, and providing with minute foresight for\neach circumstance that human mutability can create. And in one of\nthese, the case being the desertion by an unbelieving consort of\nthe Christian yoke-fellow, he distinctly says: \u201cIf the unbeliever\ndepart, let him depart; for a brother or sister _is not under\nservitude_ in such cases; but God hath called us in peace\u201d (1 Cor.\nvii. 15). The very custom of calling women \u201csisters,\u201d universal in\nthe early church, is a token of the respect that was paid them, and\nof the Christian equality which denied them no legitimate share in\nthe spiritual and social life of man. St. Paul has traced out in\none word the whole duty of man to woman when he said, \u201cThe elder\nwomen entreat as mothers, the younger as sisters, in all chastity\u201d\n(1 Tim. v. 2). In the First Epistle to the Philippians, he says:\n\u201cHelp those women who have _labored_ with me in the _Gospel_, ...\nand whose names are in the _book of life_.\u201d St. John dedicated a\nwhole Epistle, or letter, to the \u201cLady Elect and her children,\nwhom I love in the truth, and not I only, but also _all_ they\nthat have known the truth.... And now I beseech thee, lady, _not_\nas writing a _new_ commandment, but that which we have had _from\nthe beginning_, that we love one another.... Having more things\nto write to you, I would not by paper and ink, for I hope that I\nshall be with you, and speak face to face, that your joy may be\nfull.\u201d St. Peter, in his First Epistle, does not disdain to give\ncounsel as to the outward dress of women, thus dignifying the\nsubject through the symbolism he wishes it to express. And let not\nany one of our own times call these counsels either frivolous or\ninterfering, for has not every sect that arose as a self-appointed\nreformer begun by the restraint on female apparel, typical of\nmoral restraint over our passions and inclinations? Even now, in\na mistaken and distorted interpretation of the significance of\ndress, have not the ultra-advocates of Woman\u2019s Rights laid their\n\u201creforming\u201d hands upon the current fashions?\n\nWhen St. Peter came to Rome, the first house that received him was\nthat of Pudens, a Roman senator, whose wife Priscilla, and whose\ndaughters Pudentiana and Praxedes, became his first converts and\nhis most powerful co-laborers. The two virgins, having become the\nheiresses of their parents and brothers, sold their vast estates,\nand gave the price to the suffering and persecuted among their\nbrethren; and, though we read of hundreds of such cases among the\nwomen of the early church, we seldom find it so with the men,\nexcept in such families where the influence of some female relative\nresulted in this heroic renunciation. The palace of Pudentiana and\nPraxedes was converted into a church which for centuries has borne\ntheir name, and in which is shown as well the temporary receptacle\nand hiding-place, says time-honored tradition, of the bodies of\nthe martyrs, carefully collected by these brave women. This church\nis the oldest in Rome, says a reliable authority, the Rev. Joachim\nVentura, whom we shall often have reason to quote in these pages,\nand it is also the first among those giving titular rank to the\norder of cardinals.\n\nAmong the apostolic women whose names stand beside those of the\ngreat saints to whom the church owes her wide sway, St. Thecla has\never been foremost; St. Ambrose, St. Augustine, St. Chrysostom, St.\nGregory of Nyssa, St. Gregory Nazianzen, St. Isidore of Pelusium,\nSt. Epiphanius, and St. Methodius, bishops and fathers of the\nchurch, have vied with one another in extolling her constancy and\nher greatness. The last mentioned of these tells us, in his book\nthe _Banquet of Virgins_, that she was well versed in secular\nphilosophy, and in the various branches of polite literature; he\nalso exceedingly commends her eloquence, and the ease, strength,\nsweetness, and modesty of her discourse (_Butler\u2019s Lives of the\nSaints_). Of the persecution she suffered at the hands of the\nyoung pagan to whom she had, before her conversion, been betrothed,\nwe will not speak, neither will we touch upon her miraculous\ndeliverance from the wild beasts to whom she had been thrown,\nfurther than to point out, however, that woman has shown more than\nmasculine courage long before modern agitators began to accuse her\nof degeneracy and tameness. But the secret lay then, as it does\nnow, in the teaching of a church that sees in her children only\nhierarchies of _souls_, and that looks upon the body as a mere\nform, determining respective duties, it is true, but certainly\nnot conferring _de jure_ on the possessors of such forms any\nsuperiority or difference of intellectual or moral capacity. A\nproof of this lies open to all in the fact that women\u2019s names as\nwell as men\u2019s are incorporated in the text of the Mass, and are\nrepeated every day with as much honor, before the altar of God.\nAfter the \u201cCommemoration of the Dead,\u201d and in the prayer beginning,\n\u201cNobis quoque peccatoribus,\u201d the names of Felicitas, Perpetua,\nAgatha, Lucy, Agnes, Cecilia, Anastasia, are coupled with those\nof the apostles and martyrs _John_, Stephen, Matthias, Barnabas,\n_Ignatius_, Alexander, Marcellinus, and _Peter_, that is, with some\nof the greatest saints whom even Protestants consent to admire. The\nchurch, too, shows her appreciation of the sex and its capabilities\nby the express words, often used in her liturgy, \u201cdevoto femineo\nsexu,\u201d which, whether translated as usual, the \u201cdevout female sex,\u201d\nor the \u201cdevoted,\u201d seems equally honorable to woman and her special\ncharacteristics. Virgins and widows are mentioned by name in the\nprayers used in public on Good Friday, and immediately before them\nare named the seven orders of the priesthood. The mere fact of so\nmany churches being dedicated to God under the special invocation\nof some female saint, often one whose history has become obscure\nand traditional from very remoteness, serves to illustrate the\nhigh respect of the Catholic Church for womanhood, and the perfect\nequality with which she looks upon both her sons and her daughters.\nThe cathedral of Milan, one of the most renowned shrines in the\nworld, is under the patronage of the virgin of whom we have just\nspoken, the proto-martyr, St. Thecla. The fathers of the church,\nfollowing the example of St. Paul, call the help of faithful\nChristian women a ministry, and Ventura tells us that Origen, St.\nChrysostom, and Haymon speak of \u201cwomen having through their good\noffices deserved to attain to the glorious title of apostles, and\nhaving supplemented the work of the evangelists and apostles by\ntheir preaching in private houses, especially to persons of their\nown sex\u201d (Ventura, _La Donna Cattolica_, vol. i. p. 279). It is\nrelated in the _Breviarium Romanum_, at the part appointed to be\nread on the 19th of May, that St. Pudentiana once presented ninety\npersons to St. Pius, Pope, to be baptized, all of them being\nperfectly instructed in the faith through her teaching alone. St.\nMartina, who was a deaconess (which answers to _religious_ in the\nlater church), converted and instructed many persons, principally\nwomen. The _Breviarium_ honors her as the _protectress_ of Rome.\nShe has also a hymn specially set apart for her office in the\n_Breviarium_, and the church dedicated to her in Rome is the\nrichest and most magnificent of those under the patronage of the\nmartyrs. The house of Lucina, a noble Roman matron, was converted\ninto a church, afterwards dedicated to the holy Pope Marcellus.\nAnother church, now called _San Lorenzo in Lucina_, stands over the\ntomb which Lucina prepared for that saint. Priscilla, also a Roman\nlady of high lineage, the wife of the before-mentioned senator\nPudens, gave her fortune and her land for a cemetery, to which her\nname was justly appended. Natalia, the wife of the martyr Adrian,\nafter publicly exhorting her husband to be steadfast in the faith,\nboldly put on man\u2019s attire to elude the order recently given that\nno Christian woman should be allowed to visit the prisoners. The\n_Breviarium_ tells us that St. Justina, upon whom a famous magician\nnamed Cyprian had tried all manner of unhallowed arts, so far\nprevailed over him that she brought him to know the true God, and\nto abandon his idols and sorceries. But examples such as these of\nthe intellectual influence of women upon their friends, and even\nupon strangers and enemies, would multiply under our hands into a\nvolume, if we could stop to collect them all.\n\nMartyrdom was, in the early ages, the almost inevitable end of\nzealous faith and active evangelization. St. Cecilia ranks among\nthe most prominent of those who, strong with a supernatural\nstrength, gladly gave up life, youth, health, and beauty, for the\nsake of principle. Let us put it in that form, for even now there\nare many who respect in the abstract a single-minded devotion to\nprinciple. This devotion would be essentially called manliness in\nour day; yet the women of the early church--some mere children in\nyears, some threatened with what would make a woman waver in her\ndetermination far more than mere physical torture could, the loss\nof her honor, some again with natural diseases or weakness upon\nthem--showed a superabundant amount of this very _manliness_.\nCecilia has long been the patroness of music, and we read in her\n_Acts_ that she employed both vocal and instrumental music in the\nservice of the Most High, fitly using the most beautiful of arts to\nglorify Supreme Beauty. Her love for the Holy Scriptures was such\nthat she often wore them on her bosom in the folds of her robe,\nand that long before the Canon of Scripture had been fixed, and\nbefore the Holy Book could have the world-wide reputation which the\nchurch has now bestowed upon it. Cecilia\u2019s will, made in presence\nof Pope Urban, consisted in the giving of her palace for a church,\nand the distributing of her remaining wealth to the poor. Her death\nwas heroic, and, as her life-blood was ebbing slowly from her, she\nonly thought of converting her executioners. Oblivious of bodily\npain, she exhorted them to throw off the yoke of idolatry, and\nsucceeded so far as to cause them to exclaim, \u201cIt is only a God\nwho could have created such a prodigy as his servant Cecilia!\u201d The\nbody of the martyr was interred in the Catacomb of St. Callixtus,\nin a chapel hollowed out of the earth, and somewhat larger than the\nother chambers of the same catacomb: it was the sepulchre of the\npopes, and the placing of her body in this sepulchre was a mark\nof the extraordinary respect due to her generous munificence and\nher heroic courage. Thus has the old church, so truly called the\n\u201cmother church,\u201d always recognized and rewarded merit, whether in\nman or woman. Susannah, a relation both of Pope Caius and of the\nEmperor Diocletian, and daughter to Gabinius, a man as learned as\nhe was noble, was another instance of how religion can reconcile\nprofound instruction with deep piety, and unite both to beauty\nof person and grace of manner. She was learned, say her _Acts_,\nin philosophy, in literature, and in religion. The emperor sent\none of his nobles, Claudius, Susannah\u2019s own uncle, to entreat her\nto marry Maximinus C\u00e6sar, Diocletian\u2019s son. The noble and learned\nvirgin not only refused the alliance, but, strengthened by the\napprobation of her Christian father and her other uncle, Pope\nCaius, who were present, spoke so eloquently that Claudius was\nconverted to Christianity. The _Acts of the Martyrs_ record his\nwords in announcing this conversion to his wife: \u201cIt is chiefly\nmy niece Susannah who has conquered me. I owe to the prayers of\nthis young girl the happiness of having received God\u2019s grace.\u201d\nHis wife, Prepedigna, and Maximus, his brother, were also won\nover by her influence, and the latter bears tribute equally to\nher _wisdom_, holiness, and her beauty. There could be but one\nend to such proceedings, a glorious end for all: her friends all\nsuffered martyrdom before her, and she who had braved an emperor\u2019s\ndispleasure without a sign of so-called _womanly_ weakness, met her\ndeath in secret with equal courage and joy.\n\nAgnes, the maiden of twelve or thirteen years, is praised by\nAmbrose, a Christian priest, for her contempt of the jewels with\nwhich the son of Symphronius attempted to bribe her: she is also\npictured as the very incarnation of youthful bravery, when with\nholy defiance she scorns the threat of her impure and cruel judge\nto send her to a place of ill-fame. This threat, often executed,\nwas more than any other the touch-stone of their faith to the\nChristian virgins of antiquity, while their invariable deliverance\nfrom this danger was the reward of their unflinching denial of the\npower of the false gods, even in the face of this shameful threat.\nDeath would seem a bridal, to judge by the loving alacrity with\nwhich these child-virgins ran to meet it. Who can say that the\nchurch does not admire and inculcate courage and self-respect in\nwomen, since half the martyrs defended their honor as well as their\nfaith with the last drop of their blood?\n\nSt. Ambrose, speaking to his sister Marcellina of the martyr\nSothera, in whose praises he is enthusiastic, says: \u201cWhat need for\nme to seek for examples for thee, who hast been formed to holiness\nby thy martyred relative? [Sothera was their great-aunt.] ...\nBrought up thyself in the country, having no companion to set thee\nexamples, no master to teach thee precepts, there were at hand\nno human means to teach thee what thou has learnt. Thou art no\ndisciple, therefore--for there can be no disciple where there is\nno master--but the heiress of the virtues of thy ancestress. Let\nus speak of the example of our holy relative, for we priests have\na nobility of our own, preferable to that which counts it an honor\nto have prefects and consuls among our forefathers: we have the\nnobility of faith, which cannot die.\u201d These words of grave import\nare addressed to a woman, and the boast of holy ancestry they\ncontain also refers to a woman. Agatha, the heroine of Catana, and\nLucy, the martyr of Syracuse, both noble Sicilian maidens, speak\nthe boldest language to their barbarous judges, and meet death as\nbravely as any man could face it for his country and his home.\n\nVictoria, a lady of Abyssinia, in Africa, accused of being a\nChristian, and defended by her pagan brother, who swore she had\nbeen deluded into connivance with the Christians, vehemently\ncontradicted him in open court. \u201cI came here of my own accord,\u201d\nshe averred, \u201cand neither Dativus nor any one else beguiled me;\nI can bring witnesses among my fellow-townspeople to the fact\nthat I came simply because I knew there would be a gathering of\nour brethren here, under our priest Saturninus, and that the holy\nmysteries would be celebrated.\u201d She persists when her brother\nexcuses her again as being insane, and eagerly criminates herself\nin the eyes of the judge, till she succeeds in winning her crown.\nForty-eight other martyrs, men and women, heroically suffer the\nsame penalty, greatly comforted and encouraged by her dauntless\nattitude. At Thessalonica, a woman named Irene was apprehended,\ntogether with her five sisters, and was herself chiefly accused\nof having kept and concealed the books of Scripture, and other\npapers relating to the Christian religion. Dulcetius, the judge\nbefore whom she was brought, and who was president of Macedonia,\ncould elicit from her nothing that could endanger any one but\nherself, her sisters having been tried and martyred upon the charge\nof refusing to eat meats consecrated to idols. Her firmness both\nin screening others and in avowing her eager care for the holy\nwritings, not only gives us a high idea of her moral courage, but\nalso of her intellectual interest in those scarce and valuable\nworks. She suffered death for her dauntless custody of these\ntreasures, and it is related that she sang psalms of praise while\nascending the funeral pile.\n\nSt. Catherine of Alexandria is a most noted example of the\nerudition often attained and displayed by Christian women. At the\nage of eighteen, says the _Breviarium Romanum_, she outstripped in\nknowledge the most learned men of her day: Maximinus, who was both\na libertine and a tyrant, was cruelly persecuting the Christians\nof Alexandria, and dishonoring the noble matrons of that city.\nCatherine boldly and publicly upbraided him, and forced him to\nlisten to her arguments. Her _Acts_ and the Greek _Menology_ of the\nEmperor Basil affirm that she supported her thesis of Christianity\nagainst the arguments of forty of the ablest heathen philosophers,\nand so effectually confuted them that they preceded her in her\nmartyrdom by declaring themselves Christians, and being forthwith\ncondemned to be burned alive. Catherine, during her imprisonment,\nconverted the wife of Maximinus, and the commander of his army, and\nfurther made such an impression upon the crowd assembled to witness\nher death that many became Christians on the spot. The interesting\nChurch of San Clemente, in Rome, contains one chapel, the walls\nof which are covered with frescoes illustrative of each of these\noccurrences; this chapel is supposed to date from the fourth or\nfifth century, and is a mute witness to the honor with which the\nmemory of the illustrious and learned maiden of Alexandria was,\neven at that early age, surrounded. Butler, in his _Lives of the\nSaints_, says of her: \u201cFrom this martyr\u2019s _uncommon erudition_,\n... and the use she made of it, she is chosen in the schools the\n_patroness_ and _model_ of Christian philosophers.\u201d This is by no\nmeans the only instance of a woman being honored as patroness in\nthe roads of learning or of art. Later on, we shall have occasion\nto speak of other saints equally distinguished for their talents\nand zeal for true philosophy. Butler says in a foot-note to the\n_Life of St. Catherine_: \u201cThe female sex is not less capable of\nthe sublime sciences, nor less remarkable for liveliness of genius.\nWitness, among numberless instances in polite literature and in\ntheology, the celebrated Venetian lady, Helen Lucretia Cornaro,\ndoctress in theology at Padua in 1678, the _wonder_ of her age for\nher skill in _every_ branch of literature, and, still more, for the\nausterity of her life and her extraordinary piety.\u201d\n\nMost of the martyrs we have hitherto mentioned were virgins: among\nwidows and widowed mothers, we find other heroines whom no bodily\ntorture nor that more bitter anguish of witnessing their children\u2019s\nsufferings could daunt or even cause to waver.\n\nSymphorosa, a noble Roman matron, denounced by the astrologers of\nRome to the Emperor Adrian, bravely confessed her faith in the\npresence of her seven sons, whom she thus encouraged to do the\nsame. She spoke of herself as honored in being the widow and sister\nof martyrs, and utterly scorned the proposal to forsake the truth\nfor which they had bled. Here is a foreshadowing of the times of\nmedi\u00e6val chivalry, which were but the legitimate offshoot from such\na moral atmosphere of pure chivalric heroism as enveloped the lives\nof the early Christians. Invincible strength and a courage that\nsmiled in the face of death was with the children of the primitive\nchurch a point of honor, a family tradition, a hereditary legacy.\nAnother widow and mother, Felicitas, suffered more cruelly yet than\nSymphorosa; for, under the reign of Marcus Aurelius, she beheld\nher seven children butchered before her eyes, and never ceased\nexhorting them to constancy, while her mother\u2019s heart and more\nnatural feeling were suffering a sevenfold martyrdom. She followed\nher sons to death with fervent joy. St. Augustine was eloquent in\nher praise, and on one anniversary of her triumph called her death\na \u201cgreat spectacle offered to the eyes of faith,\u201d and herself\n\u201cmore fruitful by reason of her many virtues than of her many\nchildren.\u201d St. Gregory, the great father, exalted her by likening\nher example to a new and spiritual birth of the Saviour in each\nsoul that she thus secured to God, according to the interpretation\nof the words of the Gospel: \u201cHe who does the will of my Father in\nheaven is my brother, and my sister, and my _mother_.\u201d\n\nAnother St. Felicitas, a Christian slave and widow, with her\nmistress Perpetua, who had also lately lost her husband, suffered\ndeath in the amphitheatre of Tharbacium, near Carthage, in Africa,\nrather than give up what they knew to be divine truth. Felicitas\nwas martyred a day or two after the premature birth in prison of\nher child, and, when brutally jeered by the guards at her inability\nto suffer the pains of childbirth in silence, answered in words\nthat to this day furnish the key to all woman\u2019s superiority as\nproved by the facts of church history: \u201cIt is I that suffer to-day,\nand nature is weak: to-morrow Jesus himself will suffer in me, and\nhis grace will give my nature the strength it needs\u201d (_Acts of the\nMartyrs_). Perpetua, her mistress, but also her sister in Christ\n(for in the church alone resides true equality), resisted the\npleadings of her aged father and the mute appeals of her infant\u2019s\nunprotected condition, and bore her sufferings as it is said the\nSpartan women knew how to bear theirs. But while the enduringness\nboth of men and women was in Sparta only the artificial result\nof compulsory laws, and soon disappeared before the shameful\nvoluptuousness that was natural to all heathen beliefs, that\nof Christians of both sexes made its mark through successive\ngenerations, and lives yet in our less hardy times, because it\nis intrinsic to the nature of a faith whose God had no more\nhospitable birthplace than a cold stable, and no better death-bed\nthan a cross.\n\nBlandina, the martyr of Lyons, is justly celebrated for her\nextraordinary constancy, and the Christians of Lyons who wrote a\nletter preserved to history by Eusebius, and addressed to their\nbrethren of Asia and Phrygia, extol her as the soul of the heroic\nstand made by many of their number against idolatry. She was a\nslave, very young and _very weak_ in health, says this letter, and\nyet even her executioners marvelled at her powers of endurance,\nexclaiming: _One_ of the tortures she has suffered ought to have\nkilled her, and she is alive yet after them all! Further on, she\nis likened to a _bold athlete_. Some of her companions having\nwavered, her example and exhortations recalled them to their duty,\nand Ponticus, a young boy, was the last to die under her eyes,\n_encouraged_ and _upheld_ by _Blandina_. Potamiana, another slave,\nwho died in defence of her honor as well as her faith, chose a more\nlingering death than that to which she was condemned, rather than\nuncover herself in public, the judge consenting to this change not\nin pity, but in cruelty. Her executioner became her first convert;\nmany other men likewise came to the faith through visions of this\nyoung and steadfast virgin.\n\nWe have mentioned women in every sphere and state of life, social\nand domestic, as endowed with confessedly heroic powers, and\ncapable of attaining high and noble ends in the field of religion,\nof art, and of philosophy. One class of women, however, remains\nstill to be noticed, and it is perhaps the greatest proof of the\nchurch\u2019s universal and instinctive tenderness toward the sex,\nthat among that unhappy class she alone has been able to make\nfruitful the call of God. The Catholic Church has set upon her\naltars and in her calendar the names of many illustrious penitents\nand anchorites, side by side with stainless virgins and matrons of\nunblemished fame. The Catholic Church alone can restore to fallen\nwoman her rightful inheritance, and so efface the brand of sin\nthat its shame shall be merged into a glory as pure as that of\nbaptismal innocence. To take among the martyrs but one instance\nof this rehabilitation, let us see what history relates of Afra,\nthe courtesan of Augsburg, in the Roman province of Rhetia, and\nthe present kingdom of Bavaria. Afra was of noble birth, and had\nmany slaves and possessions. She was converted by St. Narcissus, a\nChristian bishop who was fleeing from the persecution then raging\nin Gaul. Her household as well as her mother followed her example.\nShe succeeded in concealing Narcissus and his deacon Felix for some\ntime in her own house, and meanwhile diligently applied herself to\nmaking converts of her friends and former associates. Denounced\nin her turn a little later, and sneered at for the contradiction\nbetween her past and present life, she answers the judge boldly,\nadmitting humbly that she is unworthy to be called a Christian, yet\naffirming that the threatened torments will cleanse and purify her\nbody, while the proposed sacrifice to the gods would only further\nstain and disfigure her soul. Bound to a stake and burned with slow\nfire, her intrepidity only redoubles, and, having sinned through\nthe weakness of undisciplined nature, she shows a more than manly\ncourage through the new-born strength of grace.\n\nWith her, we close the few practical examples of the greatness of\nwoman during the ages of martyrdom, but the spirit that made the\nmartyrs did not die with the last of the canonized victims of\nthe pagan persecutions. St. Jerome speaks of a \u201cdaily martyrdom,\nwhich consists not in the shedding of blood as a testimony, but\nin the devout and undefiled service of the mind\u201d (_De Laud. S.\nPaul\u00e6_). This we propose to illustrate in a subsequent article,\ngiving historical instances of the actual honor paid in the church\nto learned, holy, and influential women, rather than entering into\nabstract controversy on the subject of what is and is not due\nto her sex. What we have already said in these pages will tend,\nplease God, to remove prejudices, and at least clear the way for\nevidence still more appreciable by our ambitious non-Catholic\nsisters, namely, that which goes to show that not only in social\nand home life, but also in the wide sphere of statecraft and public\ninfluence, the church has marked out a noble margin for women\u2019s\ngenius.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PASSION.\n\n\n    Was ever tale of love like this?\n      The wooing of the Spouse of blood:\n    Who came to wed us to his bliss\n      In those eternal years with God?\n\n    Those griefless years, those wantless years,\n      He left them--counting loss for gain--\n    To taste the luxury of tears,\n      And revel in the wine of pain!\n\n    \u2019Twas sin had mixed the cup of woe\n      From Adam passed to every lip:\n    And none could shirk its brimming flow--\n      For some a draught, for all a sip:\n\n    Till Jesus came, athirst to save:\n      Nor sucked content a sinless breast;\n    But grasped the fatal cup, and gave\n      That Mother half, then drained the rest.\n\n    Enough the milk without the wine.\n      When first the new-born Infant smiled,\n    \u2019Twas merit infinite, divine,\n      To cleanse a thousand worlds defiled.\n\n    But _we_ must take of both. And how\n      Could love look on, nor rush to share?\n    Or hear us moan: \u201cDeath\u2019s darkness now:\n      And _Thou_, at least, wast never there\u201d?\n\n    And so he drank our Marah dry:\n      Then filled the cup with wine of heaven.\n    Who would not live--with him to die?\n      Or not have sinned--when so forgiven?\n\nLent, 1872.\n\n\n\n\nJANS VON STEUFLE\u2019S DONKEY.\n\n\nI.\n\nJans von Steufle was a happy man until he got that donkey. Now, you\nmight think the donkey was left him as a legacy by some dear friend\nor rich relation, or that Jans found him in the highway some cold\nwintry night and took him home in pity, or the donkey might have\nstrayed into Jans\u2019 enclosure and refused to go out, but no such\nthing; Jans bought and paid for all his trouble in good silver coin.\n\nJans had some comforts, however to compensate: he had a good wife.\nSome say, \u201cA good wife is a rare thing,\u201d but you never hear that\nsneer in German-land, for German wives and German children are\ntaught betimes to be good. Jans\u2019 wife kept the house clean and the\nkettles bright; and made _Sauerkraut_,[14] and _Wurst_,[15] and\ndelicious _Rahmk\u00e4se_[16]--ah! it would melt in your mouth--and\nhad always such nicely browned _Rinderbraten_,[17] and delicate\n_ged\u00e4mpftes Fleisch_,[18] and put vinegar in everything.\n\nThen such beautiful patchwork _Bettdecke_[19] she stitched\ntogether, and such snowy _Bettw\u00e4sche_,[20] you would be floated off\nto dream of _Arabian Nights_ just to sleep under them. And when her\nfingers had nothing particular to do, that is, when she walked\nabout the house and garden a little just before supper-time, to\nsee that every corner was clean, and everything in good order, and\nthe pot-herbs coming up properly, or when she went down the lane\nto drive home the truant chickens and little ducks who were out\non some juvenile frolic, did her ten fingers rest? Oh! no, then a\nthread of yarn came creeping out of her pocket, and click, click,\nwent the needles, and such stockings! You might wear them to the\nNorth Pole, only they\u2019d be too warm.\n\nBut her great genius and tact lay in garden-making. We do wrong\nto apply these words to her, for she understood neither, and Jans\ndespised both; rather be it said that her industry was made most\nmanifest when she betook herself (under Jans\u2019 direction, of course)\nto digging and planting.\n\nJans had a pleasant way of imparting knowledge, and at the same\ntime making himself comfortable. Seated on a wooden bench in some\nshaded gravel-walk near the scene of her rural operations, with\na pipe in his mouth, he would sit patiently the long hot summer\nafternoon, directing the putting down of pea-sticks, the tying up\nof hop-vines, and apportioning off the territory to be allowed to\nthe marauding pumpkins. Some people profess to discover a striking\nresemblance between the human family and the great family of\nanimals each to each, and they even run a parallel between them\nin physiognomy; but in a garden the similitude is perfect. No one\nwho cultivates a garden for very love of it but what unconsciously\ninvests his community there with a sort of intelligent existence.\nThey are well-behaved or troublesome; in good health or pining\nunder little ailments. Here a hardy native pushes his way to upper\nair, heedless alike of deluge or drought, while that other one\nfrom some far-away country, like any discontented foreigner, finds\nnothing to its taste, but must be sheltered, and watered, and\ngives a deal of trouble. Some are orderly and upright; others are\ninclined to crooked ways, and seldom amend until tied to a stake.\nThe roots generally stay underground until they are wanted, while\nsome, like the bold, conceited turnips, climb to the surface when\nnot more than half-grown, and bask in the sunlight as if they\nwere roses. The vine tribe care as little as human climbers whom\nthey crush down in their aspiring efforts; onward they trail and\ntake possession, reckless of those who have a better right. Many\na pretty little plant have those green vines tyrannized over! As\nfor flowers, we call them modest, bold, gaudy, retiring, even in\ncommon speech; and many a habit and inclination do they exhibit to\na humble admirer which has never been entered in scientific books.\nYes, a garden is a community of wonderful creations, where each\none has its peculiarities, and yet each one conforms in a certain\ndegree to the type of its family.\n\nWith such loving eyes did Jans and his _gute Frau_ look on their\nflower-beds and their edibles; and such like matters did they often\ndiscourse about, when the spading and raking for the day were done,\nand she sat on the bench by his side knitting, knitting.\n\nIt is doubtful, however, whether they would have noticed matters\nquite so particularly, not having been educated to abstractions,\ncomparisons, generalizations, and such like metaphysical flights,\nhad not their attention been directed to them occasionally by a\nthird member of their family, the very learned Herr von Heine.\n\nNow, Jans in his efforts at amassing riches had neglected no\nhonest means of success. Consequently, when their two children\nhad both married well and gone to live in distant cities, and he\nfound himself with a spare room in his house, he looked about for\na tenant. Then mein herr (as he was called for brevity\u2019s sake)\npresented himself, and, as his testimonials for respectability and\nprompt pay were satisfactory, he was soon established in the pretty\nlittle chamber with its white curtains, its patchwork bedspread,\nand a floor so well scrubbed you might have eaten off of it.\nHe somewhat marred the beauty of the spot by an importation of\ncertain odd things which he professed to consider indispensable.\nThere was a regiment of ragged-looking old leather books, and\nsome well-worn coats and dingy dressing-gowns, not to mention an\nassortment of pipes and tobacco jars and old boots, and a few\nwarlike weapons which stuck out in a protecting way from the top of\nhis book-shelves.\n\nMein herr was just now direct from the _Collegienhaus_[21] of\nthe famous University at K\u00f6nigsberg, where he had been giving\nshort lectures and receiving long pay, and being, therefore, on\ngood terms with himself and the world in general, he resolved to\nrusticate in some secluded spot for the summer, and renovate his\nfaculties for the next winter\u2019s campaign.\n\nNo place could be more quiet or better suited for his purpose\nthan his present abode. Here he could spin all kinds of cobweb\ntheories hour after hour, with not a sound to ripple the air and\ndemolish them, for neither Jans nor his wife ever intruded into his\napartment. It was only in the soft summer evening twilight that\nhe made his descent to the garden, and indulged in a brief social\nintercourse with his host and hostess. Indeed, he came almost as\nregularly as the sun set. His tall, straight figure enveloped in a\nlong black sort of ecclesiastical gown, a jaunty cap on his head,\nwith its tassel hanging down behind, a meerschaum in hand which\nhe was bound to finish before he should retire, behold Mein Herr\nvon Heine!--the embodiment of profound and extended erudition out\nfor a little recreation. Mein herr was always welcome. Pleasant\nenough was the discourse they all held as he slowly walked up and\ndown the gravel-walk, or took a seat beside them, especially when\nthe subject was farm-matters; and mutually profitable was the\nexchange between theory and practice; many a pleasant laugh they\nhad, too; and as to the _gute Frau_, she listened and smiled, and\noccasionally put in a modest little word, this being, according to\nher best belief, the extent of \u201cwoman\u2019s rights.\u201d\n\nThey were sitting thus one June evening, when Jans laid aside his\npipe, and said, in his usual deliberate way:\n\n\u201cI think I\u2019ll buy a horse, or a donkey, or a dog-cart, or\nsomething, to take all these cabbages to market.\u201d\n\n\u201cBuy a _donkey_ by all means,\u201d said mein herr, \u201cfor a donkey,\nthat is an ass, is classical. They are famous in sacred as well\nas in profane literature. No animal has always been so much the\ncompanion of man as the donkey, no one more valuable. An ox and\nan ass are what we are warned in the commandments not to covet,\nshowing their universality in the days of Moses, besides being what\nany man in his senses would be most likely to covet. Asses are\nrepeatedly mentioned in the Old Testament. Every one has heard of\nBalaam\u2019s ass, who was so much wiser than his master. I have often\nnoted the great injustice done to that ass. Balaam bestowed on him\nthree very decided beatings; and although he was fully convinced\nafterwards that they were entirely undeserved, we have no record\nthat he made the least apology or expressed the least regret. Now,\neven a donkey deserves justice. Asses have pervaded all ranks in\nlife. There was Debbora the prophetess, the wife of Lapidoth; in\nthe Canticle, where she addresses the brave princes of Israel,\nshe adjures them as \u2018you that ride upon fair asses, and sit in\njudgment, and walk in the way\u2019; on the other hand, Job predicts woe\nto him \u2018who hath driven away the ass of the fatherless.\u2019 Certainly,\nasses were everywhere. When the wealth of Abraham was counted,\nhe-asses and she-asses made a part of it; and when he was about to\nascend the mountain to sacrifice his son Isaac, we are told that\n\u2018he arose and saddled his ass.\u2019 Then there was Abdon, eight years\na judge of Israel, who had forty sons and thirty grandsons, \u2018all\nmounted on seventy asses,\u2019 are the words of history. Then there was\nthe Levite of Mount Ephraim--ah! I forget his name--his wife left\nhim and went to stay four months with her father in Bethlehem Juda,\nand when he went to bring her back, he took with him \u2018a servant and\ntwo asses,\u2019 one doubtless for her use. Then the jaw-bone of the ass\nmade famous by Samson is well known, I mean the jaw-bone he wielded\nat Ramathlechi, when he put his thousand enemies to flight. Some\nof these animals possess virtues worthy of our own imitation; they\nhave displayed oftentimes very great intelligence, and affection\nfor those they serve; as in the case of a certain old prophet who\nwent forth from Juda to Bethel to denounce Jeroboam, and, being\nmisled and turned from his duty by a pretended friend, was killed\nby the way on his return home; his ass was found standing patient\nand watchful by the side of his dead master.\u201d\n\nThus discoursed mein herr; his colloquial efforts were apt to be\nrather prolix and oratorical, but this was to be ascribed to his\nprofession as lecturer; he was so much accustomed, when he had\nunearthed an idea, to follow it up and make the most of it--a sort\nof intellectual fox-chase.\n\nFailing to keep pace with him over such extended and erudite\nground, Jans had, nevertheless, a dim notion that it was something\nto own even one donkey, so he said:\n\n\u201cTo-morrow I will buy a donkey.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! yes,\u201d said the Frau von Steufle, \u201cand next market-day we will\ngo with a donkey.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will be wise to buy a donkey,\u201d repeated mein herr, \u201cfor\nnow I call to mind that Sancho Panza had one whose labors, as he\ntells us, half-supported his family. I am reminded, also, that the\ngreat Cervantes himself rode an ass, as he relates, on a pleasant\njourney from Equivias with two of his friends. They heard some one\nclattering up from behind and calling to them to stop, and when he\nat length overtook them it proved to be a student, who was mounted\non an animal of the same sort; he no sooner learned their names\nthan he flung himself off of his ass, says Cervantes, whilst his\ncloak-bag tumbled on one side, and his portmanteau on the other,\nand he hastened to express his admiration of the great author of\n_Don Quixote_.\u201d[22]\n\nJust at this point both meerschaum and pipe had given forth their\nlast whiff, and the knitting-work had arrived at the middle of a\nneedle; and as the great matter under discussion, the purchase,\nwas considered as wisely decided in the affirmative, they mutually\nexchanged a kind \u201cGute Nacht\u201d with the inevitable \u201cSchlafen Sie\nwohl!\u201d[23]\n\n\nII.\n\nThe day after the above conversation, Jans left his home for a\nlittle business in a distant city, and several more elapsed before\nhe returned with his purchase.\n\nOh! vain boast when Jans von Steufle declared, \u201cTo-morrow I will\nbuy a donkey.\u201d\n\nWhat is a donkey? In one phase of his character, he is the very\npersonification of the stoical philosophy of the ancients; the type\nof that perfect indifference to all sublunary mutations to which\nZeno vainly strives to elevate humankind; patient and enduring\nunder any amount of rain, hail, snow, and sleet that can pour down\non him, and any amount of luggage that can be piled upon him;\ntotally, indifferent, in the road he travels, as to its length,\ndirection, hostelries, or hardships, and satisfied, as far as food\nand sleep are concerned, with the smallest quantity and the poorest\nquality.\n\nThis was Jans\u2019 idea of a donkey, but it was not what he got for\nhis money; he got a little gray beast, with a shaggy hide, a large\nhead, long ears, and a temper.\n\nIt was quite dark when Jackey with a boy astride him arrived\nfrom the place of his last abode; so he was quietly taken to the\ncomfortable quarters prepared for him not far from brindle-cow,\nand particular introductions to him were deferred until the next\nmorning.\n\nThe next morning ushered in market-day. The edibles had all been\ngathered in and nicely washed the night before; the flowers also\nhad been culled and tastefully arranged in beautiful bouquets--some\nsmall for sweet little love tokens; some larger to decorate the\ntables and mantel-shelves of those people who are unhappily forced\nto dwell always among the bricks and mortar of the town, who paid\nlarge prices for them, and took them thankfully, as their very\nminute share of all the glorious and beautiful works of the Creator\nwhich are spread around life in the country. Others, again, were\ntied together in tall pyramid-like forms, the apex a pure white\nlily or perhaps a white rose, and spreading down from that to the\nbase in blossoms that mingled all the colors of the rainbow. These\nwere destined for the grand altar of the great church; for there\nwere always pious souls in the town ready to expend their good\ngroschen and thalers in adornments for the sanctuary. Very skilful\nare the fingers of German wives, and great their taste in making up\nall these tempting little articles of merchandise; and as they lay\nwaiting in the _Wohnzimmer_[24] of the Von Steufle dwelling-house,\nyou might have thought the whole garden had moved for a departure.\n\nBreakfast was disposed of early, and immediately after it Jackey\nwas brought out for his first load.\n\n\u201cHe has good points,\u201d said the learned herr, after taking a\nleisurely survey.\n\nJans knew not much about points, but he knew how to put a good load\non his back, and this he now proceeded to do.\n\n\u201cMuch discretion is necessary in purchasing a donkey,\u201d observed\nthe Herr von Heine--\u201cmuch discrimination; wisdom and foolishness\nare so much alike on a cursory view. A demure aspect may represent\neither; and, then, a staid, dignified manner may proceed from lack\nof ideas, nay, even absolute stupidity, as well as from profound\nthought. In dealing with an animal which exhibits these traits,\ngreat penetration is called for, or you will be deceived. Then,\nthere is a brightness of the eye, nothing vicious. Ah! I think your\nanimal has it, a sort of exuberance of spirit, a repressed strength\nwhich can accomplish deeds almost incredible when opportunity\noffers. You seldom see this in pictures of the donkey race;\npainters seem to think it necessary to represent them dull and\nimbecile, which is far from being correct.\u201d\n\nMein herr paused, but his friends were both too busy to reply,\nso he was only met by a \u201cFreilich, mein Herr\u201d[25] from Jans,\nand a smiling \u201cJa Wohl\u201d[26] from his helpmate. In German-land,\nsocial life has no sharp points and corners to prick and scratch.\nAll is polished and polite, and such a little acknowledgment of\nattention to a speaker could never be neglected. It was sufficient\nencouragement for the herr, and he proceeded. He was so accustomed\nto vibrate between his study and his lecture-room, that to be\nquite silent or to have all the talking to himself had become most\nnatural to him, so, as we have said, he proceeded.\n\n\u201cPainting recalls to me Polygnotus, mentioned, I think, by\nPausanias, yet I\u2019m not quite certain. He was an Athenian painter\nof great celebrity, and one of his works was an allegorical\npicture, in which unavailing labor was symbolized by a man twisting\na rope which an ass nibbles in pieces as fast as he advanced.\nThese allegorical pictures are pleasant studies, and it is truly\nsurprising to compare all the different interpretations of them\nby all the different people, who call the same object by totally\ndifferent names, and of course draw from the entire composition\nvery different conclusions. Things are generally contradictory to\nthemselves as well as to other things, especially when viewed in\nthat dim light which I would call, if I may be allowed an original\nexpression, the _mist of ages_. We may cite for this Silenus.\nHe is the only heathen god depicted on an ass. Now, the morals\nand manners of Silenus are very well known, and his association\nwith this quadruped is complimentary to it or not, according to\nthe view taken. It may be a panegyric on a patient, sure-footed,\nphilosophical animal, who could put aside personal feeling in\nchoosing his company, and bear his bibulous rider in safety when\nhe was totally unable to walk. Or was Silenus an immortal in\ndisgrace--degraded from horse, tiger, lion, panther, not to mention\nchariots and wings, all that gods and men delight in, and doomed\nto the indignity of donkey-back? If the latter, certainly the\ncreature rose superior to his situation in the end; his voice must\nhave been tremendous! In battle between the gods and giants, when\nSilenus rode in among them, it was his sonorous bray that threw\nthe giant ranks in confusion and actually put them to flight. He\nwas well rewarded for this service, for justice is in the sky if\nnot on earth. He was exalted to the constellations. Search the\nstar-lighted sky for Cancer, and you will find in it the once\nhumble Asellus of Silenus.\n\n\u201c_Mid\u00e6 aures_, the asinine appendages which the king was forced to\naccept so unwillingly on Mount Tmolus (a proper reproof to captious\ncriticism),\n\n  \u2018Induiturque aures lente gradientis aselli,\u2019[27]\n\nwere evidently a compliment to the quadruped; for certainly Apollo\nmeant them for an improvement on his own, which had so signally\nfailed him.\u201d\n\nHere mein herr came to a decided stop necessarily, for the donkey\nwas at last loaded, and such a load! Nothing but a donkey could\nhave stood under it, much less walk! It was cabbages this side,\npotatoes that side, cauliflowers in the middle. Then salad laid on\nloose; then celery stuck in endwise; then great bunches of sage and\nsavory and thyme, and herbs for the soup, _Petersilie_ and _der\nRettig_. All these, hung on everywhere, made Jack so fragrant that\nhis coming could be known long before he was in sight. Lastly, was\na delicate little basket of eggs, engaged long ago by a dainty\ncustomer, swinging easily, so as not to break, under all.\n\nAs Jack was pretty nearly buried out of sight under the\nsubstantials of trade, the Frau von Steufle took the flowers for\nher share, and she was equally well laden. She could only be said\nto resemble an immense walking bouquet, with a pleasant, happy face\npeering out from its midst. Truly, the two were worth seeing. As\nfor Jans, his great responsibility was load enough for him, and so,\nwith good wishes and great expectations, they departed.\n\nThe Herr von Heine was alone all that long summer day. It was\nrather a pleasant variety at first. Solitude has charms about it.\nHe wandered through the house, and explored every nook in the\ngarden, and went a long way over the grass to look at the pigs; he\nfed the chickens and even patted the cow. The old cat seemed to\nthink it incumbent on her to show him the premises. At all events,\nshe escorted him hither and thither, now turning somersaults in\nfront of him, now flying up a tree to take a bird\u2019s-eye view of\nhim, or perhaps to show him there were some feats not to be learned\nin books; then down again, in a sentimental sort of humor rubbing\nher head and ears against him, under his very steps; she quite\ndisturbed his equilibrium.\n\nThe large house-dog, or, rather, yard-dog, for there he lived,\nlooked on with a more suspicious air, as if he should like to be\ninformed what this new state of things meant; and after returning\nthe learned Herr von Heine\u2019s proferred intimacy with the slightest\npossible wag of his tail, he walked off to attend to his own\nbusiness.\n\nPerhaps mein herr added a trifle that holiday to his stock of\nknowledge. He had evidently descended from his pedestal of dignity,\nand he enjoyed it vastly; besides, he had often introduced such\nthings in an illustrative or figurative manner to his classes, and\nit was as well to make himself familiar with their surroundings.\n\nBut it was getting late now, the sun had set, twilight deepened\ninto darkness, or rather moonlight. Where could the three be\nstaying? Jans and his good wife were always home from market long\nbefore this hour, even when each carried a load with a barrow to\nwheel by turns!\n\nHe walked down to the road-way, and gazed long and anxiously\ninto the distance. No signs of them yet! Where could they be? He\nreturned to the house, and, ascending to his chamber, selected\nfrom among his books a volume in Latin by the renowned Cornelius\nAgrippa. He turned to the last chapter, \u201cAd Encomium Asini\nDigressio.\u201d[28] He felt an intense interest at this moment in\nasses. It was possible some of their peculiarities had escaped\nhis knowledge; he desired to ascertain. But he failed, under the\npeculiar circumstances, to fix his attention, so he laid the book\naside, and returned to the regions below; to his solitary stroll up\nand down the gravel-walk, with an occasional pause for a long and\nanxious survey of the road. Even his meerschaum was forgotten or\nuncared for.\n\n    \u201cBut Time is faithful to his trust:\n    Only await, thou pining dust.\u201d\n\nTime, which does so much, at length brought them home. To his great\nrelief, the trio reappeared, and, creeping slowly along, turned\nfrom the road into the gravel-walk and reached the house, all three\nevidently depressed in spirits.\n\n\nIII.\n\nJackey had been turned loose in the paddock on his return, _not_\nfor good behavior; and he alternated there between nibbling the\ngrass as assiduously as if he had engaged to mow the whole before\nnext daylight, and standing still with his head thrust down and\nfixed, as motionless as if he had been carved out of stone.\n\n\u201cA singular animal truly,\u201d said mein herr to himself as he looked\ndown from his chamber window. \u201cHe reminds me--\u201d\n\nHere a summons to supper interrupted the reminiscence; and, when\nthey were all revived with the delicious hot coffee and cream which\nthe Frau von Steufle knew so well how to mix, Jans entered on his\nadventures as follows:\n\n\u201cI thought a donkey was a great traveller, and very careful and\nmindful, and to be trusted, and good on bad roads, and could eat\nwhat a donkey ought to eat, and not steal what was not meant for\nhim.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course,\u201d said the Herr von Heine; \u201cyou are right, he is a\ngreat traveller. I tried one myself on the Alps, that is, I began\nthe Alps on a donkey; most people begin the Alps on a donkey, next\na mule, then on foot, if they try Mont Blanc. I well remember\nthe last view I took of the Jungfrau and its avalanches from the\nWengern Alps. At the Hospice of St. Bernard I took a comfortable\nmeal from the good monks, and then on foot and mule-back I mounted\nby way of Martigny and T\u00eate Noire to Chamouni. In Egypt there is\nnothing like a donkey for the desert; when I was at Cairo (that\nwas in my student life), many a pleasant morning I started out on\na donkey, and spent the day among the ruins about there. Great\nclimbers they are, so obedient and sure-footed. The little white\ndonkeys of Egypt are beauties, long silky hair; the pashas value\nthem highly. Certainly the ass is a traveller; the wild asses of\nSyria are fleet as the wind. Then, what would Rome be without\ndonkeys? or any part of Italy, for that matter? Along the coasts,\nthe bay of Naples, Mount Vesuvius, now over sand and stones and\nlava, and volcanic ashes fetlock-deep, now to explore pleasant\nfields, and woody paths, and old highways, always picking his way\nso carefully up and down steep places, by some path of his own\nyou fail to see--why, you may ride on one to the very verge of a\nprecipice, and take your view from his back, as safely as if you\ncrept there on hands and knees! Oh! yes, they are great travellers,\nthough sometimes slow.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery slow is Jackey,\u201d responded his owner, \u201cso slow that a good\npart of the time he stood still.\u201d\n\n\u201cPossible?\u201d queried mein herr. \u201cPerhaps his load was rather--but\nyet, you can hardly overload a donkey. Why, in Rome they are\nperfect moving heaps of fagots, hay, fruit, old clothes, mats,\nbrooms, and brushes, and everything, in fact, that is salable\nand movable, with a dirty, swarthy peasant striding beside him\nas driver, or, it may be, a boy; but, no, I should say they are\n_always_ driven by a mob of boys. I hold that the most gregarious\nof all animals is the human biped in its youth; and if I were\ncalled upon for a centre-piece, with most power to collect around\nit these juvenile swarms of the genus _homo_, I should name a\nRoman donkey. Before him, behind him, a body-guard on each side,\nall sizes, in all sorts of garments, or, rather, in all degrees\nof nudity, shouting, yelling, laughing, talking, and each one\nusing all his powers to increase the speed of the poor little\nbeast--there you have a Roman donkey! I have been told of a scene\nin Rome. A little ass whose panniers were two good-sized baskets\nof eggs; it was about Easter time, when eggs are valuable. To\nhasten him, his driver, a tall, ragged peasant, struck him smartly,\nwhich offended him. He stood still a moment, then deliberately\nlaid himself down, and rolled over. The peals of laughter which\ngreeted the donkey as he arose, daubed and dripping with the\nyellow semi-liquid, the bewailings of his owner, all together were\nworth seeing. In no place in Europe are they as poorly fed and\nas much abused as by the lower classes in Paris; truly they are\nmiserable-looking wretches there, bony, sulky, dirty. I have often\nwished to apply to the back of the ragged, screaming boy-driver\nthe stick with which he was cudgelling his poor donkey. Monsieur\nChateaubriand says he would gladly be the advocate of certain\ncreatures, works of God, despised by men, and \u2018en premi\u00e8re ligne,\u2019\nsays he, \u2018figuereraient l\u2019\u00e2ne et le chat.\u2019\n\n\u201cThe heavy-laden ass is a verity in ancient lore; even its name\nis used to express hardship and endurance; as from the Greek\nword \u1f44\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2, an ass, is supposed to be derived the Latin _onus_,\nsignifying a _burden_.\u201d\n\nMein herr made a pause, he was evidently lapsing into the delusion\nthat he was in his _Collegienhaus_, lecturing on donkeys. The\ngentle frau recalled his wandering wits by observing, in a low, sad\nvoice:\n\n\u201cOh! he shook so many things off; all lost; he shook half his load\noff in the creek!\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed!\u201d exclaimed the herr, \u201cis it possible! that was not to be\nexpected of him. Many classical writers mention _loading_ the ass,\nbut I cannot recall a single instance where he _unloaded_ himself\nin a creek!\n\n\u201cHorace, it is true, refers to what might be a little sulkiness\nunder a heavy load, when he represents himself as a sort of\ndiscontented donkey under the infliction of some of his troublesome\nfriends:\n\n    \u2018Demitto auriculas ut iniqu\u00e6 mentis asellus\n    Quum gravius dorso, subiit onus.\u2019[29]\n\n\u201cThen, the poor creature has been at times imposed on in a manner\nwhich might excuse resentment. In ancient Rome, for instance, on\nsacred days all labor was forbidden, with the exception of some\ncertain kinds considered necessary.\n\n    \u2018Quippe etiam festis qu\u00e6dam exercere diebus\n    Fas et jura sinunt.\u2019[30]\n\n\u201cThe works allowed were setting traps for birds which were hurtful,\nordering the trenches which irrigated the fields, and some few\nothers of like kind. To the rustics, permission was granted to\ncarry their farm produce to market on sacred days, and they also\nmight bring a load back. This was allowed them in order that this\nbusiness might not interrupt them on working-days. Now, a _load_\nwith them necessarily demanded an ass; consequently the ass knew\nno sacred day, no day of rest from his burdens, and _such_ loads,\nMynheer von Steufle!\n\n    \u2018S\u00e6pe oleo tardi costas agitator aselli\n    Vilibus aut oneras pomis; lapidemque revertans\n    Incusum,\u2019 etc.[31]\n\n\u201cOil, cheap fruits, millstones, black pitch! Ah! _mein lieber\nFreund_ what a load! I hardly believe they prefer thistles to\ngrass, as some say, but they will subsist on one-third of what is\nrequired by a horse under all this labor.\u201d\n\nJans looked at him ruefully and incredulous:\n\n\u201cSome may--some of them may--but I count Jack two horses at the\nleast. He must have been eating all night, for he had enough put\nbefore him; and to-day, why, you\u2019d think he hadn\u2019t seen a corn-husk\nin a month. He ate apples and cauliflowers, and a peck of peas,\nand--and--\u201d\n\nThe Frau von Steufle supplemented the catalogue of enormities.\n\n\u201cAll my roses, thorns and all, and Katrina von Dyke\u2019s beautiful\ntulips that she had just sold, and my tallest bouquet, the one that\nwas engaged for the grand altar. O dear! what will they do? Then\nhe chewed up a nice bonnet, and he overset the things! Dear me, so\nmuch mischief! Ah me!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, yes,\u201d said Jans, \u201cit is well to say, ah me! Look at the\nbills that will come in to-morrow!\u201d\n\n\u201cTruly,\u201d said the herr in a tone of commiseration, \u201cit is\nsurprising. It was not to be expected! Yet we must look at the best\nof it. Horace says:\n\n    \u2018Nemo adeo ferus est, ut nom mitiscere possit\n    Si modo cultur\u00e6 patientem commodet aurem.\u2019\u201d[32]\n\n\u201cI know not what that may mean, Mein Herr von Heine,\u201d said Jans,\n\u201cnor do I know the Herr Horace; but I wish, if he wants a donkey,\nhe would take mine. I wish he had him.\u201d\n\nThe herr was silenced.\n\nMorning came, and with it a heavy bill to Jans von Steufle for\ndamages done by a certain donkey, who did kick, bite, tear, trample\non, and devour a long list of things belonging to a long list of\npersons.\n\nEvening came, and with it came a lad, halter in hand, which he\nquietly knotted round Jackey\u2019s neck, and led him away, looking as\nsolemn and as amiable as when he first arrived.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[14] Sourkrout.\n\n[15] Sausage.\n\n[16] Cream-cheese.\n\n[17] Roast-beef.\n\n[18] Stewed meat.\n\n[19] Bed-quilts.\n\n[20] Bed-linen.\n\n[21] The hall where lectures are mostly delivered.\n\n[22] See preface to _Labors of Persiles and Sigismunda: A Romance_,\nthe last work of Cervantes, and left unfinished at his death.\n\n[23] \u201cMay you sleep well!\u201d\n\n[24] Common sitting-room.\n\n[25] \u201cAssuredly, sir.\u201d\n\n[26] \u201cAh! yes.\u201d\n\n[27] \u201cAnd he puts on the ears of an ass quietly moving along.\u201d\n\n[28] \u201cA Digression in Praise of an Ass.\u201d\n\n[29] \u201cI let down my ears as a young ass of stubborn mind when he\nhas taken a burden too heavy for his back.\u201d\n\n[30] \u201cSince even on festive days, right and the laws allow us to do\ncertain things.\u201d\n\n[31] \u201cOften the driver loads the sides of the slow ass with oil or\ncheap fruit, and bringing back the wrought stone,\u201d etc.\n\n[32] \u201cNo one is so savage that he cannot be tamed if he will lend\nan ear to instruction.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE ROMAN EMPIRE AND THE MISSION OF THE BARBARIANS.\n\n\n\u201cOur clock strikes when there is a change from hour to hour; but\nno hammer in the horologe of time peals through the universe when\nthere is a change from era to era.\u201d[33] So writes Mr. Carlyle in\none of his powerful essays; and he is correct. As gradually and as\nsilently as childhood passes into youth, and youth into manhood,\nand manhood again into old age, so does a nation and the world\nitself pass from one era into another. But if the signal of such\na change is not heard sounding through the world, the moment of\nthe transition is foreknown and has been preordained by God, under\nwhose eye all agents throughout the universe are ever acting out\ntheir parts. Men are sometimes taken by surprise, but God never.\nMen are often mistaken in their calculations of the action of\nnatural forces, but it cannot be so with God. A revolution brews\nlike an angry storm, all in silence; and bursts; and a nation is\nshivered into fragments. Men are amazed; they have made a false\nreckoning; but the storm has brewed under the eye of God, and\ngathered its hidden forces, and burst at the very moment that God\nallowed it, and the havoc has been done up to the time which he has\nmarked out. This is the expression of a great Catholic principle\nof history which it is well, especially in this age of godless\ntheories, to keep constantly before our minds. We are about to\nendeavor to show how powerfully the truth of this great historical\nprinciple is brought out in that part of history to which our\nsubject refers, for it is well said by Cesare Cantu in his _Storia\nUniversale_,[34] \u201cIf ever history was manifested as a visible order\nof Providence, it was in these times.\u201d\n\nAs we pass from the fourth into the fifth century, we come into\na new era of the history of the church. The fourth age was one\nof mental strife; it was an age of great minds. The enemy of the\nchurch in the time of the persecutions had been brute force; now\nit was power of intellect. But God always has his champions ready.\nIn the persecutions, they were the martyrs; in the fourth age,\nthey were the Athanasiuses and the Ambroses. But in the fifth\nage the men of God\u2019s choice are of another type. They are men\nout of the darkness, savages of the forest, wild dwellers amid\nthe ice-mountains and the swamps. They have known no civilizing\ninfluences; they are nature\u2019s children, and hardy as the rock and\ngranite. They have reason, it is true; but it does not guide them\non their strange, savage mission. They are all driven on by an\ninstinct that is irresistible.\n\nThe words of Alaric are the expression of the feelings of all those\nwild warriors. As the Gothic leader is marching towards Rome at the\nhead of his army, a solitary goes out from his grotto to arrest him\nin his course. \u201cNo,\u201d replies Alaric, \u201ca mysterious voice within me\nsays: March on, go and sack Rome.\u201d So we are told by Socrates[35]\nand Sozomen[36] in their histories. Thus, then, they go to their\nstupendous work of destruction. That work is characterized by\nblood, and smoke, and the crash of falling cities. The age is one\nof chaos. Never before since the world began were there such wild\nruin and devastation; never such terrible levelling to the ground\nof human grandeur; never such savage smashing up of the monuments\nof luxury and worldly greatness. It would, indeed, be difficult\nto describe adequately what is so confused and so chaotic. When\nthe storm-clouds have gathered and overshadowed us with darkness,\nwhen the lightning-fires flame through the sky and scathe the\nforest-trees, and the blinding raindrops drive in fury through the\nair, can we see any order in it all? Can we draw lines and mark\nout clearly the different elements of the storm? No. It is only\nwhen the storm is spent and the air becomes clear again that the\neye can discern what havoc has been done. The giant oak has been\ncleft by the storm-spirit\u2019s fiery sword; the lofty tower has been\nhurled down from its stately height; the rocks have been split,\nand the earth\u2019s surface torn up, as by the bursting of some mighty\nengine of war. So it would be difficult to describe, with anything\nlike clearness of method, the mighty storm which burst upon the\nRoman Empire in the fifth century. However long we pore over the\npages of Paul Orosius or Salvian, we still rise from our study with\nbewildered brain. God lets loose his wild messengers of wrath, and\nthey do their savage work in their own savage way. We can see no\norder in it--to our eye there is none. We hear the wailing cries\nof despair, and the frenzied howls of the conquering barbarians,\nand the loud re-echoing crashes of the falling empire. But it is\nonly when the smoke has cleared off and the dust has subsided that\nwe can form any idea of the ruin and devastation which have been\naccomplished. If our task, then, were mainly to draw an accurate\nand true picture, we should fail. But it is rather to give a view\nof a period of history from a Catholic philosophical standpoint: it\nis to show, as far as we can, the action of God on human affairs.\nIt will be necessary, then, first to point out what the mission of\nthe Roman Empire was--a mission to build up: and then the causes\nwhich prepared the way for the mission of the barbarians--a mission\nof sweeping destruction.\n\nAt the time when the Son of God came down upon earth, the Roman\nEmpire was at the height of its splendor and power. Never in\nthe history of the world had there been an empire in every way\nso wonderful. Never before had there been a power so mighty\nand all-embracing in its dominion. All that had been great and\nbrilliant in the civilization of the empires of old had come down\nto Rome, and had undergone a boundless development there. This\ntruth is powerfully put forth in the words of the first professor\nof the philosophy of history at the Catholic University of Ireland.\nWe will quote his words: \u201cThe Empire of Augustus,\u201d he says,\n\u201cinherited the whole civilization of the ancient world. Whatever\npolitical and social knowledge, whatever moral or intellectual\ntruth, whatever useful or elegant arts the enterprising race of\nJapheth had acquired, preserved, and accumulated in the long course\nof centuries since the beginning of history, had descended without\na break to Rome, with the dominion of all the countries washed by\nthe Mediterranean. For her the wisdom of Egypt and all the East\nhad been stored up; for her Pythagoras and Thales, Socrates, Plato\nand Aristotle, and all the schools besides of Grecian philosophy\nsuggested by these names, had thought; for her Zoroaster, as well\nas Solon and Lycurgus, legislated; for her Alexander conquered, the\nraces which he subdued forming but a portion of her empire. Every\ncity in the ears of whose youth the Poems of Homer were familiar\nas household words, owned her sway. Her magistrates, from the\nNorthern Sea to the confines of Arabia, issued their decrees in the\nlanguage of empire--the Latin tongue; while, as men of letters,\nthey spoke and wrote in Greek. For her Carthage had risen, founded\ncolonies, discovered distant coasts, set up a world-wide trade, and\nthen fallen, leaving her the empire of Africa and the West, with\nthe lessons of a long experience. Not only so, but likewise Spain,\nGaul, and all the frontier provinces from the Alps to the mouth of\nthe Danube, spent in her service their strength and skill; supplied\nher armies with their bravest youths; gave to her senate and her\nknights their choicest minds. The vigor of new, and the culture\nof long-polished, races were alike employed in the vast fabric\nof her power. In fact, every science and art, all human thought,\nexperience, and discovery had poured their treasure in one stream\ninto the bosom of that society which, after forty-four years of\nundisputed rule, Augustus had consolidated into a new system of\ngovernment, and bequeathed to the charge of Tiberius.\u201d[37]\n\nThis passage from Mr. Allies is like a brilliant flash of light\nthrown on Rome\u2019s greatness; but yet it only gives us a glimpse. It\nwould take us long to form to ourselves an adequate idea of this\ngreatest of empires. We should have to make long journeys through\nher extensive provinces, measure her vast cities, march along her\ngrand roads, and, after we had journeyed over all the civilized\nworld of those days, we should still be within the circuit of\nthe mighty empire. Her sway extended over the three then known\ncontinents: \u201cGaul and Spain, Britain and North Africa, Switzerland\nand the greater part of Austria, Turkey in Europe, Asia Minor,\nSyria and Egypt, formed but single limbs of her mighty body.\u201d[38]\n\nIt is wonderful, again, to think of what Pliny calls the \u201cimmensa\nRoman\u00e6 pacis majestas.\u201d The inconceivable majesty of Rome in\nthe time of peace was, perhaps, more overpowering than anything\nelse about her. Having a boundlessness of empire such as we have\ndescribed, containing within her circuit a population, according to\nGibbon, of 120,000,000, looking round from her throne of supreme\nauthority, and claiming all as her own that was visible to the eye\nof civilization, she could stretch forth her sceptre over all this\nimmeasurable area and over these countless peoples, and hold all\nin submission and peace. We cannot, then, be surprised that Rome\nruled over the nations as a goddess; that divine power and majesty\nwere believed to belong to her. Her sway was felt from the Rhine\nand the Danube to the deserts of Africa, from utmost Spain to\nthe Euphrates, like an ubiquitous presence. Her eye of authority\nreached from one extremity of the world to the other, and she had\nher 340,000 men stationed on the frontiers, looking with watchful\nken into the vast unknown solitudes beyond, and ever ready to hurl\nback the savage hordes of external foes, if perchance they stepped\nforward for a moment from their native darkness. Very few forces\nwere needed to preserve internal order. That same Gaul which in\n1860 required 626,000 armed men to preserve internal order and\nfor external security in time of peace, had a garrison of only\n1,200 men in the days of old Rome.[39] Well then may Pliny and\nthe old Roman authors speak with such admiration of the \u201cimmensa\nRoman\u00e6 pacis majestas.\u201d Nothing had ever been seen on the earth\nso imposing and so grand. No empire had ever existed with such a\nboundless sway, such wonderful internal organization, such a union\nof strength, such compactness of power, and such an awe-inspiring\nname. And at the time of Augustus there was no sign of decay\nor deterioration. Rome was, on the contrary, rising higher and\nhigher in cultivation and refinement. We may here quote the words\nof Tertullian in his treatise _De Anima_; they give us a vivid\nand beautiful picture of the Roman Empire of his day. \u201cThe world\nitself,\u201d he says, \u201cis opened up, and becomes from day to day more\ncivilized, and increases the sum of human enjoyment. Every place is\nreached, is become known, is full of business. Solitudes, famous of\nold, have changed their aspects under the richest cultivation. The\nplough has levelled forests, and the beasts that prey on man have\ngiven place to those that serve him. Corn waves on the sea-shore,\nrocks are opened out into roads; marshes are drained, cities are\nmore numerous now than villages in former times. The island has\nlost its savageness, and the cliff its desolation. Houses spring up\neverywhere, and men to dwell in them. On all sides are government\nand life.\u201d And so we might go on indefinitely, describing Rome\u2019s\npower, and riches, and civilization, and never succeed in giving an\nidea equal to the great reality. Then, as we think of all this, we\nare led to ask ourselves, How is this mighty empire ever to fall?\nOther empires, we know, rose and fell, but at their highest point\nof greatness they could not be compared to the Empire of Rome. All\nthat they had of might and majesty and durability Rome has, and\nimmeasurably more. Men have not known how to qualify her power, nor\nhow to designate her except by calling her \u201cEternal Rome.\u201d Where,\nthen, can another power come from that shall be able to cope with\nher? She looked as durable as the very firmament which God had set\non immovable pillars, more lasting than the rock-built earth on\nwhich she had grown and developed for nearly a thousand years. Her\nexistence was inconceivable before she began to be; her ceasing to\nexist was as inconceivable afterwards. It seemed as if to destroy\nher would be to split the earth itself on which she was based, or\nto shiver the universe, which she seemed to embrace in her mighty\narms. Of her capital itself a great living writer says: \u201cLook at\nthe Palatine Hill, penetrated, traversed, cased with brick-work,\ntill it appears a work of man, not of nature; run your eye along\nthe cliffs from Ostia to Terracina, covered with the _d\u00e9bris_ of\nmasonry; gaze around the bay of Bai\u00e6, whose rocks have been made\nto serve as the foundations and the walls of palaces; and in those\nmere remains, lasting to this day, you will have a type of the\nmoral and political strength of the establishments of Rome. Think\nof the aqueducts making for the imperial city for miles across the\nplain; think of the straight roads stretching off again from that\none centre to the ends of the earth; consider that vast territory\nround about it, strewn to this day with countless ruins; follow\nin your mind its suburbs, extending along its roads for as much,\nat least in some directions, as forty miles; and number up its\ncontinuous mass of population, amounting, as grave authors say,\nto almost six million; and answer the question, How was Rome ever\nto be got rid of? Why was it not to progress? Why was it not to\nprogress for ever? Where was that ancient civilization to end?\u201d[40]\nAfter looking at Rome with a human eye, this is the way we should\nspeak; these are questions we should ask. To the human eye, Rome\nwas based on everlasting foundations, and was to be immortal.\nThere was no power--there could be no power sufficiently mighty to\nmove her from her seat. But looking at her from the standpoint of\nthe great Catholic principles of history, we shall use language\nvery different. We shall say that Rome, however mighty and well\nbased, will last no longer than serves the wise designs of God\u2019s\nprovidence. He raised her up, as he has raised other empires, for\na mission; when that mission is fulfilled, he will say to her,\n\u201cPerish,\u201d and she will wither away and gradually die, or, if so be\nhis pleasure, she will be swept, as by the fury of a storm, from\nthe face of the earth. It was the latter judgment that actually\nfell upon her, and we have to see in the course of this essay with\nwhat terrible reality it was carried out.\n\nMighty as Rome was, so was she intended for a mighty mission. She\nhad subdued the world, and the world was at her feet. Her great\nhighways cut through her immense empire in every direction. By\nthese broad roads the riches of the provinces were carried to\nher bosom, and by these roads went forth her legions to guard\nthe distant frontier. She had given her own language to the\nvarious races which she had bent under her sway, so that her\nword of command was understood and obeyed in every part of her\nwide empire. At this point, then, in the course of her history,\nGod had determined to appear, in visible form, on the scene of\nhuman events. When the world was thus at peace, and under the\nsway of this mightiest of empires, the Prince of Peace came on\nearth. Circumstances never could have been more favorable for the\nestablishment of his kingdom. It strikes us, then, here at once,\nthat the evident mission of the Roman Empire was to prepare the\nway for Christianity. In spite of the opposition of pagan gods;\nin spite of sensual passions and human pride, the Crucified will\nhave Rome, as has been long ago preordained, for the seat of his\nown wonderful empire. Thence his missionaries will go forth,\nlike Rome\u2019s own conquering legions, but unto still more glorious\nconquests than they. The broad Roman roads will rejoice more under\nthe footsteps of these new conquerors than ever they did in days\nbefore under the tramp of warlike battalions returning booty-laden\nto the great capital. Everything is ready for the prosecution\nof these new conquests. The provinces are at peace and ready to\nreceive these Heaven-sent messengers. Men seem to be waiting for\nsome voice that shall be heard sounding through the world telling\nthem to lay down their swords for ever, to forget their strifes,\nand that they are all brothers. Such a voice is now to be heard.\nThe language of Rome has made itself universal in order that it may\nbe the organ of a universal religion. When the first revelation\nwas made, the language of the human race was one; so was it\nnecessary that, when a new revelation was about to be given to men,\nthey should be brought back again to unity of language, in order\nthat revelation might be universally received, and be transmitted\nto future ages. The great Roman conquerors had no thought, whilst\nthey went forth to conquest with their countless warriors, full\nof ideas of human glory and lust of booty, that they were the\nsimple instruments of him who was ruling in the heavens, and whom\nthey knew not. But so it was. And we see how God\u2019s designs were\ncarried out. We see, in course of time, the aged fisherman, from\nthe Galilean Lake, wending his way toward the great Roman capital.\nAs he walks along the Via Appia with his scrip and staff, he is\nthe symbol of simplicity and human weakness. But mark you well\nthat old way-worn form. There walks the first of the great race\nof Popes. He represents no contemptible power, that weak-looking\nwayfarer. He bears with him a secret source of strength which will\ngive him courage against all obstacles. Though he looks so mean in\nhis Jewish garb, yet he is a conqueror such as the world has not\nyet seen. He has no legends at his back, no surroundings of earthly\nmight to make the world tremble before him. But he bears with him\nsomething mightier than Roman armies, and far more irresistible: it\nis the Cross of Jesus Christ. March on, old man, to the great city\nthat is called the mistress of nations and omnipotent. Fear not;\nthou shalt subdue her with thy poor wooden cross, and plant in her\nmidst thy everlasting throne. Yea, of a truth, the throne which\nthat old man shall establish there shall be the first immovable\nthrone which the world has ever seen. The throne of Cambyses has\npassed away; the throne of Alexander has crumbled to dust; and the\nthrone of the Roman C\u00e6sars will soon be buried in the wreck of\nbarbarian invasion. But the throne of the fisherman will stand firm\nwhere he planted it, whilst everything around perishes and crumbles\naway. Nations and kings will mistake it for a human thing, and they\nwill, in their blind rage, rush against it to overturn it; but they\nwill dash themselves to pieces in the collision, and they will be\nseen lying around in scattered fragments, whilst that throne itself\nstill remains immovable. So, then, the fisherman, conscious of\nhis great mission, enters into the mighty city which God had been\npreparing for him those long ages. That was a solemn moment for\nthe world, though the world knew it not. Other conquerors enter\ninto the capitals of kingdoms with great pomp and a mighty array\nof armed men; and perhaps their hold upon the subdued cities is\nof short duration. The tide of human affairs quickly changes, and\nperhaps the conquerors themselves are in their turn the conquered\nand the captive. But this meek old man has no armed force to awe\nmen into submission. He is the centre of no pageant. He walks on\nhis way in silence. He has nothing but his staff and his scrip and\nhis little wooden cross, which in reality is his sceptre. But he\nenters Rome to take a lasting possession of it. Not all the world\nin arms will ever again be able to make a permanent conquest of\nthat city. A mystery will henceforth hang about it for ever. It\nwill always look like a city of the past, and yet it will hold\nwithin it the life of all peoples and nations to come. By degrees,\nother kings shall leave it altogether to Peter and his successors,\nas if scared away by the mysterious presence of Christ\u2019s vicar.\nAnd if, in the course of ages, men dream like Rienzi of the great\ndays of ancient Rome, and long to see the old pagan prestige of the\ncity brought back, and then come with their mailed hands and strike\nthe mysterious power that God has established there, their mailed\nhands shall wither, and they will fall back stricken by Heaven in\ntheir turn, as Oza was in past days for his irreverence.\n\nWhen, then, Peter had taken possession of his city, the rapid\nspread of Christianity began. Here was the throne of the head of\nthe church established in the very centre of civilization and\nof the Western World. We cannot think that Romulus and his wild\nrobber-followers had any profound design in fixing the site of\ntheir city on those seven hills. No; but God had. It is remarkable\nthat Rome seems built to be even naturally and physically the\ncentre of the world. \u201cNothing,\u201d says Father Lacordaire, \u201cis\nisolated in things; the body, the soul, divine grace, everything\nis united; all is harmonious. The body of man is not that of the\nirrational animal; the configuration of a country intended for one\ndestiny is not the same as that of a country appointed to another\ndestiny, and the general form of our globe is as full of reason\nas of mystery.\u201d[41] The ancients seem to have had a traditional\nknowledge of this; hence it was that, when they built their cities,\nthey made a deep and religious study of the spot which was chosen\nas the site. Looking, then, first at Italy, we see that God formed\nit for a great purpose. It is curious to remark how Asia, Africa,\nand Europe are united, as it were, together by the basin of the\nMediterranean Sea, which also opens toward the West to allow\nthe vessels of all nations to sail to the American continent.\nInto this central Mediterranean Sea, Italy shoots out its long\nlength. On its northern side it is strongly guarded by ridges of\nmountains, and seems thus designed to be defended from Europe,\nwhilst it is its heart. Almost in the centre of this Italian\npeninsula, more to the south than the north, and more westward\nthan eastward, Rome is seated. She is built on seven hills, and\nby the borders of the Tiber, whose yellow waters roll sluggishly\nalong between banks bare and uninteresting, and destitute of that\ngreen verdure which gives such a charm to the rivers of our own\ncountry. At a distance of six leagues eastward rises the dark line\nof the Apennines; looking westward, you may catch a view from some\nelevated spot of the bright-glancing waters of the Mediterranean;\nnorthward rises the isolated Soracte, towering up like a mighty\ngiant, and seeming to stand as guardian of the plain. Directing\nyour gaze southward, your eye falls on the pleasant hamlets of\nCastel-Gandolfo, Marino, Frascati, and Colonna.[42] In this centre\nof the world, then, made such by God when he formed the globe;\nin this centre, so wonderfully adapted for easy communication\nwith the rest of the world, God has his central city built, and\nwhen the hour comes which he preordained in his wise Providence,\nhe conducts the Fisherman-Pope there, and bids him there abide\ntill the end of time. It is not likely, then, that any other city\nof the world, either Jerusalem or Constantinople, or any great\ncapital yet to be built, can supplant Rome in the honor of being\nthe city of the Popes, or that any other country will be in as\ntrue a sense the chosen country of God as Italy is. Italy was\nchosen, as we have seen, to be the heart of the world. Then God\nchose to have this great central capital from which the light of\nChristianity was to radiate to the four quarters of the globe. It\nwould be easy to show what a glorious and conspicuous part she has\nacted in all ages through the church\u2019s history. It is Italy which\nhas given to the church almost the whole long line of Pontiffs who\nhave filled the chair of St. Peter. From Italy have gone forth\nalmost all the greatest missionaries of the world. St. Innocent\nsays, in his Epistle to Decentius, that all the great founders of\nChristian churches in Gaul, Sicily, Spain, and Africa came from\nthis favored county. To her also is Germany indebted for her first\napostles; and, unless we credit the legend of Joseph of Arimathea,\nwe must own that Christianity was first brought over into Britain\nby missionaries from Rome. And we are not surprised that Italy\nis so prolific in apostles and preachers. Nearest to the heart\ndoes the life-blood flow most quickly. Under the eye of Christ\u2019s\nVicar, and under the shadow of his presence, has the Christian\nlife always been best realized. We cannot, then, wonder that the\nhistory of Christian Italy should furnish the highest and the most\nglorious pages of the history of the church. She is glorious in her\ncountless martyrs, in her learned doctors, in her great founders of\nreligious orders. With all this before us, we can understand the\nsoul-stirring words of Luigi Tosti to the Italian clergy. \u201cState\nsa,\u201d he cries out, \u201cLeviti dell\u2019 Italiano chericato, abitatori\ndella terra in cui la chiesa impresse sempre la prima orma dei suoi\npassi, quando procede all\u2019 assunzione di una forma novella. Scalza,\nperseguitata, cruenta di martirio in Pietro: ricca, guistiziera,\nfulminatrice in Ildebrando; bella, copulatrice di due civilt\u00e0 nel\ndecimo Leone; e sempre in Italia.\u201d We lose much of the fire and\nvigor of the original by translating these words into our own\nlanguage, but yet we may, perhaps, venture to render them thus:\n\u201cArise, Levites of the Italian clergy, dwellers in that land on\nwhich the church always imprints her first foot-mark whenever she\nis about to take up a new form. Barefooted, persecuted, red with\nthe blood of martyrdom in Peter; rich, rigid, hurling anathemas in\nHildebrand; beautiful, uniting the two civilizations in the tenth\nLeo; and always in Italy.\u201d[43]\n\nReturning, then, to what we have already said regarding the Roman\nEmpire, and seeing how wonderfully God has arranged all things for\nthe establishment of his holy religion, we may form to ourselves\nan idea how rapidly the truths of Christianity would spread\nthroughout the world. Now we see a nobler and higher use for those\ngrand Roman roads than ever entered into the minds of those who\ndesigned and constructed them; now we perceive the advantage of\nthat one noble Latin language being the established language of\nthe empire; now we take in more perfectly the great design of God\nin laying so many nations at the feet of Rome, and inspiring them\nwith such veneration for her very name. Thus favored on all sides,\nChristianity soon made its way into the cities and towns of the\nwide-spreading empire. We have been amazed as we have observed\nGod working out in detail this grand scheme for the propagation\nof his religion. We have seen and wondered at the mighty power\nof that Word which was confided by Jesus Christ to the apostles\nand their successors. We have seen it captivating the rich and\nthe poor alike, and baffling and finally humbling at its feet the\nproud philosophers themselves. We know how in a few years the\nChristians could be counted by thousands in Rome itself, and how\nthey were found wherever the Roman legions had penetrated. From\nRome, as from a great central sun, the light of truth shone far out\nin all directions, and Christian churches seemed to rise as by an\ninvisible power, in all cities and towns near and far distant, and\nthen shoot forth their beautiful brightness into the surrounding\ndarkness. In Africa, as Alzog and D\u00f6llinger relate, the Christians\nsoon outnumbered the pagans. And we know well, for there is no\none who has not read them, the famous words of Tertullian, in\nhis _Apologetica_: \u201cWe are but of yesterday, and already we fill\nyour towns, your villages, your fortresses, your islands, your\nassemblies and your camps, the senate and the imperial court; we\nleave you nothing but the temples.\u201d In studying the first ages of\nthe church\u2019s history, what glorious things do we witness, and how\nstrongly is the conviction forced upon us that God is there ruling\nevents and using men for his own great purposes! We see the Roman\nlegions transforming themselves, as did the Thundering Legion,\ninto so many phalanxes of conquering Christians, who rushed to\nvictory under the impulse of the grand idea that they were thus\nsubduing new countries to the rule of Christ.[44] We see those\nvictorious legions carrying with them their laws, their customs,\nand their schools to the banks of the Rhine and the Danube, and\nthere planting civilization and the faith of Christ. We wonder\nless at this when we think what noble Christian hearts were\nburning in the breasts of those brave men, and how oftentimes\nthey laid down their lives as martyrs for Christ\u2019s name. We can\nnever forget the noble Theban legions dying at the foot of the\nAlps, thus giving by their heroic martyrdom the first lessons of\nChristian teaching to the people of Switzerland. In the camps of\nRh\u00e6tia, Noricum, and Vindelicia, again, we see Christian soldiers\nsowing the seeds of their holy religion on every side of them. How\nbeautiful a thing did it appear to the devoted Ozanam to follow the\nfootsteps of these early missionaries, to represent to himself the\nhymns of redemption rising heavenwards amidst the silence of the\npagan forests, and to see in imagination the barbarians receiving\nthe waters of baptism at the same fountains which their fathers\nadored![45] The more closely, then, we study the manner in which\nChristianity was propagated in the first ages, the more clearly\ndoes the mission of the Roman Empire stand out before our eyes. It\nbecomes more and more evident, the longer we look at facts, that\nRome\u2019s conquering legions, her great far-reaching roads, her laws,\nand her one universal language were all made use of by God in a\nwonderful way, not only to prepare the way for, but also for the\nestablishment of his great spiritual kingdom upon earth.\n\nThus far we have considered the Roman Empire as working for God, as\naiding in a remarkable manner the propagation of Christianity. Thus\nviewed, the Roman Empire was on God\u2019s side. But from another point\nof view we know how bitterly she opposed God\u2019s work. Never was\nthere such dire war made against God as during the three hundred\nyears of the persecutions. We have now to glance at these years of\nblood and hatred, since they are a part of the explanation why in\nlater times there came, by God\u2019s sending, such a whirlwind of wrath\non the mighty empire that it was shaken to its very foundations,\nand fell with a crash which made the whole universe tremble. We do\nnot intend to dwell on the more minute details of these strange,\nsad years, but only to refer in a general way to the cruelty of the\npersecutors and the heroic conduct of the children of the cross in\nthe presence of death.\n\nTowards the end of the first seventy years of the Christian\nchurch, we see the imperial garden at Rome the scene of a strange\nfestivity. The Roman people are there assembled on a dark night\nfor an entertainment. The Emperor Nero is seen passing to and\nfro in his imperial carriage, followed by the senators in their\ncostly equipages amidst the shouts and plaudits of the people. It\nis the opening of the first persecution. The long, shady avenues\nare lighted up by living torches--human beings covered over with\nburning pitch are serving as festal lamps. In the open squares of\nthis garden we see women and children, belonging to some of the\nnoblest families of Rome, clothed with the skins of wild beasts,\nand cast to hungry dogs, which devour them alive. Meanwhile Nero\nlaughs with savage glee at the success of his new invention, and\nhis myrmidons congratulate him on the ingenuity he has displayed in\nit. This is only a glimpse--but we need no more.\n\nLater on we see that other monster Domitian, shut up in a dark\nchamber of his palace, holding with fiendish satisfaction the end\nof the chain which binds the limbs of those who are brought before\nhim for trial. We see him oftentimes presiding in person and\ngloating with a wild beast\u2019s _gusto_ over the tortures inflicted on\ninnocent Christians. In his reign, virtue became a crime, and the\nfollowers of Christ were put to death throughout the whole extent\nof the empire as being the declared enemies of the state. We do\nnot wonder that Domitian acquired for himself the odious name of\n\u201cthe tyrant whom the universe detested,\u201d as Suetonius tells us in\nhis _Life_ of this emperor. Neither can we wonder that the Roman\npeople endeavored to blot out even his very name from their memory.\nLactantius tells us, in his _De Morte Persecutorum_, that his\nstatues were broken to pieces, and his inscriptions effaced from\nthe proud monuments which his hands had raised.\n\nAs we pass on to Trajan and Adrian, we find no reason to be partial\nto their memories. Though no new edicts of persecution were\npublished during their reign, yet Christians were put to death in\ngreat numbers throughout the empire. When we think of Trajan\u2019s\npersecution, a grand, saintly figure always rises before our\nminds--it is St. Ignatius of Antioch, as he himself has sketched\nin striking outlines, in his famous _Epistle to the Romans_,\nthe sublime ideal of the Christian martyr, and he realized with\nwonderful exactitude that ideal in his own person.\n\nThe student of church history well remembers the bold independence\nof the holy man as he stood before the emperor at Antioch; and the\ncourageous joy with which he went to the amphitheatre to be the\nvictim of wild beasts and a spectacle to the bloodthirsty Romans,\nis one of those glorious things which the church points to as\ncharacteristic of her great martyr-bishops.\n\nAgain, when we think of Adrian, we recall that symbol of his\ncruelty, the brazen bull, into which, when heated to red-heat, the\nfaithful veteran Eustachius with his wife and family was cast. His\nname, too, brings back to our memory the brave widow Symphorosa and\nher seven sons. The cruel scene of torment is again enacted before\nour minds. We think how the poor mother was suspended aloft by the\nhair, all bruised and mangled as she was by hard lashes, whilst\nthe bodies of her children were opened before her eyes with knives\nand iron hooks. Such facts as these are certainly not calculated\nto persuade us that Adrian\u2019s character was one of mildness and\nclemency, as profane historians would have us believe. To this\nemperor belongs, as Tillemont tells us, the odious distinction of\nhaving profaned in the vilest manner those holy places which are\nso dear to Christian hearts. He defiled the holy Mount of Calvary\nby erecting thereon the sensual figure of Venus; he desecrated the\nsacred Cave at Bethlehem by setting up the statue of Adonis; and\nhe placed, as though in jeering triumph, the image of Jupiter over\nthe tomb of our blessed Saviour. Under the influence of Adrian\u2019s\nzeal, paganism experienced a temporary revival; idolatry seemed to\nregain new life and vigor, and made a great effort to substitute\nthe trophies of the devil for those of Jesus Christ. Adrian went so\nfar as to erect temples in his own honor, which, as D\u00f6llinger says,\nhave been falsely supposed by some to have been places of Christian\nworship. Adrian died at last a wretched prey to his crimes. As\nhe writhed in agony and rotted away under the violence of a\nloathsome disease, he called a thousand times upon death to come\nto his deliverance. But death came slowly to the cruel torturer of\nSymphorosa and her sons.\n\nAs we pass rapidly on down these years of blood, our eye is again\narrested, in the time of Marcus Aurelius, by the grand figure\nof glorious Polycarp, who rises then distinct and clear to our\nview, as he stands up bravely on his funeral pile above the heads\nof the Roman rabble, overspanned by his triumphal arch of fire.\nAs the venerable martyr went to his trial, a voice from heaven\nspoke to him these words: \u201cCourage, Polycarp, quit thyself like\na brave man.\u201d And so he did. No one can read without emotion the\nbeautiful, calm answer which the old man gave to the proconsul who\nordered him to \u201cblaspheme against Christ.\u201d \u201cIt is now eighty-six\nyears,\u201d the aged martyr replied, \u201cthat I have served him. How then\ncan I blaspheme against my Lord and Saviour?\u201d His noble words\nand his heroic death inspired courage in thousands of Christians\nwho afterwards gave their lives for Christ. We learn, also, that\nduring this persecution Christians who had been for some time\ndetained in the prisons were massacred _en masse_, and that the\nRhone flowed all red and ghastly with the blood which countless\nmartyrs had shed on its banks. But the emperor-philosopher felt\nhis impotence to destroy the ever-dying yet ever-multiplying race\nof Christians. \u201cVary their torments,\u201d he writes, in his despair,\nto the governors of the provinces; and then we see the victims of\nhis hatred crucified, burned, or cast to the wild beasts. Modern\nmen of science may rank Marcus Aurelius with philosophers, but we\nare inclined to believe, with M. Leroy, that it was his infamous\ncruelty towards the Christians rather than true wisdom which has\nmade them pass over in silence his shameless turpitudes and grant\nhim this proud distinction.\n\nDuring the raging persecution which Septimius Severus had\nenkindled against the Christians, we see St. Perpetua going\nboldly to death, bearing in her arms her new-born child. Her aged\npagan father, kneeling in tears at her feet and begging her to\nsacrifice to the gods, could not deter her from advancing, with\nfirm step and calm look, to meet the wild beasts of the circus. We\nsee Felicitas, Saturninus, Revocatus, and others accompanying her\nthrough the savage crowd to the same fate. What a grand procession\nof heroes--something to look at till our tears flow and our hearts\nare set on fire! As they advance proudly along, the voice of Satur,\none of their number, is heard giving forth those scathing words to\nthe wild crowd that surrounded them: \u201cLook well at us, that you may\nknow us again at the judgment-day.\u201d\n\nTurning our eyes to Alexandria, we find that city a great centre\nof persecution at this time. There it was that the most intrepid\ndefenders of religion, and the stern, penitential men of the\nThebaid, were summoned to crown their noble lives by the heroism of\nmartyrdom. And again is the blood of martyrs flowing like water in\nthe streets of Lyons. St. Iren\u00e6us and twenty thousand Christians\nare immolated in honor of Christ\u2019s name. The work of extermination\nis continued with unrelenting vigor under the gigantic son of\nthe Thracian peasant. Maximin deals out his blows of death with\nthe power and fury of a Cyclops. But the brave Christian hearts,\nbraced up to noble deeds by the secret indwelling presence of\ntheir Lord, do not quail before his terrors. And in the midst of\nthe bloody fray, we hear the soul-inspiring voice of great Origen,\ncalling aloud to his brethren in these words: \u201cBehold, generous\nathletes, your portion--a tribulation above all tribulations, but\nyet a hope above all hopes; for the Lord knows how to glorify, by\nhis rewards, those who have thought little of this poor earthen\nvessel, which death so easily breaks to pieces. I should like to\nsee you, when the combat is at hand, bounding with joy as did the\napostles in their day, who rejoiced that they were found worthy\nto suffer outrages for the name of Jesus. Remember ye the words\nof Isaiah, \u2018Fear not the reproach which comes from men, and let\nnot yourselves be cast down by their contempt.\u2019 Men laugh to-day,\nand to-morrow they are no more; already the eternal pit swallows\nthem up for ever. When you shall be on the arena of combat, think\nwith Paul that you are a spectacle to the world, to angels, and\nto men. If you triumph, Christians will applaud your courage; the\nheavenly spirits will rejoice at your victory. But if you yield,\nthe powers of hell will shout for joy, and will come forth in\nmyriads from their fiery abyss to meet you. Fight, then, valiantly,\nand, in imitation of Eleazar, leave behind you, as a remembrance\nof your death, a noble example of constancy and virtue.\u201d[46] These\nnoble words are worthy of the generous soul and the marvellously\ngifted mind of the great doctor of Alexandria. They sound forth\nwith a soul-stirring, awakening power, like a trumpet-blast from\nheaven. And, no doubt, many a trembling heart was nerved into\ncourageous daring by them; many a glorious victory was won under\ntheir influence which would otherwise have been lost. And it was in\nthe next persecution under Decius that such powerful, encouraging\nwords were needed. Never yet since the empire began to make bloody\nwar against Christ\u2019s followers had the Christians more need of\nstrength and help; never had they more need than now to picture to\nthemselves the depths of the fiery abyss, and the bright glories\nof God\u2019s kingdom. Decius came to his bloody work with a resolution\nto succeed at any cost. His orders went abroad over the empire to\nall governors and public functionaries, that every conceivable\ntorture was to be used in order to force the Christians to renounce\ntheir faith. It was not, then, prompt, quick death that was now\nthe order of the day, but slow, cruel torture. We have a picture\nof the horrors of this persecution in the words of St. Gregory of\nNyssa. \u201cThe magistrates,\u201d he says, \u201csuspended all cases, private or\npublic, to apply themselves to the great, the important affair--the\narrest and punishment of the faithful. The heated iron chains, the\nsteel claws, the pyre, the sword, the beasts, all the instruments\ninvented by the cruelty of man, lacerated, by night and by day, the\nbodies of martyrs; and each tormentor seemed to fear that he might\nnot be as barbarous as his fellows. Neighbors, relatives, friends,\nheartlessly betrayed each other, and denounced Christians before\nthe magistrates. The provinces were in consternation; families were\ndecimated; cities became deserts; and the deserts were peopled.\nSoon the prisons were insufficient for the multitudes arrested\nfor their faith, and most of the public edifices were converted\ninto prisons.\u201d[47] We find, also, St. Denis of Alexandria speaking\nin moving language of the persecution which he witnessed in his\nown city. He tells us that the numbers of the martyrs were past\ncounting. No regard was paid to sex, age, or rank; men, women,\nchildren, and old men were tormented with equal cruelty. Every\nspecies of torture was employed, and every imaginable cruelty used\nto increase the horrors of death.[48] Again, at Smyrna, Antioch,\nLampsacus, Toulouse, N\u00eemes, and Marseilles, martyrs died in\nthousands. In fact, wherever we turn our gaze, we see throughout\nthe length and breadth of the empire the blood of Christians\nflowing.\n\nDuring the reign of Valerian the monotonous work of death goes\non, but, perhaps, as we advance, the destruction of Christians\nbecomes more wholesale. At Utica the heads of one hundred and fifty\nfollowers of Christ fell at once, and at Cirta in Numidia we see an\natrocious butchery taking place which lasts the greater part of a\nday. The martyrs are led into a valley with ranges of hills rising\nto a great height on both sides, as if to favor the spectacle. They\nare ranged in line, their eyes bandaged, along the river-side; and\nthe executioner passes on from one to another, striking off their\nheads.[49] It was, perhaps, a glad sight for the savage idolaters\nwho thronged the high hill-sides to witness the bloody slaughter,\nbut it was a sublime spectacle, too, for the angels of heaven, as\nthey looked down upon those brave soldiers of Christ, and saw them\nstanding in calm, joyful silence by that African river-bank and\nreceiving their bright martyrs\u2019 crowns.\n\nThe ages of blood came to an end with the Diocletian persecution.\nIt would be difficult to imagine that anything new in the way\nof torture could be invented at this date. Ingenuity and malice\nhad already done their worst in the matter of inventions; but\nDiocletian and his associates brought with them a qualification\nin which they were surpassed by none of their predecessors, and\nthat was an intense hatred for the Christian religion. Never had\nthe rage and fury of persecutors been greater than was displayed\nby these \u201cthree ferocious wild beasts,\u201d as Lactantius calls them;\nand never, consequently, did the blood of Christians flow more\ncopiously. Hell was making its last great effort. Though we are\naccustomed, in traversing these centuries of terrible bloodshed,\nto read of cruelties which are almost beyond belief, yet we are\nstartled into new horror when we find in this tenth persecution\nan entire town with its twelve or fifteen thousand inhabitants\nconsumed by fire because it is a town of Christians. Each province\nhas its peculiar species of torture. In Mesopotamia, it is fire; in\nPontus, the wheel; in Syria, the gridiron; in Arabia, the hatchet;\nin Cappadocia, iron bars for breaking limbs; in Africa, hanging;\nthe wooden horse in Gaul, and wild beasts at Rome.[50] Where, we\nask, as we gaze over the wide-stretching empire, is not the blood\nof Christians flowing? Its voice rises heavenwards from the cliffs\nof Tangiers; it saturates the plains of Mauritania; it springs from\nwounded combatants on the shores of Tyr; but nowhere over the wide\nearth is it poured out for God\u2019s glory without his taking count of\nit. The blood of martyrs will not cry to heaven in vain; God\u2019s day\nof reckoning with the empire will surely come.\n\nBut we can dwell no longer on these ages of heroic sacrifice.\nPascal has truly said that \u201cthe history of the rest of the Romans\npales beside the history of the martyrs.\u201d Whoever wishes to see the\nfull force of this remark, let him read the _Acts of the Martyrs_,\nin the history of Eusebius, or the charming pages of Ruinart, or\nin the ponderous tomes of the Bollandists. Nowhere in Christian\nliterature is there anything so simply and touchingly eloquent.\nThe _Acts of the Martyrs_ constitute a drama whose character is\nmost sublime, and the interest of which is more than ravishing. In\norder to express our idea more perfectly, we will borrow the words\nof Mgr. Freppel. \u201cIf there be a drama,\u201d he says, \u201ceach of whose\nacts bears a special character, whilst at the same time perfect\nunity is preserved, it is the _Acts of the Martyrs_. Here we have\na bishop who puts to confusion a proconsul by the calm constancy\nof his faith; there we have a virgin who mingles with her answers\nthat enthusiasm of love with which her heart is on fire. In another\nplace, we have the Christian mother surrounded by her sons, who\nconfess one after another the simple faith of their infancy, and\npass from mouth to mouth the testimony of truth. Again, we have\nthe Christian soldier, who reveres in C\u00e6sar the majesty of power,\nbut who places above all imperial honors the worship of the King\nof kings. In this magnificent epopee of martyrdom, to which each\npersecution adds a new song, the scene varies according to time and\nplace; it is the fidelity of love and the grandeur of sacrifice\nwhich constitute its unity.\u201d[51] It is there that we have put\nbefore us the most beautiful and the most noble characters that\nhave ever done honor to the human race. We find nothing sordid,\nnothing selfish, nothing haughty in these heroes. They are meek\nand humble, yet brave and high-souled, and strikingly grand in the\nface of death. Profane history may ransack its annals, but it will\nnever be able to show us characters so noble and so admirable.\nTheir equals are not to be found in the _Lives_ of Plutarch, nor\nin the pages of Eutropius. How true is it that the Catholic Church\nalone is the Mother of Heroes! The heroism of the martyrs was of\nthat kind for which all ordinary theories fail to account. It\ngave strength to the tottering frames of venerable old men; it\nmade timid virgins courageous in the presence of hideous racks;\nit spoke by the lisping tongues of frail infants. Let the profane\nhistorian point to any scene that can equal in simple grandeur\nthe trial and death of the gentle, sweet St. Agnes, or in heroic\nendurance the painful, slow martyrdom of the beautiful Agatha, the\nglory of Sicilian virgins. Let him tell us of anything, either\nin profane fact or fable, which can equal in purity and strange\nboldness the beautiful history of Eulalia, the child-saint of\ntwelve summers, whose name is celebrated in touching harmonies\nby Prudentius as the glory of Merida, the sweet Lusitanian city\nwhich stands on the flowery banks of the rapid Guadiana. Let\nhim tell us of anything, even in the fancied facts of strangest\nromance, that is half as marvellous as the history of St. Cyr, the\nchild-confessor and martyr of three years old, who, when he was\ntaken up into the governor\u2019s embrace to be coaxed into apostasy,\nlisped out his brave confession, \u201cChristianus sum,\u201d and was dashed\nto pieces on the steps of the tribunal. Will the profane historian\nspeak of wonderful endurance? We invite him to look at the child\nBarallah, in his seventh year, who was suspended in the air and\nscourged before his mother\u2019s eyes, and who, as his blood sprang\nout on all sides, and his little bones were stripped of their\nflesh, could be brave and unflinching whilst the rough executioners\nthemselves shed tears of pity. As the blood flowed from his body,\nthe little martyr cried out in the burning heat of his torments,\n\u201cI am thirsty; give me a little water.\u201d His brave mother reproved\nhim, saying, \u201cSoon, my son, thou wilt be at the source of living\nwaters\u201d; and she carried her child in her arms to the spot where\nhe was to be beheaded, and as his head was severed from his body\nshe received it into her veil. Tell us, profane historian, of great\nmothers like this. Tell us if your greatest heroes could be so\ninvincible in the midst of suffering as the child-martyrs of the\nCatholic Church.\n\nThe three ages of martyrdom in the church\u2019s history are\nemphatically the ages of great heroes. No brave man that ever\nwent to death for any other cause went so boldly or was so calm\nand dignified as the Christian martyr in the presence of the\nexecutioner. Never before in the annals of the human race were\nmen known to go to death rejoicing; never before were they seen\nto smile and be glad when brought in sight of the rack and the\ngibbet. This perfection of courage and sublime self-possession\nwere seen every day among the martyrs of the church. This it was\nthat amazed the frantic rabble which witnessed their sufferings;\nit was this that oftentimes enraged the Roman governors so far\nas to drive them to order the death-blow to be inflicted before\nthe torturers had done their appointed work. The joy with which\nthe martyrs gave their blood for Christ\u2019s holy name is one of the\nproblems which unchristian philosophers have never been able to\nsolve. These so-called thinkers have never been able to comprehend\nthe long, mysterious blood-shedding of those three hundred years.\nThe Christian philosopher alone, with his great Catholic principles\nof history, can understand that _blood-shedding_ is the mysterious\nlaw which characterizes in such a striking manner the great work of\nthe Incarnation. As he gazes into the past, he sees the sacrificial\nblood flowing in every nation\u2019s worship. Far back in the ages of\nthe patriarchs, he can discern the red stream glistening; and as\nhis eye still gazes, he sees it flowing ever onward, with typical\nsignificance, through the centuries, until it meets the God-man\u2019s\nsacred blood pouring down from the Cross of Calvary. There the\ntypical was merged in the real. He can see, again, how congruous\nit seems that, after the great sacrifice of the cross had been\ntypified through the proceding ages by an ever-flowing stream of\nblood, and after Christ had poured out all his own blood on the\nhill of Calvary, and it had flowed down so copiously on the sinful\nworld, his first followers and disciples should in their turn shed\ntheir blood for him. This abundant blood-shedding, this wondrous\nheroic self-sacrifice, was a testimony which honest men could\nnot withstand, for, as Pascal says, \u201cmen believe witnesses who\nshed their blood.\u201d To die willingly and joyfully for another was\nsomething of which the world had not yet heard. Jesus Christ, then,\nwished to show the mighty power of his doctrine. He would let the\nworld see what wonders his cross could work in the souls of men.\nHe wished to make it manifest to all men\u2019s eyes what courage it\ncould give in the presence of the most terrible racks; how it could\nso influence the weak and timid as to make them joyful when they\nwere taken to die; how it could be a consolation and an ineffable\nsweetness in the midst of torments the most painful. All this he\ndid manifest to the world in the most striking light. His martyrs\nwere such characters as the world had not seen before; what was\nterrible to others was not so to them; when others would shriek\nwith agony, they would smile with joy; when others would languish\nand faint under the lash and the knife, they could calmly remark\nwith St. Eulalia as she looked at her wounds: \u201cThey write your name\nall over my body, sweet Jesus.\u201d Truly, the cross planted amidst a\nvery sea of blood, generously shed for the love of the Crucified,\nis the grand central point of all history, which men may look back\nat, and gaze upon with admiration and ravishment to the end of time.\n\nBut, returning to our former point of view, and looking upon\nthese centuries of terrible blood-shedding as the fierce, furious\nwar which the Roman Empire waged against God and his religion,\nwe naturally ask ourselves a question, Where is the great God of\nthe Christians whilst his children are being immolated to pagan\nsavagery throughout the whole earth? Does he from his high heaven\ntake note of what is done? Oh! he who sees the sparrow fall does\nnot lose sight of his children, nor does his eye fail to see the\nsufferings which they endure for him. The voice of his martyrs rose\nheavenwards with a mighty cry during those three hundred years. It\nrose from the saturated floor of the Roman amphitheatre; it spoke\nwith pleading eloquence from the depths of the mines of Numidia;\nit echoed incessantly in the ear of God from amid the solitudes of\nPannonia. God was not at any time deaf to that cry. He was slow in\nhis anger, but, then, on that account he was the more terrible.\nWhilst Nero was shedding the first Christian blood at Rome, God was\nsilently gathering together his avenging armies in the forests of\nthe north. It took him more than three hundred years to marshal his\noverwhelming warrior-hosts; but, O heavens! what a direful shaking\nof the universe when they did come!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[33] Carlyle\u2019s _Miscellanies_, vol. ii., \u201cOn History,\u201d p. 151.\n\n[34] Vol. i. p. 44, French ed.\n\n[35] _Eccl. Hist._, vii. 10.\n\n[36] _Hist._ ix. 6.\n\n[37] Allies, _Formation of Christendom_, vol. i. p. 42.\n\n[38] Allies, _Formation of Christendom_.\n\n[39] See _Formation of Christendom_, by Mr. Allies.\n\n[40] Dr. Newman, _Office and Work of Universities_, pp. 161, 162.\n\n[41] _\u0152uvres_ du R. P. Lacordaire, tome vi. p. 172.\n\n[42] See P\u00e8re Lacordaire\u2019s _Lettre sur le Saint-Li\u00e8ge_.\n\n[43] Tosti, _Al Clero Italiano; Prolegom.-alla Storia Universale_,\nvol. i.\n\n[44] See _Leroy_, vol. ii. p. 295.\n\n[45] See Ozanam, _La Civilisation chr\u00e9t. chez les Francs_, p. 4.\n\n[46] Origen, _Exhortatio ad Mart., passim_, quoted by Leroy.\n\n[47] St. Greg. of Nyssa, _Vita Thaumat._, p. 578.\n\n[48] See the sixth book of Eusebius\u2019 _Hist. of the Church_.\n\n[49] See Darras\u2019 _History of the Church_, Amer-edit., p. 262.\n\n[50] See Eusebius\u2019 _History_, book viii. ch. 12, and following.\n\n[51] _Les P\u00e8res Apostoliques_, 20me le\u00e7on, p. 433.\n\n\n\n\nACOUSTICS AND VENTILATION.[52]\n\n\nEvery effort to elucidate what is obscure, or to provide a\nremedy for acknowledged evils, is a just title to that friendly\nacknowledgment which the writer of this little book bespeaks. It\nis a step in the direction of progress. But it is of the highest\nimportance in the attempt to impart clear ideas upon any subject,\nthat they should be so distinctly expressed as to leave no doubt\nconcerning the identity of their subject. Thus, in treating of\n_sound_, it seems to us that the question first presented is this:\n_What is sound?_ Our author says that it \u201c_receives_ its vitality\nor its life through the air, and without air sound loses it and\nbecomes extinct.\u201d\n\nWe object to this statement of the origin of sound, as both\nunsatisfactory and indistinct. It implies that _sound_ is something\nborn and floating in the air, and external to the mind perceiving.\nWe fancy that, without _an ear to hear_, sound would not become\nextinct, but have no existence; and that the _vitality_ of which\nour writer treats is not _in_ or _on_ the air, but in the mind\nitself. This exception to the supposed origin of the _life of\nsound_ may not seem to affect the discussion of acoustics as far as\nthe practical purpose of the architect is concerned; but we insist\nthat neither the drumsticks nor the drum, nor the air within it or\nwithout, nor even all these at work, are _sound_, more than the\ntelegraph wire and the electric current are the _message_ sent\nfrom one operator to another.\n\nThat inaccuracy which we discover in our author\u2019s use of terms,\nwe find also in his quotations from others. For example: \u201cThe\nintensity of sound depends on the density of the air in which the\nsound is generated, and _not on that of the air in which it is\nheard_. A feeble sound becomes instantly louder as soon as the air\nbecomes more dense. So you will always find, on great elevations\nin the atmosphere, the sound sensibly diminished in loudness. If\ntwo cannon are equally charged, and one fired at [from] the top of\na high mountain, and the other in a valley, the one fired below,\nin the heavy air, may be heard above, while the one fired in the\nhigher air will not be heard below; owing to its origin, the\nsound generated in the denser air is louder than that generated\nin the rarer. Peals of thunder are unable to penetrate the air to\na distance commensurate with their intensity on account of the\nnon-homogeneous character of the atmosphere which accompanies them;\nfrom the same cause, battles have raged and have been lost within\na short distance of the reserves of the defeated army, while they\nwere waiting for the sound of artillery to call them to the scene\nof action.\u201d\n\nIt seems to us that the truth here expressed is not unmixed with\nerror. In the very first sentence, we think that accuracy would\nrequire the suppression of the word _not_. The intensity of sound\ndepends not only upon the density and elasticity of the air whose\npulsation is an antecedent condition, but also upon the density and\nelasticity of the air _through which_ the pulse is transmitted.\nWhile it is true that a pulse given to the denser column or stratum\nof air may be transmitted through a _rarer_ medium with greater\nresultant force than if its origin and direction were reversed, it\nby no means follows that the intensity of sound is unaffected by\nthe density of the air _in_ which it is heard. We apprehend the\ntruth to be that the pulse given to highly rarefied air is very\nfeeble; and its secondary effect upon a denser and more elastic\nfluid, correspondingly slight; while the pulse from the denser air\nwould be transmitted with greater--but still diminished--force,\nthrough the rarer atmosphere _in which_ it reaches the ear. An\n_absolute vacuum_ could not transmit the pulse given through\na column or stratum of elastic fluid. A _rarefied atmosphere_\ncould but transmit it with a force always varying with its own\nelasticity. And were it possible to preserve one\u2019s consciousness\nwithin the exhausted receiver of an air-pump, we doubt if the most\nsensitive ear could be made to hear the roar of a cataract without.\n\n\u201cA feeble sound becomes instantly louder as soon as the air becomes\nmore dense;\u201d but _not as loud_ as if the same initial pulse were\n_immediately_ given to the denser air. In the case of two cannon\nequally charged, one of which is fired on the top of a mountain,\nand the other in a valley below it, to say that \u201c_owing to its\norigin_, the sound generated in the denser air is louder than that\ngenerated in the rarer,\u201d _sounds_ much like saying it is _because_\nit is. If it be more than this, it is wrong. It is a clear case of\n_non causa pro causa_. The origin [of the _pulse_] of sound is in\neither case the same: the explosion of equal charges of gunpowder,\nin guns supposed to be of like material and equal size. The\n_effects_ are not the same, because the effect of a force depends\nupon its _transmission_ as well as upon its origin.\n\nDoes the atmosphere \u201c_accompany_\u201d peals of thunder? Or does this\nexpression convey a distinct idea of the office of the atmosphere\nin the production of sound? We understand that the atmosphere\nreceives the pulse or blow, and that its transmission to the ear\nis due to the elastic force of the intermediate air. It is not the\n_homogeneousness_ of air, but its _elasticity_ which transmits\nthe pulse. And though, in architecture, the object sought is a\nuniformly elastic air throughout the _auditorium_, it does not\nfollow, nor is it even desirable, that the _maximum effect at a\ngiven point_ should be obtained by it.\n\n\u201cScience,\u201d says our author, \u201cteaches us that, whenever a shock or\npressure of any sort is suddenly applied to material of any nature,\nwhether metal, wood, gas, water, air, etc., it is immediately\naffected in all its parts, from the point of contact to the whole\nextent of the material, in displacing and replacing the particles\nof a _determinate volume_; and the velocity of the movement of\nthe particles of the mass, created by the concussion of shocks or\npressure, depends _solely_ (?) upon its elasticity and density.\nSound likewise _causes_ motions (?) with every particle of the\nair, and as far as the motion reaches; so that each particle, with\nregard to that which lies immediately beyond it, is in a progress\nof rarefaction during return.\u201d\n\nWhat is meant by affecting a mass of matter \u201c_in all its parts_,\u201d\nby \u201cdisplacing and replacing the particles of a _determinate\nvolume_,\u201d we do not precisely understand. That whatever\ncauses motion does it \u201cas far as the motion reaches,\u201d is as\nunquestionable as any other identical proposition. But that\nthe velocity of the movement of the particles, created by the\nconcussion of shocks, pressure, _upon an unconfined elastic fluid_,\ndepends _solely_ upon its elasticity and density, we dispute.\nThat _pulses_ \u201care propagated from a _trembling body_ all around\nin a _spherical_ manner\u201d may be true, if the air is on all sides\nequally elastic. Such might be the case with those produced by the\nvibrations of a _bell_, when the surrounding air is undisturbed\nby other causes, and is uniformly elastic at equal distances\nfrom it. It would not be strictly true if the initial pulse were\nmade only in a certain direction. \u201cEvery impression made on a\nfluid is propagated every way throughout the fluid, whatever be\nthe direction wherein it is made;\u201d but it is not true that the\nimpressions are equal at equal distances from the initial pulse,\nirrespective of its _direction_. This result would presuppose a\nfluid _perfectly_ elastic; which we never have--and _then_ we\nmight, with equal truth, say that the impressions would be equal at\nall distances.\n\nEverybody is familiar with the fact that the \u201ctransmission of\nsound,\u201d the pulse which strikes upon the ear to produce the\nsensation, _is affected_ by currents of air--the direction, force,\nand velocity of the wind--between the initial pulse and the hearer.\n_How_? and _how much_? _directly_ or _indirectly_? are questions\ndistinct from the fact itself. The distance through which guns are\nheard, as well as the loudness of their report, varies with the\n_direction_, _force_, and _velocity_ of the wind; and, in very\nstill air, with the _aim_ of the gun itself, the _direction of\nthe initial pulse_. For short distances, these differences may be\nso minute as to escape notice; just as the false proportions of\na miniature picture are unobserved until the magnifier displays\nthem. And for longer ranges, they are so small, in contrast with\nthe magnitudes compared, as to seem rather like _accidental_ than\n_legitimate_ differences. But the difference is not the less real\nbecause the reality is less. Words spoken in a faint whisper are\nclearly heard by a listener immediately _before_ the speaker, when\nquite inaudible or indistinct to one at an equal distance _behind_\nhim.\n\nThe _actual velocities_ of wind and sound differ so widely that the\nsmall fraction by which their _relative velocity_ is denoted is\nheld as proof that the propagation of sound--_the pulse_--through\ndistances of a few yards or feet, is not affected by currents of\nair: that there are no _differences in the \u201cvelocity of sound.\u201d_\nYet the ear detects them as one of the small differences between\ndiscord and harmony in music; distinctness and confusion of\nspeech. In music these differences may be blended by the prolonged\nintonation of _vowel sounds_; but in speech, whose distinct\nsignificance is due to _consonants_, \u201cwhich cannot be sounded\nwithout the aid of a vowel,\u201d these differences are fatally evident.\nThe sharp edges of the vocal pulses, which give shape and meaning\nto vowel sounds, are destroyed alike by a husky voice and a puff of\nair. What remains is _vox et pr\u00e6terea nihil_.\n\nIt seems to us that some of the many failures in practical\nacoustics come from considering the air--the material involved--as\nperfectly elastic. From this it is inferred that sound is not\naffected by the direction of the initial _pulse_: that the\ndirection and velocity of the _effective_ pulse are not varied by\ncurrents and blasts of air. In short, that the slight inaccuracy\nof these assumptions will be the actual measurement of resultant\nerror.\n\nWere the purpose only to ascertain the _acoustic_ properties of\nunadulterated air, varied experiments might eliminate the errors of\nanomalous results. But when the process is reversed, and we deduce\n_effects_ from _only one_ among concurrent and conflicting causes,\ntheory is confounded by discordant facts. Theories of _sound in\npurely elastic air_ might give results approximately realized in\npractice, if the actual pulses with which we are concerned were\ngiven by a flail; but are pregnant of error when the atmosphere\nis mixed with vicious vapors, and the _pulse_ is a breath of air.\nThen, the assumption that \u201c_pulses of sound_\u201d proceed _equally_\nin all directions from the initial point, is simply false; and\ntheories based upon it can only complicate the problems to be\nsolved.\n\nWater, as well as air, is a highly elastic fluid, and, if confined\nand subjected to pressure, the force applied is exerted on all\nsides of the confined volume. But the _effect_ of a _pulse_ or\nblow upon a surface of large extent varies with the _direction_ of\nthe force as well as with its _power_ and _velocity_. We have seen\nfish swimming near the surface killed or paralyzed by a blow upon\nthe water immediately over them. And we have seen the blow fail of\nits intended effect _solely_ because it was _misdirected_. Perhaps\nthe water in the latter case was _not perfectly elastic_! Neither\nis the air of churches and public halls, when their atmosphere\nhas yielded a portion of its _oxygen_, and, in return, is charged\nwith _carbonic acid_ and moist vapors from the breath of crowded\nassemblies. _Carbonic acid gas_ is heavier _by one-half_ than\natmospheric air. It does not, then, always rise toward the ceiling\nor roof, but remains in solution with impure exhalations; or else,\ncondensed by contact with the colder walls, descends to poison the\nlower air and impair its elastic force--its power of transmitting\nthe \u201c_pulse of sound_\u201d to the ear.\n\nWe have just come from one of our city churches, where we have\nhad a striking example of this result. The church in question\nwill _accommodate_ (?) about two thousand people. Twenty-five\nhundred may be crowded into it. At the commencement of the\nsermon, the preacher\u2019s voice was distinctly audible at points\nfifty or sixty feet from the pulpit, in spite of reflections of\nsound--_air pulses_--from galleries, wooden columns, and the\narched ceiling and side-walls, of lath and plaster. Before it was\nended, the exhalations of the breathing crowd had so filled the\nlower half of the \u201c_auditorium_\u201d that only vowel sounds could be\ndistinguished; and the _peroration_ seemed to consist of spasmodic\nutterances--scarcely sounds--of _a_, _e_, _i_, _o_, _u_. _W_ and\n_y_ had lost their affinity to vowels, and the rest of the alphabet\nwere no longer _consonants_, for they were not heard at all.\n\nThe acoustic and sanitary problems are here identical--to find\na method of preventing an accumulation of foul and inelastic\nvapors around the breathing and listening congregation, and to\ngive, instead, wholesome air to their lungs, while enabling their\nears to hear. And since these poisonous and inelastic gases are\nspecifically heavier than atmospheric air, and must fall to the\nfloor by their own weight, the problem is reduced to providing\na practicable way for their escape, and guarding it against\ncounter-currents which might obstruct the passage.\n\nThe introduction of warm air through openings in or near the floor\nwill not readily produce uniformity of temperature within a room.\nThe simplest experiment in proof of this is constantly made by\nmultitudes of people, who, in crowded assemblies, find their heads\nsurrounded by warm and moist vapors, reeking with offensive odors,\nwhile their feet are chilled, though near the \u201chot-air register.\u201d\n\nA library, whose walls were 12 feet high, and whose floor--18 by\n15--contained 270 square feet, was constantly warmed by a \u201cLatrobe\nheater,\u201d placed in the chimney at one end of the room. The pot\nholding the coal was raised one foot above the level of the floor,\nwhich was covered by a woollen carpet. Immediately under the\nlibrary was a kitchen, whose temperature was kept at about 72\u00b0 F.\nThree thermometers were placed thus: No. 1, standing on the carpet\nnear the centre of the library floor; No. 2, three feet, and No.\n3, six feet, above it. At the expiration of half an hour, No. 1\nindicated 62\u00b0; No. 2, 66\u00b0; and No. 3, 72\u00b0. Numbers 1 and 3 were\nthen placed side by side with No. 2, three feet above the floor.\nAt the expiration of fifteen minutes, all three indicated the same\ntemperature of 66\u00b0. The low temperature of the inferior stratum\nof air was certainly not due to that of the room beneath it, for\nthat was above 70\u00b0. It was only the heavier, colder air of the room\nitself, and of adjacent apartments warmed in the same way, slightly\naffected by contact with the stratum of warmer air above it.\n\nSuch slight differences of temperature in small apartments could\nnot greatly affect the transmission of \u201cthe _pulse of sound_.\u201d\nBut in larger and loftier rooms, like churches and public halls,\ncorresponding differences of temperature would, and do, produce air\n_strata_ widely different in density and elasticity, and occasion\nserious acoustic defects. But the acoustic requirement is not\nsatisfied by uniformly elastic _air_ alone; for its _pulses_ are\nreflected, and unity--distinctness--of sound, is lost in echoes or\nreverberations, from windows, columns, floors, and ceilings.\n\nTo know the difficulties to be encountered is always a step towards\ntheir alleviation; and these are sufficiently apparent throughout\nthe little volume before us. They are, _First_, _inelastic\nair_--which cannot transmit its pulses to the ear. _Second_, strata\nand amorphous volumes, of unequal densities, which transmit the\n_air-pulses_ with unequal force; so that they produce _distinct\nsounds_ and _indefinite murmurs_ at equal distances from the\ninitial pulse. _Third_, _reflecting surfaces_--the floor, the\nceiling, walls, columns, and furniture of the _auditorium_; which\nvariously reflect the waves caused by air-pulses, and produce\neffects analogous to the eddies and whirlpools made by conflicting\ncurrents of running water.\n\nThe _first_ and _second_ of these difficulties are clearly within\nthe province of \u201cheat and ventilation;\u201d and any means by which\na constant tidal flow--_not a current_--of wholesome air, _from\nfloor to ceiling_, may be produced, and by which the _un_wholesome,\ninelastic, heavier _gases_ generated in crowded assemblies shall be\nprevented from accumulating but be _forced_ to give place to the\npurer air, will practically solve the problem which they present.\n\nThe _third_ difficulty is purely architectural. While _surfaces_\nreflect what are called _pulses of sound_, and so multiply their\neffects, they also create conflicting waves, which partially\nneutralize each other, or else strike the ear in irregular\nsuccession, to destroy the unity and harmony of sound. We cannot\nhave buildings free from the _inconveniences_ of walls, floors,\nand ceilings; but we can regulate and utilize surfaces to give\naid in the transmission of _air-pulses_ in _one direction_, and\ngreatly diminish the reflecting power of those that would give back\nconflicting waves of air. A sounding-board or arch, whose lower\nsurface should be a semi-paraboloid, so placed that a line drawn\nfrom its highest points, and parallel to its axis, would pierce\nthe opposite wall four feet above the floor, while the axis itself\nshould attain the same height at a distance of forty feet from the\n_focus_, would be an example of what we mean by utilizing surfaces\nto transmit air-pulses _in one direction_. The employment of an\ninelastic substance, like coarse _felt_, between the _furring_ of\na wall and the _lathing_, would undoubtedly tend to destroy its\nability to reflect the \u201c_pulse of sound_.\u201d And hollow cast-iron\ncolumns, _filled with clay_, would hardly _vibrate_ from a pulse of\nair.\n\nIn one of the Protestant churches of our city, we were shown\na sounding-board, whose authors seemed to have halted between\nthe acoustic merits of the paraboloid and the graceful shape of\nthe pilgrim\u2019s scallop-shell. We were told that \u201cit helps the\nvoice of the preacher.\u201d There seemed to be too much of it for\nornament, if its principle be wrong or inefficient, and too little\nfor usefulness if right. Many attempts to improve the acoustic\nproperties of halls designed for public lectures are failures\nthrough faulty execution of correct designs.\n\nWe once saw the working-plans of a lecture-room, where the line\nof intersection of the end wall with the floor of the stage or\nplatform was a _parabola_, the arch above and behind the lecturer\u2019s\ndesk being a _semi-paraboloid_, springing from the wall at the\nheight of the speaker\u2019s voice. Thus, it was supposed that the\n_pulses_ reflected from the walls and arch would proceed in\nparallel lines or \u201cwaves of sound,\u201d because the _initial pulse_\nwould always be given at the _focus_ of the reflector.\n\nThe place of every joist in the cylindrical wall was carefully\nmarked, and the dimensions and place of each rib of the\nparaboloidal arch accurately given. But in executing the design,\nthe builder discovered a _mistake_!--\u201cthe floor of the stage would\nnot be a true circular segment!\u201d So he \u201c_corrected_ it\u201d--with\nstunning effect upon the lecturer, and to the utter confusion of\nhis audience. And the design was pronounced _a failure_.\n\nIn looking through the work before us, we almost unconsciously\nbegan to say: \u201cThis is nothing new; we have seen this, and more\nthan this, before.\u201d And in the same sense, we suppose it might as\nwell be said that _nothing_ is essentially new.\n\nWe have lately seen a notice of an invention for tracing patterns\non glass by means of a _jet_ of sand. Of course, it is nothing\nnew. The wind has been doing the same trick with the sand of the\nsea-shore for ages. We have seen it long ago, and often. Doubtless,\nthe same effect has been noticed by many others. A thought of\nthe possible utility of a process whose result was seen may have\nflitted through many minds, and, like the outline of a passing\ncloud, have been forgotten as it passed. But honestly, we never\nthought of tracing lace patterns on glass by any such process. And\nwhile new combinations of well-known truths give new and useful\nresults, we hope they may never cease to be made.\n\nMr. Saeltzer\u2019s book is full of good hints. But that is not its\nchief merit. It recognizes the inseparable connection of sound and\nventilation, and insists upon observance of the laws which govern\nthem. As he is so evidently alive to the sanitary and acoustic\ndefects in public buildings, we shall be disappointed if his\nlittle volume does not prove to be the preface to more specific,\npractical directions for their removal. He has put his finger upon\nthe principal cause of failures. The laws of light, and heat, and\nsound are sufficiently understood to render their phenomena as\ncontrollable as time, space, and velocity in mechanics. The more\nintelligent efforts are therefore directed not to the discovery of\nnew principles involved, but to utilize what knowledge we possess.\nAnd when the effort is made at the right point and in the right\ndirection, we can heartily say, Go on and conquer. The world is\nfull of wonderful monuments signalizing defeat. Let us see just one\ncrowned with victory.\n\nAs yet, modern ecclesiastical architecture, especially, is but the\nimperfect reproduction of ancient and medi\u00e6val models. It is the\nheathen temple or the Gothic minster, or, more recently, an attempt\nto vary the monotony with Byzantine forms of old basilicas, without\ntheir grandeur. In decoration, we have crude, unmeaning imitations\nof Moorish tracery, weak in imagery of form and symbolism, without\nthose glowing contrasts and harmonies of colors which are to\narchitecture as rhythm to poetry of sound. We know the cause and\nhistory of this poverty in constructive and decorative art. History\ntells us how men became so spiritual, in their own conceit, that\nsymbolism was held to be a sin; and how, by losing the sign, the\nthing signified was forgotten or denied. But it seems almost\nunaccountable that the world should be teeming with _philosophers_,\nto whom the laws of nature, even their least tangible phenomena,\nseem familiar as things of daily use, while great temples are so\nconstructed that they who have ears to hear _cannot_ hear.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[52] _A Treatise on Acoustics in Connection with Ventilation;\nand an Account of the Modern and Ancient Methods of Heating and\nVentilation._ By Alexander Saeltzer, Architect. New York: D. Van\nNostrand, Publisher. 1872.\n\n\n\n\nODD STORIES.\n\n\nI.\n\nTHE LADDER OF LIFE.\n\nThere are a great many rounds in the ladder of life, though simple\nyouths have always fancied that a few gallant steps would take\nthem to the summit of riches and power. Now, the top round of this\nladder is not the presidency of any railroad or country, nor even\nthe possession of renowned genius; for it oddly happens that when\none sits down upon it, then, be he ever so high up in life, he has\nreally begun to descend. Those who put velvet cushions to their\nparticular rounds, and squat at ease with a view of blocking the\nrise of other good folks, do not know they are going down the other\nside of the ladder; but such is the fact. Many thrifty men have,\nin their own mind, gone far up its life-steps when, verily, they\nwere descending them fast; and poor people without number have in\nall men\u2019s eyes been travelling downward, though in truth they have\njourneyed higher by descent than others could by rising. So many\nslippery and delusive ways has this magical ladder that we may say\nit is as various as men\u2019s minds. One may slip through its rungs out\nof the common way of ascent, and find himself going down when he\nought to be going up; and vain toilers have ever fancied that they\nwere mounting to the clouds when everybody else must have seen they\nwere still at the same old rounds. Ambitious heroes have made the\nsame mistake, if, indeed, the particular ladder which they have\nimagined to themselves has not itself been sliding down all the\nwhile they have been seeking vain glory by its steps.\n\nThe ladder of life is an infinite ladder. It is full of\nindirections to suit the abilities, and of attractions to please\nthe tastes, of climbers. You may work at a forge, or sail the\nsea, or trade in money and merchandise, or hear operas, or write\nromances, or take part in politics, or wander over mountains, or\ngo to church, while living thereon; but you must go up or go down,\nand either way will have some sort of climbing and toiling to do.\nEverywhere on the ladder is trouble, save in careful steps; and\nsince human progress is so illusory, many honest persons rather\nfear to fall than aspire too eagerly, or felicitate themselves\non precarious elevations. Prudence forbids us to say at what\nreal round of the ladder are all our bankers, brokers, showmen,\nadvertisers, and other millionaires; but it is certain that good\nlittle children, and simple citizens, and poor geniuses, and\nsuffering men and women have gone higher up than the world knows.\nIndeed, they have gone quite out of sight, for there is a place\non the great ladder which few men know, and where only saints can\nsee the angels ascending and descending. Moreover, the ladder of\nlife reaches from the pit to the stars, so that they who climb up\nor climb down, as it were, may see a firmament at either end: the\ngood, their lights and joys; the evil, their chimeras and fire of\ndarkness.\n\n\nII.\n\nOBED\u2019S SONS.\n\nObed, the young man, came to Father Isaac for his blessing, who\nthus said to him with few words: \u201cThou shalt have five sons, and to\nthe first shall be given might, to the second cunning, to the third\nbeauty, to the fourth knowledge, to the fifth patience, and to all\nin accord wisdom: but God giveth naught for nothing.\u201d And as Father\nIsaac had promised, so was it fulfilled in prayer. The first of the\nsons of Obed became a mighty hunter; the second excelled in craft\u2019s\nof all kinds; the third was of a comely figure, well to look upon;\nthe fourth was learned in wise traditions; the fifth was patient,\nas none other of the family of Obed had been before him. Now, the\nfive sons ill-agreed in their husbandry in the field of their\nfathers, and they went their several ways, some near, some far,\nto seek their fortunes, leaving the last and youngest to be the\nstaff of their sire. Then poverty fell upon the house of Obed, and\ninfirmity upon the limbs of the patient man; and, dying, his father\nblessed him, saying: \u201cThe Lord bless thy patience that it fail not.\u201d\n\nAt this time, the fame of him that slew lions with his arms, and\nmen with his right hand, was very great; but a devil entered into\nhim, so that he did no work, and fell to great sloth, and men\nscorned him, and he lifted up his voice and cried: \u201cOh! that I had\nthe cunning of my brother, that my hands might know their work; and\nthe beauty of my brother, that maids should not turn from me; and\nthe knowledge and patience of my brethren, that I might with wisdom\nbide my time.\u201d\n\nFrom all sides was he sought that had the gift of cunning; but\nbeing greedy in his craft, and seeking not knowledge, nor patience,\nhe lost his cunning, and cried with a face in which there was no\nbeauty: \u201cWisdom was not given me, nor patience, neither comeliness\nnor might, and so have I been abandoned to devices of misery.\u201d\n\nRejoicing in his fair proportions, the third son of Obed danced\nbefore the daughters of his tribe, but, taken in the wiles of\nflattery and of pleasure, he became as a drunken man whose face is\na warning, and whose life is a scandal, and he lamented: \u201cOh! that\nI had the cunning or patience or might of my brethren, then should\nnone withstand me, or I be overthrown.\u201d\n\nAnd he to whom it was given to know much in many tongues, and to\ncounsel with scholars, lost the kindly ways of men, seeking vain\nand dark sciences, till he exclaimed in the bitterness of his\nheart: \u201cKnowledge is given me without wisdom: henceforth must I\nseek counsel in patience, and observe the prudence of my brethren.\u201d\nAnd he set out for the house of his fathers.\n\nNow had the infirm brother tilled the fields of his brethren,\nand taught the laborers thereof the arts of handiwork, and when\nthe sons of Obed returned to the house of their sire, one after\nanother, the first averred that he was strong, the second that he\nwas cunning, the third that he was comely, the fourth that he had\nknowledge. But Father Isaac, the shepherd of his flock, hearing\nthem, said: \u201cYea, for he hath one virtue which maketh many: the\nstaff of thy brother hath devoured thy rods.\u201d\n\n\u201cWherefore, then, lov\u2019d Isaac,\u201d spake the eldest, \u201care we robbed of\nour gifts, and wit, and might, and beauty gone from us, leave us in\nsorrow of heart?\u201d\n\n\u201cTold I not thy sire Obed,\u201d said the patriarch, \u201cthat the Lord of\nlords gave naught for naught. Have ye earned your wages--have ye\npaid back your gifts? He that had might, why was he not taught of\nknowledge and invention, and, being skilled, why learned he not the\npatience of toil? He that had beauty, why sought he not counsel of\nstrength and skill, that judgment might be his? He of knowledge,\nwhy sought he not help of patience and craft? Each had his virtue\nto purchase a share in the virtues of the rest, and to win gifts to\nhis gift, that God might be praised. But only goodness bringeth fit\nwisdom, and wisdom dwelleth not in discord.\u201d\n\nThen the sons of Obed, answering, asked: \u201cWhy hath one virtue, as\nthou sayest, devoured ours?\u201d\n\n\u201cFor that thou hast thrown thine own to the dogs, my sons, and\npatience hath picked them up. He that suffereth much with patience\nwinneth much with wisdom.\u201d\n\n\u201cEven so, Father Isaac, but have we not, too, suffered?\u201d\n\n\u201cYea, my children, that so God may teach thee wisdom, and thy gifts\nabound tenfold. He that hath much, let him save it by bounty: he\nthat hath little, let him increase it with patience: he that hath\nwon, let him divide the victory. Share ye each other\u2019s virtues,\nthat each may possess the gifts of all.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE THREE PLEDGES.\n\n\n    Three students sat together\n      In a villa on the Rhine,\n    And pledged the beauteous river\n      In draughts of sparkling wine.\n\n    One was bold and haughty,\n      Count Otto was his name:\n    His dark eyes flashed and smouldered:\n      From Nuremberg he came.\n\n    And one was too fond-hearted\n      For aught but love and song;\n    With hair too brightly golden\n      To wear its lustre long.\n\n    His hands were white and shapely\n      As any maid\u2019s might be;\n    Count Adelbert of Munich,\n      A joyous youth was he.\n\n    And one was grave and quiet,\n      With such a winning smile\n    That, meeting all its brightness,\n      Sad hearts grew light the while.\n\n    And as they sat together,\n      Three trav\u2019llers by the Rhine,\n    And pledged the noble river\n      In draughts of golden wine,\n\n    With lays of olden minstrels\n      They whiled the hours away,\n    Till twilight gently sealed them\n      With the sign of parting day.\n\n    Then silence fell upon them,\n      And the distant boatman\u2019s song\n    Returned in softened echoes\n      The gleaming waves along;\n\n    And through the latticed windows\n      The hush of evening stole,\n    And the solemn spell of silence\n      Fast fettered soul to soul.\n\n    Dream on, O happy-hearted!\n      The future holds no truth,\n    No amaranthine jewel,\n      Like the rainbow tints of youth.\n\n    Dream on, O happy-hearted!\n      The hour will soon be gone,\n    And darkness fall too swiftly.\n      Dream on, young hearts, dream on!\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    This is the proudest hour\n      Of all the golden twelve,\n    That seek the mystic caverns\n      Where gray gnomes dig and delve.\n\n    \u201cThe beauty of the morning\n      Is but the birth of day,\n    And the glory of the noontide\n      Doth pass as soon away.\n\n    \u201cBut twilight holds the fulness,\n      The meed of every one,\n    And drops the radiant circlet\n      Before her god, the sun.\n\n    \u201cThis is the proudest hour\n      Of all the golden twelve--\n    Now combs the Nix her tresses,\n      Now rests his spade the elve.\n\n    \u201cAnd I drink to the proudest maiden\n      That treads this German-land;\n    No other love shall my heart own,\n      No other queen my hand.\n\n    \u201cAnd I\u2019ll pledge her three times over,\n      This haughty queen of mine,\n    In the brightest flowing nectar\n      That ever kissed the Rhine.\u201d\n\n    Thus spake the bold Count Otto,\n      And held his goblet up,\n    And three times overflowing\n      Each student drained his cup.\n\n    \u201cThis is the fairest hour,\n      For the sunset clouds unfold\n    To the purple sea of twilight\n      Their red-tipped sails of gold.\n\n    \u201cAnd the hecatombs of sweetness\n      That all the day have risen\n    In the bosom of the flowers\n      Unbar their shining prison.\n\n    \u201cThis is the fairest hour,\n      The hour of eventide,\n    And I drink to the fairest maiden\n      That dwells the Rhine beside.\n\n    \u201cAnd I pledge her three times over,\n      Though her only dower should be\n    The heaven-born gift of beauty,\n      And a faithful love for me.\u201d\n\n    Thus spake Adelbert, smiling,\n      And held his goblet up,\n    And three times overflowing\n      Each student drained his cup.\n\n    Then paused the twain in wond\u2019ring,\n      What Ludwig\u2019s toast might be;\n    For their comrade sat in silence,\n      And never word spake he.\n\n    \u201cHow now? Why thus, brave Ludwig,\n      Sitt\u2019st thou in pensive mood?\n    Dost choose to dwell unmated,\n      In loveless solitude?\u201d\n\n    He smiled, and then looked downward\n      As he answered, glass in hand,\n    \u201cNay, nay; but, if I pledge her,\n      Ye will not understand.\u201d\n\n    \u201cWhere dwells she, then?\u201d cried Otto,\n      \u201cThis peerless love of thine?\n    Mayhap some fabled Lurline\n      That sings beneath the Rhine?\n\n    \u201cThou\u2019rt smiling--haste, then, pledge her!\u201d\n      And the brimming glasses rung\n    As Ludwig dropped the music\n      That trembled on his tongue.\n\n    \u201cThis is the holiest hour\n      Of all the twenty-four,\n    For the rush of day hath passed us,\n      And the tide returns no more.\n\n    \u201cAnd the waves of toil and traffic,\n      By dark argosies trod,\n    Are lost through circling eddies\n      In the mightiness of God.\n\n    \u201cThis is the holiest hour\n      When purest thoughts have birth,\n    And I drink to the holiest maiden\n      That ever dwelt on earth.\n\n    \u201cHer vesture falleth around her\n      In folds of changeless white,\n    And her holiness outshineth\n      The jewels of the night.\n\n    \u201cShe weareth a mantle of sadness,\n      Her sorrows are her fame:\n    She long hath been my chosen,\n      But I will not name her name.\n\n    \u201cAh! not with wine I pledge thee,\n      All spotless as thou art,\n    But with my life\u2019s devotion,\n      With the fulness of my heart.\n\n    \u201cAh! not with wine I pledge thee,\n      Nor one libation pour;\n    Thou hold\u2019st the bond that seals me,\n      Thine own for evermore.\u201d\n\n    This with white brow uncovered,\n      \u2019Neath the floating twilight skies;\n    And angels might have marvelled\n      At the beauty of his eyes.\n\n    Then he turned his goblet downward,\n      And waved the flask aside\n    His comrades would have proffered\n      To pledge such wondrous bride.\n\n    \u201cFriend, thou hast spoken strangely,\n      But thou wert ever strange;\n    Mayhap this matchless maiden\n      Hath power thy mood to change.\u201d\n\n    Thus Adelbert spake, smiling,\n      And shook his golden hair:\n    \u201c_I_ ask nor saint nor angel,\n      But maiden fond and fair.\n\n    \u201cThen let us pledge each other,\n      Since thy passion is too deep,\n    With comrades tried and trusty,\n      Its sacredness to keep.\n\n    \u201cWhat maiden like thy vision\n      In all our fatherland?\u201d\n    \u201cAh! said I not,\u201d cried Ludwig,\n      \u201cYe would not understand?\u201d\n\n    \u201cCome, let us pledge each other,\u201d\n      Said Otto, glass in hand--\n    \u201cA right good draught of friendship\n      That all may understand.\u201d\n\n    Then their glasses clashed together,\n      \u201cFirm may our fealty be!\u201d\n    And Ludwig\u2019s voice of music\n      Rang loudest of the three.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Seven times hath autumn gathered\n      The vintage of the Rhine,\n    Since the students pledged each other\n      In draughts of golden wine.\n\n    In a grand and lofty castle,\n      The Danube\u2019s stream beside,\n    Count Otto dwells in splendor,\n      The lord of acres wide.\n\n    He has won the proudest maiden\n      In all that German-land,\n    And countless hosts of yeomen\n      Obey his high command.\n\n    But the haughty brow is clouded,\n      And his eye is full of care,\n    For the trace of many a heart-storm\n      Hath left its impress there.\n\n    Love had sought Adelbert,\n      Young Beauty\u2019s flow\u2019ret blown,\n    And the tendrils of its blossoms\n      About his heart had grown.\n\n    And joy had wrapped them softly\n      In robes of radiant sheen,\n    Till Death bent down, relentless,\n      And sapped their living green.\n\n    Hush! a mourner sits in silence\n      Within a darkened room,\n    Where the fairest flower of summer\n      Lies withered in her bloom.\n\n    While those who move about him\n      With footsteps sad and slow,\n    Whisper to each other,\n      But leave him to his woe.\n\n    And down in the quiet churchyard,\n      Where nodding grasses wave,\n    The children gather, silent,\n      And the sexton digs a grave.\n\n    Solemnly tolls the church-bell,\n      It counteth twenty-five--\n    O God! the flowers wither,\n      And the old, old branches thrive.\n\n    Solemnly tolls the church-bell,\n      Slowly winds the train\n    Adown the rocky hillside,\n      Along the grassy plain;\n\n    Sadly pass the bearers\n      Into the churchyard old,\n    Brightly falls the sunlight\n      In glittering lines of gold;\n\n    Tearfully pause the mourners\n      Above the broken sod,\n    And Ludwig waits beside it,\n      A humble priest of God.\n\n\n\n\nNEWMAN ON MIRACLES.[53]\n\n\nThese essays are here reprinted from the original editions of each,\nwith only the addition of a few bracketed notes, and with some\nslight emendation of the wording of a few sentences of the text of\na merely literary character. For many years, Dr. Newman has been\na public man in the English theological world, so much so that,\nas he himself expressed it, \u201che is obliged to think aloud.\u201d His\nwritings have passed into the domain of English literature, and\nare public property. It is not now in his power to withdraw any\nportion of them, much as he might desire to do so. Under existing\ncircumstances, he has judged it the better course--or, at least,\nthe lesser evil--that they should be republished under his own eye,\nwith such corrections in bracketed notes as will indicate what he\nwould now correct or retract.\n\nThese two essays mark very distinctly two stages in the career\nthrough which, as he fully explains in his _Apologia_, Dr. Newman\nhas passed.\n\nThe first one, written to defend the miracles recorded in the\nHoly Scriptures against the attacks of Hume, Gibbon, and other\ninfidels, dates from 1825-26, while he was yet young, and a\nstaunch Protestant, somewhat imbued with evangelical feelings,\nespecially in the matter of _Popery_. Hence, while ably conducting\nthe exposition and defence of the Scripture miracles, he omits\nno opportunity of hitting at the other miracles recorded to have\noccurred in the Catholic Church since the days of the apostles. In\nfact, he had, as he tells us elsewhere, read the work of Middleton\non _The Miracles of the Early Church_, and had imbibed his spirit.\nHe was guided also by Bishop Douglas, whose _Criterion_ he often\nquotes.\n\nSeventeen years of continuous study and mature thought produced\ntheir fruit in his clear and candid mind. In 1842-43, he wrote the\nsecond essay as a preface or introduction to a portion of Fleury\u2019s\n_Ecclesiastical History_, then being published in an English\ntranslation.\n\nThough still a Protestant, he had entirely changed his views\non these ecclesiastical miracles. So much so, that this essay\nmay be read as his own confutation of what he had said against\nthem in his earlier essay. In the present volume, the bracketed\nfoot-notes subjoined to that essay are, for the most part, mere\nreferences to the paragraphs of the second essay, in which the\nimmature errors of the first are corrected. With the traditional\nprejudices of Protestantism then strong in him, he had looked on\nthese ecclesiastical miracles as rivals, and as, in some way,\nantagonistic to the miracles of Scripture which he was upholding;\nand he had striven to find points of difference as well in their\ninternal character as in the evidence needed to prove them. All\nthis he fully meets in the second essay. In the second, third, and\nfourth chapters of it, treating of \u201cThe Antecedent Probability\nof Ecclesiastical Miracles,\u201d of their internal character, and\nof the evidence in support of their credibility, he shows how\nthe admission of Scripture miracles utterly does away with the\nground taken by some against the possibility or probability of\necclesiastical miracles, how the two classes agree in their chief\nand essential characteristics, and how, in fact, they rather merge\ninto one general class of events, under the moral order of divine\nProvidence, established for man\u2019s salvation--an order distinct from\nand superior to the physical order of nature. Nothing can be more\nlucid than his replies to the objections of Douglas, Warburton,\nMiddleton, and other Protestant writers on this subject. He shows,\nwith the utmost clearness, how all that they urge against these\necclesiastical miracles in the Catholic Church can be turned by\nunbelievers, with equal plausibility, and in the same sophistical\nspirit, against the miracles of the apostles themselves.\n\nDr. Newman, in both dissertations, frankly admits--what indeed\ncannot be denied--that not a few of the Scripture miracles are\nto be believed by us simply because they have been recorded by\ndivinely inspired writers. We have no other knowledge of them, no\nother evidence of their having occurred, than that we read them\non the inspired page. Such miracles are for us matters of faith,\nnot proofs in evidence. They are themselves proved by Scripture.\nWhatever they were to those who witnessed the occurrence, they\nare not now for us historical evidence in support of divine\nrevelation. Writing as a Protestant, Dr. Newman did not advert to\nanother important truth lying further back which Protestant writers\ngenerally ignore. Our knowledge of the inspiration and divine\nauthority of the Scriptures as we have them--distinguished, that\nis, from the numerous other gospels, acts, epistles, apocalypses,\nand other pretended sacred writings, more or less current among\nand accepted by the sectaries of the early Christian ages--depends\nentirely on the decision of the Catholic Church, made after the\ndeath of the apostles. Hence, the value of the Scripture testimony\nas to these miracles, and our duty to recognize and accept it as\ndivinely inspired, and therefore unerring, depend, in the last\nanalysis, on the divine authority and character of the Catholic\nChurch--of that same church which has always claimed that God\ncontinues to work miracles within her fold. To say that she errs\non this latter point leaves room, to say the least, for the\nimputation or the suspicion that she may have erred in the other\ndecision likewise; and so those Scripture miracles which lack,\nas most of them do, other corroborative testimony, would stand\nwithout sufficient proof. On the contrary, for the ecclesiastical\nmiracles, because they occurred nearer our own times, there might\nstill remain, as in many cases there does remain, ample historical\nevidence from contemporary witnesses.\n\nAfter devoting four chapters to a thorough discussion of the\nsubject of ecclesiastical miracles in general, Dr. Newman proceeds,\nin the fifth and last chapter, to sum up and discuss the evidences\nwe still have, in nine special cases, held to be miraculous\ninterventions, in the early ages of the church. For a clear and\norderly presentation of the evidence, the logical application of\nthe principles established in the earlier chapters, and the happy\nand often overwhelming retorting of their own propositions on\nDouglas, Leslie, and other anti-Catholic writers, each one of these\ncases deserves and will amply repay a special study.\n\nHere, as in his other volumes, Dr. Newman displays that\nintellectual acumen and that plain common sense which are as\ncharacteristic of his writings as is the singular mastery over the\nEnglish language which has caused him to be recognized as one of\nthe classical writers of our day.\n\nValuable as this volume is to the careful student for its erudition\nand acute reasoning, and for the aid it gives in the polemical\ncontroversies that rise from time to time with Protestants, it is\nchiefly valuable, in our eyes, as a well-reasoned and, as it were,\npractical refutation of that rationalistic or materialistic system\nof false philosophy which is taught in some of our colleges, and is\nbeing spread through the land, and which either leaves God out of\nsight altogether, or at most acknowledges him only as the Creator\nand founder of the physical order. Dr. Newman, in discussing what\nsome would term the philosophy of miracles, sets forth strongly and\nclearly the necessity of recognizing and taking into account the\nmoral order, established by God, equally with the physical order,\nand superior to it in rank. The world is under both. To leave\neither out is to take only a partial view. To exclude the moral\norder from our consideration is to err at the very commencement of\nour course, and our progress will be but from error to error. The\naction of both orders may, and often does, coincide--would have\nalways coincided had not sin brought in jarring and confusion. But\nin point of fact, they are sometimes found in opposition. A wise\nand good sovereign dies immaturely, leaving his sceptre to a wicked\nand unscrupulous successor; a good father dies early in life, and\nhis orphans are left to grow up in ignorance and vice; a just\nand benevolent man dies or is ruined, and debts are left unpaid,\nand a stream of charity fails at the fount. And if we class the\nevil actions of men as belonging to this physical order, and the\nrationalists refuse to class them otherwise, do they not present a\ncontinual opposition between the physical and the moral orders? And\nif the physical order so asserts itself, should we not reasonably\nlook for corresponding, if not greater, manifestations in the moral\norder?\n\nDivine revelation itself is a fact in the moral order entirely\nbeyond and above the physical order of nature--by its nature, a\nmiracle. It can be proved only by miracles; and miracles are the\nappropriate accompaniment of its continuance as a dispensation of\ndivine Providence. Hence, in the church--the kingdom of heaven--in\nwhich God specially reigns and rules, and in which the moral\norder is endowed with supernatural force, and interworks with the\nphysical order of nature, we should as readily and as reasonably\nlook for miracles, as, if we may be allowed a trivial comparison,\nwe should expect, when examining a piece of complicated machinery,\nto find that one set of wheels will control and at times arrest the\nordinary action of other wheels, and interpose some result due to\ntheir own special action in the general series of results. Not to\ntake account of the moral and supernatural order in God\u2019s ruling\nthe world is not to recognize the highest and greatest of his acts.\nThe rationalist is like a deaf man before an exquisite musical\nclock. His eye may follow the hands as they move round the dial;\nbut he has closed his ears to the sweet melodies that float around\nhim.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[53] _Two Essays on Scripture Miracles and on Ecclesiastical_.\nBy John Henry Newman, formerly Fellow of Oriel College. Second\nedition. London: Pickering. 1870. New York: Sold by the Catholic\nPublication Society. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 396.\n\n\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\n  THE LIQUEFACTION OF THE BLOOD OF ST. JANUARIUS, AT NAPLES. An\n      Historical and Critical Examination of the Miracle. New York:\n      The Catholic Publication Society. 1872.\n\nThis is a republication of several very able and interesting\narticles which have lately appeared on this subject in THE CATHOLIC\nWORLD. Their appearance in the present form cannot but be welcomed\nby all well-disposed persons, whether they be desirous to ascertain\nthe truth or anxious to have the means for defending it. Catholics,\nwho are accustomed to hear this miracle, as well as the many others\nwhich have occurred in the church from the earliest times, coolly\ndismissed by their Protestant acquaintances as undoubted impostures\nor superstitions, will find in this account all that is needed to\nsilence, if not to convince, their opponents, and to enable them\nto assert their own faith; while the fair and candid non-Catholic\nwill find in it an array of facts and of reasoning which cannot\nfail to produce a deep impression on his mind, and which may serve\nas a basis for his conversion to the faith. But we would not advise\nanyone who is determined in any event to remain a Protestant or\nan infidel to have anything to do with it. The failure to find\nany false but plausible theory to account for certain phenomena\nwhich do not agree with one\u2019s preconceived ideas sometimes leads\nto a very unpleasant and dangerous frame of mind--that in which\nit impugns the known truth. The book contains seventy-nine pages,\nand is illustrated by an engraving representing the celebrated\nreliquary in which the blood of the saint is contained. It is the\nonly complete and exhaustive treatise on the subject in the English\nlanguage.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  AMERICANISMS: The English of the New World. By M. Schele De Vere,\n      LL.D. New York: Charles Scribner & Co. 1872.\n\nThis elegantly printed book has a real and solid value. It shows\nhow the English language has been enriched by additions from\nvarious sources in the New World, while, at the same time, it\nindicates the deterioration and corruption to which it has been\nexposed by knocking about in a new country. Both these topics\nare important, and we commend them to the careful attention of\nall who wish to acquire a true knowledge of the art of speaking\nand writing English. We object decidedly to the definition of _A\nHickory Catholic_, on p. 58, as one who \u201cis free from bigotry and\nasceticism.\u201d This is a vulgar cant phrase, unworthy of a scholar. A\nhickory Catholic is a person who makes his principles bend to his\npassions and interests. He believes that he is bound to go to Mass\non Sundays and to the Sacraments at Easter, but neglects to do so,\nbecause he is lazy, or fond of drinking too much, or licentious, or\nunwilling to make restitution, or stupidly careless about his soul;\nhoping to sneak into heaven by an old age or death-bed repentance.\nWe have noticed nothing else worthy of censure in Professor De\nVere\u2019s book, and we can recommend it without hesitation as most\nvaluable to all who are engaged in teaching the English language\nor endeavoring to learn it. It is, moreover, extremely amusing and\nentertaining, as well as instructive. Would that those who have the\nnaming of places would study it attentively, and strictly follow\nits suggestions! Think of _Ovid_, _Livy_, _Greece_, _Virgil_, for\nnames of villages in a country rich in glorious Indian names!\nNot content with imposing absurd or unmeaning or vulgar names\non places which had none before, those which have already most\ntasteful and appropriate ones are frequently rebaptized. For\ninstance, in Fairfield Co., Connecticut, Saugatuck has been changed\nto Southport, and Green\u2019s Farms to Westport. What a name is New\nYork for a great state and a great city! What a change from Lake\nSt. Sacrament, or even Horicon to Lake _George_! We wish that\nsome of those who have leisure and inclination to take up this\nmatter in earnest would do so, and try to effect a reformation. We\nnotice also, with satisfaction, the condemnation of that wretched\ninterloper and vagabond of a word, _donate_. Humbly, and with tears\nin our eyes, we entreat of our venerable presidents of colleges and\nof all in literary authority to sentence and banish _donate_, or he\nwill some fine day bring into college his still shabbier and more\nbeggarly cousin, _orate_, and a whole troop of poor relations, who\nwill _locate_ themselves, for all coming time. English has been\nand can be enriched from new sources, as Professor De Vere amply\nproves; but let us watch carefully that it do not become corrupted\nand be not made vulgar.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  ZEAL IN THE WORK OF THE MINISTRY. By L\u2019Abb\u00e9 Dubois. London: J. C.\n      Newby. New York: The Catholic Publication Society.\n\nIt is encouraging to see books of this kind published in the\nEnglish language. We know not how to make any extracts from this\nvolume, for every page of it is filled with good sense, practical\nadvice, and the true spirit of the priesthood. Could we realize our\nwishes, we would place in the hands of every priest and candidate\npreparing for ordination a copy. It would be most wholesome for\ndaily spiritual reading and meditation. The author reveals his\nobject in writing the book in the following passage in the preface,\np. viii.:\n\n  \u201cTo rekindle in the bosom of the priesthood the ardor of that\n  zeal which should be its animating principle; to call to\n  remembrance those noblest virtues without which it languishes,\n  and with which it works miracles; further, to bring that zeal\n  into practice by showing how the priest ought to act in the\n  various circumstances of daily life, and in his intercourse with\n  the various persons with whom he is perpetually brought into\n  contact; such, in short, is the plan I have adopted. God grant\n  that I may have carried it into execution in such a way as to\n  procure abundantly his glory and the salvation of souls!\u201d\n\nOne evidence that he has not been unsuccessful in attaining his\nobject, is that this translation is made from the fifth French\nedition.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE BOOK OF PSALMS. Translated from the Latin Vulgate. Being a\n      Revised Edition of the Douay Version. London: Burns, Oates\n      & Co. 16mo, pp. 193. New York: The Catholic Publication\n      Society, 9 Warren Street.\n\n\u201cThis English version of the Book of Psalms,\u201d says the Most Rev.\nDr. Manning in the preface, \u201cmay be regarded as one more of the\nmany gifts bequeathed to us by my learned and lamented predecessor\n[Cardinal Wiseman]. One-half, at least, of the psalms were revised\nby his own hand.\u201d Critics will regret that there is nothing\nto enable them to distinguish the precise psalms on which the\nillustrious cardinal brought his great Biblical learning and his\npure English taste to the task of revision.\n\nThe term \u201cDouay Version\u201d in the title is used in the loose way\nwhich his eminence himself opposed, and the basis is not the Douay,\nbut Dr. Challoner\u2019s text.\n\nThis edition is made in a cheap popular form, and is intended to\ndiffuse more generally among the faithful the psalms as a manual of\nprayer. They are the great storehouse from which the church draws\nher offices, and supply the pious with ejaculations, short and\nfervent prayers, which are of wonderful value. No greater boon has\nbeen added recently, for, though there is no lack of pocket Bibles,\nthey are unhandy, and the type too small for those who wish the\npsalms alone.\n\nTo meet this want a new translation was issued in 1700, in a neat\nlittle volume, the version being by John Caryl, a friend of Pope,\nand faithful adherent of the Stuarts. His _Psalms_ is a very\nuncommon work, though highly esteemed.\n\nWe had thus Gregory Martin\u2019s version in the original Douay,\nCaryl\u2019s, Bishop Challoner\u2019s, and Archbishop Kenrick\u2019s, and we\nhave now a version due in part at least to Cardinal Wiseman. It\nis a little volume that will reward study among those who wish to\ncompare the versions, and as a convenient, well-printed manual\ncommends itself to the pious.\n\n\u201cIn the Book of Psalms,\u201d says his grace, Dr. Manning, \u201cthe Spirit\nof Praise himself has inscribed the notes and the words of\nthanksgiving to be learned here, and to be continued before the\neternal throne. For this use and aid I commend the present volume\nto the piety of the faithful.\u201d\n\nSome common errors have, we see, been retained in this edition,\nwhich we hope to see corrected, such as the omission of \u201cangry\u201d\nbefore enemies in Ps. xvii. 48; \u201cand,\u201d in Ps. xliii. 12; \u201cin form,\u201d\nPs. xliv. 4.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  A JOURNEY AROUND MY ROOM. By Count Xavier de Maistre. New York:\n      Hurd & Houghton.\n\nThis work, so full of the author\u2019s delicate humor and sentimental\nreverie, is the very thing for a winter evening, when one feels\nlike giving himself up to dream away a few hours.\n\nThe author was a younger brother of the perhaps better known Count\nJoseph de Maistre, French Ambassador at the Russian Court in\nthe early part of this century, and one of the ablest defenders\nof the Papacy. He was the author of the famous _Du Pape_ and the\nphilosopher of the _Soirees de St. Petersbourg_. Count Joseph\nwas likewise an intimate friend of Madame Swetchine\u2019s, whose\ninteresting life has been published by \u201cThe Catholic Publication\nSociety,\u201d and was instrumental in the conversion of that remarkable\nwoman to the Catholic Church.\n\nThe De Maistres belonged to the _haute noblesse_ de Savoy. Count\nXavier, as well as his brothers, became an exile during the first\nFrench Revolution. He went to Russia, where he married. After an\nabsence of twenty-five years he returned to his own country.\n\nLamartine addressed him one of his _Harmonies Po\u00ebtiques_ after his\nreturn, saluting him thus:\n\n    \u201cVoyageur fatigu\u00e9 qui reviens sur nos plages\n    Demander \u00e0 tes champs leurs antiques ombrages,\n        A ton c\u0153ur ses premiers amours!\u201d\n\nHe also calls Count Xavier the Sterne of Savoy, but without his\naffectation, and declares him equal to Rousseau, but without his\ndeclamatory style. \u201cHe is a familiar _genie_, a fireside talker, a\ncricket chirping on the rural hearth.\u201d\n\nThe writings of Xavier de Maistre were among the favorite volumes\nthat composed Eug\u00e9nie de Gu\u00e9rin\u2019s library, and we can imagine a\ncertain sympathy in their intellectual natures. The _L\u00e9preux_ in\nparticular appealed to her sympathetic nature, and the thought of\nmeeting its author filled her with delight. When this meeting took\nplace at Paris, Count Xavier had just lost his children, and was so\ndepressed in consequence that it was not equal to her expectations.\n\nBut Lamartine speaks of seeing him a few years after, and\ndescribes him as \u201can old man of fourscore years, gracious in\nmanner, and with no signs of decay of body or feebleness of mind.\nAiriness of sentiment, a mild sensibility, a half-serious,\nhalf-indulgent smile at human affairs, a tolerance--the result of\nhis intelligence--of all human opinions: such was the man.\n\n\u201cHis sonorous voice had a far-off sound like an echo of the past,\nand was well adapted to the reminiscenses of his previous life,\nwhich he loved to tell.\n\n\u201cHis _Leper of the City of Aosta_ is, in the literature of the\nheart, equal to Paul and Virginia; the _Journey around my Room_ is\nonly a pleasantry. The _Leper_ is a tear, but a tear that flows for\never!\u201d\n\nLamartine, in his _Confidences_, gives a pleasing picture of\nthe De Maistre family, and likens a summer passed among its\nillustrious members in Savoy to the conversations of Boccaccio\nat his country-seat near Florence. They used to assemble beneath\na clump of pines at the foot of Mont du Chat, overlooking the\nArcadian valley of Chambery, so redolent of St. Francis de Sales,\nanother genius not less poetical, and with no less delicacy of\nsentiment, but loftier than Xavier de Maistre; and sometimes they\ncame together on a terrace over-arched by vine-hung elms before the\nCh\u00e2teau de Servolex, the residence of Madame de Vigny, De Maistre\u2019s\nsister.\n\nCount Joseph de Maistre, like a modern Plato, was the centre of\nthis family group. His stature was lofty, his features fine and\nmanly, his forehead broad and high, and, crowning all, floated his\nthin, silvery hair. His mouth was indicative of the delicate humor\nthat characterized the family. His brothers regarded him with great\nrespect, and used to gather around him to listen to the experiences\nof his exile. Even the Canon de Maistre, afterwards Bishop of\nAosta, who looked like a Socrates, with features that had been\nsoftened and sanctified by the influences of Christianity, would\nhasten to close the breviary he had been reading in a secluded\nalley, and join the group.\n\nAnd now and then came sweet interludes of soft Scythian airs\nthrough the open window of the ch\u00e2teau, which Mademoiselle de\nMaistre, a pensive, talented girl, was playing on the piano.\n\nThe writings of Count Xavier de Maistre, though not at all\ndogmatic, belong to Catholic literature. They are among the sweet\nblossoms that have unfolded under the pure light of Catholic\ninfluences, and with a delicacy of aroma not to be found in the\nforced hot-house plants of the world. We love to inhale their odor,\nand would not be the last to welcome the appearance of _The Journey\naround my Room_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE HISTORY OF GREECE. By Professor Dr. Ernest Curtius.\n      Translated by Adolphus William Ward, M.A. Vols. I. and II.\n      New York: Charles Scribner & Co. 1871.\n\nDr. Ernest Curtius is impartial, and metes out strict justice to\nall whom he summons to the tribunal of history. Neither Spartan\nvalor nor Athenian grace influences his judgment. He passes from\nthe Eurotas Valley to the Acropolis without leaving in his train\na single notion which would weigh in his decision on the men and\nthings in Attica. And this impartiality is a rare gift in the\nwriters of Grecian history, be they ancient or modern. Almost all\ntake sides. Mitford holds the Spartan oligarchy to be the height\nof perfection in government, and makes it the standard by which\nthe democracy of Athens is to be judged. The result is that in his\npages the fair features of Athens are caricatured and distorted,\nwhile the stern features of Sparta are so flattered that not even\nLycurgus would recognize them. On the other hand, Thirlwall, and\nmany more besides, have not been able to escape the fascination of\nAthenian wit and elegance, and throughout their histories Athens\nis unduly favored. Dr. Curtius judges not of governments and\ninstitutions in the abstract, but he judges of them with reference\nto the peoples for whom they were intended, and thus has avoided\nthe error into which so many have fallen.\n\nThere are in the volumes before us two points which are\nparticularly well handled. These are the origin of the Greek\npeople, and the development of their religion. Mr. Mommsen, in his\n_History of Rome_, absurdly tells us that the ancient peoples of\nItaly were indigenous to the soil. This he does, doubtless, either\nto show his independence of revelation, or to save himself the\ntrouble of further investigation, perhaps with both ends in view.\nDr. Curtius is neither so disregardless of truth nor so saving\nof labor. By the aid of ethnography, philology, and historical\nresearch, he demonstrates that the Greeks and the Latins also\nbelonged to the great Aryan family. He traces them back to their\nold homes in the Phrygian highlands, where, before their migrations\nwestward, they occupied positions adjoining. The Latin tribes\nwere the first to leave Asia Minor, then followed the Greeks in\nsuccessive waves of migration through the Hellespont and Propontis.\n\nThe learned professor discusses at length the origin and\ndevelopment of the Greek Pantheon, and the conclusion arrived at\nis most satisfactory. He proves that the Greek tribes in their\nprimitive simplicity worshipped the one only God--\u201cThe Zeus, who\ndwelt in light inaccessible.\u201d Gradually the primitive traditions\nbegan to wane, and the \u201cZeus who dwelt in light inaccessible\u201d\nbecame the \u201cZeus who dwelt in sacred light over the oak-tops of the\nLyc\u00e6an mountain,\u201d still formless and unapproachable. But this Zeus\nwas too near the earth to remain long formless and unapproachable.\nHis worshippers soon began to approach him under different names,\nthen under different forms, and, finally, they divided him up into\nthe different gods of their Pantheon, so that the first and best\nknown became the \u201cUnknown God.\u201d\n\nWe have now pointed out some of the excellences of Dr. Curtius\u2019\nhistory, but it has its defects, as every human work has, and one\nof these we deem it our duty to point out. Its chief defect is its\ndiffuseness; for diffuse it really is in many places. And because\nit is diffuse it is often monotonous and even prosaic. On the\nwhole, however, the style is good, and abounds in elegant passages,\nwhich are well rendered by the translator. This defect is indeed\nthe only one which justifies us in doubting whether the _History_\nwill become popular, and receive the appreciation which it deserves.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  FASHION: THE POWER THAT INFLUENCES THE WORLD. By George P. Fox.\n      New York: The American News Company. 1872.\n\nThe author of this work seems to have been \u201cborn with a divine idea\nof cloth.\u201d According to him, fashionable dress is a preservative\nof morals. Easy and graceful garments are incompatible with deeds\nof violence. No one who ever honored the author with his patronage\nwas ever convicted of a crime. We are as morally bound to offer a\npleasing exterior to our friends as a smiling face. In Carlyle\u2019s\nlanguage, \u201cMan\u2019s earthly interests (to say the least) are all\nhooked and buttoned together by clothes. Society is founded on\ncloth.\u201d The pen was once considered mightier than the sword, but\nshears are now in the ascendency. \u201cDress makes the man, and want of\nit the fellow.\u201d Dress is a duty we owe ourselves, and inattention\nto it indicates a want of respect to others. Man\u2019s chief duty is to\nsacrifice to the graces. Our author is the high-priest of fashion.\nHe makes dress almost a sacrament--as Hazlitt says, \u201can outward and\nvisible sign of the inward harmony of the soul.\u201d _Non possumus_\ndoes not seem to be in his code. There is no physical defect he\ncannot remedy. Witness the unhappy man in New York, with a long\nneck, low shoulders, and sallow complexion, at last able to hold\nup his head in society; the unfortunate British nobleman, whose\nattenuated and shapeless limbs are made to correspond more fully to\nour idea of sturdy John Bull; and President Fillmore\u2019s life-long\nambition for a pair of well-fitting pantaloons at length realized.\nBow legs and knock-knees are all remedied. The old proverb of the\nB\u00e9arnais is verified: \u201c_Habillez un b\u00e2ton, il aura l\u2019air d\u2019un\nbaron_.\u201d A book that brings hope to all is a public benefaction.\nNo Jonathan need despair of cutting a figure in the world after\nthis, and he _should_ not. Dress, its color, style, and fit, are\nall matters of momentous interest (being so interwoven with our\nmorals), as well as manners and the carriage of the body, which are\nnot overlooked in this volume. As to the latter, everybody knows a\nstoop in the shoulders sinks a man in public and private estimation.\n\nThe _Saturday Review_ calls our author a Transcendental Tailor, a\ntitle he evidently merits. The _devise_ he assumed when he entered\nthe _lists_ was _Faire sans dire_, which Daniel Webster did him\nthe honor of quoting in an address before the New York Historical\nSociety, as well as wearing his transcendent--we almost said\ntranscendental--garments, both living and dead, for the blue coat\nwith a velvet collar and gold-wove cloth buttons that shrouded the\nimmortal statesman are almost a matter of history, and have been\nsworn to in the most solemn manner before the mayor of New York.\n\nBut to go back to our _devise_. The author forgot it when he began\nto write. He must now make it: _Faire et dire_. However, he handles\nthe pen almost as skilfully as the shears, and throws quite a\nglamour of poetry over the most common duties of the toilet. He\nought to be a capital hand at a _hem-a-stitch_, as Rogers said of\nB\u00e9ranger. He gives some excellent advice about dress (gentlemen\u2019s,\nof course) and etiquette, but some of the chapters seem rather\nforeign to the subject. We cordially recommend the book to Mr. and\nMrs. Veneering as they endeavor to adjust themselves at the glass\nof fashion, and to whosoever is entirely _wrapped up_ in cloth.\n\nWe have been particularly interested in the published\ncorrespondence at the end of the volume of the various dignitaries\nin the political and literary world who sought the efficient\nco-operation of our Prince of Tailors. If dress is really an\n\u201cemanation\u201d of the soul (as well as from Mr. Fox\u2019s \u201cemporium\u201d), and\nindicative of character, it is well to know that Mr. Fillmore\u2019s\nill-fitting garments might be owing to a judgment awry; the\nattenuated limbs of the British minister, which nothing had been\nable to hide, to a paucity of understanding; and the long neck of\nour New York friend, which had to be muffled, to an overreaching\ndisposition. Who can tell?\n\nDress is certainly of the utmost importance to those who are\nconscious of no other recommendation. Diderot saw no difference\nbetween a man and his dog but the dress, and it would sometimes be\nhard to give a person his proper grade in the animal world without\nreference to his material garments, for it really does not do in\nour social world to follow Carlyle\u2019s advice to look fixedly on\nclothes till they became transparent. It would lead to a fearful\nrevolution in society.\n\nStill, there are some, like Mr. and Mrs. Boffin, who \u201cgo in neck\nand crop for fashion,\u201d who can bear such a clairvoyant eye. Mrs.\nBoffin was \u201ca Highflier for Fashion,\u201d but we entirely overlook\nthat low evening dress of black sable which she does credit to\n(\u201cher make is such\u201d), in consideration of her large heart, and the\naffectionate readiness to salute her lord to the great detriment of\nher great black velvet hat and plumes.\n\nOur author is really a ph\u0153nix sprung from the ashes of Beau\nBrummel.\n\n    \u201cKind Heaven has sent us another professor,\n    Who follows the steps of his great predecessor.\u201d\n\nAs we read, we share the sensation he produced at the Presidential\n_lev\u00e9e_ at Washington, clad in a blue coat out of the very web that\nfurnished Mr. Webster\u2019s last suit. The meeting of the President\nof the United States of America, serenely conscious of his new\nclothes, and the President of Fashion, who so successfully cut\nthem, reminds us of another meeting there which Irving compared to\n\u201ctwo kings of Brentford smelling at one rose.\u201d\n\nWe cannot close without expressing our gratitude in particular\nfor the fine suit of black our Prince of Tailors presented Father\nMathew of blessed and abstemious memory.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE BOOK OF THE FOUNDATIONS OF ST. TERESA OF JESUS, OF THE ORDER\n      OF OUR LADY OF CARMEL. Written by herself. Translated from\n      the Spanish by David Lewis. London: Burns, Oates & Co. New\n      York: The Catholic Publication Society.\n\nThis volume contains, besides the work indicated in the title-page,\n_Annals of the Saint\u2019s Life_, by Don Vicente de La Fuente, _The\nCarmelite Rule_ and _Constitutions_, and _The Visitation of\nNunneries_, and _Maxims_ of St. Teresa herself. The principal work\nis also more complete than any previous edition in English.\n\nThose who are familiar with the wonderful story of St. Teresa\u2019s\nhistory will need no assurance that the spirit which animated\nher life also pervades her works. Indeed, the two are almost\ninseparable, her writings evidently being a faithful transcript of\nher whole history. Notwithstanding the signal favors she received\nfrom heaven, she seemed always oppressed with the idea of her own\nunworthiness. The prologue to the _Foundations_ furnishes many\nvaluable lessons to religious as well as those whose sphere of duty\nlies in the world. St. Teresa knew how to exert the utmost zeal\nand energy in the service of religion, with entire submission to\nher ecclesiastical superiors. The case of St. Teresa, moreover, is\nevidence of the way the church honors real reformers--by proposing\nthem to the veneration of the faithful as canonized saints. As\nan indication of her humility, even the main work in this volume\nwas undertaken, not to gratify any personal feeling, but in\nobedience to the command of her confessor. It contains a history\nof the religious houses, male and female, she established. In the\nface of great difficulties and discouragements, she persevered\nin her purpose, until the reform was recognized at Rome, and the\nCarmelite Order was divided into two branches, one under the milder\nobservance, and her own under the stricter or primitive observance.\n\nThe lives of the saints present marvels exceeding in interest\nthe dreams of poetry and romance, and we cannot do better than\ncommend to those who jeopardize their innocence in the perusal of\nsensational figments of the imagination, to betake themselves to\nthe more edifying and truly interesting lives and writings of the\nsaints.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  SERMONS ON ECCLESIASTICAL SUBJECTS. By Henry Edward, Archbishop\n      of Westminster. Vol. I. American Edition. New York: The\n      Catholic Publication Society. 1872.\n\nEach new volume from Archbishop Manning is a precious addition to\nCatholic literature. The present collection of sermons has all the\nusual characteristics of the author, both as a preacher and as a\nwriter. Great as many other sermons undoubtedly are, those of Dr.\nManning possess a charm all their own. The oldest theme is never\nstale in his hands. His logic is always of the keenest, while his\nstyle is as clear and musical as a brook.\n\nOf the sermons before us, we commend two especially. The first,\non \u201cThe Church, the Spirit, and the Word\u201d; and the sixth, \u201cThe\nBlessed Sacrament the Centre of Immutable Truth.\u201d The thirteenth\nwill also be found of peculiar interest for American readers. It\nwas preached in St. Joseph\u2019s College, Nov. 17, 1871. Its subject:\n\u201cThe Negro Mission.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  AN ESSAY ON THE DRUIDS, THE ANCIENT CHURCHES, AND THE ROUND\n      TOWERS OF IRELAND. By the Rev. Richard Smiddy. Dublin: W. B.\n      Kelly. 1871. New York: The Catholic Publication Society.\n\nThis is a very neat little publication, well-bound and handsomely\nprinted. Those who have not leisure or opportunity to read Petrie\u2019s\nelaborate book on the Round Towers or the works issued by the\nArch\u00e6ological Society will find in Mr. Smiddy\u2019s essay much valuable\ninformation regarding Irish antiquities, though in some of his\nviews and theories he differs materially from preceding writers on\nthe same class of subjects.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  SALAD FOR THE SOLITARY AND THE SOCIAL. By an Epicure. New York:\n      De Witt C. Lent & Co. 8vo, pp. 526. 1872.\n\nThe author of this book, if author in the proper sense he may be\ncalled, has acted discreetly in withholding his name from the\npublic, for, though a work not specially opposed to morality or\ntruth, it is as little likely to increase the fame of the compiler\nor secure the approbation of the judicious as any of the many\nmodern publications that teem from our metropolitan press, and\ndepend almost altogether on the beauty of their illustrations\nand mechanical taste for public patronage. We have a very high\nappreciation of the shrewdness and foresight of publishers as a\nclass, but upon a cursory glance at the appearance of the book,\nand on a comparison of it with its homogeneous contents, we were\ninclined to think the firm of Lent & Co. was an exception until\nwe noticed in a brief preface that thirty thousand copies of the\noriginal, of which the book before us is said to be an enlarged and\nimproved edition, have been sold. This may or may not be a piece of\nexaggeration on the part of the publishers: if it be not, then we\nare sorry for the lack of sense and judgment on the part of so many\nof our fellow-beings. The work is compiled, not written, pretty\nmuch as it is said \u201cleading articles\u201d in remote Western journals\nare produced, by the efficient aid of the scissors and mucilage,\nand its general contents would be more in place in the columns of\nthose second or third hand journals, under the stereotyped headings\nof \u201cFacts and Fancies\u201d or \u201cMirth and Fun,\u201d than in the imposing\ngarb of a well-bound book. From cover to cover it is nothing\nbut a compilation of old stories, thread-bare jokes, worn-out\npuns, stupid epitaphs, and references to historical and literary\npersonages which are neither new nor original, and scarcely\n_apropos_ to the subject they are intended to make interesting.\nThere is some attempt at arrangement in the display of this useless\nlearning, and here and there a pleasant little bit of chat, but\nthe whole composition is so disjointed and puerile that the effect\nproduced on the mind of the reader is anything but pleasurable.\nThere is no discretion apparent in the selection of extracts and\nquotations, and no dignity in the tone of the entire work that\nwould entitle it to the praise of even comparatively illiterate\npersons, though the generally good character of the engravings\nand its attractive exterior may secure some purchasers. Besides,\nits title gives no idea of its contents, and we hope not to be\nconsidered unkind when we offer the suggestion that, if the author\nshould ever inflict another edition on a patient public, he will\nchange it. _Hash_ would be much more expressive and germain to the\nmatter, _salad_ being much too palatable a dish to be treated with\nsuch contumely.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  A REMEMBRANCE OF THE LIVING TO PRAY FOR THE DEAD. By James\n      Mumford, Priest of the Society of Jesus. Reprinted from the\n      Edition of 1661. With Appendix on the Heroic Act. By John\n      Morris, Priest of the same Society. London: Burns, Oates &\n      Co. New York: The Catholic Publication Society. 1871.\n\nThose who have read Father Mumford\u2019s _Catholic Scripturist_ or\n_Question of Questions_ will need no assurance from us of the\nexcellence of the present treatise. Those who are yet strangers\nto this old writer will find a peculiar charm in the work, if, at\nleast, they have any liking for terseness, directness, and unction.\nFather Mumford is somewhat quaint; but that only adds to his style.\nGood works on Purgatory are not plentiful. This is one of the very\nbest. It particularly inculcates, too, a duty we seldom appreciate\nsufficiently.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  LITTLE PRUDY\u2019S FLYAWAY SERIES. Aunt Madge\u2019s Story. By Sophie May,\n      author of \u201cLittle Prudy\u2019s Stories,\u201d \u201cDotty Dimple Stories,\u201d\n      etc. Illustrated. Boston: Lee & Shepard. New York: Lee,\n      Shepard & Dillingham. 1872.\n\nThis is a delightful little story for children, but this is saying\nnothing new, for Sophie May\u2019s stories always are. As Aunt Madge was\nnot one of the \u201ctremendous good\u201d children, her story will, perhaps,\nhave a special interest for the little ones.\n\nP. F. CUNNINGHAM has in press and will soon publish _Marion\nHoward_, a story of much interest.\n\n\n\n\nBOOKS AND PAMPHLETS RECEIVED.\n\n\n  From CHARLES SCRIBNER & CO., New York: A Commentary on the Holy\n      Scriptures. By J. P. Lange, D.D. Translated, enlarged,\n      and edited by P. Schaff, D.D. Vol. IV. Containing Joshua,\n      Judges, and Ruth. 8vo, pp. iv., 188, 261, 53.--Lectures on\n      Science and Religion. By Max M\u00fcller, M.A. 12mo, pp. iv.,\n      300.--Systematic Theology. By C. Hodge, D.D. Vol. II. 8vo,\n      pp. 732.\n\n  From CARLTON & LANAHAN, New York: Three Score Years and Beyond.\n      By Rev. W. H. De Puy, D.D. 8vo, pp. 512.--Jesus Christ. By E.\n      de Pressens\u00e9, D.D. 12mo, pp. 312.--Pillars of the Temple.\n      By Rev. W. C. Smith. 12mo, pp. 366.--Light on the Pathway of\n      Holiness. By Rev. L. D. McCabe, D.D. 18mo, pp. 114.--The Land\n      of the Veda. By Rev. W. Butler, D.D.\n\n  From D. APPLETON & CO., New York: Ballads of Good Deeds. By H.\n      Abbey. 18mo, pp. 129.\n\n  From P. DONAHOE, Boston: The Fourfold Sovereignty of God. By\n      Henry Edward, Archbishop of Westminster. 18mo, pp. 272.--The\n      Council of the Vatican. By Thomas, Canon Pope. 12mo, pp.\n      xviii., 340.\n\n  From KELLY, PIET & CO., Baltimore: The Martyrs of the Coliseum.\n      By Rev. A. J. O\u2019Reilly. 12mo, pp. viii., 396.\n\n  From J. R. OSGOOD & CO., Boston: The Divine Tragedy. By H. W.\n      Longfellow. 18mo, pp. iv., 150.\n\n  From LEE & SHEPARD, Boston: Half Truths and the Truth. By Rev. J.\n      M. Manning, D.D. 12mo, pp. xii., 398.\n\n  From the AUTHOR: Notes on Historical Evidence in Reference to\n      Adverse Theories of the Origin and Nature of the Government\n      of the United States. By J. B. Dillon. 8vo, pp. x., 141.\n\n  From D. &. J. SADLIER & CO., New York: The Devil. By Father\n      Delaporte. 18mo, pp. viii., 202.\n\n  From KREUZER BROS., Baltimore: Triumph of the Blessed Sacrament.\n      By Rev. M. M\u00fcller, C.SS.R. 18mo, pp. 146.--The Catholic\n      Priest. By Rev. M. M\u00fcller, C.SS.R. 18mo, pp. 163.\n\n  From G. ROUTLEDGE & SONS, New York: The Moral of Accidents. By\n      the late Rev. T. T. Lynch. 12mo, pp. xviii., 415.--Una and\n      Her Paupers.--Memorials of Agnes E. Jones. By her Sister.\n      With an Introduction by Florence Nightingale. First American\n      Edition. With an Introductory Preface by Rev. H. W. Beecher.\n      12mo, pp. xlvi., 497.\n\n  From P. O\u2019SHEA, New York: Lectures on the Church. By Rev. D. A.\n      Merrick, S.J. 12mo, pp. iv., 263.\n\n  From J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., Philadelphia: Wear and Tear. By S.\n      W. Mitchell. 18mo, paper, pp. 59.\n\n  From R. CODDINGTON, New York: The Church and the World. By Rev.\n      T. S. Preston, D.D. Paper, pp. 30.\n\n  From ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston: The To-Morrow of Death. By Louis\n      Figuier. 12mo, pp. viii., 395.\n\n  From C. C. CHATFIELD & CO., New Haven: Logical Praxis. By H. N.\n      Day. 12mo, pp. viii., 148.\n\n  Proceedings of the Third Annual Session of the American\n      Philological Association, held at New Haven, Conn., July,\n      1871. [The Third Annual Meeting of the Association will be\n      held in Providence, R. I., July 24, 1872, at 3 P.M.]\n\n  We are under obligations to the Author for a copy of Evolution\n      and its Consequences. (Reprinted from the _Contemporary\n      Review_.) A Reply to Prof. Huxley. By St. Geo. Mivart, F.R.S.\n\n\n\n\n                        THE CATHOLIC WORLD.\n\n                   VOL. XV., No. 86.--MAY, 1872.\n\n  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by Rev.\n   I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at\n                         Washington, D. C.\n\n\n\n\nDUTIES OF THE RICH IN CHRISTIAN SOCIETY.\n\nNO. IV.\n\nDUTIES TO THE CHURCH.\n\n\nIf we look at one aspect of Christian society, we cannot help being\noverwhelmed with astonishment at the number and the greatness\nof the generous deeds and sacrifices which crowd and adorn its\nhistory. The noble, the powerful, the highly gifted, the wealthy,\nhave lavished their possessions, their labors, their lives, for\ntheir fellow-men, in such a way as really to merit our wonder\nwhen we think of the weakness of human nature and the rarity of\ndisinterested philanthropy among those who are not Christians. But,\nif we look at another aspect of the same, the amount of meanness,\nselfishness, and baseness which meets our view makes us wonder\nthat Christian faith has, after all, produced so little really\nrare and rich fruit in the soil of human nature. The little which\nwe do find is so perfect that we are astonished not to see more of\nthe same quality produced by the same causes and influences. When\nwe think of the motive which men have for making sacrifices, and\nof the example which has been given them--that is, that the Lord\nof heaven has died on the cross for mankind--the conduct of those\nChristians who have followed that example by the practice of heroic\nperfection seems merely the fulfilment of a plain, Christian duty\nof gratitude. On the other hand, the conduct of those Christians\nwho live a selfish and unworthy life appears not only in a mean and\nignoble, but even in an atrocious, light. That we belong absolutely\nto God, that we have been redeemed by the blood of Christ, that\nwe have only one lawful end to our life on the earth, which is\nto glorify God and merit to be glorified by him hereafter, are\nfirst truths which no Catholic ever thinks of denying or doubting.\nThese truths caused some of the saints to renounce literally\neverything for Jesus Christ, and others to administer the power\nand wealth which they retained, exclusively for the glory of God\nand the good of their fellow-men. The saints are only examples\nof the highest degrees of those virtues of the same kind which\nconstitute the character of all really good Christians. Every rich\nman, therefore, who wishes to be a good Christian, must have the\nsame devotion to the faith, to the church, to the cause of God,\nof Christ, and of the Vicar of Christ on earth, which the saints\nhad. Devotion to the church sums up the whole, because it includes\nor implies everything. This devotion must precede, direct, and\ndominate over every intention, motive, object, and undertaking of\nlife. The obligation to it lies in the very nature of baptism. The\nbaptized person is wholly devoted to the service of the Lord who\nhas redeemed him, signed him with his own peculiar mark, and given\nhim a title to the crown of celestial glory. The nature and extent\nof the service due varies with the position and the talents of the\nindividual. The one who receives one talent is bound to gain one\nmore with it. This may mean, for instance, that this particular\nman, or that particular woman, is bound to no other service to the\nchurch than to bring up well some three or five children, to come\nto Mass and the sacraments with them, to live an honest life, and\nto make some small contributions to the treasury of the church. The\none who receives five talents is also bound to gain five more. The\nexplication of the sense of this, and its application to particular\ncases, are easily made. Whatever the talents conferred on any\nindividual may be, all must be devoted primarily to the sacred\ncause of the Catholic Church. It is the kingdom of Christ; it is\nthe only hope of salvation to the world; it is the ark of safety\nto the individual himself with whom we are speaking. Into that\nchurch he has been baptized at the font, and made its child, its\ncitizen, and its subject. There is no escape from its allegiance\nexcept by treason. The character of baptism is ineffaceable,\nand no one who bears that mark has any rights over himself, his\ntalents, or his possessions, except such as are conceded to him\nby the law of Christ. \u201cYe are not your own, ye are bought with a\nprice.\u201d \u201cHenceforth, no one liveth to himself, and no one dieth\nto himself.\u201d It is necessary to live and die as a member of the\nCatholic Church, in order to live honorably and to die happily. As\nit is only by partaking in the common life of the church that its\nindividual members have any life of their own, it is their first\nduty to promote that common life. The law of life is the law of\nduty: the greater and stronger and more important the member is,\nthe greater is the service it is bound to render to the body.\n\nThe duties of Catholics who belong to the higher and more wealthy\nclass in society to the church are very various, numerous, and\nheavy. One portion of them coincides to a great extent with\ntheir obligations to the poor and miserable, of which notice\nwas taken in our last number. The obligation of succoring their\nfellow-creatures because they are of the same blood through\nAdam, and made in the rational image of the same God, becomes\nmore sacred towards those who are brethren in Christ through\nbaptismal grace. How is it possible for Christians who expect to\nbe saved through the infinite charity of Jesus Christ to revel\nin splendor, luxury, and enjoyment, and at the same time to look\nwith heartless indifference on the want and suffering of those\nwho are the dearest friends of Christ? If they are charitable and\nkind-hearted, as every true Christian must be, the charities of the\nchurch are so numerous and extensive as to tax their generosity to\nthe utmost. There is great scope for private and personal charity\ntoward individuals, but the great organized works of general\ncharity must be carried on by the clergy or religious societies.\nThe funds which they are ordinarily able to procure for these\nworks are, in proportion to the necessities clamoring for relief,\nlike the five loaves and two small fishes which the disciples of\nChrist set before the famishing multitude of five thousand men,\nbesides women and children. These small funds come in great part\nfrom the almsgiving of laboring people, or from the various devices\nof lectures, fairs, concerts, etc., to which the managers of\ncharitable works are obliged to resort. After all has been done,\nthe Catholic priest, the charitable layman who makes his round\nof visits in the name of the St. Vincent de Paul\u2019s Society, the\nSister of Charity, are hardly able to do more than help those who\nare in want of the absolutely necessary clothing, food, and fire\nwith which to keep off the gaunt death that grins at them out of\nevery corner of their life. The demands upon charity are constant,\nmultifarious, and pressing. They are made chiefly upon priests, who\nhave already given up everything for God. It is plain, therefore,\nthat it is the duty of the rich to furnish them liberally and\nabundantly with the means for supplying these demands.\n\nThe building of churches, their decoration, the furnishing of\nsacred vessels and ornaments for the sanctuary, and other works\ndirectly connected with the service and worship of the divine\nMajesty, are objects demanding a truly immense outlay of money.\nSo far as concerns that which is necessary for the ministering of\nthe word and sacraments of Christ, these spiritual wants of the\npeople take precedence of their bodily necessities. So far as the\ndecoration, splendor, and dignity of religion only are concerned,\nthey come next after the more essential works of charity. Add to\nthe buildings which are immediately devoted to divine worship, all\nthose which belong to colleges, schools, orphanages, etc., and\nthe work demanded of the Catholics of the United States appears\ncolossal, and would seem impossible, did we not see before our eyes\nso much of it already accomplished. Then, there are the most just\nand imperative claims of the Holy Father, and the pathetic appeals\nof the foreign missions, never so pressing as at the present\nmoment, when the downfall of the power of France has left them so\ndenuded of the succor which they formerly received from that most\ngenerous nation. The na\u00efve response which a most estimable French\nlady once gave to a priest who asked her for a donation to a good\nwork in this city, very well expresses the true state of the case\nin hand: \u201cVery much call, very little fund.\u201d Nowhere is this more\nliterally true than in New York. The most extreme liberality of\nall the Catholics of this city who have anything to spare, whether\nrich or poor, would not yield the means of furnishing a sufficient\nnumber of churches, schools, and other means for supplying the\nspiritual and corporal wants of our swarming and increasing\npopulation. Millions might be used at the present moment, if they\ncould be had, in works of the most practical utility and even\nnecessity. When a city or a nation is in straits through the\ncalamities of war, pestilence, or famine, all its citizens are\nexpected to strain every nerve and to make heroic sacrifices for\nits relief. No city or nation has a thousandth part of the claim\nto devotion from its citizens which the church possesses. And the\nchurch, always militant, is always in straits, at least in some\npart of her great empire, always suffering from the effects of the\nperpetual warfare waged against her, from pestilential vices and\nsins among her children, from a famine of the word and sacraments\nof Christ among the most neglected and abandoned of her people.\nGod alone can help her efficiently. But men must struggle to help\nthemselves, if they expect God to help them. Our Lord demanded of\nhis disciples to feed the hungry multitude, and ordered them to set\nbefore them the whole of their own scanty provisions. \u201cHe himself\nknew what he would do,\u201d and he did it by multiplying miraculously\nthe loaves and fishes of his disciples. God alone can rescue the\nfamishing and perishing multitudes of Christendom and heathendom\nfrom the abyss of temporal and spiritual ruin and death which yawns\nunder their feet. Society must be reconstructed on a Christian\nbasis, and by mighty, organic movements, in which the church and\nthe state, the hierarchy, both ecclesiastical and civil, and all\nthe powers contained in the bosom of society, in harmonious concert\nof action, labor together for a common end, it must work out its\nown regeneration and the Christian civilization of the human race;\nor the work will remain for ever incomplete. Christendom is full\nof deadly disorders and wounds, inflicted on it by the fell power\nof schism, heresy, and infidelity. Only Catholic unity can heal\nit, and combine its members in the work assigned to it by divine\nProvidence, and only a miracle of grace can restore to that unity\nthe severed and disorganized parts, close up the deadly gashes\nin the living body, and reanimate it with complete health. The\nzeal, activity, and wealth of the whole community, collected in\nthe communion of the Catholic Church, would be sufficient for\nas thorough a regeneration of New York, and of the whole United\nStates, as the most sanguine optimist could ever expect to see\nbrought about in any country in the world. Christendom, united\nin itself, and governed on Christian principles, would absorb\ninto itself on a century the entire world. But meanwhile, the\nfaithful and loyal children of the church must do what they can,\nand await the time for God to do what he has determined, and to\na great extent made conditional in the efforts of men. The most\nof our Catholic people in the United States have, on the whole,\nfulfilled the duty of contributing the funds required for carrying\non the works of the church remarkably well. Whether the richer\nportion of them have done their fair share, is a question not so\neasy to answer. Instances of princely generosity have not been\nwanting, and to a considerable extent there has been a creditable\nliberality manifested by the wealthier classes of Catholics when\nthey have been publicly or privately solicited to aid in religious\nor other charitable works. That there are some who are niggardly\nin their disposition, and many who are more sparing and moderate\nin their charities than they ought to be, can hardly be doubted.\nThe comparatively small number of wealthy men in the Catholic\ncommunity has necessarily thrown the great burden of supporting the\ninstitutions of the church upon the mass of the people who are not\nrich. There is nothing in this to complain of. If the rich do their\nfair share, it is no disgrace to them that they enjoy the benefits\nwhich have been chiefly purchased by the money of the laboring\nclasses. But if they fall behind their proportion, it is a real\ndisgrace to them, because they receive in that case for nothing,\nand as an alms from the poor, something which they ought to have\npaid for.\n\nThe church demands something more than a portion of the surplus of\nthe wealth of the rich. She demands the consecration and devotion\nof the minds, the wills, the time, the efforts of all the _\u00e9lite_\nof her laity, of those who are rich in intellectual gifts and\nacquisitions, as well as of those who are rich in gold and silver.\nThe principal medium of the operation of this devotion at the\npresent time are voluntary associations under the sanction and\ndirection of the hierarchy. These associations have for their scope\nthe organization of charitable works, the diffusion of knowledge,\nresistance to the enemies of the church, the defence of the Holy\nSee, and general co-operation with the clergy in the extension\nof the Catholic religion. We will not enlarge on this theme, at\npresent, as we have promised to make our articles very brief, and\nan essay on the subject has already appeared in our pages. What we\nhave said will be sufficient, we trust, to stimulate all those who\nare imbued with the spirit of Catholic faith to greater zeal and\neffort in the sacred cause of the church, in which the laity have\nas great an interest as the clergy.\n\n\n\n\nANNIVERSARY OF BAPTISM.\n\nBY A CONVERT.\n\n\n    On this steep pathway, which, with prayers, I climb,\n    I pause a moment--as a traveller might,\n    Weary and footsore, and in dusty plight,\n    Hearing, far off, the clear, melodious chime\n    Of bells that mark the swiftly passing time:\n    Then, as he pauses on the beetling height,\n    Through filming distance fixes his keen sight\n    On one faint speck, his starting point at prime,\n    And takes fresh courage for the sharp ascent--\n    Thus do I pause to-day; my steadfast eye\n    Fixed on that point of time, in which doth lie\n    The germ of all which can my soul content;\n    On which my waking thoughts, my dreams, are bent:\n    Then, turn where life\u2019s still summits touch th\u2019 eternal sky.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HOUSE OF YORKE.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII.\n\nGOOD-NIGHT AND GOOD-BY.\n\nIt is well for us that faith is able to decipher what De Quincey\ncalls \u201cthe hieroglyphic meanings of human suffering\u201d; and that,\nthough the interpretation should not at once be made plain to us,\nwe may, at least, be sure that it is merciful. As St. Peter stands\nsupreme, holding in his hand the shining keys of heaven, which none\nbut he can set in the wards, and none but he can turn, so to each\nChristian on earth is given the golden key to a personal heaven,\nand none but he can open the door, and none but he can close it.\nWithin that door sits the interpreter, and when the soul is still\nit hears his voice reading, with praise and amen, both day and\nnight: and some riddles he makes clear, and on some he sets the\nseal with the Holy Name; and that is God\u2019s secret, and one day he\nwill speak to the soul concerning it. He who seeks to tear away\nthat seal finds only darkness and confusion; but he who folds his\nhands above it will at last be illuminated.\n\nNever once during his trial had Dick Rowan rebelled against God, or\nquestioned him. Nature might writhe in pain, and forget for a time\nthe words of praise, but it submitted; and, according to the tumult\nand darkness that had prevailed, so were the light and peace that\nfollowed. It was thorough work, as all the work in this soul had\nbeen from the first, and his convalescence was like a new birth.\n\nOn the morning after Edith\u2019s parting with Carl Yorke, Dick\nremained in his room unvisited, keeping all his strength for that\nfirst drive. At length the carriage came to the door, and Mr.\nWilliams, who had insisted on remaining at home to superintend what\nhe called the \u201claunching\u201d of his step-son, came down-stairs with\nDick. Mrs. Williams, all smiles, followed after, rustling in silks\ndonned in honor of this great occasion. Edith and Ellen Williams\nstood in the entry, awaiting the little procession. Miss Ellen,\nblushing and bedizened, was to accompany the two on their drive.\nEdith had preferred to stay at home and prepare for her evening\nexodus to Hester\u2019s.\n\n\u201cWhy, Dick, you look like an Esquimaux!\u201d she exclaimed. \u201cI cannot\neven see your nose. How are you to get any fresh air?\u201d\n\nHe laughed. \u201cI told mother that I could not breathe anything but\nfur; but she is a tyrant.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt isn\u2019t often I get the chance to play the tyrant over you,\u201d\nMrs. Williams remarked, and began giving orders to have sundry hot\nsoap-stones, and gay afghans put into the carriage.\n\n\u201cMother,\u201d her son exclaimed, \u201cI am ashamed of having such a fuss\nmade over me! I will run away. I will leave the country. I will go\nback to bed.\u201d\n\nHe really blushed, and seemed annoyed.\n\nThey went out, and there was the parade of getting settled in\ntheir places, Mrs. Williams pleasantly conscious, and her son\ndistressfully so, that several of the neighbors were looking on\nwith interest. The inquiries for Dick had, indeed, been constant\nfrom all the neighborhood, even from persons with whom they had no\nacquaintance. Not a woman, young or old, but had looked kindly on\nthe young sailor, and known when he sailed away, and when he came\nback; not a child but smiled and nodded to him through the window\nwhen he passed. Of course they had all surmised that the lovely\nyoung girl whom they had seen there before, and who had now been\ntaking care of him, was one day to be his wife. She divided their\nattention with him as she stood on the step, and watched him drive\naway.\n\nIt was the hour of the steamer\u2019s departure; and when Edith was\nalone, she shut herself into her chamber, and, kneeling there,\nprayed fervently that God would keep the traveller wherever he\nmight wander, and that, though far from her, he might be ever near\nto heaven.\n\nShe did not leave her room when she heard the others come home; and\nafter a while Mrs. Williams came to say that Dick would like to see\nher.\n\n\u201cWe had a delightful drive, and he is not a bit the worse for it,\u201d\nthe mother said. \u201cHe will be well enough to go to Mrs. Cleaveland\u2019s\nto see you, now; but I think he wants to have a good talk with you\nbefore you go away. He told me not to let any one interrupt.\u201d\n\nEdith knew well what the summons meant, and with one upward\naspiration, \u201cO Spirit of light and truth!\u201d she went immediately.\n\nDick was sitting in his arm-chair by the window when she entered,\nand he looked around with a bright smile and greeting, \u201cWell,\nlittle sister!\u201d and motioned her to a chair near him.\n\nOn hearing that title, she stopped, and clasped her hands on her\nbosom.\n\n\u201cIt was a brother who sent for you,\u201d he said. \u201cCome!\u201d\n\nShe seated herself, speechless, almost breathless.\n\n\u201cEdith, where is Carl Yorke?\u201d he asked gently.\n\nShe gave the answer with a quiet that looked like coldness. \u201cHe\nleft in the steamer to-day for England. From there he continues his\ntravels to the East, I do not know where else. No person is to know\nthis but you and me, as his mother cannot be told.\u201d\n\nThe color and the smile left Dick Rowan\u2019s face. Surprise and pain\nfor a moment deprived him of the power of speech.\n\n\u201cI am astonished and distressed!\u201d he said, at length. \u201cI wished to\nsee him, to talk with him. But that he is not a Catholic, I should\nhave wished to see you married soon.\u201d\n\nA deep blush of wounded delicacy rushed to Edith\u2019s cheeks. \u201cDick\nRowan,\u201d she said, \u201cyou have yet much to learn about women, or, at\nleast, about me. Whatever feelings of sympathy and affection I may\nhave had for Carl Yorke, my conduct and conversation with him have\nbeen irreproachable, and so have my thoughts even. The thought of\nmarriage has not crossed my mind. I do not wish to hear you speak\nof it.\u201d\n\nHer dignified answer disconcerted him for a moment. He had made\nthe mistake nearly always made by men, often made by women,\nof misinterpreting the nature, or, at least, the degree of\ndevelopment, of an affection as yet angelically pure, if ardent.\n\n\u201cYou were quite right in supposing that I would marry no one but a\nCatholic,\u201d she remarked.\n\n\u201cI have done you a great wrong, Edith,\u201d he said hastily, \u201cand I\nwish to repair it as far as I can. But, first, will you tell me why\nyou promised to marry me?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause you told me that your life hung in the balance, and that\nI was your only hope and aim,\u201d she answered. Her voice trembled\nslightly, and her eyes softened as she remembered how nearly he had\nspoken the truth. \u201cYou had been my first and most faithful friend.\nI considered my obligations stronger to you than any one else. I\ncould not tolerate the thought of your suffering through me, when I\nwas the only person you cared for.\u201d\n\nWhile she spoke, his eyes were downcast, and a deep color burned\nin his face. \u201cDid my dependence on you attract your affection?\u201d he\nasked, still looking down.\n\n\u201cIt attracted my pity and anxiety,\u201d she replied, without\nhesitation. \u201cI should respect more a man who would be able to live\nwithout me. I do not believe that these violent feelings are either\nhealthy or lasting; and I would not choose to act the Eastern myth\nof the tortoise supporting a world.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! how mean I was!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cHow contemptibly selfish! Let\nme tell you all. I had a strong affection for you, that is true;\nbut I can see now that there were unworthy motives mingled with\nit. There were pride, ambition, and self-will. I was determined\nto take you away from Carl Yorke. I knew that he thought of you,\nand I believed that he would win you, unless I prevented it. Your\nantecedents of birth, your tastes and social position, your kind of\neducation, all were the same, and made you suited to each other.\nI said to myself that my being a Catholic gave me the precedence;\nbut in my heart I knew that there was no reason why he, as well as\nI, should not receive the gift of faith. I knew, indeed, that his\nfriendship for Alice Mills had predisposed him toward it, and that\nhe read Catholic books. But I was determined to have you. I did not\ndare to ask if you would be quite content. I would not contemplate\nany other possibility. When I asked you if you were willing, it\nwas only after you had promised. I confess this with shame and\ncontrition!\u201d\n\n\u201cDick,\u201d Edith asked breathlessly, \u201chave you quite got over caring\nvery much about me? Are you not disappointed?\u201d\n\nHe raised his face, and all the shame and distress passed away\nfrom it. \u201cThe only disappointment I am now capable of feeling,\u201d he\nsaid, with the emphasis of truth, \u201cwould be in case any earthly\nobject should come between me and God. In the last few weeks I\nhave learned to shrink with fear and aversion from all earthly\naffection. There is nothing but harm in those attachments which are\nso strong that the loss of their object brings destruction. They\nare mistaken in their aim. Why, Edith, what I worshipped in you was\nnot simply what you are, a good and amiable girl, but a goddess.\nYou were magnified in my eyes, I put you in a niche. That niche is\nnow empty. Or, no!\u201d he added, raising his brightening eyes, \u201cit is\nnot empty, but the right one stands there. You could never have\nsatisfied the enthusiasm of my expectation. The great and wonderful\ngood which I vaguely looked for with you, I should never have won.\nI mistook my object.\u201d\n\nHe looked out thoughtfully, and she sat looking at him. At length\nhe said, with a faint smile, \u201cI wrote you last year of a visit\nI paid to the island and cave of Capri. That scene is like my\npast life. That cave was an enchanted place, so fair, so blue, so\nunreal! All ordinary critical sense deserted me as I gazed. I could\neasily have believed that the walls and ceiling were of jewels,\nand the watery floor some magical blue wine. As I sat in the boat\nand looked back, I saw a white star in the distance. Everything\nbut that, and a long white ray from it, was blue. I rowed toward\nthat star, I looked at it as my goal, just as I made you my goal.\nBut when I came near, I found that it was no star. It was only the\nlow entrance to the cave. Or, rather, it was for me the passage to\nsunshine and the heavens. And that you have been to me, Edith,\u201d\nhe said, turning toward her. \u201cThank God that your influence with\nme has always been for good, and that, in leaving you, I progress\nrather than change! You inspired me, and kept me from what was\nlow, when I had no religion to help me. I can see it all now. The\nvery excess and enthusiasm of my affection for you was necessary\nin order to govern me and keep me from harm. Besides, it is my\nnature to do with my might what my hands find to do. I was not then\ncapable of resolving to do right for the sake of right; but when I\nwas strong enough, then you drew aside, and left me face to face\nwith God!\u201d\n\nHis breath came quickly, and his wide-opened eyes were fixed on the\nwestern sky, and caught its golden light.\n\n\u201cOf course there was a struggle,\u201d he resumed, \u201cfor I was sincere.\nBut that is over. My unreasonable affection for you is as\nthoroughly eradicated as if it had never been a part of my life. I\nam ashamed of having so given myself up to it.\u201d\n\nEdith hesitated, then put the test. \u201cDick, I must be satisfied\nthat I am really free. If you were sure now that no other, deeper\nsympathy stood between me and you, and that I were ready and\nwilling to fulfil my engagement with you, would you still say that\nGod alone held your heart?\u201d\n\nHis expression was one of terror and shrinking. \u201cIt is not so,\nEdith!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cGod forbid that it should be so! I could no\nmore go back to those hopes and wishes of the past than I could be\na little boy again!\u201d\n\nAfter the momentary fear and suspense that had accompanied her\nquestion, Edith\u2019s first feeling was one of joyful relief and\nfreedom, her second an indignant sense of the wrong that had been\ndone her. She rose from her chair, walked to the other window, and\nstood there looking out with eyes that saw no object before her.\nHer mind glanced swiftly back over the last year and a half. She\nremembered the bright peacefulness of her life, yet half-enshrouded\nin the mists of childhood, the vision of her womanhood shining\nlarge and vague just above the line of her eyelids; for she cared\nnot yet to look at or question that future. She recollected the\nhopes and aims that had begun to form themselves, of doing good, of\nmaking herself such a Catholic as would be a credit to the faith,\nof helping and instructing her poor, of trying to bring her uncle\u2019s\nfamily into the church; and she remembered a faint rose-tinge of\npersonal happiness, soft and rare, and too delicate to be seen, but\nfelt by some finer intuition. Then came the sudden call that had\nput her life in confusion, the future wrenched rudely open, the\nmany clustering interests trampled by one that demanded to be made\nparamount. And there was no more cause than this!\n\nIndignation swelled to the point of speech. She turned about, and\nfaced Dick Rowan, and her eyes flashed.\n\n\u201cYou may well be ashamed,\u201d she said, \u201cfor you have been unmanly!\nI do not speak of what I have suffered in my own mind; but you\nhave exposed my reputation, which, next to my character, I hold\nsacred. You have deprived me of your mother\u2019s friendship; for she\nwill never cease to blame me. You have had me proclaimed as your\npromised wife, every one supposing that the promise was freely\ngiven. Yet, when I went down-stairs that day, I was like a victim\ngoing to be immolated. Nothing but prayer had strengthened my\nresolution. I thought that a refusal would be your destruction.\nYou had said as much. You have exposed me to the condemnation of\nshallow judges, who will be only too glad to find fault. Those\npeople who pronounce without knowing, and think that they can\ninclude the motives of another\u2019s whole life in three words, will\nall condemn me. I, who have tried with constant watchfulness to\nwalk to a hair\u2019s-breadth in the path of womanly propriety, shall\nbe pointed at as the girl who jilted you and broke your heart. And\nall this, not from the blindness of real affection, which would\nhave excused you in my eyes, but from will, and pride, and a mere\nfascination. Don\u2019t tell me of eradicating a real affection. It may\nbe conquered, and made subject to duty; but sympathy is not to be\neradicated. That feeling which has died in your heart was, indeed,\na false blossom.\u201d\n\nShe turned and stretched her hands out toward the East, where, far\naway, the steamer that bore Carl Yorke ploughed the twilight wave.\n\u201cO Carl! you would not have done it,\u201d she cried, and burst into\ntears; the usual womanly peroration to such a discourse.\n\n\u201cO God, accept my humiliation!\u201d\n\nShe heard that tremulous prayer through her sobs, and, starting,\nlooked at Dick. His face was bowed forward in his hands, as though\nhe could never again raise it. She recollected herself. It was God\nwho had cured and enlightened him. He was not a man who had turned\nfrom one fickle fancy to another. He was in the hands of God.\n\nShe wiped her eyes, and, after a little while, went and knelt\nbeside his chair. \u201cForgive me, Dick, for reproaching you so,\u201d\nshe said. \u201cIt is over now. We all make mistakes, and those only\ndo well who acknowledge them, and forgive others. My childhood\u2019s\ndear friend, let us forget all that is painful in the past. God\nwill direct. There is much in life besides marrying and giving in\nmarriage, and I do not wish to think of that again, not for a long,\nlong time, if at all. Set the seal on the events of the last two\nyears. They never happened. I am happy now. You know that, though\nI was born at the North, I have a Southern temper. See! the little\ncyclone is past, and I am clear from every cloud. We are two sober\nfriends, who wish each other no end of good. Tell me what you mean\nto do.\u201d\n\nHe raised his head, and the one absorbing interest of his new life\ncame back and obliterated the passing trouble. \u201cI do not know,\nEdith, and I lay no plans. I have no reason to trust my own will\nor wish. I give myself up entirely to direction, and am certain on\nbut one point: God will not let me go, and I will not let him go.\nWhen I lay bruised and helpless before him, he took me in his arms\nand healed me, and I will never know another love. He has kindled\na fire in my heart which my life shall guard. I rejected him once,\nbut will never again. That night I spent in the church, before my\nbaptism, a voice from the altar asked me, I thought, to give up all\nfor God; and it would have been easy then for me to promise. As I\nmeditated on heaven, the Mother of Christ drew to herself all that\nis lovely in woman; all that was strong, and true, and protecting\nin a guide clustered around the church; all that was adorable,\nthat passed beyond speech, was there before me in the tabernacle.\nI thought then that to be a brother in any religious order, or a\nservant in the church, to sleep under the same roof that sheltered\nthe head of Christ, to light the candles, to care for his altar, to\nserve Mass, all that would be the highest honor and happiness. I\nthink so now, but I ask nothing. I thought then with self-contempt\nhow I had toiled to earn money, when the \u2018inexhaustible riches of\nGod\u2019 had lain untouched at my hand; how I had travelled to see the\nwonders of the earth, when the wonders of God had appealed to me\nin vain. But when daylight came, I treated the whole as a dream, a\nmere exaltation of the fancy, and impracticable. I know now that\nwhat I took for a dream is the only reality, and what I thought\nreality is but a dream. I resisted the inspiration, and have been\nlacerated on the briers of my own obstinacy.\u201d\n\nHe paused, looking out toward the west, and in the fine golden\nlight that was left from sunset, with the new moon and the evening\nstar half-drowned there, his face looked beautiful. Calmness,\nhumility, solemnity, and sweetness mingled in its expression.\n\nEdith whispered a low \u201cWell, Dick?\u201d to make him speak again; for he\nhad, apparently, forgotten her.\n\n\u201cFather John has promised me that I may make a retreat as soon as\nhe thinks me well enough,\u201d he said, rousing himself at the sound of\nher voice. \u201cI do not look beyond that. I do not know anything. I\nwait.\u201d And again there was silence.\n\nAfter a while, Edith said timidly, for he seemed buried in a\nreverie, \u201cDo you remember last year, Dick, when we went about the\ncity, like two strange sight-seers? You said then that the poor and\nthe suffering looked at you in an asking way different from the\nlook they gave others. Don\u2019t you think it might have been the Lord\nwho asked through their eyes?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have not a doubt of it,\u201d he answered.\n\n\u201cNothing else is of worth!\u201d he said after a minute, as if speaking\nto himself--\u201cnothing else is of worth!\u201d And again, \u201cO miserable\nwaste!\u201d\n\nPresently she spoke again, very softly: \u201cSometimes, when one has\nmeditated a long while, everything seems unspeakably good and\nbeautiful, as if all were in God. A warmth and sweetness flow\naround the soul. If your enemy should come to injure you, you\nwould embrace him. If your friend were taken away from you, you\nwould smile, and let him go. For, turning to the Lord, you find\nall there. Nothing is lost. When you go away, you feel still, and\nspeak lowly. You want to do something for some one; and, wherever\nyou look, you see the Lord, and whatever you do is done for him. He\naccepts it all, and nothing is small, and nothing is great. If you\nsee any one suffer, you pity, and try to help, and, perhaps, you\nweep; but the agony of pain you feel at other times at the sight of\nsuffering, you do not feel now. You get a glimpse of the reason why\nangels can witness so much pain, yet still be happy.\u201d\n\nDick, looking out at the sky, smiled. \u201cYes!\u201d he said, \u201cyes!\u201d\n\nA carriage drove up to the door, Hester\u2019s carriage, come for\nEdith. Twilight had fallen softly round them, and their faces were\ndim to each other in that curtained chamber.\n\n\u201cMy dear friend,\u201d Edith said earnestly, \u201cis there peace between us?\u201d\n\n\u201cAll is peace, Edith,\u201d he answered.\n\n\u201cThen, before I go,\u201d she said, \u201cI want you to put your hand on my\nhead, and say, \u2018God bless you!\u2019\u201d\n\nHe did as she bade him, laid his hand on her head, and said, \u201cGod\nbless you for ever! Good-night!\u201d\n\nBoth of them knew that good-night meant good-by, yet they parted\nwith a smile.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX.\n\nEVERYBODY\u2019S CHAPTER.\n\nThe family had come to Boston, and were settled in their old\nhome. The change had not been effected without emotion, and, to\nthe surprise of all, the one most moved was Mr. Yorke. Whether,\nwith that noble self-control in which men so much excel women, he\nhad carefully concealed the real misery of his life in Seaton,\nor whether the return to their former home reminded him that it\nhad been lost by his act, we will not attempt to say, for he did\nnot. He was silent and very pale, and, as he entered the house,\nstood on the threshold a moment, with an expression in his face\nwhich touched the hearts of all. One might read in his look the\nconsciousness that a great change had passed over him since last he\nstood there, and that the return did not bring him the happiness he\nhad anticipated.\n\nPerhaps nothing in life is more sad than to have a boon long sought\nfor at length accorded to us, and to find that we have lost the\npower to take delight in its possession.\n\nThe furniture and baggage had been sent in advance, and Hester and\nEdith had superintended the arrangement of everything, so that all\nwas ready for them. Their last week in Seaton had been spent with\nMajor Cleaveland, at his house there. He had kept it open for that\npurpose, and remained to assist and accompany them, while his wife\nand children had preceded him to the city.\n\nHester went to meet her family at the depot, and Edith stood in the\ndoor when they drove up, and ran joyfully out to embrace them. The\nhouse was bright, and dinner was ready. To Mrs. Yorke, there was\nbut one blot on the occasion, and that was her son\u2019s absence. But\nhe had written her with such affection and cheerfulness that she\ndid not grieve too much. Besides, she expected him soon to return.\n\nDinner over, Hester and her husband went to their own home, and the\nfamily sat once more together in their old, familiar sitting-room.\nThe situation was one to provoke emotion or thoughtfulness. Clara\nset herself to cheer the company, and put sentiment into the\nbackground.\n\n\u201cThe first trouble in changing one\u2019s residence,\u201d she said, \u201cis to\nmake people remember one\u2019s address. Fortunately, our number, 96, is\npeculiar. It is the only created thing I know, except the planets,\nwhich is not changed nor disconcerted by being turned upside down.\nTurn it as you will, stand on your head and look at it, tear the\nhouse down, still the number 96 smiles on you unchanged, and as\nchangeless as a star. It is a very proper number to have on a\nhouse.\u201d\n\nThey all sat and looked at her, smiling slightly, glad to be amused.\n\n\u201cThe next thing is,\u201d she pursued, \u201cto prevent our friends going to\nextremes in making their new estimate of us. They must be made to\ncomprehend that, though we have positively renounced the German, we\nare not Puritans nor ascetics; and that, though we have written, do\nwrite, and mean to write in future, and to put ourselves in print\nwhenever we feel so disposed, we do not set up as geniuses. Papa,\u201d\nshe said, suddenly interrupting herself, \u201cwhy is not the plural of\ngenius genii? I always want to say genii.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey mean about the same thing,\u201d Mr. Yorke remarked; and there was\nsilence again for a while.\n\nThe night was calm, the street quiet, but there was that\nunmistakable feeling that a great press of human life is near. It\nwas not the presence which one feels in the woods, where nature is\nobedient to its Maker, and the soul is lifted by the constantly\nascending homage that surrounds it, but a lateral influence,\nelectrical and exciting, of contending human wills.\n\nClara was again the one to break silence. \u201cTrees, and toads, and\nmosses, and no market, are all very charming for a change,\u201d she\nsaid. \u201cBut if one does not live in the city, the city should\nbe near. A man or a woman without society is no better than a\nvegetable. You remember, papa, how Bolingbroke took root among his\ntrees. And what delights one has in the city! There is music. O\nthe violins!--the soprano witch among instruments! If Pan invented\nthe pipe, the original of the organ, then \u00c6olus invented this\ninstrument of airy octaves. Those old painters were right who put\nviolins into the hands of their musical angels. Give a violin time\nenough, and the music of it will gradually eat up the whole body,\nor etherealize it, till some day the musician, touching carefully\nhis precious film of a Cremona, will find it melt in his hands,\nand disappear in a harmonious sigh. Ladies and gentlemen, I should\nlike to hear this moment a whirlwind of violins, ten thousand, say,\nblowing through a vast hall with clustered pillars, and dusky nooks\nand reaches, and arches everywhere, and a sultry, fragrant dimness\nthrough it all, and an immense crowd holding their breaths to\nlisten, and, away up in the roof, little birds perched, as they are\nin Notre Dame, at Paris, and trembling with fear and wonder through\nall their downy feathers. And when it was over, people would look\nat each other, and some would smile, and some laugh out with\ndelight; and the birds would venture two or three little silvery\npeeps, then flutter about as though nothing had happened. Yes, the\ncity is the place to live in.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd then,\u201d said Edith, \u201cone can always go to church.\u201d\n\nClara immediately gave her cousin an enthusiastic embrace. \u201cOh! you\ndarling little bigoted Papist!\u201d she exclaimed.\n\nMelicent, sitting in the chimney-corner, was engrossed in her\nown thoughts. She was, perhaps, meditating on that romance of\nwhich Clara had written to Edith. A villainously ugly, but\ntenderly-beloved Scotch terrier lay on the hearth-rug, his eyes\nfixed on the fire, and seemed to muse. Mrs. Yorke bent toward him,\ntouched him lightly, and quoted Champfleuri, _apropos_ of cats:\n\u201c\u2018_A quoi pense l\u2019animal qui pense?_\u2019\u201d and added a definition she\nhad heard somewhere: \u201c\u2018The brute creation is a syllogism, of which\nthe conclusion is in the mind of God.\u2019\u201d\n\nThis brought them to the point to which their thoughts naturally\ntended that evening. God, and the meanings of God, claimed their\nattention.\n\n\u201cWe are all tired,\u201d Melicent said. \u201cShall we have prayers now,\npapa?\u201d\n\nThe Bible was brought, Betsey sent for, and they waited in silence\nfor Mr. Yorke to begin the reading. He sat with his hand on the\nopen page, and looked into the fire a moment, then looked at his\nwife.\n\n\u201cAmy, I would like, for to-night, to have all my family worship\ntogether,\u201d he said. \u201cAfter to-night, we can go our different ways.\nLet Patrick and Mary and Anne be called in, and, since they cannot\nunite with us, let us unite with them. Are you willing?\u201d\n\nMrs. Yorke blushed with surprise, but made no objection. Melicent\ndrew herself up, but no one observed her. Mr. Yorke turned\nsmilingly to his niece. \u201cWell, Edith, if you Catholics will listen\nto a chapter from me, I will listen to your prayers, and join in\nthem as far as I can.\u201d\n\nShe did not say anything as she rose to call the servants, but,\nin passing her uncle, she laid a loving hand on his shoulder, and\nlooked her gratitude and delight.\n\nPatrick and the girls had too much confidence in Edith to hesitate,\nthough they wondered much at her summons. Seated in the midst of\nthe circle, they listened while Mr. Yorke read a psalm, then they\nknelt down. There was a moment\u2019s pause. The Yorkes were accustomed\nto sit while their prayers were read. Then Mr. Yorke knelt, and\nwife and daughters followed his example, Melicent involuntarily,\nand making a motion to get up again as soon as she was down, but\nconcluding to stay. Episcopalians kneel, she reflected, and she\ncould mentally kneel with them. Edith led the prayers, and her\ntremulous voice conciliated the good-will of the listeners.\n\nIt was the first time any of this family had ever assisted at a\nprivate Catholic devotion, and they were astonished to perceive\nhow every circumstance and need of man was met by this perfect\nspiritual science. The devotion was not something apart from life,\nbut an aspiration and petition from every thought and act of life.\nThe invocation to the Holy Spirit, the recommendation to place\nthemselves in the presence of God, the pause for the examination of\nconscience, the act of contrition following it, the preparation for\ndeath--a Catholic knows them all, but to a Protestant their effect\nis startling.\n\nNever again would their own devotions seem to this family other\nthan dry and unsatisfying; never would one of them again be in\ntrouble or danger, but the impulse would be to utter the voice of\nCatholic prayer.\n\nIn taking up their old life again, the Yorkes were surprised to\nfind that they had grown more earnest and simple during the years\nthey had spent in retirement. Mrs. Yorke had lost much of her\nlove for fashion and luxury, the daughters were astonished at the\nfrivolity of some of their former pleasures, and Mr. Yorke cared\nless for heathen literature, and felt more interest in the poor and\nignorant.\n\nEdith was happy in her religion; but, though she went to Mass every\nday when she could, had a mind too enlightened and well balanced to\nfind her religion only in going to church. She was not in the least\na gushing young lady: hers was a deep and silent enthusiasm which\nmoved to action rather than speech. The persecution of Catholics\nwas going on in Massachusetts also, and Governor Gardner and his\nmotley legislature were making juries the judges of the law as\nwell as of the facts, and disbanding Irish regiments (which were\nallowed to reorganize for 1862), and making a law which would\nenable them to send a troop of men to search the dormitories and\nclosets and cellars of convent schools. But all this troubled Edith\nvery little. She could laugh at the _Transcript\u2019s_ parody:\n\n    \u201cHalf a league, half a league out of the city,\n    All to the boarding-school rode the committee:\u201d\n\nand could see how the enemies of the church were covering\nthemselves with ridicule and disgrace, and securing their own\nultimate defeat.\n\n\u201cThey\u2019re hanging themselves! They\u2019re hanging themselves!\u201d Mr. Yorke\nwould say with glee, at each new extravagance.\n\nWhen the Yorkes first returned to the city, Melicent\u2019s affairs\nchiefly occupied their minds. There was no engagement, and there\nhad been no private intercourse between her and Mr. Griffeth; but\nshe had not broken with him entirely, and had requested permission\nto receive friendly letters from him. After Mr. Griffeth had\nbeen bound over to commit no act and write no word aggressively\nsentimental, this permission was unwillingly given. One of these\nfriendly missives had come the week after her arrival; and, though\nthe writer had kept the letter of his promise, he had so broken\nthe spirit of it that Mrs. Yorke, to whom the letter was dutifully\nshown, frowned on reading it, and had a mind to answer it herself.\nMelicent, indeed, seemed desirous to alarm her family as much as\npossible regarding this affair, and carried herself with such a\nconscious, heroine-of-a-novel air as both amused and annoyed her\nfamily.\n\nAmong their earliest visitors was the Rev. Doctor Stewart, Mrs.\nYorke\u2019s former pastor and good friend. The mother confided to him\nher distress, and besought him to speak to Melicent on the subject.\n\n\u201cShe always had a high respect for you and Mrs. Stewart, and would\nbe influenced by what you say,\u201d she concluded.\n\nThe minister made inquiries concerning this suitor\u2019s orthodoxy as a\nUniversalist.\n\n\u201cHe is orthodox in nothing, doctor!\u201d Mrs. Yorke exclaimed. \u201cHe\nwears his creed as he wears his clothes, changing, when convenient,\nthe one with as little scruple as the other. He is a moral\nSybarite, who adjusts his conscience comfortably to his wishes, and\nlooks about with an air of calm rectitude, and an assumption of\npitying superiority over people who are so bigoted as to believe\nthe same yesterday and to-day.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know the kind of man,\u201d the minister said, with an expression of\nseverity and mortification. \u201cThey are one of the pests of the time,\nand a disgrace to the ministry. I will do all I can to separate\nMelicent from him.\u201d\n\nDoctor Stewart was a stately gentleman, something over fifty years\nof age, gray-haired, rather heavy, and slightly old-fashioned. He\nwas amiable in disposition, believed that great respect should\nbe paid to the clergy, wore a white neck-cloth, and was fairly\neducated in everything but theology. Since the Yorkes left Boston,\nhe had lost his wife, an excellent lady several years older than\nhimself. He was left with three children, a son of nineteen, who\nwas a student in Harvard College; another son, ten years older,\nwho was making his fortune in the West; and a daughter, the eldest\nof the family, married to a foreign missionary, and industriously\ndistributing Bibles to the Chinese. Once a month, in the\nmissionary-meeting, the reverend doctor read a letter from this\ndaughter, in which she described the great work she was doing, and\nasked for more Bibles and money.\n\nThis was the gentleman to whose management Mrs. Yorke entrusted her\neldest daughter\u2019s love-affair.\n\nNothing of their first interview transpired, except that the\nminister seemed to be hopeful. Melicent became more inscrutable and\nconsequential than ever.\n\nAbout this time, Miss Clara Yorke began to grow exceedingly merry\nin her disposition. She would smile in season and out of season,\nand burst into laughter without apparent cause. At the mention\nof Doctor Stewart\u2019s name, her eyes always began to dance, and at\nthe sight of him approaching their house her gravity deserted her\nimmediately. Mrs. Yorke was both astonished and puzzled by her\ndaughter\u2019s levity.\n\n\u201cI esteem Doctor Stewart very highly,\u201d the lady said. \u201cHe is a\ndignified and agreeable person. I am glad he feels like running in\nhere often. He must be lonely at home, for Charles is away during\nthe day, and studies all the evening. Poor man! The loss of his\nwife was a terrible blow to him, but he bears it beautifully.\u201d\n\nThe laughter with which Miss Clara was tremblingly full had to be\nrestrained; for at that moment the door opened to give admittance\nto a smiling elderly gentleman in a white neckcloth. But, glancing\nat Melicent\u2019s demure countenance a minute after, the young woman\u2019s\nmirth became audible.\n\n\u201cClara, you should, at least, give us the opportunity of sharing\nyour amusement,\u201d her mother said, rather chidingly.\n\nClara stammered out that there was a very witty article in the\nlast _Atlantic_.\n\n\u201cBy the way,\u201d the minister said to her pleasantly, \u201cI must\ncompliment you on a very touching story of yours I have read\nlately. It is \u2018Silent Rooms.\u2019 I confess to you, Miss Clara, that I\nwept over it.\u201d\n\nHow exquisite must be the sensibility of that person who weeps over\none\u2019s pathetic stories! Clara looked at the reverend doctor with a\nnew interest. He certainly had a most beautiful nose, she observed,\nand his expression was benign. Moreover, he was a gentleman of good\nmind.\n\n\u201cI am delighted by what you tell me, doctor,\u201d she said. \u201cFor, while\nsuch emotion is the highest compliment I could receive, it does not\nhurt you. Indeed, I thought that sketch would be affecting. I shed\ntears myself when I was writing it, and I think that a pretty good\ncry-tear-ion to judge by. Beg pardon, papa! I didn\u2019t mean to. It\npunned itself.\u201d\n\nThe minister then asked her to write a play and a hymn for the\nChristmas festival of his Sunday-school.\n\n\u201cI should be delighted to, doctor,\u201d she said, but clouded over a\nlittle. \u201cI am not much in the way of that sort of composition, but\nI will try.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen you will succeed.\u201d A bow and a smile accompanied the\nassertion.\n\n\u201cDo not be too sure of that,\u201d Clara exclaimed with vivacity. \u201cI\ncan write easily enough what is in my own mind, but not what is\nin other minds; and I haven\u2019t an idea on this subject. I am not a\nfacile writer when I have nothing to say. When I have no thoughts,\nI find it hard to express them.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! dash off some little thing,\u201d said the doctor, with a sweep of\nthe hand, as though he were sowing plays and poems broadcast.\n\n\u201cDash off some little thing!\u201d repeated the young lady scornfully,\nwhen their visitor had left them. \u201c\u2018_Dash off!_\u2019 That is all he\nknows. I don\u2019t believe he cried over my story!\u201d\n\n\u201cMy daughter!\u201d expostulated Mrs. Yorke; but her husband laughed.\nMelicent cast an indignant glance on her sister, and went out of\nthe room. At that, Clara\u2019s hilarity returned.\n\nCarl wrote to his mother often, giving her an account of his\nmovements. He stayed nowhere long, and every letter concluded with\nan announcement of his intention to make a flying visit to some\nother place. The descriptions he gave and the adventures he related\nwere not those of an ordinary sight-seer. \u201cI should think that\nthe boy were gathering material for a history of the nineteenth\ncentury,\u201d his mother said, and was evidently very proud of him.\n\nBut after a while she recollected he had not said that any one\nof these flying visits would be his last, and had never answered\nplainly her questions as to the time of his return. One day she\nsuspected the truth. She had just received a letter from Carl,\ndated at Nice, in which he hinted at a projected trip to Asia\nMinor. After reading the letter through, she dropped it into her\nlap, and sat looking out through the window and off into distance.\n\nNo one else but Edith was in the room, and she had been attentively\nwatching her aunt\u2019s face. Seeing that strange look settle on it,\nshe crossed the room, and seated herself close to Mrs. Yorke\u2019s side.\n\n\u201cEdith,\u201d her aunt said, her eyes still gazing far away, \u201cI think\nCarl means to be gone a long while.\u201d\n\nEdith called up her powers of self-control; for the time of\nexplanation had come.\n\n\u201cHe has already been away a long while,\u201d she said. \u201cIt is six\nmonths since he went. That is six months taken from the whole.\u201d\n\nMrs. Yorke\u2019s eyes turned on her niece with a quick searching. \u201cYou\nknow all about it!\u201d she exclaimed, and began to breathe quickly.\n\n\u201cYes, I know all about it,\u201d was the calm reply; \u201cand I was to tell\nyou as soon as it should seem best. Carl is making a long journey,\nbut six months of it are over.\u201d\n\nMrs. Yorke flung Edith\u2019s hand away. \u201cYou knew it, and his own\nmother did not!\u201d she exclaimed. \u201cYou need not tell me. If Carl\ndeceived his mother, I wish to hear no more about it.\u201d\n\nShe pressed her hands to her heart, which beat with thick,\nsuffocating throbs.\n\nNothing but firmness would do. It was necessary to recall her\nto a sense of the injustice she was doing, and shame her into\ncontrolling herself, if no better could be done.\n\n\u201cAunt Amy,\u201d Edith said, \u201cit seems to me that you should question\nyourself, rather than reproach others. Never was a woman more\ntenderly loved and cared for by her family than you are. Your\nhusband, your children, your niece, your servants even, are\nconstantly on the watch lest something should startle or agitate\nyou. A door must not be slammed, the horses must not be driven too\nfast, ill news must be gently broken, you must not be fatigued nor\nworried. If we shed tears, we conceal them from you; if one of us\nis ill, we make light of it to you. We wish to do this, and do it\nwith all our hearts, for your life is most precious to us. But I\nthink that our devotion entails one duty on you, and that is to\nlook on everything as calmly and reasonably as you can, and not\nagitate yourself without cause.\u201d\n\nMrs. Yorke looked at her niece in astonishment. This tone of firm\nreproof was new to her, and, from its strangeness, effective.\n\n\u201cCarl did not deceive you,\u201d Edith went on. \u201cHe has told you nothing\nbut the truth.\u201d\n\n\u201cA half-truth is a lie!\u201d Mrs. Yorke interrupted. \u201cI see plainly in\nthis the influence of that pernicious Mr. Griffeth. I well remember\none of his sayings: \u2018As the doctors give poisons to a sick body,\u2019\nhe said, \u2018so we must sometimes give lies to a sick mind.\u2019 I have a\nsick mind, it seems.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is for you to prove whether you have or not,\u201d Edith replied\nquietly.\n\nThe reproof was severe, and Mrs. Yorke\u2019s heightened color told that\nshe felt it. She leaned back in her chair, and was silent.\n\n\u201cCarl told me,\u201d Edith said, \u201cbecause I am healthy, and cannot be\nendangered by sorrow; and he knew, too, that I would not require\nany man to sacrifice his duty and prospect of a high career merely\nthat I might have the pleasure of being always with him. When a\nman is twenty-nine years old, if he is not going to throw himself\naway, and be a miserable failure, it is time for him to go out into\nthe world, and live his own life. Carl would gladly have told you\nall his plans, and it was cruel that he should be obliged to go\naway without your blessing, and to carry with him, as he must, this\nconstant anxiety about you. He was doubtful and unhappy, but did\nwhat he thought was best. He told no one but me. Now, be fair, Aunt\nAmy, and ask yourself what you would have done if Carl had come to\nyou and said that he was going away on a two-years\u2019 journey?\u201d\n\nMrs. Yorke put her hands over her face, and sat breathing heavily,\nand without uttering a word. Edith trembled. Would she see the pale\nhands fall nerveless, and her aunt drop dead in her arms? She sent\nup a silent prayer to her ever dear Mother of Perpetual Succor,\nthen gently loosened a golden locket from Mrs. Yorke\u2019s belt, and\nopened it.\n\n\u201cDear Carl!\u201d she said tenderly, kissing the miniature, \u201chow could\nyour mother misunderstand you so, when your true and loving face\nwas so close to her heart? Is it only Edith who never mistakes you?\u201d\n\nThe frail hands slipped down to hers, as she leaned on her aunt\u2019s\nlap, and she looked up to meet a faint and tearful smile.\n\n\u201cYou are all so tender, my dear, that I am afraid it makes me\nselfish,\u201d Mrs. Yorke said. \u201cNow tell me the whole story. See! I am\nreasonable.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are an angel to let me talk so, and not be angry!\u201d Edith\nanswered joyfully. \u201cWait till I get you a granule of digitaline;\nthen I will tell you all about Carl. You will be proud of your son,\nmy lady.\u201d\n\nA few days after, Doctor Stewart proposed for Melicent, greatly to\nher mother\u2019s astonishment. \u201cWhy, doctor, I am proud to consent, if\nMelicent does,\u201d she said. \u201cBut I never dreamed of such a thing!\u201d\n\n\u201cMelicent assures me that, with her parents\u2019 consent, she is\nwilling to entrust her happiness in my hands,\u201d the minister said.\n\u201cShe does not find my age any obstacle. You must be aware, indeed,\nthat your eldest daughter\u2019s disposition is grave and dignified.\nMy impression is, that the only attraction Mr. Griffeth had for\nher was through his clerical office. She has confided to me that\nshe wrote him a decided dismissal the very day after my first\nconversation with her.\u201d\n\nOf course, if Melicent was satisfied, no one else could object; and\nMelicent radiated satisfaction.\n\n\u201cI am sure you have chosen wisely, my daughter,\u201d her mother said.\n\n\u201cI never really thought I should marry Mr. Griffeth, mamma,\u201d the\ndaughter answered, blushing. \u201cAnd I never said any more to him than\nthat I would consider his offer.\u201d\n\nThat very evening the engagement was tacitly announced to the\npublic, by Mrs. Yorke and Melicent appearing at a lecture at Music\nHall, escorted by Doctor Stewart. Mr. Yorke, Clara, and Edith\nwent early, and took seats in the side balcony, overlooking the\nplatform, where the rest of their party had places reserved.\n\n\u201cIt will just suit Mel,\u201d Clara said gleefully. \u201cI saw it from the\nfirst minute, and have been laughing over it all winter, while\nyou stupid folks never had a suspicion. Mel was cut out for just\nsuch a fate. She likes to be lofty and sphynx-like, and to sit on\nplatforms with everybody staring at her, and to come sweeping in\nat the last minute, and take the highest place. The doctor, too,\nis just to her mind. He is tall, and large, and slow. His voice is\nsonorous, he has a nice nose and finger-nails, and his neckcloth\ncompels respect. Oh! there is no fear but Mel will be happy. The\nonly danger is on our side. For I tell you, papa, those two will\nwalk over us in their smooth, grand way, if we are not careful. I\nmust study how to take them down a peg.\u201d\n\nThere was a smile in the corners of Mr. Yorke\u2019s mouth, but he spoke\nreprovingly. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t sound well for you to talk in that way of\nyour sister, Clara,\u201d he said.\n\nClara gave a little impatient sigh. \u201cI sometimes wish that I could\nnot see so plainly the difference between solid people and inflated\npeople,\u201d she said. \u201cIt is a misfortune; but I cannot help it.\u201d\n\nMr. Yorke said nothing. He had already learned that there was one\npoint on which he would have to resist encroachment. More than once\nhe had seen Doctor Stewart turn a severe glance on the shelf where\nstood the numbers of _Brownson\u2019s Review_ left by Carl; and only\nthat day Melicent had proposed that the books should be carried\nup-stairs.\n\n\u201cUp-stairs!\u201d Mr. Yorke had repeated. \u201cWhat for?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, on account of the doctor,\u201d Melicent had answered,\ndisconcerted by the sharpness of her father\u2019s astonishment. \u201cHe\ndoes not like them, and their being here might lead to unpleasant\ncontroversy.\u201d\n\nThe reply had been decisive:\n\n\u201cIf Doctor Stewart does not like what he finds in my house, he is\nat liberty to remain out of it. And if he should forget himself so\nfar as to begin any unpleasant controversy, I shall recommend him\nto increase his stock of theological knowledge by a careful study\nof the same _Review_.\u201d\n\nMr. Yorke said nothing of this conversation, and Melicent had not\nmentioned it; but it was a warning to both.\n\n\u201cPapa,\u201d Clara said, after looking down on the audience awhile,\n\u201cdid you ever observe how bald heads light up an assembly like\nthis? They reflect the gas, and have a very cheerful effect.\nOh! there is Mel. Attention! See, the conquering hero comes. My\npoor little mother is nearly invisible. Such a small duenna! How\nfrightfully conspicuous! See the doctor smile, and show them to the\nvery front chairs, and see the filial manner in which he behaves\nto Mrs. Yorke. Suppose he should take to coloring his hair! There!\nthey are seated at last, after that display, and I must own that\nMel\u2019s stage-manners are very good. If only they would not look so\nconscious! Edith, why is Doctor Stewart like a verd-antique? It\u2019s a\nconundrum.\u201d\n\nThat night, after Melicent had gone to her room, the others sat\ntalking over the wedding. Doctor Stewart had desired that it might\nbe soon. Edith proposed to give the trousseau.\n\n\u201cWe cannot allow you, my dear,\u201d her aunt said. \u201cYour uncle and I\nhave something, and Melicent must take what we can give her. You\nare too bountiful already!\u201d\n\nEdith drew writing materials toward her, and began to make out a\nbill.\n\n  MISS EDITH YORKE,\n      _To_ Charles Yorke and family, _Dr._\n  To seven years\u2019 board and tuition,                         $7,000\n  \u201c    \u201c     \u201c    clothing,                                   1,400\n  \u201c Instruction in her religion,                         20,000,000\n  \u201c Kindness to Father Rasle,                            10,000,000\n  \u201c Never being anything but kind to her,                10,000,000\n  \u201c Sundries,                                            10,000,000\n  \u201c Joining her once in Catholic prayer,    100,000,000,000,000,000\n                                          -------------------------\n                                           $100,000,000,050,008,400\n\n\u201cI think that is correct,\u201d she said, showing the bill to her uncle.\n\u201cI am mathematical in my tastes, you know. I do not like the\ndollars, though, the association is so vulgar. We will put it in\nsome classical gold coin. It shall be rose-nobles.\u201d\n\nLooking in Mr. Yorke\u2019s face as he smiled on her, she exclaimed,\n\u201cUncle, you have a look of my father, now!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you have a look of my brother,\u201d he returned. \u201cYour eyes are\nchangeful, like his, and your hair has a sunny hue. When you coax,\ntoo, your ways are like his. Robert was very winning.\u201d\n\nShe put her arm in his, and looked reproachfully across the table\nto her aunt. \u201cAnd yet,\u201d she said, \u201cyou are not willing that I\nshould give Melicent a few pocket-handkerchiefs to be married with!\u201d\n\nMrs. Yorke laughed. \u201cYou shall give her as many handkerchiefs as\nyou please,\u201d she said.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBut what, meantime, of Dick Rowan?\n\nMrs. Yorke had called at once to see him on her arrival, but he had\nalready gone to make a retreat, and they did not see him afterward.\n\nThe first part of that retreat was to him heavenly; but, when it\ncame to making definite plans for the future, then he found himself\nin cruel doubt.\n\n\u201cOh! if I could have had a Catholic training in early life!\u201d he\nsaid to Father John. \u201cIt seems to me now that heaven has been\nwithin my reach, and has slipped away, without my knowing it. I do\nnot wish to be presuming. I do not try to think of it; the thought\nhaunts me.\u201d\n\n\u201cTell me freely all that is in your mind,\u201d the priest said. \u201cI am\nhere to help you.\u201d\n\nDick Rowan\u2019s head drooped, and he spoke rapidly, as if afraid to\nspeak: \u201cIt seems to me, father, that if I had been brought up a\nstrict Catholic--any sort of Catholic--I should have been--\u201d He\nlifted his face, looked at Father John with eyes that could not\nbear suspense, and added, \u201cI should have been a priest!\u201d\n\nThen, since he found neither astonishment nor displeasure in that\nface, his distress broke forth. \u201cAnd now, O God! it is too late!\u201d\nhe said, and wrung his hands.\n\n\u201cYou think that you had a vocation, my son?\u201d the priest asked\ncalmly.\n\n\u201cI believe it!\u201d he answered. \u201cWhat has my whole life been but a\nsearching and striving after some great and glorious happiness,\nsomething different from the common happiness of earth, some one\ndelight which was to be mine here, and still more mine in the world\nto come? It was always my way to have but one wish, and to expect\nfrom its fulfilment what nothing on earth can give. I believe, sir,\nthat when a man has that way of concentrating all his hopes and\ndesires on one object, that object should be God. Otherwise, there\nis nothing but ruin for him. Such an end was once possible to me,\nand now it is lost!\u201d\n\nFather John laid his hand on the young man\u2019s. \u201cMy son,\u201d he said,\n\u201cit is not lost!\u201d\n\nDick uttered not a word, but gazed steadily into the priest\u2019s face.\n\n\u201cI believe that you have a divine vocation.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou believe that I _had_!\u201d Dick cried out sharply.\n\n\u201cI believe that you _have_!\u201d the priest replied.\n\nDick drew a deep breath, and his pale face blushed all over with a\nsudden delight; but said nothing.\n\n\u201cWhen a man first thinks of choosing God,\u201d the priest said, \u201che\nmay mistake. But when God chooses a man, and tears away from him\nevery other tie, and sets him in a place where he can see nothing\nsurrounding him but a great solitude filled with God, then there is\nno mistake. I believe that God chooses you.\u201d\n\n\u201cGod chooses me!\u201d repeated Dick Rowan, blenching a little, like\none dazzled by a great light. \u201cGod chooses me!\u201d he said again, and\nstood up, as if his swelling heart had lifted him. \u201cThen I choose\nhim!\u201d He put his hands over his lifted face, and tears of joy\ndropped down. Father John, deeply affected, spoke to him, but he\ndid not hear. He was repeating the words of the marriage-service:\n\u201c\u2018For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, till death do\nus\u2019--_unite_!\u201d\n\nThe priest spoke afterward to Edith on the subject. Dick had\nrequested him to tell her and his mother whatever they wished to\nknow.\n\n\u201cNever was there a soul more ardent and single,\u201d Father John said.\n\u201cHis only difficulty arose from a tender regard for the honor\nof God, and a great reverence for the sacred office. He fancied\nthat it would be an insult to both for a man to seek to enter the\npriesthood of whom people could say that he did so because he was\ndisappointed in love, and that he gave to God the remnant of a\nheart which a woman had rejected.\u201d\n\n\u201cDick rejected me,\u201d Edith interposed hastily.\n\n\u201cI told him,\u201d the priest resumed, \u201cthat if God had called him,\nhe had no right to think of any coarse and uncharitable remarks\nwhich might be made. I reminded him that his life-long devotion\nto you had been a life without faith, and that, after one year in\nthe church, he had given you up willingly. His idea of the true\npriest was this: one for whose sacred vocation his pious parents\nhad prayed and hoped from the hour of his birth, who had lived\nfrom his childhood cloistered in retirement and sanctity, who had\nnever cherished worldly hopes or desires, but, walking apart, had\nthus approached the altar that had never ceased to shine before him\nfrom the hour of his baptism. I owned to him that such a vocation\nis beautiful, and is often seen by men and angels; but told him\nthat there are others whom the Almighty leads differently. He hides\nfrom such souls that he has sealed them also from the beginning, he\nallows them to drag in the mire of earth, to feel its temptations,\nto share in its weaknesses. We cannot penetrate the designs of\nGod, but we may well believe that his motive is to humble that\nsoul, and to teach it through its own failings a greater pity and\ntenderness for the weak and the erring. I warned him that this fear\nof his might be a temptation of the devil, who saw that his pride\nwas not broken, and who pursuaded him that he was jealous for the\nhonor of God, when in reality he thought but of his own. He was\nhappy at that. \u2018If it is nothing but my own pride,\u2019 he said, \u2018I\nhave no more trouble.\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd he has no more trouble, my child,\u201d the priest concluded. \u201cHe\nis the happiest man I ever saw!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nSUPER OMNES SPECIOSA.\n\n\n    Is any face that I have seen--\n      Some perfect type of girlhood\u2019s face:\n      Some nun\u2019s, soul-radiant, full of grace--\n    Like thine, my beautiful, my Queen?\n\n    Of all the eyes have paused on mine--\n      And these have met some wondrous eyes;\n      So large and deep, so chaste and wise--\n    Have any faintly imaged thine?\n\n    The chisel with the brush has vied,\n      Till each seems victor in its turn:\n      And love is ever quick to learn,\n    Nor throws the proffered page aside:\n\n    Yet few the glimpses it has caught,\n      For thou transcendest all that art\n      Can show thee--even to the heart\n    Most skilled to read the poet\u2019s thought.\n\n    That thought can pierce its native sky\n      Beyond the artist\u2019s starry guess:\n      But all that it may dare express,\n    Is through the worship of a sigh.\n\n    And this thou art, a sigh of love--\n      Love that created as it sighed;\n      And shaped thee forth a peerless bride\n    Dowered for the spousals of the Dove.\n\n    To set the music of thy face\n      To earthly measure, were to give\n      Th\u2019 informing soul, and make it _live_\n    As there--God\u2019s uttermost of grace.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MOTHER OF LAMARTINE.[54]\n\n\nM. de Lamartine tells us in his _Confidences_ that, as the sages\npause for reflection between life and death, so his mother was\nin the habit of devoting an interval at the close of the day in\nlooking back on its vanished hours, and seizing its impressions\nbefore night should have dispersed them for ever.\n\nWhen all the household had retired to rest, and no sound was to\nbe heard but the breathing of her children in their little beds\naround her, or the howling of the wind against the casement and\nthe bark of the dog in the court, she would softly open the door\nof a little closet of books, and seat herself before an inlaid\ncabinet of rose-wood to record the events of the day, pour out her\nanxieties and sorrows, her joy and gratitude, or utter a prayer all\nwarm from her heart. Her son says: \u201cShe never wrote for the sake\nof writing, still less to be admired, though she wrote much for\nher own satisfaction, that she might have, in this register of her\nconscience and the domestic occurrences of her life, a moral mirror\nin which she could often look and compare herself with what she had\nbeen in other days, and thus constantly amend her life. This custom\nof recording what was passing in her soul--a habit she retained\nto the end--produced fifteen or twenty little volumes of intimate\ncommunings with herself and God, which I have the happiness to\npreserve, and where I find her once more, living and full of\naffection, when I feel the need of taking refuge in her bosom.\u201d\n\nOf course, such a journal was not intended for the public eye,\nand her son is so conscious of this that, even while editing this\nvolume of extracts from his mother\u2019s manuscripts, he says it has no\ninterest but for those who are allied to her by blood or sympathy\nof soul, and prays all others to abstain from reading it. M. de\nLamartine\u2019s financial difficulties obliging him to make capital,\nnot only out of the private emotions and experiences of his own\nheart, but even of his family archives, the publication of this\nvolume was announced previous to his death, but was deferred at his\nearnest request.\n\nThe interest in everything connected with so eminent a poet, the\ncharming pictures he has drawn of his mother in his _Confidences_,\nand the influence she had in moulding his character, made us look\nforward with interest to this work, that we might have a clearer\ninsight into the soul to which he owed his poetical and imaginative\nnature. It is always refreshing and useful whenever one ventures\nto lift the veil of a pure soul and allows us to read its passing\nemotions. But such a soul should not be exposed to the eye of\ncuriosity, but only to that of sympathy. To scan such a book--the\noutpourings of a mother\u2019s heart, written solely for her own\nsatisfaction and her children\u2019s--with the cool eye of a critic,\nwould be as profane as to jeer over the grave of one whose remains\nhave just been exhumed.\n\nBut let every tender, religious heart--especially every maternal\nheart--that loves the sweet odor of flowers that still give out\ntheir fragrance when drawn forth from some old drawer in which they\nhave long lain, reverently open this volume, sacred to all the\noutpourings of a mother\u2019s tenderness. In her transparent nature\nthey can read the unusual strength of the domestic affections, but\na heart large enough to take in the poor and the sufferer of every\ngrade, a charity that constantly found excuses for the asperities\nof others, and a piety that breathed all through her sweet life and\ncrowned her death.\n\nThis book is a new proof of the tender piety and sincere faith\namong the old noblesse of France. Madame de Lamartine is worthy\nof being classed with the family of the Duke d\u2019Ayen, the La\nFerronnays, and the De Gu\u00e9rins. The simple grace of her style,\nthe religious element so strongly infused into her daily life,\nthe development of her emotional nature, and the intensity of her\nlove for her family, all remind us of Eug\u00e9nie de Gu\u00e9rin. And like\nher, she had one of those sweet, pensive natures that need the\nretirement of country life or the shade of the cloister for full\ndevelopment. They were similarly demonstrative in their affections\nand in their piety. And where one loves and follows with anxious\nprayer a gifted brother, the other, with the devotedness of St.\nMonica, weeps and prays for her son.\n\nM. de Lamartine, after passing one gloomy All Souls\u2019 day in\nrecollection near his mother\u2019s grave at St. Point, ended it by\ntaking out the eighteen _livrets_ in which all her thoughts\nand feelings had been buried for so many years, and, while the\nchurch-bell was mournfully tolling above her grave as if to\nreproach the living for their silence and admonish them to pray\nfor their dead, he opened these books one after the other, and\nread, sadly smiling, but oftener weeping the while. It is with some\nsuch a feeling the reader will follow him. The drama of the heart\nis always touching, the genuine tear, even in the eye veiled in\ndomestic obscurity, always appealing, and in this page of life\u2019s\ndrama there is many a one dropped. But the eyes from which they\nfell are always turned heavenward, and such tears have always a\ngleam of heaven in them, without which the sorrows of life would be\nunendurable.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMadame de Lamartine was the daughter of M. des Roys,\nintendant-general of finances to the Duke of Orleans. Madame des\nRoys was the under-governess of the children of that prince, and\nso great a favorite of the duchess that she was employed as the\nconfidential agent of the latter during her exile, as we learn\nfrom this volume. After the execution of Philippe Egalit\u00e9 and the\ndispersion of his family, the duchess took refuge in Spain. Her\ndaughter, afterwards known as Madame Adelaide, who displayed so\nmuch character and exerted so great a political influence during\nthe reign of her brother Louis Philippe, was in a German or Swiss\nconvent. The duchess, suspicious of Madame de Genlis\u2019 influence\nover her daughter, and perhaps fearful she might be made a tool\nof the Orleans faction, with whose aims she did not sympathize,\ncommissioned her devoted follower, Madame des Roys, to bring her\ndaughter to Spain. Madame des Roys succeeded in her mission. She\nembarked at Leghorn about the beginning of January, 1802, and\narrived safely at Barcelona with her charge. Madame de Lamartine,\nwho had all this from her mother\u2019s lips, says the meeting of the\nduchess and Mademoiselle d\u2019Orleans was extremely affecting. Madame\ndes Roys subsequently returned to France, and died on her estates\nin June, 1804, worn out with fatigue, and troubles resulting from\nthe revolution. She gave her daughter a portrait of Mademoiselle\nd\u2019Orleans--a present from the duchess, and Madame de Lamartine\nalways showed herself loyal to that family. When the poet wrote his\n_Chant du Sacre_ without mentioning the Duke of Orleans among the\nother members of the royal family, she entreated him with tears to\nbe mindful of what she owed the family. Lamartine yielded, but with\nso ill a grace that his allusion displeased the duke. Madame de\nLamartine, fearful of being thought ungrateful to the family, wrote\nMademoiselle d\u2019Orleans a full explanation of the affair.\n\nBut to go back to the time when Madame des Roys was still governess\nin the Duke of Orleans\u2019 family. She and her husband had apartments\nat that time in the Palais Royal in winter, and at St. Cloud in\nsummer. It appears Madame des Roys and Madame de Genlis had some\npitched battles in those days, or, as Madame de Lamartine afterward\nexpresses it, _deux camps oppos\u00e9s_. Madame de Genlis kept up the\ngrudge after the death of her former rival, and, years after,\nseverely attacked M. de Lamartine\u2019s poems by way of satisfaction.\n\nMadame de Lamartine was born at the palace of St. Cloud, and passed\nher childhood there with Louis Philippe, sharing the lessons and\nsports of the Orleans children. All her earliest recollections\nwere connected with St. Cloud, its fountains, and broad alleys,\nand velvet lawns, and lovely park. Many years after (in 1813), she\ntells in her journal that, being at Paris, her son drove her to St.\nCloud in a cabriolet, and she thus writes of her visit: \u201cThis is\nthe place where I passed so much of my childhood when my mother was\nbringing up the Duke of Orleans\u2019 children. I was very happy there.\nI left when fifteen years old, and had not seen the place since,\nthough I longed to, for I retained a delightful remembrance of it.\nI walked all over the park with Alphonse and Eug\u00e9nie, pointing out\ntree after tree where I played when a child. I wished to see our\napartments once more, but it was impossible, as they are occupied\nby the Empress Maria Louisa.\u201d\n\nWhen fifteen years of age, Alix des Roys was nominated by the Duke\nof Orleans to a vacancy in the noble Chapter of Salles, where\nshe was placed under the protection of the Countess Lamartine de\nVillars, a canoness of that chapter. The Chevalier de Lamartine,\nvisiting his sister, fell in love with the beautiful Alix, who is\nsaid to have resembled Madame R\u00e9camier, and, instead of embracing\nthat semi-monastic life, she ultimately married him, March 6, 1790.\n\nWe can imagine the contrast between her life in the _maisons de\nplaisance_ of one of the wealthiest princes in Europe, and that she\nafterward led in a plain country residence a hundred miles from\nParis, and in limited circumstances. She afterward alludes in her\njournal to this change: \u201cIn my childhood I imagined it impossible\nto exist unless at court, in a palace like the Palais Royal, or the\npark at St. Cloud, where I lived with my mother. Now, O my God, I\nwish to be content in every place where thy will places me!\u201d\n\nBut her new home was not without its attractions for a nature like\nhers. Leaving the banks of the Sa\u00f4ne where it winds among the\nfertile hills of M\u00e2con, and going toward the old Abbey of Cluny,\nwhere Ab\u00e9lard breathed his last, the traveller, turning aside into\na winding mountain-path, comes after an hour or two to a sharp\nspire of gray stone towering above a group of peasants\u2019 houses.\nBeyond these, nestling in a hollow at the foot of a mountain, is\nMilly, familiar to every reader of Lamartine. Five broad steps lead\nto the door, which opens into a corridor full of presses of carved\nwalnut containing the household linen. From it doors open into the\nvarious apartments, and access is had to the one story above. The\nmountain almost insensibly begins its ascent directly back of the\nhouse. Its slope is luxuriant with vines, on which depended mainly\nthe subsistence of the family. A small garden is in the rear of the\nhouse, with its vegetables and flower-beds and clumps of trees,\nand its secluded \u201cAlley of Meditation\u201d where Madame de Lamartine\nwalked at sunset, saying her rosary and giving herself up to holy\nrecollections.\n\nShe seems to have taken Milly at once to her heart. She\naffectionately calls it her Jerusalem--her abode of peace. She\noften said to her son: \u201cIt is very small, but large enough if our\nwishes and habits are in proportion. Happiness is from within. We\nshould not be more so by extending the limits of our meadows and\nvineyards. Happiness is not measured by the acre, like land, but by\nthe resignation of the heart; for God wishes the poor to have as\nmuch as the rich, that neither may dream of seeking it elsewhere\nthan from him!\u201d\n\nAnd again she says: \u201cIf people were convinced that, by\nsubmissively receiving all the difficulties of the position in\nwhich they are placed, they would be at peace everywhere; they\nwould allow themselves to be sweetly guided without anxiety by\ncircumstances and the persons to whom they owe deference. Since\nI decided on this, I have been infinitely more happy. There was\na time when I wished everything to yield to me, and absolutely\nsubordinate to my will. I was then incessantly tormented about\nthe present and the future. I often saw afterward it would have\nbeen a misfortune to have had my own way. Now I abandon myself\nto the Infinite Sovereign Wisdom, I feel at peace exteriorly and\ninteriorly! God be praised for ever! He alone is wise, and should\noverrule all!\u201d\n\nPoor woman, she had enough to try her flexible will. Her husband\u2019s\nelder brother, who, according to the ancient _r\u00e9gime_, was regarded\nas the head and guide of the family, was not disposed to give up\nhis rights. He was unmarried, and particularly fond of interfering\nin the domestic regulations of the family whose future prospects\nsomewhat depended on him, particularly those of Alphonse, who was\nto perpetuate the name. Another brother, the Abb\u00e9 de Lamartine,\nlived further off, and was, of course, less tempted to interfere,\nbut seems to have given his voice on extraordinary occasions. And\nthen there were two unmarried aunts whom Madame de Lamartine seems\nto have been attached to, and whom in her charity she calls saints,\nbut very trying saints they were with their strictures on her\ndainty ways, her careful dress, and her indulgence to her children.\nTo do them justice, however, they all seem to have been sincerely\nanxious for the prosperity of the family.\n\nMadame de Lamartine brought up one son and five daughters,\nconcerning whom she gives many interesting details in her journal.\nThe daughters appear to have been lovely in person and character.\nTheir brother has given a delightful description of them in his\n_Nouvelles Confidences_, which is confirmed by his mother\u2019s\njournal.\n\nBut M. de Lamartine makes a very strange mistake in saying his\nmother derived her notions of educating her children from the works\nof Rousseau (particularly from _Emile_) and St. Pierre, whom he\ncalls \u201cthe favorite philosophers of women because the philosophers\nof feeling,\u201d and \u201cwhose works,\u201d he says, \u201cshe had read and admired.\u201d\n\nSome of Madame de Lamartine\u2019s earliest recollections were certainly\nof Gibbon, D\u2019Alembert, Rousseau, and others of the same stamp who\nfrequented the society of Madame des Roys. She even remembered\nseeing Voltaire when but seven years of age, and \u201chis attitude, his\ncostume, his cane, his gestures, and his words remained imprinted\non my memory as the foot of some antediluvian monster on the rocks\nof our mountains.\u201d But she certainly did not esteem these men or\nimbibe any of their opinions, and so far from having \u201c_conserv\u00e9 une\ntendre admiration pour ce grand homme_,\u201d Jean Jacques Rousseau, as\nher son declares, she regarded him with a certain horror, and his\ngenius as allied to lunacy.\n\nIn the first place, Madame de Lamartine seems to have been very\nscrupulous about reading dangerous books. In her journal of the\nyear 1801, she makes a resolution to deny herself all useless\nreading for her children\u2019s sake, and declares frivolous books \u201cone\nof the most dangerous pleasures in the world.\u201d\n\nSome years after, she visits her son\u2019s chamber, during his absence,\nto examine his books. Among others she finds Rousseau\u2019s _Emile_.\nShe regrets it is \u201cempoisoned with so many inconsistencies and\nextravagances calculated to mislead the good sense and faith of\nyoung men. I shall burn this book,\u201d she adds, \u201cand particularly\nthe _Nouvelle H\u00e9lo\u00efse_, still more dangerous because it inflames\nthe passions as much as it warps the mind. What a misfortune that\nso much talent should be allied to madness! I have no fears for\nmyself, for my faith is beyond temptation and not to be shaken; but\nmy son ----\u201d\n\nAnd when toward the close of her life she saw by her son\u2019s poem\n_Childe Harold_ that he had imbibed the pernicious ideas of\nFrench philosophy, she says: \u201cI knew these famous philosophers\nin my youth. Grant, O my God! he may not resemble them. I firmly\nrepresent to him the danger of such ideas, but, in the language of\nScripture, the wind bloweth where it listeth. When a mother has\nbrought a son into the world, and instilled her own faith into\nhim, what can she do? Only put her feeble hand continually between\nthe light of this faith and the breath of the world that would\nextinguish it! Ah! I am sometimes proud of my son, but I am well\npunished afterward by my apprehensions as to his independence of\nmind!\n\n\u201cAs for me, to submit and believe seems the only true wisdom in\nlife. They say it is less poetic, but I find as much poetry in\nsubmission as in rebellion. Are the faithful angels less poetical\nthan those who rose up against God? I would rather my son had none\nof these vain talents of the world than to turn them against the\ndogmas that are my strength, my light, and my consolation!\u201d\n\nMadame de Lamartine records a fact concerning Rousseau which is by\nno means a proof of her esteem for him. Madame des Roys, from whom\nshe had it, was very intimate with the Mar\u00e9chale de Luxembourg.\nPrevious to the birth of one of Rousseau\u2019s children, the mar\u00e9chale,\na great friend of his, fearing he would send the child to a\nfoundling asylum as he had done three others, begged, through a\nthird person, to have it as soon as it was born, promising to\ntake care of it. Rousseau gave his consent. The mother was beside\nherself with joy, and as soon as the child was born sent word to\nthe person who was to take it away. He came, found it was a fine,\nvigorous boy, and appointed an hour to come for it. But at midnight\nRousseau appeared in the sick-room wrapped in a dark cloak, and, in\nspite of the mother\u2019s screams, carried off his son to drop it at\nthe asylum without a mark by which it could be recognized. \u201cThis is\nthe man whose sensibility so many extol,\u201d said Madame des Roys, and\nMadame de Lamartine adds: \u201cAnd I, I say, here is the unfeeling man\nwhose head has corrupted his heart! Alas! genius is often only a\nprelude to insanity when not founded on good sense. Let us welcome\ngenius for our children if God bestows it, but pray they may have\nsound sense!\u201d\n\nAlphonse was sent at an early age to a secular school at Lyons, the\nreligious orders not being restored. His mother thus writes:\n\n\u201cNovember 9, 1801.--To-day I am at Lyons to bring Alphonse back\nto school. My heart bleeds. I went to Mass this morning. I was\ncontinually looking for his beautiful fair hair in the midst of\nall those little heads. My God! how frightful to thus root up this\nyoung plant from the heart where it germinated, and cast it into\nthese mercenary institutions. I was sick at heart as I came away.\u201d\n\nIn October, 1803, she says: \u201cI have with difficulty obtained\npermission from my husband and his brothers to take Alphonse away\nfrom the school at Lyons, and place him at the Jesuits\u2019 College at\nBelley, on the borders of Savoy. I came with him myself. I was too\nmuch distressed to write yesterday after confiding him to these\necclesiastics. I passed half the night weeping.\n\n\u201cOctober 27.--I went this morning to look through the _guichet_ of\nthe court of the Jesuits\u2019 College at my poor child. I afterward saw\nhim at Mass in the midst of the students. He says he is satisfied\nwith his reception from the professors and his comrades. I went\nto-day to see the Abb\u00e9 de Montuzet, the former prior of my Chapter\nof Canonesses at Salles. In the evening I left for M\u00e2con. In\npassing before the college I could see the boys from the carriage\nplaying in the yard, and heard their joyous shouts. Happily,\nAlphonse did not approach the _guichet_ and see my carriage. He\nwould have felt too badly, and I also. It is better not to soften\nthese poor children destined to become men. Leaning back in the\ncarriage, I wept all alone under my veil a part of the day.\u201d\n\nShe loved to read the _Confessions of St. Augustine_, and, like St.\nMonica, she followed her son with her prayers and tears all through\nthe vagaries of his early life, trembling for his rich gifts and\nsusceptible nature. And with how much reason is evident from his\nown account. How much more she continually desired his spiritual\nwelfare than his success in the world is evident throughout this\nwork. In the first flush of his fame as a poet, she writes:\n\n\u201cJanuary 6, 1820.--Nothing new at Paris, except I am told Alphonse\nis received with distinction in the best society, where his\nappearance and talents have excited, according to my sister, Madame\nde Vaux, a kind of enthusiasm. She mentions the names of many whose\nmothers I knew in my youth who overwhelm him with cordiality--the\nPrincess de Talmont, the Princess de la Tr\u00e9mouille, Madame de\nRaigecourt (the friend of Madame Elizabeth), Madame de St. Aulaire,\nthe Duchess de Broglie (Madame de Sta\u00ebl\u2019s daughter), Madame de\nMontcalm (the Duke de Richelieu\u2019s sister), Madame de Dolomieu, whom\nI knew so well at the Duchess of Orleans\u2019; then there are many\neminent men who eagerly proffer their friendship to him who was\nso obscure but yesterday--the young Duke de Rohan, the virtuous\nMathieu de Montmorency, M. Mol\u00e9, M. Lain\u00e9, said to be such a great\norator, M. Villemain, the pupil of M. de Fontanes, whom he sees\nat M. Decazes\u2019, the king\u2019s favorite, and a thousand others. Thou\nknowest, O my God! how proud I am of this unexpected cordiality\ntoward my son, but thou knowest also that I ask not for him what\nthe world calls glory and honor, but to be an upright man, and one\nof thy servants like his father: the rest is vanity, and often\nworse than vanity!\u201d\n\nAnd when, still later, she goes to Paris, and meets the\ndistinguished circle in which he moved, is received by Madame\nR\u00e9camier with her incomparable grace, and hears Ch\u00e2teaubriand, one\nof her favorite authors, read, and sees the prestige which her son\nhad acquired, she confesses to a feeling of gratification at his\nfame, but adds: \u201cI pray God for something higher than all this for\nhim.\u201d\n\nBut to return to her life at Milly. The tenderness of her nature\nwas not confined to her own family, but was always responsive to\nevery appeal.\n\nTo quote from her journal: \u201cI was told after dinner that a\nfriendless old man, whom I saw after, that lived in a hut on the\nmountain, with only a goat for a companion, had just been found\ndead. The news greatly distressed me, for I had reproached myself\nfor not having gone to see him lately--it was so far. It is true I\nthought he had recovered, but I should not have trusted to that\nat his age. I ought to have been more attentive to him. My heart\nis full of remorse. In the good I do, and in everything, I am not\npersevering enough. I grow weary too soon and too frequently. I\nam too easy led away by distractions or weariness, which are not\nsins, but weaknesses, and hinder from a holy use of time. Was not\ntime given us that every day and hour something might be done for\nGod, both in ourselves and for others? I went to walk this evening\nwith my husband and two eldest daughters. We went through the\nvineyard, now in bloom. The air was perfumed with their pleasant\nodor. Our vines are our only source of income for ourselves, our\ndomestics, and the poor. If there are as many bunches of grapes as\nof blossoms, we shall be quite well off this year. May Providence\npreserve them from hail!\n\n\u201cWe approached the hut above the vineyard where the poor old man\ndied in the morning. I wished to enter it once more in order to\npray beside him. My husband was not willing, fearing the sight of\nhim would make too great an impression on me and the children.\nI wished to ask pardon of his soul for not having been there to\nutter some words of consolation and hope during his agony, and to\nreceive his last sigh. The door was open: his goat kept going out\nand in, bleating as if to call assistance in its distress. The poor\ncreature made us weep. My husband consented for me to send for it\nto-morrow after the burial, and give it a place with our cow and\nthe children\u2019s two sheep.\u201d\n\nAnother day she writes: \u201cI went to see an old demoiselle of eighty\nyears, who lives on an annuity in one of the upper chambers of\nthe ch\u00e2teau. Her only companion is a hen, who is as attached to\nher as a tame bird. She is called Mademoiselle F\u00e9licit\u00e9. In spite\nof her wrinkles and hair as white as the wool on her distaff,\nit is evident she must have been very handsome once. My husband\nhas consented to my wish not to disturb her in spite of the\ninconvenience it causes us. Old plants must not be transplanted.\nThe places where we live become truly a part of ourselves. She is\ntaken care of by Jeanette, the sexton\u2019s wife, once a servant at the\nch\u00e2teau, and who knows all its past history: we love to hear about\nthose who lived before us in the same dwelling. All this excites\nto reflection. Some day I shall be spoken of as having been, and\nperhaps the day is not far off! My God, where shall I then be?\nGrant it may be in thy paternal arms!\u201d\n\nThe means of the family seem to have been quite limited during the\nfirst years of her married life. This made them anxious as to the\nvintage on which their income chiefly depended. She thus writes:\n\u201cThe day has been unfortunate. There have been several showers,\nand the hail has crushed our vines. This is more distressing, for\nthey were loaded with grapes. My heart is very heavy to-night on\nour own account and that of our poor vinedressers. This shows how\nmuch I still involuntarily cling to the things of earth. It is as\nif I thought happiness due me, for the least affliction immediately\ncasts me down. My God! make me realize at last the nothingness of\nthe things of this world, that I may set my heart only on those\nthat are eternal!\u201d\n\nAnd later: \u201cThe will of God be done! These were the last words\nI wrote in my journal at the last date. They are the first on\nto-day\u2019s page. The great storm yesterday was a terrible misfortune\nto us. The hail completely destroyed our harvest. We should have\nhad a fine crop, and now there remains scarcely enough for our\npoor laborers to exist on. I am ill with sorrow and anxiety. This\nmisfortune will oblige us to make retrenchments and privations.\nAll our plans to go to M\u00e2con for the education of our children\nare frustrated. We shall probably have to sell our horse and\n_char-\u00e0-bancs_. But it is the will of God: this ought to be\nsufficient to console me for everything. The fewer pleasures I\nhave in the world, the less I shall cling to it, and the more I\nshall look forward to that world which alone is important and\nimperishable--our eternal home. Nothing hardens the heart and so\nfills it with illusions as prosperity, and what seems hard to\nhuman nature is perhaps a very great grace from God, who wishes\nus to cling to the only real treasures by depriving us of what is\nonly dust. I can say this with more sincerity to-day: yesterday\nthe blow seemed too hard. My husband showed great courage--more\nthan I--though he was greatly distressed for the moment. He said:\n\u2018Provided neither your nor our children are taken away from me, I\ncan resign myself to anything. My riches are in your hearts.\u2019 Then\nhe prayed with me. Meanwhile we could hear the noise of the hail\nwhich was breaking the branches and the glass, and the peasants in\nthe court sobbing in despair.\u201d\n\nAs in all the old patriarchal Catholic families, Madame de\nLamartine was not unmindful of the spiritual interests of her\nservants: \u201cAfter dinner, which is at one, I read, then sewed\nawhile, after which I read a meditation on the Gospel to my\ndomestics. I am going presently to end the day at the church, whose\ndim light inspires devotion and recollection. It is there I fill\nthe void during my husband\u2019s absence.\u201d\n\n\u201cSeptember 5, 1802.--We have just established family prayers. It is\na very impressive and salutary practice, if, as the Scripture says,\nwe wish like brethren to dwell together in unity. Nothing elevates\nthe hearts of servants so much as this daily communion with their\nmasters in prayer and humiliation before God, who knows neither\ngreat nor small. It is also good for masters, who are thus reminded\nof their Christian equality with their inferiors according to the\nworld.\n\n\u201cMy poor aunt, who took care of me in my infancy, is dead. I\nam extremely uneasy about the fate of poor old Jacqueline, her\nfemme-de-chambre, who was a second mother to me, and is now left\nalone, and perhaps poor. I wish at whatever cost to receive her\nhere. The family are opposed. My husband fears, and with reason, to\ncontradict his brothers and sisters, on whom we rely a good deal\nfor our children. He proposes to pay secretly Jacqueline\u2019s board in\na house at Lyons, where she will no longer lack food and care, but\nI would like to fulfil my obligations of gratitude toward this poor\nwoman to their utmost extent. If I were in her place, and she in\nmine, nothing would prevent her from receiving me, even in her bed.\u201d\n\nThe domestics of the old families in France seemed to have been\nregarded as a part of the family. Service was almost hereditary,\nand a bond on both sides. In the French Revolution, nine out of\nten of those proscribed by law who escaped were saved by the\ndevotedness of their domestics. Madame de Lamartine shows how\nfully she regarded the tie that bound her to every member of her\nhousehold as a sort of spiritual relationship.\n\n\u201cPalm-Sunday, 1805.--There is a great commotion in town and\ncountry. The emperor arrives to-day with all his court. We are\n_tr\u00e8s g\u00ean\u00e9s_, because we are to lodge Mgr. de Pradt, Bishop of\nPoitiers (the emperor\u2019s chaplain; since Archbishop of Malines, so\ncelebrated for playing the courtier at that time, and _for his\nsubsequent ingratitude towards Napoleon after his fall_). I prefer\nthis guest to any other of the retinue.\u201d\n\nOf course the parenthetical clause is by M. de Lamartine. It\nseems Mgr. de Pradt was not wholly ungrateful to the emperor, for\nthe declaration issued by the allied sovereigns at the Congress\nof Laybach in 1821, so insulting to the memory of Napoleon,\ncalled forth from the Archbishop of Malines the following noble\nprotestation:\n\n\u201cIt is too late to insult Napoleon now: he is defenceless, after\nhaving so many years crouched at his feet while he had the power\nto punish. Those who are armed should respect a disarmed enemy.\nThe glory of a conqueror depends, in a great measure, on the just\nconsideration shown toward the captive, particularly when he\nyields to superior force, not to superior genius. It is too late\nto call Napoleon a revolutionist after having, for such a length\nof time, pronounced him to be the restorer of order in France, and\nconsequently in Europe. It is odious to see the shaft of insult\naimed at him by those who once stretched forth their hands to him\nas a friend, pledged their faith to him as an ally, sought to prop\na tottering throne by mingling their blood with his.\n\n\u201cThis representative of a revolution which is condemned as a\n_principle of anarchy_, like another Justinian, drew up, amid\nthe din of war and the snares of foreign policy, those codes\nwhich are the least defective portion of human legislation, and\nconstructed the most vigorous machine of government in the whole\nworld. This representative of a revolution, vulgarly accused of\n_having subverted all institutions_, restored universities and\npublic schools, filled his empire with the masterpieces of art, and\naccomplished those stupendous and amazing works which reflect honor\non human genius. And yet, in the face of the Alps which bowed down\nat his command; of the ocean subdued at Cherbourg, at Flushing, at\nthe Helder, and at Antwerp; of rivers smoothly flowing beneath the\nbridges of Jena, Serres, Bordeaux, and Turin; of canals uniting\nseas together in a course beyond the control of Neptune; finally,\nin the face of Paris, metamorphosed, as it was, by Napoleon, he\nis pronounced to be the agent of general annihilation! He, who\nrestored all, is said to be the representative of that which\ndestroyed all! To what undiscerning men is this language supposed\nto be addressed?\u201d\n\nNapoleon himself at St. Helena, though he censured Mgr. de\nPradt\u2019s course as ambassador at Warsaw, regarded the tribute he\nsubsequently paid him as an _amende honorable_.\n\nLas Cases, alluding to his notes from the emperor\u2019s statements\nand those about him, says: \u201cI, however, strike them out in\nconsideration of the satisfaction I am told the emperor\nsubsequently experienced in perusing M. de Pradt\u2019s concordats.\nFor my own part, I am perfectly satisfied with numerous other\ntestimonies of the same nature, and derived from the same\nsource.\u201d[55]\n\nIt was during this visit of Napoleon at M\u00e2con he held some\nconversation with M. de Lamartine [the poet\u2019s uncle] in Mgr. de\nPradt\u2019s presence. \u201cWhat do you wish to be?\u201d said the emperor at the\nclose. \u201cNothing, sire,\u201d was the reply. The emperor turned away\nwith a look of anger.\n\n\u201cLyons, April 26, 1805.--I came here with my sister to see the\nPope. I saw him pass from the terrace of a garden near the\narchev\u00each\u00e9 where he stops. Yesterday I went to the Pope\u2019s Mass\nat St. Jean\u2019s Church. I had a good view of all the ceremonies,\nbut found it difficult to reach the throne in order to kiss his\nslipper. However, I had this happiness. This aged man has the\naspect of a saint, as well as some of the Roman prelates who were\nwith him, especially his confessor.\u201d\n\n\u201cMay 12, 1805.--Our fortunes are improving. My husband has just\nbought M. d\u2019Osenay\u2019s h\u00f4tel at M\u00e2con. The garden is small, but the\nhouse is immense. We are furnishing it, and shall take possession\nof it this summer. My husband allows me six hundred francs a month,\nand all the provisions from our two estates, for the household\nexpenses, and to pay for Alphonse\u2019s board [at school]. This is more\nthan sufficient. I cannot cease to admire the providence of God\ntoward us, and am ever ready to give up all he bestows on me when\nhe wishes and as he wishes.\u201d\n\nThere is an interesting description of this new home in the\n_Nouvelles Confidences_, and of the circle of friends whom they\ndrew around them. Madame de Lamartine desired this change for the\nbenefit of her daughters, but her own tastes inclined her to the\nretirement of the country.\n\nShe thus writes September 7: \u201cI am again at St. Point, which I\nprefer to any other residence in spite of the dilapidation of the\nch\u00e2teau. I long for a still more profound retreat--a moral one. We\nmust from time to time enter into the solitude and silence of our\nown hearts.\u201d--\u201cIt seems to me if I were free I would consecrate\nmyself entirely to God, apart from the world. But we are always\nwishing for something different from the will of God. Is it not\nbetter to desire only his will?\u201d\n\nShe describes the life she leads with her daughters as almost\nconventual. They all go to Mass every morning. After breakfast\nthey read the Bible or some religious book, and then resume\ntheir studies--history, grammar, etc. After dinner and an hour\u2019s\nrecreation, they sew and study. At nightfall they say the Rosary\ntogether, and in the evening she plays chess with her husband, and\nsometimes reads one of Moli\u00e8re\u2019s comedies. \u201cI see no harm in it,\u201d\nshe says with her characteristic delicacy of conscience. \u201cI skip\nevery dangerous word.\u201d They finally have family prayers, at which\nshe improvises a short meditation aloud. Her great object, she\nsays, is to cultivate a genuine spirit of piety in her children,\nand to keep them constantly occupied.\n\n\u201cSeptember, 1807.--I am enjoying the seclusion at Milly alone with\nmy children. Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9 is my society. I took a long walk\nto-night on Mount Craz, above the vineyard back of the house. I was\nall alone. I take pleasure in such long strolls at this hour in\nthe evening. I love the autumn time, and these walks with no other\ncompany but my own thoughts. They are as boundless as the horizon\nand full of God. Nature elevates my heart, and fills it with a\nthousand thoughts and a certain melancholy which I enjoy. I know\nnot what it is, unless a secret consonance of the infinite soul\nwith the infinity of the divine creation. When I turn back and see\nfrom the heights of the mountain the little lights burning in my\nchildren\u2019s chamber, I bless Divine Providence for having given me\nthis peaceful, hidden nest in which to shelter them!\n\n\u201cI finish always with a prayer without many words, which is like an\ninterior hymn, which no one hears but thee, O Lord! who hearest the\nhumming of the insects in the tangle of furze which I tread under\nmy feet.\u201d\n\n\u201cMilly, April 11, 1810.--I passed the night here with C\u00e9cile and\nEug\u00e9nie. The weather is fine, and I longed to enjoy a pleasant\nspring morning which I find delicious. As soon as I rose I went\ninto the garden, where I passed three hours reading, praying,\nmeditating, thanking God for his benefits, and endeavoring to\nprofit by them. The weather is lovely, the trees are full of buds\nand blossoms which perfume the air. The leaves are beginning to put\nforth, the birds to sing, the little insects to hum. Everything in\nnature is reviving and being born again. I am inexpressibly happy\nwhen I can be at peace in the country at this sweet time of early\nspring. Unfortunately I am obliged to return to town for I know not\nhow long, but I wish only the good pleasure of God, and my only\ndesire is to fulfil my duty wherever he calls me.\n\n\u201cAh! how much I have to reproach myself for. I go to extremes\nin everything. In the world I am too worldly, in retirement too\naustere. Present surroundings have too sensible an effect. I am not\nwell. I offer my sufferings to God. I pray a little. I read a good\ndeal. I am extremely impressed by the shortness of life, and the\nnecessity of preparing for eternity. I often endeavor to be fully\npenetrated with what I remember to have once written--that this\nlife must be regarded as a purgatory, and whatever sufferings the\ngood God sends I should look upon as sweet in comparison with what\nI merit.\n\n\u201cWhat makes me tremble is the establishment of my six children,\nand all the difficulties I foresee in this respect. But this\nanticipated trouble is wrong; for, after the assistance of God in\nso many circumstances, I ought to expect it still more in this the\ngreat object of my life.\u201d\n\nIn fact, she succeeds wonderfully in disposing of her daughters\n_\u00e0 la Fran\u00e7aise_, and, to our American eyes, they are wonderfully\ndocile, but perhaps edifyingly so. Her lovely daughters all marry\ngentlemen who are so fortunate as to have the particle _de_ to\ntheir names--a thing of vast moment with the French gentry.\n\nOne of them, C\u00e9sarine, a dazzling beauty of the Italian style and\nsaid to have a lively resemblance to Raphael\u2019s Fornarina, has\nher little romance, which her mother favors, but the fates frown\nadversely in the person of _la famille_, to wit, the formidable\nuncles and aunts. How poor Madame de Lamartine ever got such a jury\nto agree on the sentence of any suitor is no small proof of her\ntalent for diplomacy. In this case the objection was for pecuniary\nreasons only, for the _de_ was not wanting--\u201cde mis\u00e9rables raisons\nde soci\u00e9t\u00e9,\u201d says the mother, who adds: \u201cThey would not be very\nrich, but I could keep them at home. I am obliged to conceal from\nmy husband\u2019s family my inclination for this marriage; but, if I did\nnot oppose them sometimes, I should never get my children married.\u201d\n\nIn this instance she was at last forced to yield, and tell the\naspirant, but not without tears, that C\u00e9sarine could not marry\nhim. \u201cThe family is obstinate in its refusal. I am in despair.\nThe young man still hopes against all hope.\u201d Luckily--at least\nluckily for the family peace--C\u00e9sarine, though sad, is touchingly\nsubmissive--the lovers are separated for ever. The chivalric\nAlphonse tells his sister not to do violence to her feelings--that\nhe will take her part against the whole set; but the gentle maiden\ndeclares--we persist in believing, in our fondness for a bit of\nsentiment, that she made a virtue of necessity in view of those\nGorgons and chimeras dire--declares her attachment rather a feeling\nof gratitude for the love that had been given her, and that she is\nready to marry without repugnance the estimable man destined to\nreplace the one she has lost!\n\nNothing more could be said. She marries unexceptionably--M. de\nVignet, the nephew of the celebrated Count de Maistre, author\nof _Du Pape_, and goes to Chamb\u00e9ry to become a member of a very\ndistinguished family. She died a few years after.\n\nSome years later, Madame de Lamartine records a visit from the\ndiscarded suitor of six years before. \u201cWe did not speak of\nC\u00e9sarine, but his very presence and tender manner said enough. I\ncried heartily.\u201d\n\nIn 1824, she records the affecting and edifying death of her\ndaughter Suzanne, whose loss, as well as that of C\u00e9sarine, her\naffectionate nature never recovers from. Her heart seems now to\nturn more fully toward heaven. The latest records in her journal\nevince a constantly increasing devotional frame of mind. The\nsurviving daughters are all married, and her son\u2019s prospects\nextremely flattering. She says: \u201cI should be a happy mother had\nI not lost two flowers from my crown. Ah! what a void their loss\nmakes when I walk here in the garden in the evening, and yearn to\nsee them and hear their voices. I must detach myself more and more\nfrom the world in spite of myself.\n\n\u201cI have this year formed the habit of going to Mass before light.\nIt is better to snatch the first moments of the day from the bustle\nand pleasures of the world, and first render to God the things\nthat are God\u2019s, and then to the world what belongs to the world. I\nsometimes find it hard to go out in all kinds of weather from my\nwarm room to attend what is called the servants\u2019 Mass, to which the\npoor go; but are we not all poor in divine grace, and all servants\nto our parents, our husbands, and our children? I am abundantly\nrepaid by the recollection I feel in the dim church, the fervor\nof my prayers, and the calmness and strength I derive from the\nDivine Presence which accompanies me throughout the day after thus\nfulfilling a paramount obligation.\u201d\n\nOnly a short time before the dreadful accident that caused her\ndeath, Madame de Lamartine thus reviews her past life, as if\nconscious of her approaching end:\n\n\u201cMilly, October 21, 1829.--To-day the birth-day of my first-born.\nI am here alone, and have consecrated the day to meditation to\nstrengthen my soul and prepare it for death. How many times in\nmy life I have paced up and down this alley of meditation, where\nno one can see me from the house, with my rosary in my clasped\nhands, meditating or praying! Alas! what would have become of me in\nall my interior and exterior trials had God not visited me in my\nmeditations, and suggested holier and more consoling thoughts than\nmy own! It is a great grace to have this facility for recollection\nin God, which has inclined me almost every day of my life to\nconsecrate some hours, or at least some minutes, in thinking\nexclusively of him. He loves these heart-to-heart appeals to his\ndivine compassion. He inclines his ear to listen to the pulsations\nof the pious heart that turns toward him! I felt this more than\never to-day, and came away all bathed in tears, without perceiving\nit while walking in the alley. It seemed as if my whole life passed\nbefore me, and before him who is my Creator and Judge!\n\n\u201cOh! may his judgment, which is approaching, be merciful.\n\n\u201cI saw myself, as if but yesterday, a child playing in the broad\nalleys of St. Cloud; then, still young, a canoness, praying and\nchanting in the Chapel at Salles, undecided whether to make my\nvows like my companions, and consecrate my whole life to praising\nGod in a place of retreat between the world and eternity; I saw my\nhusband, young and handsome, come in his rich uniform to visit his\nsister, Madame de Villars, the canoness, under whose care I had\nbeen placed because she was older and more reasonable than I. I saw\nhis attention was particularly directed to me above all the rest,\nand that he profited by every opportunity of visiting his sister\nat the chapter. As for me, I was struck with his noble features,\nhis somewhat military air, his frankness of expression, and a\nhaughtiness that seemed only to unbend toward me; I remember the\nemotion of joy shut up in my heart when he at length asked through\nhis sister if I would consent to his demanding me in marriage;\nthen, our first interview in his sister\u2019s presence, our walks in\nthe environs of the chapter with the elder canonesses, his openly\nexpressed wish to marry me, and the continued opposition, and\nthe many tears shed in the presence of God during three years of\nuncertainty to obtain the miracle of his family\u2019s consent, which\nappeared impossible; finally, our years of happiness in this poor\nsolitude of Milly, then much more humble than at present; my\ndespair when, scarcely married, he desperately sacrificed all, even\nme, to fulfil his duty at Paris, defending as a simple volunteer\nthe palace of the king on the 10th of August: the divine protection\nwhich enabled him to escape covered with blood from the garden\nof the Tuileries, his flight, his return here, his imprisonment,\nmy apprehensions as to his life, my visits to the wicket of the\nprison, where I took my son to kiss him through the bars; my\nwalking with my child in my arms, through the streets of Lyons and\nDijon, to appeal to the rude representatives of the people, a word\nfrom whom was life or death to me; the fall of Robespierre; the\nreturn to Milly, the successive births of my seven children, their\neducation, their marriages, the vanishing of those two angels from\nearth, for whose loss the remainder cannot console me!\n\n\u201cAnd now the repose after so much weariness! Repose, yes, but old\nage also, for I am growing old, whatever they say. These trees that\nI planted; the ivy I set out on the north side of the house that my\nson might not tell an untruth in his _Harmonies_ where he describes\nMilly, and which now covers the whole wall from the cellar to the\nroof; these walls themselves covered with moss; these cedars which\nwere no higher than my daughter Sophie when she was four years of\nage, but under which I can now walk--all this tells me I am growing\nold! The graves of the old peasants whom I knew when young, which\nI pass as I go to church, tell me plainly this world is not my\nabiding-place. My final resting-place will soon be prepared. I\ncannot refrain from tears when I think of leaving all, especially\nmy poor husband, the faithful companion of my early years, who is\nnot feeble, but suffers and needs me now to suffer, as he once\nneeded me to be happy! My children, my dear children! Alphonse, his\nwife, by her affection and virtue, a sixth daughter; C\u00e9cile and her\ncharming children, a third generation of hearts that love and must\nbe loved! And then those who are wanting, but who follow me like\nmy shadow in the Alley of Meditation! Alas! my C\u00e9sarine, my pride\non account of her marvellous beauty, buried far away behind that\nAlpine horizon which continually recalls her remembrance! Alas! my\nSuzanne, the saint who wore too soon the aureola on her brow, and\nwhom God took from me that her memory might be for me an image of\none of his angels of purity! Dead or absent ones, I am here alone,\nhaving borne my fruit--some fallen to the ground like that of\nyonder trees, and others removed far from me by the Husbandman of\nthe Gospel! Ah! what thoughts attract me, pursue me in this garden,\nand then force me to leave it when they cause my heart and my eyes\nto overflow! Ah! this is truly my Garden of Olives!\n\n\u201cO my Saviour! has not every soul such a garden? Alas, yes! this\nwas my garden of delights--and now it is laid waste and desolate.\nIt is my Garden of Olives where I come to watch before my death!\nAnd yet it is dear to me, in spite of the vacancies time and death\nhave made around me, even while seeking beneath yonder linden-trees\nfor the white dresses of my children, and listening for their gay\nvoices exclaiming over an insect or a flower in their border!\n\n\u201cWhat had I done that God should bestow on me this corner of the\nearth, and this small house, of whose size and barrenness I was\nsometimes ashamed, but which proved so sweet a nest for my numerous\nbrood? Ah! his name be blessed! his name be blessed! and after me\nmay it still shelter those who will always be a part of me.\n\n\u201cBut I hear the bell at Bussi\u00e8res ringing the Angelus.\n\n\u201cLet us leave all this--it is better to pray than to write. I will\ndry my tears, and all alone in my alley I will say the rosary, to\nwhich my little daughters used to respond as they followed me, but\nwhich only the sparrows in their nests and the falling leaves now\nhear. No; no, no, it is not good to give way too much to tears. I\nmust keep my strength for duties to be accomplished--for we have\nduties even on the death-bed.\n\n\u201cIt is the will of God! Let us abandon ourselves to him entirely!\nThe only true wisdom consists in this--to resign ourselves to his\nadorable will. I have been busying myself here in putting in order\nmy old journals, which has led me to look them over with interest.\nThis always fills me with fresh gratitude for all the grace I have\nreceived from God, and with regret for my little progress in piety,\nafter all the good resolutions and reflections I have so often\nmade, but with so little profit. But there is time, always time,\nwhile God gives us life, to profit by it to prepare for heaven.\nThis is what I beg him with my whole heart as I finish this book,\npraying him to shed on me, and on all who belong to me, abundant\nspiritual blessings. As to temporal blessings, I only ask for them\nas far as they may be necessary for gaining heaven, but I abandon\nmyself with all my heart to his paternal decrees. May he bless me\nin my children, in my friends, in all who have loved me, and whom I\nhave so much loved on earth!\u201d\n\nThese are the last words Madame de Lamartine wrote in her journal.\nSome days after, in entering a bath, she found the water too cool,\nand turned the faucet. The boiling water dashed up on her chest.\nShe fainted. Her cry was heard, but it was too late. She was\nremoved to her chamber. Consciousness returned, and she lived two\ndays. During her last hours she constantly exclaimed: \u201cHow happy\nI am! How happy I am!\u201d Being asked why, she replied: \u201cFor dying\nresigned and purified.\u201d\n\nHer son was at Paris, and did not arrive till after the funeral.\nRemembering her wish to be buried at St. Point, he had her removed.\nThe grave was opened at midnight, one cold night in December, when\nthe ground was covered with snow.\n\nThe peasants, whom she loved and who loved her, took turns in\ncarrying the bier eight leagues, her son on foot behind. Not\na word, not a whisper, was to be heard on the way. When they\napproached Milly, between two and three o\u2019clock in the morning, all\nthe peasants stood in their door-ways, with pale faces and tearful\neyes, holding lamps in their trembling hands. They all came out to\nfollow the procession to Milly, where her coffin was placed for a\nwhile at the entrance, on the very benches where every morning sat\nthe needy to whom she used to distribute food or medicine.\n\nAll the sobbing crowd came up to sprinkle her body with holy water\nand utter a prayer.\n\nM. de Lamartine afterward built a chapel over the grave of his\nmother at St. Point, which bears on its cornice the inscription:\n\n\u201cSPERAVIT ANIMA MEA.\u201d\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[54] _Le Manuscrit de Ma M\u00e8re; or, Extracts from the Journal of\nMadame de Lamartine._ Edited by her Son. Hachette & Co., Paris.\n1871.\n\n[55] See Abbott\u2019s _Napoleon_.\n\n\n\n\nA QUARTER OF AN HOUR IN THE OLD ROMAN FORUM DURING A SPEECH OF\nCICERO\u2019S.\n\n\n  A PASSAGE FROM CICERO\u2019S SPEECH IN SUPPORT OF L. LICINIUS\n      MURENA\u2019S CANDIDACY FOR THE CONSULATE, AGAINST THAT OF SERVIUS\n      SULPICIUS--TWENTY YEARS BEFORE CICERO\u2019S ASSASSINATION--CICERO\n      AND C. ANTONY BEING CONSULS--SIXTY-TWO YEARS BEFORE CHRIST.\n\nIntroductory Note: Servius Sulpicius was perhaps the most eminent\npractitioner of his day in that branch of the law which belongs\nto the \u201cspecial pleader\u201d and the \u201cconveyancer\u201d; but so little of\na speaker that he would not venture alone to recommend his own\ncause or to urge his claims before the Roman people. He employed\nCneius Postumius, then very young, and Marcus Cato, a most weighty\norator, whose character, however (and a reputation for unswerving\nprinciple and the austerest virtues), had a larger share than\nthe mental power of his words in securing to them influence and\nauthority. It was less important what Cato said than that it had\nbeen said by Cato. How very different was the case with Hortensius!\nA stranger, whose face, whose name, not one of the audience knew,\nfitly delivering any of Hortensius\u2019 harangues, would have commanded\nattention from the first, retained it to the last, raised many an\ninterrupting tempest of applause during its progress, and left,\nwhen he had finished, a powerful, a formidable impression.\n\nHortensius was that Bolingbroke of the Roman Forum to whom the\nhuge and intelligent assemblies he addressed were what the organ is\nto a Smart or the violin to a Sivori. He had hewn a lane through\nmany a group of brilliant opponents and rivals, with an Excalibar\nforged by genius and by study _together_ (and few at last cared to\nface the weapon), to the very throne of contemporary eloquence.\nAnd there, for years, he sat at ease, _a king_. A suitor despaired\nof his cause beforehand upon learning that Hortensius had been\nretained on the other side. Of course, his wealth had become\nenormous, and his indirect influence (for, although he had had his\nyear of the Consulate, he cared not very much about politics) was\nan element, a \u201cquantity,\u201d which had to be taken into account by\nstatesmen and generals, by the senate, and by the consuls.\n\nIn the case of \u201cSulpicius against Murena\u201d (Murena had defeated\nSulpicius in the canvass for the ensuing year\u2019s Consulate, and this\nwas a prosecution of revenge to unseat the future and \u201cdesignated\u201d\nchief magistrate), Murena had retained Hortensius, M. Crassus,\nafterwards the Triumvir, _and Marcus Tullius Cicero_. Now, during\nabout ten years past, Hortensius--although speaking with the same\ncharm and the same glamour as ever--had ceased to sit upon the\nthrone or to wear the crown of eloquence. A far mightier spirit, a\nfar finer genius, a far deeper student--a master upon whom _his_\ncompetent and appreciative glance rested with an admiration at\nonce boundless and _hopeless_--had, after a gallant struggle on his\npart, so utterly eclipsed him that there was now a greater distance\nbetween Tully and Hortensius than there ever had been between\nHortensius himself and those accomplished but defeated competitors\nto whom Hortensius had long been a wonder and a despair.\n\nCicero, however, had passed a sleepless night before the day of\nthis trial: his voice almost failed him; he looked haggard; his\nnerves had, for the moment, given way, and with them his presence\nof mind. In charm of manner, in vigor of delivery, in clearness\nand percussion of utterance, in external grace, and dignity,\nand ease, his ancient rival for once surpassed him; nay, till\nthe respective speeches were reported, and could be compared on\nperusal, Hortensius created the illusion that he had at last, in\n_all_ respects, overtaken his victor, and would yet again contend\nfor the palm of pre-eminence.\n\nThis never was to be. The broken heart of the only orator known to\nhuman records, who might _perhaps_ have performed such a task, had\nthen been mouldering for three centuries in a small island of the\n\u00c6gean Sea. We have bored the reader enough about the advocates,\nand have mentioned also _what_ Servius Sulpicius, the prosecutor,\nwas. The defendant, L. Licinius Murena, was, on the other hand, a\ndistinguished soldier. He had served as a sort of adjutant-general\nto the famous Lucullus in that series of campaigns by which he had\ngreatly reduced, without overthrowing (a task reserved for Pompey),\nthe power of Mithridates. Except Hannibal, and perhaps Antiochus\n(we do not reckon Pyrrhus, for Rome was in the gristle then), no\nenemy had ever waged so formidable a warfare against the Romans\nas Mithridates. He was a winged beast. How his fame remains! What\nparties and excursions you Crimean gentlemen made to the spot where\nhis ashes are supposed to have been inurned and intempled! Lord\nof every seaboard of Pontus and the Euxine, and lord of the \u201cEvil\nSea\u201d itself; of ten thousand rich cities; of five hundred strong\nfortresses; of five hundred thousand armed men; of horses enough\nto mount the hordes of a Genghis Khan; of half-a-dozen numerous,\nadventurous, and well-found fleets; of treasures uncounted and\nuncountable; adroit, bold, proud, insatiably enterprising; no mean\ncaptain; an object of worship to his followers; magnificent and\nmunificent; an implacable hater of the Roman name; the long-alight,\nfar-flaming meteor of the East--he threatened to shake hands in\nSpain, across all Europe, with Sertorius; to make the shores of\nItaly quake at the white clouds of his sails, and to teach the\nwaters of the Atlantic as well as those of the Levant to know\neither the sceptre or the sword of Mithridates. It was no child\u2019s\nplay to bring this potentate to the dust.\n\nAgainst such a potentate, in the post next to that of the\ncommander-in-chief (who happened, besides, to be a great general),\nMurena had served for years with the most brilliant efficiency and\ndistinction.\n\nSulpicius, among other things (alleged bribery, etc.), had sneered\nat the presumption of Murena, a man \u201cwho had been principally\nwith the army\u201d and out of Rome, in entering into competition\nwith, or daring to come forward as the rival of, a person of his,\nSulpicius\u2019, dignity, learning, and professional station, standing,\nrank.\n\nWe have said enough--perhaps too much--to frame the little picture\nwhich we want to present to our readers; to set it near the right\nwindow as you pass. That little picture is the argument in which\nCicero (_who was on terms of personal intimacy with the prosecutor,\nas well as with his gallant client_) firmly questions--yet\nquestions with the most exquisite urbanity--the rather exorbitant\npretensions of Sulpicius, the \u201clearned conveyancer and special\npleader,\u201d to a higher consideration than \u201cought to be, or\ncould be,\u201d allowed to the instruction, the knowledge of many\nsorts (geographical, historical, administrative, tactical, and\ntechnical--ay, strategical even--and of characters; of general\nstatistics; of actual local supplies; of incidental resources,\nmaterial and moral), and to the professional industry, to the\nlabors, the wounds, the dangers, to say nothing of the valor and\nthe genius of a patriotic and public-spirited soldier, who had led\narmies to victory, had stormed great strongholds, and had not only\ndefended the frontier of the empire, but enlarged it, with every\ncircumstance of legitimate splendor and honorable success.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  TRANSLATION--EX \u201cPRO MURENA\u201d--SECOND PART OF THE \u201cCONTENTION.\u201d[56]\n\n\u201cI recognize in you, Servius Sulpicius, all the respectability and\ndistinction that family, character, intellectual toil, and such\nother accomplishments can confer, as may entitle any one to aspire\nto the Consulate.\n\n\u201cIn all these respects I know Murena to be your equal; and so\nnicely your equal, that we can neither admit any inferiority on\n_his_ part, nor concede the slightest precedency on _yours_.\n\n\u201cYou have taunted Murena with his genealogy, and extolled your own.\nIf you mean, in all this, that no one can be deemed of honorable\nparentage who is not a patrician, you will bring the masses\n[_plebs_, not _populus_] to withdraw [_secede_] once more to Mount\nAventine. But if there are considerable and distinguished plebeian\nfamilies--why, both the great-grandfather and the grandfather of\nMurena were actually pr\u00e6tors; and his father, when laying down\nthe pr\u00e6torian office, having received, in the amplest and most\nhonorable form, the solemnity of a capitolian triumph, left thereby\nthe more accessible to my client the avenue to the Consulate,\ninasmuch as it was for a dignity already earned by the father, and\ndue to him, that the son became a candidate.\n\n\u201c_Your_ nobility, Servius Sulpicius, although of the highest\nclass, is best known to men of letters and to antiquaries; to the\npeople and the electors, not so obvious: your father, you see,\nwas of knightly rank; your grandfather--famous for nothing very\nremarkable--so that no loud modern voices, but rather the remote\nwhispers of antiquity, attest the glories of your race. For which\nreason, I have ever claimed you as one of us; a man who, although\nbut the son of a knight, yet have achieved for yourself a fair\npretension to the honors of the chief magistracy in the republic.\u201d\n[He means that he was not presumptuous in offering himself to the\nelectors for the Consulate: \u201c_summ\u00e2 amplitudine dignus_\u201d are the\nwords.]\n\n\u201cNor, for my part, have I ever looked upon Quintus Pompey, a new\nman, and bravery itself, as having less worth and dignity than\nMarcus \u00c6milius (_Scaurus_), one of the leaders of our aristocracy;\nfor there is the same merit in the mind and the genius which hand\ndown to posterity the glory of a name not inherited (and this\nPompey has achieved), as to revive, like Scaurus, by personal\nservices, the half-dead honor of an ancient line. However, I was\nunder the impression, judges, that my own exertions had succeeded\nin rendering the objection of lowly birth obsolete in the case of\npersons of merit--persons who, if we recall not merely the Curii,\nthe Catos, the Pompeys, of a former age, architects of their own\nstation, and men of the loftiest spirit, but the Mariuses, the\nDidii, the C\u0153liuses of almost yesterday, had been left lying in the\nshade. But when, after so long an interval, I myself had stormed\nthose fastnesses of nobility, and had struck wide-open for the\nadmission of merit not less than of nobility, in the time to come\n(as they used to be among our ancestors), the approaches to the\nConsulate, I certainly did not expect, while a \u2018designated\u2019 consul,\nsprung from an ancient and illustrious family, was defended by an\nactual consul, the son of a Roman knight\u201d [Cicero was himself at\nthat moment vested with the Consulate], \u201cthat the accusers would\nventure to taunt him with the newness of his origin! For, indeed,\nit was my own lot to be candidate for the chief magistracy in\ncompetition with two eminent patricians, one of them as conspicuous\nfor the abandoned audacity of his wickedness, as the other for\nhis modesty and virtue--_and to vanquish both_: Catiline, by the\nrespect in which my character was held; and Galba, in the love\nand confidence of the people. And, surely, had it amounted to any\nreproach to be a new man, I lacked neither enemies nor enviers. Let\nus drop, then, this discussion about family, a point in which the\npresent competitors are both alike distinguished; let us see what\nthe other allegations are. \u2018_Murena sought the Qu\u00e6storship with\nme: and I was made Qu\u00e6stor first._\u2019 An answer is not expected to\nbe given to every little nothing; nor does it escape any of you,\nwhen a number of persons obtain simultaneously the same grade of\nthe magistracy, while only one of them can stand first on the list\nof announcements, that to be _first declared_ in point of time is\nnot the same thing as to be _declared first_ in point of rank; for\nthe obvious reason, that there must be earlier and later entries\nin every catalogue, although each name on it bears, for the most\npart, the very same honor. But the qu\u00e6storships of both pretty\nnearly coincide as to the \u2018partition\u2019\u201d [of region]: \u201cmy client,\nunder the Titian law, had a silent and quiet province; you, that\nOstian province at the mention of which the people, when qu\u00e6stors\nare drawing lots, usually utter shouts--not so much a favorite or\ndistinguished, as a busy and troublesome department. The names of\neach of you continued dormant in qu\u00e6storships; for fortune gave\nto neither a field wherein your valor might respectively have\nbeen exercised and displayed. The ulterior periods of time which\nare brought into rivalry were by each of you very differently\nspent. Servius pursued here, along with us, this civic warfare of\nreplications, pleas, caveats; replete with care and vexations;\nlearnt the civic law; kept late watches; toiled hard; was the\nservant of every one; endured the stupidities, bore with the\narrogance, was surfeited with the perplexities of hundreds; lived\nat the will of others, not according to his own. It is highly\nhonorable, and wins men\u2019s favor, that one man should labor in a\npursuit which is useful to so many others. And all this while,\nhow was Murena engaged? He was serving as adjutant-general to\nthe bravest and wisest of men, a consummate captain, Lucius\nLucullus, in which service he led the army, engaged the enemy,\nwas repeatedly [often] at close quarters with him; routed large\nforces; took cities now by storm, now by siege; so traversed\nthat opulent Asia, that Asia famed for its seductions, as to\nleave behind him not one trace either of care for its wealth or\npursuit after its gaieties; in short, during a war of the first\nmagnitude, played such a part, that, while he shared, and shared\nwith distinction, in every achievement of the commander-in-chief,\nthe commander-in-chief had no part in numerous and notable services\nof his. Although I speak in Lucullus\u2019 own presence, yet, lest\nit should be supposed that he allows me, on account of Murena\u2019s\nactual danger in this prosecution, to exaggerate his merits, let\nme remind you that everything I state rests upon official and\npublic evidence--evidence in which Lucullus awards to his second\nin command an amount of credit which never could have proceeded\nexcept from the most candid and the least jealous of chiefs. Each\nof the present competitors possesses every title both to personal\nrespect and to social position; and I would pronounce them equal,\nif only Servius allowed me. But he will not allow me. He persists\nin his quarrel with soldiering; he inveighs against the whole of\nMurena\u2019s adjutant-generalship. He will have it that the supreme\nmagistracy is the natural reward of this, his desk and chambers\n[_assiduitatis_, etymologically _sitting-ness_] work; these daily\nlabors of his. \u2018What!\u2019 quoth he, \u2018you will have been with the\narmy all these years; you will never have been seen in the Forum;\nand then, after such a disappearance, you pretend to compete for\nthe highest dignities with men who have spent their lives in the\nForum?\u2019 In the first place, Servius, you are not aware how irksome,\nhow wearisome to people, this _assiduity_ of ours is. To me,\nindeed, the \u2018_in sight, in mind_\u2019 brought with it its conveniences;\nbut I surmounted the danger of tiring people by my immense\nlaboriousness: you may have done the same; but a little less of our\neverlasting presence would have hurt neither of us.\n\n\u201cHowever, passing over this, let us come to the comparison of your\nseveral studies and acquirements. How can there be any doubt, but\nthat warlike glory carries with it far more likelihood than that\nof the law to win the Consulate? _You_ keep night-watches, that\nyou may give an opinion to your consulting clients; _he_, that he\nmay reach his destination in good time with his army. _You_ awake\nin the morning to the crowing of the cocks; _he_ is called by the\nbattle-breathing trumpets. _You_ array pleadings; _he_, armies. You\nare careful not to let your clients be captured; he, to keep from\ncapture cities and camps. He studies how the enemies\u2019 forces, and\nyou how neighbors\u2019 drains and roof-rains, may be held at bay. He\nknows how to extend our boundaries; and you, how to litigate about\nour \u2018boundings and buttings\u2019\u201d--_C\u00e6tera desunt, hic_.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[56] N. B.--Be it observed that what follows is an attempt to\ntranslate the untranslatable. Not only the idiomatic proprieties\nare lost, but the strain of public sentiment and public thinking\nwhich the speaker took into account in every remark is changed: and\nthe rhythm defies reproduction, etc.\n\n\n\n\nA SALON IN PARIS BEFORE THE WAR.\n\n\nPART I.\n\nVANITY OF VANITIES.\n\nMesdames Folibel occupied a double set of rooms _au premier_ on the\nBoulevard des Italiens. On a door to the right a large brass plate\nannounced that Madame Augustine Folibel presided over \u201c_lingerie et\ndentelles_,\u201d and invited the public to \u201c_tourner le bouton_.\u201d To\nthe left a large steel plate proclaimed Madame Alexandrine Folibel\n\u201c_modiste_,\u201d and invited the public to ring the bell. But after a\ncertain hour every day both these invitations were negatived by a\npage in buttons, who, stationed at either door, kept the way open\nfor the ceaseless flow of visitors passing in and out of the two\nestablishments. My friend Berthe de Bonton was just turning in to\nthe _lingerie_ department when I came up the stairs.\n\n\u201cHow lucky!\u201d she cried, running across the landing to me, then\n_sotto voce_: \u201cMadame Clifford [pronounced Cliefore] is here, and\nwants me to choose a bonnet for her. Now, if there\u2019s a thing I\nhate, it is choosing a bonnet for an Englishwoman. To begin with,\nthey don\u2019t possess the first rudiments of culture in dress, then\nthey can never make up their minds, and they find everything too\ndear; but the crowning absurdity is that they bring their husbands\nwith them, and _consult them!_ _Figurez-vous, ma ch\u00e8re!_\u201d And Berthe,\nwith a Frenchwoman\u2019s keen sense of the comic, laughed merrily at\nthe ludicrous conceit. I laughed with her, though not quite from\nthe same point of view.\n\n\u201cI made an excuse to get away for a few minutes, and left the\n_m\u00e9nage_ discussing a pink tulle with marabout and beetle-wings\ntrimming--_un petit po\u00e8me, ch\u00e9rie_--but,\u201d she caught me by the arm,\n\u201cfancy Madame Clifford\u2019s complexion under it!\u201d\n\n\u201c_Ah, bonjour, mesdames!_ I am at the order of _ces dames_. Will\nthey take the pains to seat themselves just for one second?\u201d\ncontinued Madame Augustine, who greeted us in the first _salon_,\nwhere she was carrying on a warm debate on the relative merits of\nAlen\u00e7on _versus_ Valenciennes as a trimming for a bridal _peignoir_.\n\n\u201cI merely wanted to say a word with reference to my order of\nyesterday. Where is Mademoiselle Florine?\u201d inquired Berthe, looking\nround the room, where there were several groups ordering pretty\nthings.\n\n\u201cFlorine! Florine!\u201d called out Madame Augustine.\n\n\u201c_Voici, madame!_\u201d\n\nMademoiselle Florine was a plump little _boulette_ of a woman, who\nwore her nose _retrouss\u00e9_ and always looked at you as if she had\nreason to complain of you. Without being uncivil, she looked it;\nher nose had a supercilious expression that made you feel it was\nconsidering you _de haut en bas_. The fact is, Mademoiselle Florine\nwas not happy. She was disappointed, not in love, but with life\nin general, and with _lingerie_ in particular. She had adopted\n_lingerie_ as a vocation, and now it was going down in the world;\nit was degenerating into _pacotille_; _grandes dames_ began to\ngrow cold about it, and to wear collars and cuffs that a _petite\nbourgeoise_ would have turned up her nose at ten years ago. More\ngrievous still was the change that had come over petticoats. The\ndeterioration in this line she took terribly to heart, and the\nsurest way to enlist her good graces and secure her interest in\nyour order, be it ever so small, was to preface it with a sigh or\na sneer at red Balmorals or other gaudy and economical inventions\nwhich had dethroned the snowy _jupon blanc_ of her youth, with\nits tucks and frills and dainty edgings of lace or embroidery.\nBerthe, it so happened, very strongly shared this dislike to\ncolored petticoats, and was guilty of considerable extravagance\nin the choice of white ones; Mademoiselle Florine\u2019s sympathies\nconsequently went out to her, and, no matter how busily she was\nengaged or with whom, she would fly to Berthe as to a kindred soul\nthe moment she appeared.\n\n\u201cI have been thinking over those _jupons \u00e0 traine_ that I ordered\nyesterday,\u201d said Berthe to the pugnacious-looking little _ling\u00e8re_,\n\u201cand I have an idea that the _entre-deux anglais_ will be a\nfailure. We ought to have decided on Valenciennes.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! I thought Madame la Comtesse would come round to it!\u201d observed\nMademoiselle Florine with a smile of supreme satisfaction. \u201cI told\nMadame la Comtesse it was a mistake.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I felt you didn\u2019t approve; but really twelve hundred francs\nfor six petticoats did seem a great deal,\u201d observed Berthe\ndeprecatingly. \u201cNow, suppose we put alternately one row of deep\n_entre-deux_ and a _tuyaut\u00e9 de batiste_ edged with a narrow\nValenciennes instead of all Valenciennes?\u201d\n\n\u201c_Voyons--r\u00e9fl\u00e9chissons!_\u201d said Mademoiselle Florine, putting her\nfinger to her lips, and knitting her brow.\n\n\u201cIt occurred to me in my bed last night,\u201d continued Berthe, \u201cand\nI fell asleep and actually dreamed of it, and you can\u2019t think how\npretty it looked, so light and at the same time _tr\u00e8s garni_.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo much the better! Talk to me of a customer like that!\u201d exclaimed\nMademoiselle Florine, clasping her hands and turning to me with a\nlook of admiration which was almost affecting from its earnestness.\n\u201cThere is some compensation in working for madame, at least. If\nthose ladies knew what I have to endure from three-quarters of\nthe world!\u201d And she threw up her hands and shook her head in the\ndirection of the _premier salon_. \u201cBut let me get out the models,\nand see how this dream of Madame la Comtesse\u2019s looks in reality.\u201d\nBoxes of lace and embroidery were ordered out by the excited\n_ling\u00e8re_, and under her deft and nimble fingers the dream was\nillustrated in the course of a few minutes. Berthe was undecided.\nShe sat down and surveyed the combination in silent perplexity.\n\n\u201cReally this question of _jupons_ makes life too complicated!\u201d she\nsaid presently; \u201cand now I begin to ask myself if these will go\nwith any of my new dresses? The crinoline _\u00e9ventail_ is going out,\nMonsieur Grandhomme told me, and they will never go with the _queue\nde moineau_ that he is bringing in!\u201d\n\nHere was a predicament!\n\n\u201c_Attendez_,\u201d said Florine, dropping a dozen _rouleaux_ of lace\non the floor as if such costly rags, the mere mortar and clay of\nher airy architecture, were not worth a thought. \u201cLet us leave\nthe question of _jupons_ unsettled for a while; I will go myself\nthis evening and discuss the toilettes of Madame la Comtesse with\nher _femme de chambre_; we will see the style and fall of the new\nskirts, and adapt the _jupons_ to them.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow good you are!\u201d exclaimed Berthe, looking and feeling grateful\nfor this unlooked-for solution of her difficulty.\n\n\u201cIt is a consolation to me, Madame la Comtesse,\u201d replied\nMademoiselle Florine with a sigh, \u201cand I need a little now and\nthen!\u201d\n\nWe wished her good-morning. \u201cLet us go back now to Alexandrine,\u201d\nsaid Berthe; \u201cI hope Mrs. Clifford has made up her mind by this\ntime.\u201d But the hope was vain. Mrs. Clifford was standing with her\nback to the long mirror, looking at herself as reflected in a\nhand-glass that she turned so as to view her head in every possible\naspect, while Mr. Clifford looked on. \u201cDo you think it does?\u201d she\ninquired as we came up to her.\n\n\u201cI think a darker shade would suit you better,\u201d I said; \u201cthat pale\npink has no mercy on one\u2019s complexion.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve tried on nearly every bonnet on the table,\u201d she said, looking\nvery miserable, \u201cand they don\u2019t any of them seem to do.\u201d\n\n\u201cMadame will not understand that the first condition of a bonnet\u2019s\nsuiting, after the complexion of course, is that the hair should be\ndressed with regard to it,\u201d interposed Madame Alexandrine, who I\ncould see by her flushed face and nervous manner was, as she would\nsay herself, _\u00e0 bout de patience_; \u201cthese bonnets are all made\nfor the _coiffure \u00e0 la mode_, whereas madame wears _un peigne \u00e0\ngalerie_.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Dieu!_ but it is six months since the _peigne \u00e0 galerie_ has been\nheard of!\u201d\n\nI suggested, in aid of this undeniable argument, that the comb\nshould be suppressed.\n\n\u201cOh! dear, no, I wouldn\u2019t give it up for the world!\u201d said Mrs.\nClifford, with the emphatic manner she might have used if I had\nproposed her giving up her spectacles.\n\n\u201cThen you must have one made to order.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Madame Alexandrine, \u201cI will make one for madame after a\n_mod\u00e8le \u00e0 part_.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut then it will be dowdy and old-fashioned,\u201d demurred the\nEnglishwoman.\n\n\u201cThen let madame sacrifice _le peigne \u00e0 galerie_! What sacrifice is\nit, after all? Nobody wears them now; they belong to a past age,\u201d\nargued Madame Alexandrine, appealing to me.\n\n\u201cThis one was a present from my husband,\u201d replied Mrs. Clifford, in\na tone that seemed to say: \u201cYou understand, there is nothing more\nto be said.\u201d\n\nI did not dare look at Berthe. Luckily she was beside me, so\nI could not see her face, but I saw the muff go up in a very\nexpressive way, and she suddenly disappeared into a little _salon_\nto the left, set apart for caps and _coiffures de bal_. I heard a\nsmothered \u201cburst,\u201d and a treacherous _armoire \u00e0 glace_ revealed her\nthrown back in an arm-chair, stuffing her handkerchief into her\nmouth, and convulsed with laughter.\n\nMadame Folibel, whose risible faculties long and hard training had\nbrought under perfect control, received the communication, however,\nwith unruffled equanimity.\n\n\u201cThat explains why madame holds to it,\u201d she answered very\nseriously; \u201cit is natural and affecting. Still, one must be\nreasonable; one must not sacrifice too much to a sentiment.\nMonsieur would not wish it,\u201d turning to the gentleman, who stood\nwith his back to the fireplace listening in solemn silence to\nthe controversy. \u201cMonsieur understands that the chief point in\nmadame\u2019s toilette is her bonnet. I grieve to say English ladies\nthemselves do not sufficiently realize the supremacy of the bonnet;\nyet a moment\u2019s reflection ought to show them how all-important\nit is, how necessary that every other feature in the dress\nshould succumb to it. The complexion, the hair, the shape of the\nhead, are all at the mercy of the _chapeau_. Of what avail is\na handsome dress, and fashionable shawl or mantle, costly fur,\nlace--an irreproachable _tout-ensemble_, in fine--if the bonnet\nbe unbecoming? All these are but the _rez-de-chauss\u00e9e_ and the\n_entresol_, so to speak, while the _chapeau_ is the crown of the\nedifice. Le chapeau enfin c\u2019est la femme! [The bonnet, in fact, is\nthe woman!]\u201d At this climax Madame Folibel paused. Mr. Clifford,\nwho had listened as solemn as a judge, his hands in his pockets,\nand not a muscle of his face moving, while the _modiste_, looking\nstraight at him, delivered herself of her _credo_, now turned to me.\n\n\u201cUnquestionably,\u201d he said in a serious and impressive tone, \u201cthere\nmust be a place in heaven for these people. They are thoroughly\nin earnest.\u201d Mrs. Clifford took advantage of the aside between\nher husband and me to follow up Madame Folibel\u2019s oration by a few\nprivate remarks.\n\nClearly she was staggered in her fidelity to the \u201csentiment\u201d which\ninterfered so alarmingly with the success of the \u201ccrown of the\nedifice,\u201d but she had not the honesty to confess it outright. She\nwas ashamed of giving in. Without being often one whit less devoted\nto the vanities of life, an Englishwoman is held back by this\nkind of _mauvaise honte_ from proclaiming her allegiance to them.\nShe is ashamed of being in earnest about folly. Now, this British\nidiosyncrasy is quite foreign to a Frenchwoman; even when she is\npersonally, either from character or circumstances, indifferent to\nthe great fact of dress, she is always alive to its importance\nin the abstract, and will discuss it without any assumption of\ncontemning wisdom, but soberly and intelligently, as befits a grave\nsubject of recognized importance to her sisterhood in the carrying\non of life.\n\n\u201cWhat do you advise me to do, dear?\u201d said Mrs. Clifford, appealing\nto her husband, the wife and the woman warring vexedly in her\nspirit.\n\n\u201cGive in,\u201d said Mr. Clifford. \u201cWhat in the name of mercy could you\ndo else! A dozen men in your place would have capitulated after\nthat broadside ending in the woman and the bonnet.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat does monsieur say?\u201d inquired Madame Folibel.\n\nMonsieur had answered his wife with his eyes fixed on the\nFrenchwoman, as if she were a wild variety of the species that he\nhad never come upon before, and might not have an opportunity of\nstudying again.\n\n\u201cI suppose I must sacrifice the comb,\u201d observed Mrs. Clifford,\naffecting a sort of bored indifference and looking about for her\nold bonnet, \u201cso we will leave the choice of the model open till I\nhave had a conversation with Macravock, my maid, and see what she\ncan do with my hair; she is very clever at hair-dressing.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! de gr\u00e2ce, madame!\u201d exclaimed La Folibel, terrified at the\nrough Scotch name that boded ill for the _couronnement_. \u201cYour\nmaid, instead of mending matters, will complicate them still more.\nYou must put yourself in the hands of a _coiffeur_ who understands\nphysiognomy, and who will study yours before he decides upon\nthe necessary change. If madame does not know such a man, I can\nrecommend her mine, a _coiffeur_ in whom I have unlimited trust. I\nsend him numbers of my customers, he never fails to please them,\nand I can trust him not to compromise me. Madame understands the\nsuccess of my bonnets depends in no small degree on the way in\nwhich the head is adjusted for them. _Il y a des t\u00eates impossibles_\nthat I could not commit my reputation to. I am sometimes obliged\nto make a bonnet for them, but I never sign it. I have my name\nremoved from the lining, and so edit the thing anonymously. It\nwould compromise me irremediably if my signature were seen on some\nof your country-women\u2019s heads!\u201d\n\nMrs. Clifford, awakened to the responsibility she was about to\nincur, promised to consult the artist instead of her Scotch maid;\nwhereupon Madame Folibel handed her a large card which bore the\nname Monsieur de Bysterveld and his address. Under both was a note\nsetting forth his capillary capabilities, and informing the public\nthat--\n\n\u201cMonsieur de Bysterveld undertakes to prove that it is possible to\nbecome a hair-dresser and yet remain a gentleman.\u201d\n\nThe _modiste_ then assisted Mrs. Clifford to tie on her bonnet,\nobserving, while she smoothed out the ribbon carefully as if trying\nto make the best of a bad case:\n\n\u201cI am glad for her own sake that madame has consented to give up\nthat _peigne \u00e0 galerie_. It really is an injustice to her head, and\nit is simply out of the question her having a _chapeau convenable_\nwhile that impediment exists. Madame will be quite another person,\u201d\nshe continued, addressing Mr. Clifford. \u201cMonsieur will not\nrecognize her with a new chignon and in a bonnet of mine.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! then I protest,\u201d said Mr. Clifford dryly; he understood\nFrench, but did not speak it--\u201cI protest against both the chignon\nand the bonnet, madame.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Pla\u00eet-il, monsieur?_\u201d said Madame Folibel, looking from one to\nthe other of us.\n\n\u201cDear Walter! she means I shall be so much improved,\u201d explained the\nwife, laughing.\n\n\u201cImproved!\u201d repeated Mr. Clifford, not lifting his eye-brows, but\nwriting _incredulity_ on every line of his face.\n\nHis wife blushed, and her eyes rested on his for a moment. Then,\nturning quickly to Madame Folibel, she made some final arrangement\nabout a meeting for the following day.\n\nJust at this juncture Berthe came back. I was glad she was not\nthere in time to catch the absurd little passage between the two.\nA husband paying a compliment to his wife, and she blushing under\nit after a ten years\u2019 _m\u00e9nage_, would have been a delicious morsel\nof the _ridicule anglais_ that Berthe could not have withstood; it\nwould have diverted her _salon_ for a week.\n\n\u201cWell?\u201d she said, five notes of interrogation plainly adding: \u201cAre\nyou ever going to have done?\u201d\n\n\u201c_C\u2019est d\u00e9cid\u00e9_,\u201d answered Madame Folibel, coming forward with an\nair of triumph. \u201cMadame sacrifices the comb!\u201d\n\n\u201cExcellent!\u201d exclaimed Berthe. \u201cI congratulate you, _ch\u00e8re madame_.\nEven mentally, you will be the better of it. For my part, I know no\nlittle misery more demoralizing than an unbecoming bonnet.\u201d\n\nWe all went down-stairs together, but at the street-door we parted\nfrom the Cliffords.\n\n\u201cWhere are you going now?\u201d asked Berthe.\n\n\u201cTo the _r\u00e9union_ at the Rue de Monceau,\u201d I said. \u201cI got the\n_faire-part_ last night, and I want particularly to be there to\ntry and get a child into the Succursale school. There is only\none vacancy, and we are six trying for it, so I fear my little\n_prot\u00e9g\u00e9e_ has small chance of success. Come and give me your vote,\nBerthe.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Ch\u00e9rie_, I would with pleasure, but I am so dreadfully busy this\nafternoon: I promised La Princesse M---- to look in during the\nrehearsal at her house; and then I\u2019ve not been to Madame de B----\u2019s\nfor an age, and I almost swore I\u2019d go to-day.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, what\u2019s to prevent your going afterwards?\u201d I cried. \u201cIt\u2019s\nnot yet four, and the _r\u00e9union_ does not last more than an hour.\nMonsieur le Cur\u00e9 arrives at a quarter-past four, and leaves at\nfive.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut one is bored to death waiting for him,\u201d argued Berthe, \u201cand\nthe room is so hot _chez les bonnes s\u0153urs_, and there won\u2019t be a\ncat there to-day, I\u2019m sure; everybody is at the skating.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! the parish and the skating don\u2019t interfere with each other,\u201d I\ncried, laughing; \u201cbut I see you can\u2019t come, so good-by. I must be\noff. Mademoiselle de Galliac will be waiting for me.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Comment!_ Is _la petite_ to be there? I particularly want to see\nher. I want to know how her snow-storm costume went off at the\nMarine, for in the crowd I never caught sight of her. _Ch\u00e8re amie_,\nI\u2019ll go with you to Monceau. After all,\u201d she continued, drawing a\nlong sigh as we stepped into her carriage, \u201cthis life won\u2019t last\nfor ever; one must think now and then of one\u2019s poor soul.\u201d\n\nWe were a little behind our time for the canvassing. Four of my\nrivals were before me in the field, and had robbed me of a few\nvotes that I might have received by being there a quarter of an\nhour sooner.\n\n\u201cNow, Berthe,\u201d I cried, \u201cit\u2019s your fault, so you must bestir\nyourself to help me. Attack those young girls in the window, and\npersuade them to vote for my child.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho are they?\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know--go and ask them.\u201d\n\nBerthe charged valiantly at the group in the window, introducing\nherself by embracing the young girls all round, and declaring her\nperfect confidence in their support. They gathered round her,\nfascinated at once by her beauty and her frank, attractive manner.\nI saw at a glance that the votes were safe, and that I had no\nneed to bring up reinforcements in that quarter, so I set to work\nelsewhere.\n\nPerhaps it would interest my readers to hear something of the good\nwork itself. Its object is to take charge of orphans of the poorest\nclass, clothe, feed, and educate them till the age of twenty-one.\nThe members are exclusively ladies, married or single. To be a\nmember, it is necessary to be a parishioner, to pay a small sum\nyearly for the maintenance of the confraternity, and to assist\nat the monthly meetings, where the wants, plans, and progress of\nthe work are discussed in presence of the cur\u00e9, who is always\npresident, and another parish clergyman elected _directeur_, the\nrest of the board--treasurer, secretary, and vice-president--being\nchosen from amongst the members. When an orphan is proposed for\nadmission, a written statement giving her birth, parentage, and\ncircumstances, and setting forth the special claims of her case,\nis placed on the green table of the assembly-room, at which the\ndignitaries preside during the meeting. This preliminary fulfilled,\nthe next step is to secure the votes of the confraternity. The\ndemand being always much greater than the supply, when a vacancy\noccurs it is sure to be sharply contested. A zealous patroness\ntakes care to canvass beforehand; but, from one circumstance or\nanother, there are always a good many votes still to be disposed\nof on the day of the election, and the half-hour that elapses\nfrom the opening of the assembly to the arrival of the cur\u00e9 is\nspent in fighting for them, and presents a scene of interesting\nexcitement. The patroness is looked upon as the mother of the\nlittle petitioner, who, once admitted into the orphanage, is called\nher \u201cchild.\u201d Those who are long members and very zealous succeed\nin getting in many orphans, and thus become mothers of a numerous\nfamily. The most devoted of these mothers are generally the young\ngirls. The way in which some of their hearts go out to their\nadopted children is touching and beautiful beyond description. They\nseem to anticipate their joys and cares, and to invest themselves\nwith something of motherhood in their relations with the little\noutcasts, who look to them for help in a world where, but for them,\nthey would apparently have no right to be--where no one cares for\nthem, no one loves them, except the great Father who suffers the\nlittle ones to come to him, and will not have them sent away.\n\nEvery month the _s\u0153urs_ send in a special bulletin of the conduct\nand health of each child, addressed to the adopted mother, and read\nby Monsieur le Cur\u00e9 at the meeting. According to the contents of\nthe bulletin, the mothers are congratulated or the reverse. Little\npresents are sent to the good children, and letters of reproval\nwritten to the naughty ones. In this way, the maternal character is\nkept up till the children leave the shelter of their convent home.\nThen the mothers assist in placing them as servants or apprentices,\nor, better still, in getting them respectably married.\n\nWhile Berthe was getting up votes for me on her side, I was busy on\nmy own, and when the bell rang, announcing, as we thought, Monsieur\nle Cur\u00e9, I had a pretty good poll.\n\nThe buzz of talk subsided suddenly; the high functionaries broke\naway from the humbler participants, and took their places at the\ngreen table, near the _fauteuils_, waiting for the cur\u00e9 and the\nvicaire. Some of the very young mothers looked eager and flurried.\nOne in particular, who was a rival candidate with me, seemed\nterribly nervous. She was about seventeen. Two young mothers\non either side of her were speaking words of encouragement and\ntrying to keep up her hopes. \u201cYou must pray hard for my success,\u201d\nI heard her say to one of them; \u201cthe poor old grandfather will\nbreak his heart if Jeannette is refused. He can\u2019t take her into\nLes Vieillards, even if it were not against the rules, because he\nhasn\u2019t a crust of bread to give her. He has nothing but what the\n_s\u0153urs_ give him for himself. Oh! do pray hard that I may succeed!\u201d\n\n\u201cLet us say another Pater and Ave before Monsieur le Cur\u00e9 comes\nin,\u201d suggested her companions; and the three friends lowered their\nvoices, and sent up their pure young hearts together in a last\nappeal to the Father of the fatherless in behalf of the little\norphan.\n\nThe door opened. It was not Monsieur le Cur\u00e9.\n\n\u201c_Ah, bonjour, cher ange!_\u201d exclaimed Madame de B\u00e9rac, embracing\nBerthe with effusion, and talking as low as if she were \u201creceiving\u201d\nin her own _salon_. \u201cWhat a charming surprise to meet you! I came\nto vote for Marguerite\u2019s _prot\u00e9g\u00e9e_, and see how my _d\u00e9vouement_ is\ncrowned!\u201d\n\nI expressed my satisfaction at virtue\u2019s proving in this case its\nown reward.\n\n\u201cBut why have I not seen you before?\u201d inquired Berthe. \u201cI did not\neven know you were in town.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hardly know it yet myself,\u201d replied Madame de B\u00e9rac. \u201cI only\narrived last night. Marguerite wrote to me imploring me to be here\nif I could in time to vote for her. _Ch\u00e8re aim\u00e9e_,\u201d she continued,\nturning to me, \u201ctill you reminded me of it, I actually forgot I was\na member at all!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, now that you are in town, you mean to stay?\u201d said Berthe.\n\n\u201c_H\u00e9las_, I only remain a week.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you said you meant to spend the carnival here?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen I said so, I believed it.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what has changed your plans?\u201d I inquired.\n\nMadame shrugged her shoulders. \u201cMy husband has been so impolite as\nto tell me that he has no money! One cannot stay in Paris without\nmoney.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Quel homme!_\u201d exclaimed Berthe, with a look of pity and disgust.\n\nThe door opened again. This time it was the cur\u00e9. After the\nusual blessing and prayer, he declared the _s\u00e9ance_ opened, and\nread the reports of the board and the bulletins. These matters\ndisposed of, the business of the election began at once. A brisk\ncross-examination soon put four candidates _hors de concours_. Two\nhad fathers who could support them, but wouldn\u2019t. The confraternity\nfound the children not qualified for its charge. Two others were\nnot parishioners of St. Philippe du Roule. Of the six who had\nstarted, two therefore only remained in the field. One was mine,\nthe other was the _prot\u00e9g\u00e9e_ of the young girl whose conversation\nI had just overheard. We were to divide the votes between us.\nOur respective orphans had the necessary qualifications. It only\nremained to see which of the two, as the more destitute, could\nestablish the primary claim on the protection of the confraternity.\nMine was ten years of age. She had two tiny brothers and a sister\nsome five years older than herself who, since the death of their\nmother, six months ago, had supported the whole family by working\nas a _blanchisseuse de fin_ by day, and as a _ling\u00e8re_ half the\nnight. But the bread-winner gave way under the load of work, and\nnow lay sick at the hospital, while the brothers and the sister,\nclinging to each other in a fireless garret, cried out for bread\nto the rich brothers who could not hear them. The Cur\u00e9 de Ste.\nClothilde had promised to find shelter for the boys; but what was\nto be done with the girl? I had stated these plain facts in the\npetition, and now verbally recommended the case to the compassion\nof the members, and once again asked for their votes.\n\nMy rival\u2019s child was twelve years of age. She had no brothers or\nsisters. She was utterly destitute, but in good health, and nearly\nof an age to support herself.\n\nMonsieur le Cur\u00e9 listened to the two cases, and, when he had heard\nboth, his judgment seemed strongly impressed in favor of mine.\n\nIn spite of the interest I felt in my poor little _prot\u00e9g\u00e9e_,\nI could not help regretting the impending failure of my young\ncompetitor opposite. She had answered the cur\u00e9\u2019s questions in\nshort, nervous monosyllables, and now sat drinking in every word\nhe said, two fever-spots burning on her cheeks, while her eyes\nswam with tears that all her efforts failed to suppress. A face\nof seventeen is always interesting; but in this one there was\nsomething more than the mere attractiveness of early youth and\ninnocence. There was an eager, awakened expression in the clear\nblue eyes, and a sensitive play about the grave, full lips that\none seldom sees in so young a face. She was simply, almost quaintly\ndressed as contrasted with the costly elegance of most of the\ndresses around her. The black bonnet with the wreath of violets\nresting on the fair hair, and the neat but perfectly plain black\nreps costume, bespoke not poverty, but the very strictest economy.\n\n\u201cTo the vote, _mesdames_,\u201d said the cur\u00e9. \u201cI fear, Mademoiselle\nH\u00e9l\u00e8ne, you have a bad chance.\u201d\n\n\u201cO Monsieur le Cur\u00e9!\u201d burst from H\u00e9l\u00e8ne, \u201cher poor old grandfather\nwill die of disappointment.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy poor child, I hope not,\u201d said the cur\u00e9, evidently touched by\nher distress, but unable to repress a smile at this extreme view.\n\u201cYour _proteg\u00e9e\u2019s_ having a grandfather is indeed an advantage on\nthe wrong side.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s blind, Monsieur le Cur\u00e9! and paralyzed! and eighty-six years\nold!\u201d urged H\u00e9l\u00e8ne, gaining courage from desperation, \u201cand his one\nprayer is to see the _petite_ safe somewhere before he dies. O\nMonsieur le Cur\u00e9!--\u201d She stopped, the big tears rolling down her\ncheeks.\n\n\u201c_Voyons!_\u201d said the good old pastor, rubbing his nose, and\nfidgeting at his spectacles. \u201cLet us take the vote, and then we\nshall see. You have a child already, have you not, mademoiselle?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, Monsieur le Cur\u00e9; I have two, but one is in the country, at\nthe Succursale.\u201d\n\nThe votes were taken, and, by a very small majority, I carried it.\nMy voters congratulated me, while H\u00e9l\u00e8ne\u2019s friends crowded round\nher, condoling. But the poor child would not be comforted; overcome\nby the previous emotion and the final disappointment, she sobbed as\nif her heart would break.\n\n\u201cOh! really, it\u2019s too cruel to let that dear child be\ndisappointed,\u201d said Berthe. \u201cCan\u2019t we do something, Monsieur le\nCur\u00e9? Can\u2019t we by any possibility squeeze in another child?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing easier, madame; you have only to create a new _bourse_, or\nget subscribers to the amount of three hundred francs a year for\nthe term of the child\u2019s education,\u201d replied Monsieur le Cur\u00e9.\n\n\u201cThen I subscribe for two years down,\u201d said Berthe impulsively.\n\u201cWho follows suit?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do,\u201d said another speaker; \u201cI will subscribe for one year!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I will give forty francs,\u201d said a third.\n\n\u201cAnd I a hundred,\u201d said the cur\u00e9, who was always to the fore when a\ngood work was to be helped on.\n\nIn a few minutes, the green table glistened with gold pieces and\nnotes. It was all done so quickly that H\u00e9l\u00e8ne had not had time to\nask what it was all about, when Berthe ran up to her with the good\nnews that her child was taken in, and, embracing her tenderly, bade\nher dry her tears.\n\n\u201cHow good you are, madame!\u201d said the young girl, returning her\ncaress with fervor; \u201cbut I knew you were good; you have the face of\nan angel!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is better to have the heart of one,\u201d said Berthe, laughing, and\nhastily rubbing a dew-drop from her own fair face.\n\n\u201cNow, I must make haste away, or I shall be late for my lesson,\u201d\nsaid H\u00e9l\u00e8ne, after thanking the members who gathered about her,\nthis time embracing and congratulating.\n\n\u201cWhat lesson are you going to take, _ma petite_?\u201d inquired Berthe\naffectionately.\n\n\u201cI am going to give one, madame,\u201d replied H\u00e9l\u00e8ne. \u201cI live by giving\nmusic lessons.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen you must come and give me some,\u201d said Berthe. \u201cHere is my\naddress. Come to me to-morrow as early as you can.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are not sorry I made you come, are you, Berthe?\u201d I asked, as\nwe went out together.\n\n\u201cSorry! I would not have missed it for the world.\u201d\n\n\nPART II.\n\nLE PARTI.\n\n\u201c_Au revoir, \u00e0 demain soir!_\u201d said Berthe, kissing a fair-haired\nyoung girl, and conducting her to the door.\n\n\u201cWhat a sweet face! Whose is it?\u201d inquired Madame de Beauc\u0153ur.\n\n\u201cH\u00e9l\u00e8ne de Karodel\u2019s. Her character is sweeter still than her face.\nI have fallen quite in love with her,\u201d said Berthe. And she related\nthe story of their meeting at the _r\u00e9union de Monceau_, and the\nacquaintance that had followed.\n\n\u201cIt is a fine old Breton name, and used to be a very wealthy one.\nHow comes she to be earning her bread, poor child?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe old story,\u201d said Berthe. \u201cGeneral de Karodel mismanaged his\nproperty, took to speculation by way of mending matters, and of\ncourse lost everything. He died, leaving a widow and three children\nto do the best they could with his pension, about a thousand francs\na year. H\u00e9l\u00e8ne is the eldest, and what she earns pays for the\neducation of the second sister.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut the rest of the family are well off. Why don\u2019t they do\nsomething for them?\u201d demanded Madame de Beauc\u0153ur.\n\n\u201cRich relations are not given much to helping poor ones,\u201d replied\nBerthe; \u201cbesides, these Karodels are as proud as Lucifer, and\nbenefits are pills that a proud spirit finds it difficult to\nswallow; it takes a good deal of love to gild them.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery true!\u201d And dismissing H\u00e9l\u00e8ne de Karodel with a sigh, \u201c_Ch\u00e8re\namie_\u201d said Madame de Beauc\u0153ur, \u201cI am come to ask you to do me a\nservice.\u201d\n\nHer presence indeed at so early an hour (it was not much past\none) on Berthe\u2019s \u201cday\u201d suggested something more important than an\nordinary visit. A \u201cday\u201d is a thing that deserves to be noticed\namongst the institutions of modern Paris life. Everybody has a day.\nWomen in society have one from necessity, for the convenience of\ntheir visitors whose name is Legion. Women not in society have one\nbecause they like to be included amongst those with whom it is a\nnecessity. The former speak of their day as \u201c_mon jour_\u201d and as\na rule hate it, because it ties them down to stay one day in the\nweek at home. The latter speak of it as \u201c_mon jour de r\u00e9ception_,\u201d\nand glory in it. For the former it is a mere episode, an occasion\namongst many for toilette and gossip, mostly of the Grandhomme and\nFolibel kind, but often of a more serious character, sometimes even\nof conversation on such grave topics as politics, science, and\ntheology. For the latter, it is a grand opportunity for dress, and\ndulness, and weary expectation. Madame, attired in state, sits on\nher sofa like patience on a monument, smiling, not on grief, but on\nhope--hope of visitors, who come like angels, few and far between.\nWoe be unto the false or foolish friend who, under any pretence of\nbusiness, or kind inquiries, or lack of time, should pass by this\nday of days, and call on some insignificant day, when neither\nmadame, nor the _salon_, nor the _valet-de-chambre_ is in toilette\nto receive him!\n\nBut it is not into one of these dreary Saharas that we have\nstrayed. Berthe\u2019s day is as busy as a fair. So great is the\nconcourse of visitors that, although the reception begins\nofficially at three, the rooms begin to fill soon after two, those\nwho really want to speak to her alleging, as an excuse for forcing\nthe _consigne_, that, when _la cour et la ville_ are there, it is a\nsheer impossibility to get a word with her.\n\n\u201cA service!\u201d repeated Berthe. \u201cI hope it is not too good to be\ntrue.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Toujours charmante!_\u201d Madame de Beauc\u0153ur took her hand and\npressed it. \u201cBut the favor I am going to ask does not directly\nconcern myself. You know Madame de Chassedot?\u201d\n\n\u201cSlightly; I meet her here and there; we bow, but we don\u2019t speak.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe has deputed me to speak for her to-day. Do you know her son at\nall?\u201d\n\n\u201cA fair youth, tall and good-looking?\u201d\n\n\u201cPrecisely.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think I danced with him at the Marine, the other night,\u201d said\nBerthe reflectively.\n\n\u201cThen you know him at his best; he dances divinely; but I believe\nthat is the only thing he excels in,\u201d observed Madame de Beauc\u0153ur.\n\n\u201cHe is very stupid?\u201d said Berthe interrogatively.\n\n\u201cNot very. Simply stupid. But he is, as you know, good-looking,\nand, what is more to the purpose, of good family and very well off.\nHe is heir to his uncle, and so will one day have two of the finest\nch\u00e2teaux in France, each representing two millions of money. The\npaternal millions have grown thin since the old gentleman\u2019s death,\nbut the uncle\u2019s will replenish them soon; he cannot last long, he\nis in bad health and seventy-six years of age. So the marquis is\nsafe to be at the head of a very handsome fortune by the time he\nhas settled down.\u201d\n\n\u201cMeanwhile?\u201d said Berthe, pretending not to see the drift of these\npreliminaries.\n\n\u201cMeanwhile, his mother is very anxious to marry him. She spoke\nconfidentially to me about it, and begged me to look out for a wife\nfor her. I promised I would do my best. Like all mothers-in-law,\nshe wants perfection. Sixteen quarterings _en r\u00e8gle_, that is\nunderstood; equal fortune of course; but, although Edgar\u2019s\npresent and future fortune is nominally four millions, as he has\ncompromised one million, she would count it as not existing,\nand only exact three millions with his wife. This is carrying\non matters on a grand scale?\u201d And Madame de Beauc\u0153ur waited for\nBerthe\u2019s approval.\n\n\u201cHow did he compromise the odd million?\u201d inquired Berthe evasively.\n\n\u201c_Mais, mon Dieu!_ One must not examine too closely!\u201d replied\nMadame de Beauc\u0153ur, smiling at the _na\u00efvet\u00e9_ of the question.\n\n\u201cAnd besides these?\u201d said Berthe.\n\n\u201cThe girl must be pretty, and well brought up. I must tell you,\nmy dear,\u201d continued the lady, with a sort of diffidence as if\nconscious that she was about to state some ludicrous or damaging\nfact, \u201cthat the mother-in-law is very pious, and she holds very\nmuch to having a daughter-in-law who is so also. Otherwise she is\nthe best woman in the world, very intelligent, and will do all in\nher power to make her son\u2019s wife happy.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the son himself? You have not said much about him. How far\ndoes he pledge himself to the same end?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! there is the difficulty!\u201d said Madame de Beauc\u0153ur.\n\u201cUnfortunately he won\u2019t hear of being married at all. The moment\nhis mother speaks of it, he either turns it off in a joke, or, if\nshe insists, he gets into a tantrum, flies out of the house, and\nshe doesn\u2019t see him for a week. You can fancy how this complicates\nthe matter for her, poor woman!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt certainly is a complication,\u201d observed Berthe.\n\n\u201cAnd it makes it all the more incumbent on us to try and help her,\u201d\nresumed the envoy. \u201cSo I have come to enlist your offices in her\nbehalf. I promised her she might count on you, _ch\u00e8re amie_. Did I\npromise too much?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you promised her that I would marry her son for her, _nolens\nvolens_, you decidedly did,\u201d answered Berthe, laughing ironically.\n\n\u201cOh! I did not go that length,\u201d protested Madame de Beauc\u0153ur,\nnettled, but laughing heartily to hide her pique. \u201cI only said that\nyou were more likely than any other woman in Paris to know the girl\nwho united all these conditions, and that, if you knew her, you\nwould give Madame de Chassedot an opportunity of meeting her.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how about Madame Chassedot meeting her?\u201d demanded Berthe\nperversely. \u201cAfter all, the contracting powers must look each\nother in the face at least once before they are brought to swear\neternal love and duty before Monsieur le Maire, and if this\ninconvenient young man flies out the room at the bare mention of\nsuch a catastrophe--dear madame, I have the highest opinion of your\ndiplomatic powers, but, believe me, this enterprise is beyond their\ncompass.\u201d\n\n\u201cLeave that to his mother,\u201d said Madame de Beauc\u0153ur. \u201cShe is equal\nto it. If you find the missing element, and give her a chance of\nmanaging it, the issue is certain.\u201d\n\nBerthe was going to reply when the door opened, and the Princess\nde M---- was announced. When the usual greeting had subsided, the\nthree ladies entered on the foremost questions of the day, viz.,\nthe _salon_, the cholera, and the new comedy called _La Beaut\u00e9 du\nDiable_ that was setting all Paris by the ears.\n\nThe trio were not long alone. The rooms were filling rapidly, but\nthe new-comers, instead of checking the conversation, enlivened it,\nevery fresh arrival falling in with the current and propelling it.\n\n\u201cThe Empress does not believe it to be contagious, and holds it of\nprimary importance that the popular belief to the contrary should\nbe practically repudiated,\u201d said an old senator, who joined the\ncircle while the cholera was on the _tapis_, \u201cThis was the chief\nmotive of her visit to Amiens. I have just been to the Tuileries,\nand heard the account of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cRacontez, monsieur, racontez!\u201d exclaimed Berthe, recognizing his\nwhite hairs by making room for him on the sofa beside her.\n\n\u201cYou honor me too highly, madame!\u201d said the old courtier, bending\nto his knees before he assumed the place of distinction. \u201cI should\nhave at least run the gantlet with the plague to deserve to be so\nfavored. You are aware,\u201d he continued in a more serious tone,\n\u201cthat it was raging furiously at Amiens. The townspeople became\nso panic-stricken that the victims were deserted the moment they\nwere seized. Every house was closed. No one walked abroad for\nfear of rubbing against some infected thing or person. Except the\nsisters of charity going in and out of the condemned houses and\nhospitals, there was hardly a soul to be seen in the streets. In\nfact, it threatened to be a second edition of the plague in Milan.\nThe Empress, hearing all this, suddenly announced her intention\nof visiting the city. The Emperor strongly opposed the project,\nand her ladies seconded him, being very loth to run the risk of\naccompanying her majesty. The Empress, however, held her own\nagainst them all, like a Spaniard and a woman, said she would have\nno one run any risk on her account, and declared herself determined\nto go alone. Two of her ladies, to save their credit, thereupon\nvolunteered to go with her. They started by the first train next\nday, and returned the same evening, not at all the worse for the\njourney.\u201d\n\n\u201cI dare say,\u201d remarked a young _cr\u00e9v\u00e9_, a furious Legitimist, who\nalways spoke of the Emperor as _ce gaillard l\u00e0_, and who would have\nas soon dined with his _concierge_ as at the Tuileries. \u201cThey made\na tour in a close carriage round the town, and took precious care\nto keep clear of the dangerous quarters.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have the word of her majesty to the contrary, monsieur. She\nvisited the wards, inquired minutely into their organization, and\nspoke to several of the sufferers. The equerry who accompanied\nher told me that she held the hand of one poor fellow who was\ndying, and stooped down, putting her ear close to his lips to hear\nsomething he had to say about his little children: there were three\nof them, their mother had died that morning, and now they were\ngoing to be quite destitute. The Empress sent for them, embraced\nthem in the presence of the father, and promised to take care of\nthem. He expired soon after blessing her, as you may imagine.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe has a noble heart!\u201d murmured Berthe, while a tear stood in her\neye.\n\n\u201cCom\u00e9die, haute com\u00e9die!\u201d sneered the _cr\u00e9v\u00e9 de faubourg_.\n\n\u201cA stroke of policy, rather,\u201d observed a Deputy du Centre, stroking\nhis beard.\n\n\u201cA comedian\u2019s policy!\u201d said a Deputy de la Gauche; \u201cbut it is time\nand trouble lost, the people are no longer duped by that sort of\ncharlatanism.\u201d\n\n\u201cSay, rather, the people are tired of peace and prosperity, and\nwant a change at any cost,\u201d said the Princess de M----. \u201cYou are\nthe most unmanageable people under the sun. The wonder is, how any\none can be found willing to govern you.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is quite true,\u201d assented Berthe, whose politics, of no\nabsolute color, leaned towards Imperialism, partly because it was\nthe established order of things, and partly because the court was\npleasant and its hospitalities magnificent. \u201cWe are an unruly\nnation; but whatever one thinks of the Empire, it is ungrateful and\nunjust not to give the Empress credit at least for good intentions\nin this visit to Amiens. It was an act of heroic charity and\ncourage, and that there was as much wisdom as charity in it is\nproved by the fact that the pestilence has decreased sensibly from\nthe very day of her visit.\u201d\n\n\u201cO madame, madame!\u201d protested the _cr\u00e9v\u00e9_ and the two deputies in\nchorus.\n\n\u201cThe bulletins of the last week are there to prove it,\u201d affirmed\nBerthe.\n\n\u201cWhere were they fabricated?\u201d demanded the Deputy de la Gauche.\n\u201cPerhaps Monsieur de Taitout could tell us?\u201d Monsieur de Taitout\nwas Chef de Cabinet at the Ministry of the Interior.\n\n\u201cThey were issued at Amiens by the medical men of the hospitals\nand by the Commission of Public Health, I presume,\u201d replied the\nministerial functionary with repellent _hauteur_.\n\n\u201cThey had at least a roll of red ribbon apiece in return for their\nsatisfactory bulletins!\u201d pursued the Deputy de la Gauche, with\nsupercilious irony.\n\n\u201cYou are evidently well informed, monsieur,\u201d replied the Chef de\nl\u2019Int\u00e9rieur, provoked by the persiflage; and darting a glance of\npeculiar meaning at the deputy, \u201cWe may infer that you are in the\nconfidence of the Minister of Police?\u201d\n\nThe deputy bit his lip and reddened, while a suppressed titter ran\nthrough the company. This suspicion of complicity with the police,\nwhich the established system of compression and its inevitable\nconsequence, espionage, engendered too readily, was apt to fall\nsometimes on the most unlikely subjects; in the present instance,\nhowever, it was all the more mortifying because public rumor had\npaved the way for credulity by ascribing the violent antagonism of\nthe Deputy de la Gauche to the fact of his having been disappointed\nin obtaining a prefecture under the existing government. But\nBerthe, though she disliked and mistrusted him, was annoyed that\nhe should be made uncomfortable in her _salon_. She disapproved\nof the turn the conversation was taking, and by way of diverting\nit, without breaking off too precipitately from the subject under\ndiscussion, she said, addressing an academician who had just joined\nthe circle:\n\n\u201cIs it not quite possible, admitting panic to be the first\ncondition of contagion, that the presence of the Empress in the\nmidst of the sick and the dying may have had such an effect on\nthe _morale_ of the people as could sufficiently explain the\nimmediate decrease in the number of deaths? Instruct us, Monsieur\nle Philosophe!\u201d\n\n\u201cMadame, I come here to learn rather than to teach,\u201d replied the\nman of science with the gallantry of his threescore years and\nten; \u201cbut, since you do me the honor to ask my opinion, I confess\nthat it has the good grace to agree with your own. The people were\nimbued with the belief that to breathe the infected atmosphere was\nto die. The Empress, of her own free impulse, came boldly into the\nmidst of it, stood among the dying and the dead, breathed long\ndraughts of contagion, and did not die. Therefore contagion is a\nfallacy, and panic, instead of killing, is forthwith killed.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour therefore, monsieur, is admirable,\u201d said the Princess de\nM----, tapping her parasol on the arm of her chair. \u201cNow, let us\nhave a truce of the plague, and talk of something else.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Berthe, \u201cor else talking may raise a panic, and we\nshall all catch it. Have you been lately to the theatre, monsieur?\u201d\n\n\u201cI went last night to see _La Beaut\u00e9 du Diable_,\u201d replied the\nphilosopher.\n\n\u201cAh! And what did you think of it?\u201d\n\n\u201cI think, madame--_que la France est bien malade_,\u201d said the old\nman gravely.\n\n\u201cOne need not be _un des quarante_ to find that out,\u201d remarked the\nDeputy de la Gauche with a sneer.\n\n\u201cIs it so very bad?\u201d inquired Berthe, turning a deaf ear to the\nuncivil commentary.\n\n\u201cIt is so bad,\u201d replied the academician, \u201cthat, if I had not seen\nit with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears, I could not have\nbelieved that the French drama and the French public could have\nfallen so low. I asked myself whether I was in Paris or in Sodom.\nFrom first to last the piece is a tissue of license and blasphemy,\nfor which I could find no parallel, even approximately, in the most\nribald productions of ancient or modern literature.\u201d\n\n\u201cDear me!\u201d exclaimed Berthe, \u201cyou quite horrify me. Why, we had\njust arranged a _partie fine_ to go and see it!\u201d\n\n\u201cTake an old man\u2019s advice, madame--don\u2019t go,\u201d said the academician\nimpressively.\n\n\u201cIt all depends,\u201d said the Princess de M----, twirling her parasol,\nand lolling back in the luxurious _fauteuil_, \u201cif one is prepared\nto risk it. I am for my part!\u201d\n\nThe philosopher bowed to the lady, but offered no comment.\n\n\u201cWhy does the Censure permit such bad comedies to be played?\u201d asked\nMadame de Beauc\u0153ur. \u201cI thought the reason for its existence was the\nprotection of the public morals?\u201d\n\n\u201cPolitical morals rather, madame,\u201d corrected the Deputy de\nla Gauche, with an air of mock solemnity, \u201cand it is most\nconscientious in the discharge of that duty. An irreverent\ninsinuation against the government suffices to bring down anathemas\non a comedy or a drama from which no amount of talent can redeem\nit. My friend Henri ---- has just had a _chef-d\u2019\u0153uvre_, the result\nof a whole year\u2019s labor, rejected on the plea that some odd\npassages, which cannot be removed without changing the whole plan,\nmight be construed by sensitive Imperialists into a hit at the\ndynasty.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe judges would serve the dynasty better by exercising a little\nwholesome restraint over what may prove more fatal to it in the\nlong run than even servile flattery,\u201d observed the philosopher.\n\u201cWhat think you, M. le S\u00e9nateur?\u201d\n\n\u201cQue voulez-vous?\u201d The senator shrugged his shoulders. \u201cOne must\nreckon with human nature; you cannot lock it in on every side. If\nyou don\u2019t leave a safety-valve to let off the superfluous steam,\nthe ship will blow up.\u201d\n\n\u201cTake care the valve does not turn out to be a leak, or the ship\nmay sink!\u201d replied the academician. \u201cOur press and our literature\nare eating into the very marrow of the nation\u2019s heart, and rotting\nit. The people are taught to scoff at everything--to make a jest\nof everything, human and divine. Nothing is sacred to the venal\nscribes who pander to the base passions of humanity, and prey upon\nits vices and its follies. When public morality has come to such a\npass that one of the first writers of the day publicly vindicates\nthe devil\u2019s claim to our respect and pity as \u2018an unsuccessful\nrevolutionist,\u2019 and when one of the last writes and prints such a\nsentence as, \u2018I grant you the good God, but leave me the devil!\u2019\nand that the cynical blasphemy calls out no stronger comment than\na laugh or a shrug--when, I say, we have come to this pitch of\nprogress and civilization, it is time the ship\u2019s hold were looked\nto.\u201d\n\n\u201cI grant you they are dangerous symptoms,\u201d assented the senator,\nshaking his head, and preparing a pinch from his enamelled\nsnuff-box.\n\n\u201cA much more ominous symptom, to my mind, is that the nation is\ndreadfully _ennuy\u00e9e_,\u201d observed the Deputy du Centre, with a\nweighty emphasis on the adverb. \u201cWhen France _ennuies_ herself, it\nis time to cry, Take care.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho is to take care?\u201d said the Princess de M----.\n\n\u201cThe government, madame. We have had this one eighteen years now;\nthree years beyond the lease usually granted to governments in\nFrance, and the people are thoroughly tired of it. Paris especially\nis _ennuy\u00e9e_ of late.\u201d\n\n\u201cParis is always _ennuy\u00e9e_ unless she has a war, or an exhibition,\nor some kind of a carnival, to keep her in good humor,\u201d said\nBerthe; \u201cbut Paris is not France.\u201d\n\n\u201cPardon, madame, Paris c\u2019est le monde!\u201d replied M. du Centre, in\nmelodramatic accent.\n\n\u201cLe monde, non,\u201d retorted Madame de M----; \u201cle demi-monde\npeut-\u00eatre.\u201d\n\nThere was a general laugh at this sortie of the princess, and\nbefore it subsided a group of new arrivals, amongst whom were\nthe Snow-Storm and her mother, were ushered in, and broke up the\ncontroversy. Several of the company, some who had not spoken a word\nto Berthe, but had merely made _acte de pr\u00e9sence_ in the crowd,\nwithdrew. Madame de Beauc\u0153ur and the Princess de M---- remained on.\n\n\u201c_Quelle charmante jeune fille!_\u201d said the former _sotto voce_ to\nthe princess, as Madame de Galliac and her daughter sat down near\nthem. \u201cWho is she?\u201d\n\n\u201cMademoiselle de Galliac. She is the _partie_ of the season. _On\ndit_ gives her four millions.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed!\u201d And Madame de Beauc\u0153ur, on marriageable maids intent,\npricked up her ears. \u201cHow odd I should not have met her before!\u201d\n\n\u201cShe has only lately arrived from Brittany. Our hostess patronizes\nher very zealously. I suppose she is looking out for a husband for\nher.\u201d\n\nMadame de Beauc\u0153ur made no reply, but committed the remark to her\nmental note-book. Why had Berthe not suggested this girl to her for\nMadame de Chassedot? It was the very thing she was looking for.\nOld name, four millions--one too many, but the inequality was on\nthe right side--beauty, and of course good principles. Madame de\nGalliac was known to be an excellent woman. How could Berthe have\nbeen so disobliging or so thoughtless? Big with a mighty purpose,\nand unable to resist the need of communicating her ideas, Madame\nde Beauc\u0153ur turned to the Princess de M----, and in the strictest\nconfidence opened her heart to her.\n\nBut Madame de M---- was a foreigner, and did not fall in\nsympathetically with French views on the subject of marriage, and\nwas, moreover, given to call things bluntly by their names.\n\n\u201cA girl with her beauty and money will find plenty of willing\npurchasers,\u201d she argued, \u201cand I see no conceivable reason for\nexpecting that she will let herself be forced on an unwilling one.\nThere are husbands to be had at every price; she can bid for the\nbest, and the best are already bidding for her.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d said Madame de Beauc\u0153ur, alarm mingling with curiosity in the\ninterjection.\n\n\u201cWhy, you don\u2019t suppose a prize like that is likely to be\ntwenty-four hours in the Paris market without having scores of the\nhighest bidders fighting for it?\u201d\n\n\u201cHow mercenary men are! They are greatly changed since my young\nday!\u201d Madame de Beauc\u0153ur was somewhere between five-and-thirty\nand forty; but she had been married from school at eighteen, and\nhad heard nothing of sundry interviews between _notaires_ and\nmothers-in-law, etc., that had preceded the presentation of her\n_fianc\u00e9_ ten days before her marriage.\n\n\u201cVery likely, but in this particular case it strikes me the woman\nis the mercenary party. You say the young man won\u2019t let himself be\nmarried, big dower or little one?\u201d said Madame de M----, laughing,\nand speaking rather louder than was desirable in the presence of\nthe marketable _dower_.\n\n\u201cIntroduce me to Madame de Galliac,\u201d said her companion, striking a\n_coup d\u2019\u00e9tat_ on the spot.\n\nThe request was complied with, and the two ladies were soon\nabsorbed in each other.\n\n\u201cWhat shall we do to amuse ourselves this week, _ch\u00e8re madame_?\nFor Wednesday we have _La Beaut\u00e9 du Diable_ with a _diner fin au\ncabaret_, and a _petit souper_ at Tortoni\u2019s; but what shall we do\nto kill the other three days?\u201d demanded the princess, who had risen\nto go, and now pounced upon Berthe, who stood taking leave of some\nguests at the door.\n\n\u201cI haven\u2019t an idea just at present; we will talk it over to-morrow\nnight at Madame de Beauc\u0153ur\u2019s. But you must not count on me for\nWednesday,\u201d said Berthe, \u201cI have changed my mind about going.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat! You are going to play us false!\u201d exclaimed the princess, her\nugly but expressive features lighting up with irresistible humor,\nwhile her eyes shot out a cold, sardonic glance into Berthe\u2019s.\n\u201cThat old _perruque_ has put you out of conceit with it? But, no!\nIt\u2019s too absurd, _ma ch\u00e8re_!\u201d\n\n\u201cAbsurd or not, I don\u2019t intend to go,\u201d said Berthe resolutely. \u201cI\u2019m\nnot so brave as you are. I do not want to risk myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut all Paris will laugh at you. They will say you have turned\n_d\u00e9vote_. For mercy\u2019s sake, my child, do not make such a fool of\nyourself!\u201d\n\n\u201cParis may say what it likes,\u201d answered Berthe, bridling up, while\na blush of defiant pride suffused her cheek. \u201cI despise its gossip,\nand, in short, I don\u2019t mean to go.\u201d\n\n\u201cSeriously?\u201d\n\n\u201cQuite seriously.\u201d\n\nThe princess lifted her shoulders slowly, and as slowly let them\nfall.\n\n\u201cThen there is no use in my proposing a little distraction that we\nwere planning, in the shape of an escapade to the _Bal de l\u2019Op\u00e9ra_\non Saturday night? In dominos and masks, of course?\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you, I do not want to run the risk,\u201d said Berthe, smiling.\n\n\u201cAdieu!\u201d And Madame de M---- heaved a long sigh. \u201cYou will make a\ncharming saint, but I fear I sha\u2019n\u2019t worship the saint as much as I\nloved----\u201d\n\n\u201cThe sinner,\u201d added Berthe, laughing good-humoredly. \u201cOh! well,\nI\u2019ve not donned the sackcloth and ashes, so you mustn\u2019t denounce\nme yet. But don\u2019t suppose,\u201d she continued, seeing Madame de\nM----\u2019s eyes fixed on her with a puzzled expression, \u201cthat I mean\nto reproach you for amusing yourself. Our positions are widely\ndifferent. You have your husband to stand between you and evil\ntongues, and, again, you are not amongst your own people here.\nHonestly, would you go on at Berlin as you do in Paris?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d The princess threw up her parasol, caught it again, and,\nlaughing out, said, \u201cBut Paris is a _cabaret_, where one does as\none likes!\u201d And with this exhaustive apology, she opened the door,\nand passed out.\n\nBerthe went into the second _salon_, where some of the earlier\nvisitors had gathered to leave room for new arrivals in the first,\nbut she was hardly seated when the door was again opened, and\nFran\u00e7ois announced:\n\n\u201cLe Marquis de Chassedot!\u201d\n\nIf he had announced Le Marquis de Carrabas, his mistress could not\nhave been more astonished. Was it a trap that Madame de Beauc\u0153ur\nhad laid for him? But, no, Mademoiselle de Galliac\u2019s presence was\nquite fortuitous, and, moreover, Madame de Beauc\u0153ur did not know\nher, so she could not have had any scheme into which the heiress\u2019\nvisit adjusted itself to-day.\n\n\u201cYou were kind enough to permit me to pay my respects to you,\nmadame,\u201d said the young man, walking up to Berthe, with his hat\nin both hands, and blushing violently while he doubled himself in\ntwo before her. \u201cI hope I am not indiscreet in availing myself so\nprecipitately of the permission?\u201d\n\nBerthe smiled her gracious clemency on the indiscretion, and the\ngentleman, backing a few steps, carried his hat toward a group\nof politicians who were shaking hands in the window, and making\nappointments before separating.\n\n\u201cHow extraordinary!\u201d muttered Berthe, laughing to herself at the\ncool audacity of Monsieur de Chassedot. \u201cI was kind enough to\npermit him! Perhaps he is under delusion, and mistakes somebody\nelse\u2019s permission for mine. Or perhaps it is a ruse of his mother\u2019s\nto put him unawares in the way of the three millions?\u201d\n\nBut Berthe was wrong. M. de Chassedot really had said something\nto her between the links of the \u201cladies\u2019 chain\u201d about placing\nhimself at her feet, and, as she looked very smiling and gracious,\nhe took the smiles for a permission. He had no view in asking it\nbeyond that of being received in the _salon_ of the fashionable\nbeauty, and he was encouraged in presenting himself there by the\nknowledge that he was sure not to meet his mother. It would be a\nfree territory where he might flit about without being in perpetual\ndread of falling into some net which the maternal solicitude was\nconstantly setting for him in the _salons_ of her devoted allies.\n\nMadame de Beauc\u0153ur did not count amongst those redoubtable\nbeligerents. When she called during the day at his mother\u2019s house,\nhe was never there, and, as the _habitu\u00e9s_ of the marquise\u2019s\nTuesday evenings were recruited chiefly amongst the old fogies\nand devotees of the faubourg, a class of her fellow-creatures\nwhom Madame de Beauc\u0153ur carefully avoided, there was no chance\nof his meeting her there in the evening. It was this precisely\nthat made her mediation so precious to Madame de Chassedot. Edgar\nwas disarmed before her; he did not mistrust her, and when,\nreconnoitring the company in the adjoining room through the broad\nglass-panel that divided the _salon_, he spied her sitting near a\nvery pretty girl, the discovery gave him no shock, and, when Madame\nde Beauc\u0153ur, catching his eye, nodded familiarly to him, he at once\nmade his way toward her, and took up a position behind her chair.\n\n\u201cI should like to go very much,\u201d Madame de Beauc\u0153ur said,\ncontinuing the conversation with Madame de Galliac, \u201cbut I have not\nbeen this year since the garden opened. One cannot go without a\ngentleman, and M. de Beauc\u0153ur is always so busy in the evening that\nhe can never accompany me.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere are hundreds who would cross swords for the honor of\nreplacing him, madame,\u201d declared M. de Chassedot, stooping over\nher chair, and throwing all the _empressement_ into his voice and\nmanner that her position as a married woman rendered legitimate.\n\n\u201cThen you shall have the honor without crossing swords for it,\u201d\nreplied the lady. \u201cCome and fetch me to-morrow evening at eight\no\u2019clock; unless you are equal to undergoing a _diner de m\u00e9nage_\nwith myself and M. de Beauc\u0153ur, and in that case come at half-past\nsix.\u201d\n\n\u201cMadame! Such kindness overwhelms me!\u201d\n\nMadame de Beauc\u0153ur said _au revoir_ to the heiress and her mother,\nkissed hand to Berthe in the inner _salon_, and, granting M. de\nChassedot\u2019s request to be allowed to see her to her carriage, they\nleft the room together.\n\n\u201cWho is that young lady who was sitting beside you, madame?\u201d he\nasked with some curiosity, when they were out of ear-shot on the\nstaircase.\n\n\u201cMademoiselle de Galliac. Did you never see her before?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; but I did not know her name.\u201d\n\n\u201cI ought to have presented you. How stupid of me! She is a nice\ngirl to talk to.\u201d\n\n\u201c_A l\u2019honneur, madame!_ to-morrow evening!\u201d\n\nAnd the carriage rolled off, leaving M. de Chassedot bowing on the\nsidewalk.\n\nPunctual to the minute, he presented himself in Madame de\nBeauc\u0153ur\u2019s drawing-room as the clock was chiming the half-hour.\nMonsieur de Beauc\u0153ur had, of course, an appointment at the club,\nwhich to his infinite regret prevented his accompanying his wife\nto the Concert Musard, so he remained sipping his _caf\u00e9 noir_, and\nthey set out alone.\n\nThe gardens, though only beginning to fill, presented a brilliant,\nanimated appearance. The central pavilion, its roof and pillars\ngirded with light, glowed like the starry temple of an Arabian\ntale, while from within the orchestra sent forth its melodic\nstream, now tender and plaintive as the zephyr wooing the rose at\nmidnight, now loud and valiant in the rhythmic dance; balls of\nlight came glistening through the foliage, making the trees stand\nout in radiant illumination.\n\nBut, artistically mindful of the worth of contrast in scenic\neffect, the light distributed itself so as to leave certain parts\nof the garden in comparative shade. There, those who shrank from\nthe dazzling glare of the centre could walk and enjoy the scene and\nthe music without inconvenience.\n\n\u201cWhy, there is Madame de Galliac, I declare! Let us go and meet\nher!\u201d said Madame de Beauc\u0153ur in delighted surprise, and they\nwalked on quickly. \u201cWhat an unexpected pleasure, madame! I thought\nyou were going to the opera to-night?\u201d\n\n\u201cSo we intended; but there was some mistake about the box; we only\nfound it out at the last moment, and Henriette was so disappointed\nthat, to comfort her, I proposed coming here for an hour,\u201d\nexclaimed Madame de Galliac.\n\n\u201cPoor child! But I assure you the music here is no despicable\ncompensation. Let us go round by the left; the breeze is blowing\nfrom that point,\u201d said Madame Beauc\u0153ur, and, without taking the\nslightest notice of Monsieur de Chassedot, she turned to walked on\nwith Madame de Galliac.\n\n\u201cMadame!\u201d whispered the young man, touching her lightly on the arm,\nand by a sign intimating that she had left him standing out in the\ncold.\n\n\u201cOh! how stupid I am! Allow me to introduce you: le Marquis de\nChassedot--la Baronne de Galliac.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy daughter, monsieur,\u201d said the latter, pointing to Henriette.\n\nEverybody having bowed to everybody, the party moved on, the young\npeople walking in front of the married women.\n\nMonsieur de Chassedot, serenely unconscious of the cruel snare into\nwhich he had fallen, and finding Henriette a lively, unaffected\ngirl, talked away pleasantly, confining himself of course to\nauthorized insipidities, such as the music, the decoration of the\ngardens, the weather, etc., and making himself, as he could do when\nhe liked, very agreeable.\n\n\u201cIs not that Madame de P----\u2019s voice?\u201d said Henriette, stopping\nabruptly, and bending her ear in the direction of the sound.\n\n\u201cI think it is. Let us walk on and see,\u201d answered her mother, and\nthey quickened their steps.\n\nNow, though Madame de Beauc\u0153ur liked Berthe, and as a rule was\ndelighted to meet her anywhere, on this particular occasion she was\nthe last person in Paris she cared to meet. She could not avoid\nher, however, without awakening suspicions in the mind of Edgar de\nChassedot which might prove fatal to her own benevolent designs on\nhim. When Berthe saw the party, her surprise was great, and, though\nshe said nothing, her face expressed it so na\u00efvely that Henriette,\nbeing intelligent, noticed it, and bethought herself that there\nmust be some stronger reason for it than the ostensible one of\nher mother\u2019s meeting and walking round the garden with Madame de\nBeauc\u0153ur.\n\nBerthe had four gentlemen in attendance on her: a tall,\n_distingu\u00e9_-looking Austrian, who spoke to no one, but shot vinegar\nout of his eyes at a handsome young Breton on whose arm Berthe\nleant; a dark Englishman, who made up in vivacity what he lacked in\nheight; and another Englishman, whose notablest idiosyncrasy was an\neye-glass that seemed to be a fixture, so faithfully did it stick\nin the right eye of the wearer, morning, noon, and night. Over\nand above this guard of honor the beautiful widow was accompanied\nby H\u00e9l\u00e8ne de Karodel. She introduced the two girls, who walked on\ntogether, while the gentlemen and the three married women followed.\n\nH\u00e9l\u00e8ne and Mademoiselle de Galliac had not proceeded far when\nMonsieur de Chassedot broke away from the elders, and joined them.\n\n\u201cMademoiselle,\u201d he said, addressing H\u00e9l\u00e8ne, \u201cI have just made a\ndiscovery so agreeable that, before I venture to believe it, I must\nhave your corroboration.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed!\u201d said H\u00e9l\u00e8ne, puzzled at the singular apostrophe.\n\u201c_Couvrez-vous, monsieur_.\u201d Edgar remained bare-headed awaiting her\nanswer--\u201cand let us know what this wonderful discovery is.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are the daughter, I am told, of that brave soldier and true\ngentleman, Christian de Karodel?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have been told the truth,\u201d replied H\u00e9l\u00e8ne, her eye moistening\nwith grateful emotion at hearing her father so designated.\n\n\u201cHe was my mother\u2019s first cousin, consequently I claim close\nfriendship with you,\u201d resumed the young man.\n\n\u201cAnd your name is--?\u201d\n\n\u201cEdgar de Chassedot.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! we are indeed cousins; but as your family seemed quite to have\nforgotten the fact, we had almost forgotten it ourselves,\u201d replied\nH\u00e9l\u00e8ne coldly.\n\n\u201cIt is not too late for us to remember it, I hope?\u201d said Edgar,\nimperceptibly emphasizing the us, and throwing a persuasive\ndeference into his tone that subdued H\u00e9l\u00e8ne.\n\n\u201cIt is strange that you should care; but, since it is so, let us be\ncousins!\u201d And she held out her hand to him.\n\nSix weeks after this promenade in the Jardin Musard there was a\n_diner de contrat_ at Madame de Galliac\u2019s. The _fianc\u00e9_ wore the\nfull-dress uniform of a _chasseur d\u2019Afrique_. His bronzed features\nattested long residence under Algerian skies, and the stars and\nmedals on his breast bore witness that his days had not been wasted\nthere in idle dalliance.\n\nThe plot against Monsieur de Chassedot\u2019s liberty had collapsed,\nto the inexpressible vexation of his mother, who, together with\nthe family lawyer and Madame de Galliac, had arranged all the\nessentials for his marriage with Henriette\u2019s four millions; but,\nstrange as it may seem, the consent of the young people themselves,\nwhen demanded as a final condition, was actually found wanting.\nIt had come to the young lady\u2019s ear that Monsieur de Chassedot was\nno party to the business, and that, if he let himself be persuaded\ninto marrying her, it would be quite against his will. Mademoiselle\nde Galliac there and then declared that she would be forced upon\nno man, were he _Roi de France et de Navarre_. And so this most\neligible union, for want of a bride and a bridegroom, fell through.\n\nMadame de Beauc\u0153ur then called to mind a nephew of her husband\u2019s\nwho was serving in Africa. He was two millions short of the\nrequisite figure, but he had \u2018_de grandes esp\u00e9rances_\u2019 and was\nmoreover willing to be married, having positively written to his\nfamily stating this fact, and requesting them to look out for a\nwife for him. Photographs were exchanged, character and principles\ninquired into, and vouched for satisfactorily--Henriette made\nthis a _sine qu\u00e2 non_--and within one month from the day that his\naunt opened negotiations with Madame de Galliac, Alexandre de\nBeauc\u0153ur arrived in Paris the affianced husband of Henriette de\nGalliac. They were presented to each other at a morning reception,\nand met next day at the _diner de contrat_. He took her in to\ndinner, Madame de Galliac whispering to him with an arch smile, as\nHenriette accepted his arm, \u201cNow pay your addresses!\u201d\n\nThe position was an embarrassing one. Monsieur de Beauc\u0153ur wished\nto avail himself of the opportunity to win his bride\u2019s affections,\nbut he was ill at ease, and, the more he strove to find something\nagreeable to say, the less he succeeded. When dessert was served,\nhowever, he took courage, and, bending over Henriette\u2019s wineglass,\nhe murmured timidly in a low tone:\n\n\u201cMademoiselle, what color will you have your carriage?\u201d\n\n\u201cBlue, monsieur,\u201d the young lady replied in the same low tone.\n\nHe bowed, and they relapsed into silence.\n\nThis was all that passed between them till they swore before God\nand man to love each other until death did part them.\n\nIt may interest my readers, and it will no doubt surprise them, to\nhear that this prosaic marriage turned out a singularly happy one.\nThe young man was a gentleman with a conscience and a heart. The\ngirl was sensible, high-principled, and affectionate. They were\nboth sound at heart, and they did their duty by each other. After\nall, the most romantic union can hardly embark with surer or fairer\nelements of happiness.\n\n                         TO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LEGENDS OF OISIN, BARD OF ERIN.\n\nBY AUBREY DE VERE.\n\nV.\n\nOISIN\u2019S VISION.\n\n\n    As dim through snowy flakes the dawn\n      Peered o\u2019er the moorlands frore,\n    The old, snow-headed Bard, Oisin,[57]\n      Sat by the convent door.\n\n    His chin he propp\u2019d on that clenched hand\n      Of old in battles feared:\n    And like a silver flood, far-kenned,\n      To earth down streamed his beard.\n\n    That sun his eyes could see no more\n      Their thin lids loved to feel:\n    It rose; and on his cheek a tear\n      Began to uncongeal.\n\n    Then slowly thus he spake: \u201cThree times\n      This thought has come to me,\n    Patrick, that I am older thrice\n      Than I am famed to be:\n\n    \u201cFor on the ruins of that house,\n      Once stately to behold,\n    Where feasted Fionn the King, there sighs\n      A wood of alders old.\n\n    \u201cAnd on my Oscar\u2019s grave three elms\n      Have risen; and mouldered three:\n    And on my Father\u2019s grave, the oak\n      Is now a hollow tree.\n\n    \u201cPatrick, of me they noised a tale,\n      That down beneath a lake\n    A hundred years I lived, unchanged,\n      For a Faery Lady\u2019s sake:\n\n    \u201cThey said that, home when I returned,\n      The men I loved were dead;\n    And that the whiteness fell that hour\n      Like snow-storm on my head.\n\n    \u201cA song of mine--a dream in youth,\n      That tale, misdeemed for true:\n    Far other dream was mine in age:\n      A dream that no man knew.\n\n    \u201cFor though I sang of things loved well,\n      I hid the things loved best:\n    Patrick, to thee that later dream\n      At last shall be confessed.\n\n    \u201cOn Gahbra\u2019s field my Oscar fell:\n      Last died my Father, Fionn:\n    The wind went o\u2019er their grassy mounds:\n      I heard it, and lived on.\n\n    \u201cI loved no more the lark by Lee\n      Nor yet the battle-cry;\n    And therefore in a dell, one day,\n      I laid me down to die.\n\n    \u201cThe cold went on into my heart:\n      Methought that I was dead:\n    Yet I was \u2019ware that angels waved\n      Their wings above my head.\n\n    \u201cThey said, \u2018This man, for Erin\u2019s sake,\n      Shall tarry here an age,\n    Till Christ to Erin comes--shall sleep\n      In this still hermitage:\n\n    \u201c\u2018That so, ere yet that great old time\n      Is wholly gone and past,\n    Her manlier with her saintlier day\n      May blend in bridal fast.\n\n    \u201c\u2018And since of deadly deeds he sang\n      Above him we will sing\n    The Death that saved: and we from him\n      Will keep the gadfly\u2019s wing.\n\n    \u201c\u2018For him an age, for us an hour,\n      Here, like a cradled child,\n    Shall sleep the man whose hand was red,\n      Whose heart was undefiled.\u2019\n\n    \u201cPatrick! That vision, was it truth?\n      Or fancy\u2019s mocking gleam?\n    That I should tarry till He came--\n      \u2019Twas not, \u2019twas not a dream!\n\n    \u201cAnd wondrous is mine age, I know;\n      For whiter than the thorn\n    Was this once-honored head before\n      The men now white were born:\n\n    \u201cAnd on my Oscar\u2019s grave three elms\n      Have risen: and mouldered three:\n    And on my father\u2019s grave, the oak\n      Is now a hollow tree.\u201d\n\n    Then said the monks, \u201cHis brain is hurt\u201d:\n      But Patrick said, \u201cThey lie!\n    Thou God that lov\u2019st thy gray-haired child,\n      Would I for him might die!\u201d\n\n    And Patrick cried, \u201cOisin! the thirst\n      Of God is in thy breast!\n    He who has dealt thy heart the wound\n      Ere long will give it rest!\u201d\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[57] Pronounced _Oiseen_.\n\n\n\n\nA JEWISH CONVERT: A REMINISCENCE OF VIENNA.\n\n\nAmong the pleasant capitals of Europe through which a long tour\ncarried the writer of this sketch, one of the most brilliant is\nVienna. It has many associations of genius to consecrate it;\nMozart and Beethoven, not to mention many lesser princes of music,\nfound there both home and appreciation; it has been the resort of\nelegance, the _rendezvous_ of talent, the paradise of diplomacy,\neven while graver ecclesiastical and historical events have centred\nin it. It has its old cathedral, which, though disfigured by some\nunfortunate internal bungling of the style of the Renaissance,\nnevertheless has not lost its impression of religious solemnity,\nheightened by the deep, narrow, and sombre choir with the wonderful\nwindows of old stained glass. Inimitable and unapproachable even\nin its fragmentary state, this old glass is perhaps the most\ninteresting thing in the old church of St. Stephen, if we except\nthe stone pulpit, cunningly carved and placed in a recess of the\nexterior wall of the building, the pulpit from which, so runs\nViennese tradition, the second Crusade was publicly preached.\nThere is among the records of the foundations at St. Stephen\u2019s\none that sets forth the desire and prayer of the people, during a\npestilence in the middle ages, that a Mass should be daily offered\nin that church for the cessation of the epidemic. Tradition says\nthat a great wind arose, and the pestilence was stopped. The\nMass, however, continues to be said daily, and it certainly is a\nremarkable fact that there is not one day in the year, summer or\nwinter, wet or dry, when the wind does not blow in Vienna. The\nAustrian capital, however, has yet more interesting associations\nfor us than are called up by the cathedral, and the many other\nmonuments and chapels by which it is historically distinguished.\nIn the Advent season of 1865, a young Jewish convert preached in\nthe _Schotten-Kirche_ a short course of the most eloquent sermons\nit has ever been our privilege to hear in any language or any land\nwhatever.\n\nHis name is Marie-Bernard Bauer, and his family, of Hungarian\ndescent, is among the most influential and wealthy of those settled\nin Vienna. The Jews of that city have indisputably as large a share\nof the talent as of the riches of the country. The oldest brother\nof young Bauer is one of the greatest bankers in Austria. At an\nearly age, the young Jew, fiery and enthusiastic, and already\ngifted with singular eloquence, threw himself into the ranks of\nthe Revolution, and became one of its most ardent emissaries. At\neighteen, he was entrusted with important missions and considered\na rising Freemason. But during his travels he became acquainted\nwith a young Frenchman, a zealous Catholic, whose influence and\nfriendship laid the foundations of his conversion. He visited\nhis friend\u2019s mother, also, who by her example more even than her\nexhortations contributed to the work of grace begun in his soul by\nher son\u2019s solicitations. Bauer wore, at the request of these two,\na medal of the Immaculate Conception; and we need scarcely remind\nour Catholic friends of the part this blessed badge fulfilled\nin the conversion of another illustrious Jew, the P\u00e8re Marie\nRatisbonne, the founder of the _Dames de Sion_, who has since\ndevoted his life to the instruction and conversion of Jewish girls\nat Jerusalem. After being fully instructed in the faith, Bauer\nrequired nothing but grace to believe. Being at Lyons with several\nworldly acquaintances, he happened to be standing on a prominent\nbalcony, on the feast of Corpus Christi. The procession of the\nBlessed Sacrament was to pass below, and they, with cigars in their\nmouths and mockery in their hearts, were waiting for the pageant.\nNo change came to the young Jew until the canopy under which the\npriest carried the Divine Host was close beneath the balcony.\nThe change at that moment was lightning-like. Faith entered his\nheart, or rather--as he himself reluctantly admitted when pressed\nby his superiors at a later time to lay aside false humility and\ndeclare the works of God in his soul--a conviction so absolute\nthat it distanced faith made itself felt throughout his whole\nbeing. The same _knowledge_, so to speak, returned to him many\ntimes since while consecrating at Mass, and he said that he could\nnot _believe_ merely, in a matter of which he was so blissfully\nand unerrably _certain_. As Jesus passed, Bauer threw himself on\nhis knees and professed himself a Christian. A very short time\nelapsed before he entered the novitiate of the Carmelite Friars.\nHis mother, who was living in Paris, endeavored to see him, but\nwas refused access to him by his superiors. Later on, when he had\npassed through the novitiate, he might have seen her, had it not\nbeen for the machinations of his family. For five years every\nfriend and relation he had among his own race cruelly ignored\nhim, and he was kept away even from his mother\u2019s death-bed by\ntheir relentless sternness. His mother alone never ceased to love\nhim, and had a picture painted of him in his monastic cowl. This\nportrait hung opposite her bed, and she died with her eyes fixed on\nit and her hands lovingly stretched out towards it. When after her\ndeath he was allowed by his family to visit her chamber, he saw a\ncurtained picture at the foot of the bed, and, drawing the curtain\naside, stood face to face with this touching proof of a mother\u2019s\nundying love. After some time, his fame as a preacher spreading\nfast, his family received him once more into their circle, and,\nwith strange inconsistency, now made almost an idol of him. During\nhis novitiate, and according to a rule of his order, he used to\npreach in turn with his fellow-novices in the refectory during\nmeals, at which time the generality of the young men in training\nfor a religious Demosthenes would receive but scant attention from\ntheir companions. When Bauer\u2019s turn came, the contrary, however,\nwas observed: the food was untouched, and the young audience sat\ntransfixed, hanging upon the words of their eloquent and gifted\ncompanion. From the first his health was delicate; the effort of\npreaching rendered it weaker day by day, till at length the zealous\nand impassioned speaker, whom his friends prophesied to be the\nfuture Lacordaire, was one day carried fainting from the pulpit,\nhaving broken a blood-vessel. A year in Spain and complete rest of\nmind and body did nothing more than just save his life, and the\nHoly Father, who was very much interested in the young convert,\nadvised him to leave the Carmelite Order, for the austerity of\nwhose rule his shattered health now rendered him unfit. This\npaternal advice--or, let us say, command--proved a great trial to\nthe enthusiastic religious; but, bowing to the will of God, he\naccepted his altered life, and prepared to make it as fruitful in\ngood works as his short monastic career had proved. Although his\nhealth precluded him from the exhausting work of preaching long\nLenten stations or continued missions, yet, as often as suitable\nopportunities offered, he was to be found indefatigably working\nin the pulpit; and we leave it to those who have had the good\nfortune to hear him, to judge of the loss the Catholic world has\nsustained in one whose eloquence and fervid enthusiasm rivalled\nthat of Lacordaire, and whose steadfast faith and unerring logic\nfar distanced that of the unhappy Hyacinthe.\n\nIn 1865, having already preached before the Emperor of the French\nin Paris, and been greatly commended by the most distinguished\npeople there, both French and foreigners, he was called to Vienna,\nwhere his family resides, and where all his former associates\nand co-religionists awaited him with the greatest curiosity\nand interest. The six lectures or discourses he gave in the\n_Schotten-Kirche_, opposite his brother\u2019s residence, at which he\nwas an honored and _f\u00eated_ guest, were attended by crowds of his\nown Jewish friends, besides all the _\u00e9lite_ of Viennese and foreign\nsociety. The impassioned tone of his voice, his closely knit\narguments, the air of apostleship about his slight figure and pale,\ninspired face, the presence of his nearest and dearest relations,\nand, above all, his own position toward them, in the very centre\nof his youthful Revolutionary triumphs--all concurred in making\nthis short station of Advent one of thrilling interest. At the\nend of each sermon, or _conf\u00e9rence_, as the French say (they\nwere delivered in French, which is like a second mother-tongue to\nMarie-Bernard Bauer), he addressed a prayer to God, and, while\nthe language of each succeeding discourse increased in sublimity,\nthat of the concluding prayers seemed to take such flights of\nunparalleled grandeur that the audience could only kneel in\nmotionless attention and unbroken silence for some minutes after\nthe preacher had ceased to speak--the highest tribute, perhaps\nwhich an impressed people can offer to an orator. Marie-Bernard\nBauer has since received the Roman title of Monsignore, and been\nappointed chaplain to the Emperor of the French. He accompanied the\nEmpress Eug\u00e9nie to the opening of the Suez Canal, and preached a\nmagnificent sermon on the occasion, in presence of the assembled\npotentates. But whatever else he has done, whatever else he may be\ndestined to do in the future, he will scarcely be able to surpass\nhis admirable achievements of the Advent station of 1865, when he\nbecame, as it were, the champion and apologist of Christianity\nbefore one of those representative Jewish assemblies which\ncontained within itself so much enlightenment, so much talent, and\nso much successful individuality.\n\nAt the time when he preached these sermons, of which we will now\nendeavor to give some idea, as far as a translation will allow,\nhe was only thirty-six years of age, and his frail, delicate body\nmade him seem even younger. The following is the third in order of\nthe _Conf\u00e9rences_, and was preached on the 17th of December, 1865.\nThe text is given entire, and the subject, as expressed in the\npublished edition of these sermons, was:\n\n\n\n\nCHRISTIANITY AS A HISTORICAL FACT.\n\n\nI would fain hope, my brethren, that the two last _conf\u00e9rences_\nhave contributed, in some degree, to revivify in believing hearts\nboth the energy of faith and the enthusiasm of virtue; that they\nhave cast doubts in doubting hearts, upon the very uncertainty\nwhich creates doubt; that they have shed around hearts petrified,\nso to speak, in the darkness of fleshly bondage, some rays of\nthe twilight which is the forerunner of the full light of God\u2019s\ngrace, and which manifests itself in such hearts through this\nquestion, solemnly and shrinkingly put: After all, might I not be\nin error? Might there not be, despite all, another life, a real\nresponsibility, a moral law, supernatural duties, a judgment, a\njudge, a God, and this God the God of Christianity?\n\nNo matter to what level the Sun of Truth may have attained on the\nhorizon of your inner life, you will allow me, nevertheless, to\nretrace, in a few short words, the doctrinal substance of the two\nprevious discourses [_conf\u00e9rences_].\n\nMan, such as we see him, is a fallen being; he is born with the\ntaint of original sin, and if to this, which is the form of evil,\nhe adds--and it is practically inevitable that he should--his own\nindividual sins, which are evil\u2019s natural outgrowth, he does but\nwiden, at each moment of his existence, the abyss that parted\nhim from God since the very hour of his birth, and which, thus\nceaselessly widened, becomes such, at last, that nothing short of\na miracle will suffice to bridge it over. Death then, suddenly\nintervening, cuts short all things here below, and hurls the man\nwhose whole life has been spent without God into the chasm of\nthe unknown. From a phase of being where all is transient, he is\nhurried to another where all is abiding, and from that instant the\nseparation from God in which he has lived, and which before was\ntransient in its turn, becomes abiding, and from temporal changes\nto eternal. Such are the conclusions of reason, which, leaning upon\nfaith, point out to us in this eternal separation the fitting seal\nof an eternal woe.\n\nIt would not enter into my design toward the hearers which\nProvidence, having gathered together before me, seems to have\nspecially predestined to hear the words of eternal life from my\nunworthy lips--it would not, I say, enter into my design to show\nthem these dark spiritual perspectives, without pointing out at\nthe same time some vista of supernatural light, some promise and\nway of salvation, some hopes of life, nay, even life itself. No!\nGod forbid that I should become as the treacherous guide who\ndraws the lost wayfarer to the very edge of the precipice, and\nthere leaves him to himself and to the terrors of the ravenous\ndepths below. Yet, mark it well!--the mystery of life leads\ntowards death, through paths that skirt a giddy abyss where no\nman\u2019s self-possession is proof against danger; but there is,\nnevertheless, an infallible road that leads to life through and in\nspite of the manacles of death. It is called by a name with which\nmy lips cannot become familiar, as with a common word indifferently\nbandied about in careless conversation--a name which I confess\nmyself unable even to pronounce without feeling my whole being\ntremble with love and bow down in worship; a name which, when\nspoken from this pulpit for the first time, only a few days ago,\nproduced an impression, or rather a mysterious shock, that neither\nyou nor I have yet forgotten--the name of _Jesus Christ_.\n\nIt is of him I come to speak to you to-day. My Father! my Friend!\nmy Master! abide with me, and, in order that I may be worthy to\nspeak of thee, speak thou thyself through these my lips!\n\nAmong all questions put by man to his own intellect, whether\nthey be historical, scientific, philosophical, social, or\nreligious, there is none of more gigantic importance than this:\nWho and what is Jesus Christ? He and his works have been for two\nthousand years the most notable reality of the universe; they\nhave been inextricably mingled with the course of history, with\nthe family and state relations of man to man, with literature,\nwith poetry, with politics; they have been the unseen link that\nbinds together all social problems; they have been the mainspring\nof those mysteries that are convulsing the present century, and\nwhich are fraught to some minds with terror and threatenings,\nwhile to others they suggest hope and salvation. They have been,\nwithout the slightest exaggeration, all things to all men, and it\nfollows, therefore, that according to the bent of man\u2019s judgment\non Jesus Christ and his works, so will man\u2019s whole nature lean,\nhis intellect with his thoughts, his heart with its feelings, his\nlife with its acts and its shortcomings, his soul with its eternal\naspirations.\n\nThis is indeed, and beyond all contradiction, the main question\nof life--that question which, solve it which way you will, cannot\nfail to produce two radically different types of men, and to open\nup before us two paths, as far apart from each other through the\ncoming eternity as they are widely separated in the realms of time.\n\nBut why do I insist upon the awful importance of this problem? Do\nyou not understand it yourselves? Nay, do you not even bear witness\nto it by your presence here at this moment? Why are you gathered\nhere--men of the most varied, perhaps the most contradictory,\nbeliefs? Why are you crowded around this pulpit in anxious silence,\nbreathless and motionless, perhaps vaguely troubled in mind? Why\nbut because there is not one amongst you to whom the sacred name of\nJesus is wholly indifferent or wholly meaningless! If to some this\nholy name is the constant object of their highest adoration and\nof their tenderest, I would fain say the most impassioned, love,\nto others it is the object of their most agonizing doubts, the\nspiritual sphinx whose riddle baffles and tortures all ages. And\nfurther yet, while this name is to some the synonym of a smothered\ncurse or of a hatred as open as it is relentless, it contains for\nall men a question of vital importance, I might even say a question\nof life and death. My brethren, it is of _him_, who is both so\nmarvellously loved and so marvellously hated, of him whose figure\nmeets us at every turn of the past or the present, of him whom the\nfuture cannot uncrown, that I purpose speaking to you to-day.\n\nEvery cause which has produced an effect may be considered either\nin this effect or in itself. Hence, there exist two methods of\ndemonstration: the one beginning from the consideration of the\neffect, and tracing it up to the cause; the other starting from\nthe study of the cause, and deducing its legitimate effect. We\nare now about to apply to the great cause and the great effect\nbefore us this twofold species of demonstration--this extrinsic\nand intrinsic touchstone used by our intellect in acquiring its\nnoble treasure of proved facts and tried certainties in the domain\nof philosophy, metaphysics, history, natural sciences, and, in\nfact, of every branch of human knowledge. This cause is Christ,\nthis effect Christianity, of which he is the founder; and, since\nit is natural to the human mind to consider first that which falls\nmore immediately under its own observation, I shall begin by\ninvestigating the effect, namely, Christianity. This done, I shall\nappeal simply to your reason to connect the effect with its cause,\nand to discern through the beautiful proportions of the Christian\nsystem the inimitable stamp of its divine founder.\n\n\nI.\n\nEvery doctrine which has become a fact, every fact which has won\nfor itself a place in history, may be looked at in three ways:\nfirst, with regard to its extent in material space; secondly, as\nto its duration in time; thirdly, as to the depth to which it has\nreached in human nature. This division is no invention of mine;\nit is the same pointed out by the Apostle St. Paul when he wrote\nto the Ephesians, and endeavored to explain to them the length\nand breadth, the depth and divinity, of the Christian faith: _Ut\npossitis comprehendere cum omnibus sanctis qu\u00e6 sit latitudo et\nlongitudo, et sublimitas et profundum_ (Eph. iii. 18).\n\nNow, as to its extent in material space, or, in other words, its\nterritorial sway:\n\nOpen the map of the world, and scan the globe with attentive eye:\na strange phenomenon will strike you. You will hardly discover one\ncorner of earth where Christianity--and I use the word in this\ninstance in its widest acceptation, excluding neither heresy nor\nschism, which, though unhappily rebellious, are nevertheless, in\na certain sense, real members of the Christian household--where\nChristianity, therefore, has not penetrated, either in undisputed\nand irrevocable sway, as in Europe and America, or as a peaceful\nconqueror, sealing its hardly-won victories not in the blood of\nits enemies, but in its own. Following closely in the wake of new\ndiscoveries, it is for ever landing on new shores, making a home\nfor itself among new populations, and winning new worshippers to\nbend beneath the ancient sway of the never-aging cross.\n\nYou might rise in contradiction to my statement, and remind me that\nthe hour has not yet struck that will allow us, the soldiers of\nJesus Christ, to intone the triumphant hosanna of final victory,\nsince to this day there are many lands, many island-studded\narchipelagoes, many vast and populous continents, beyond the pale\nof our peaceful conquest, and since, after all, the standard of the\ncross is not yet securely reared in every clime.\n\nI admit it; but what does this prove? That our task is not yet\ndone? But who denies that? It is not done because time--which is\nour only limit--is likewise unended, nay, is perhaps only just\nbeginning! For time is the array of all ages, and God alone, who\ncreated them, has reckoned their mysterious number. Yes, we confess\nit, our work is not done, and therefore we are ceaselessly and\neverywhere laboring; and therefore I myself, a humble but zealous\nworker, am laboring here at this moment. Those alone who will\nsee the end of time will see the task completed. That which we\nhave done during the twenty centuries that lie behind us is only\nan earnest of what we will do in future ages, God\u2019s holy grace\nconcurring.\n\nWhat, my brethren! When we had no ships but frail canoes, and no\ncompass but our untutored eyes; when we had no roads but eternal\nsnows, virgin forests, and trackless deserts, vying with the wild\nbeasts of the wilderness in barring our further progress; when\nwe had no support but barefooted poverty and a pilgrim\u2019s staff;\nno provision save precarious charity, and no guide save faith,\nhope undying, and--God; even then we succeeded in crossing rivers\nand seas, deserts and forests, mountain gorges and Alpine snows,\nthat we might carry to the very confines of the world our living\nfaith and the Word of our God. This ineffable Word has reached\nfurther than Alexander, who stopped at the Indus; further than\nCrassus, whom the Euphrates arrested; further even than Varus, who\nwas stayed by the mighty Rhine--further than all conquerors, and\nfurther than all conquests. And can we believe that we have now\nset our foot on the fated threshold where the angel of evil would\nbe permitted to say to the angel of virtue, as erst the latter\nwas commanded to say it to his fallen brother, to Attila and the\nbarbarian hordes, at the very gates of the Eternal City: \u201cUsque huc\nvenies, sed non ultra\u201d--\u201cThus far shalt thou come, and no further\u201d?\nDo not believe it, my brethren; for, on the contrary, it is but now\nthat God\u2019s reign is beginning, and as I believe, so I prophesy to\nyou, with an irresistible and invincible conviction.\n\nForward, then, O human enterprise! Cleave the mountains, cut\nthrough the isthmuses, drain the morasses, and fill up the lakes;\ncast bridges over the waters, carry roads over the trackless\ncountry, build you mighty vessels, throw electric wires in the\nair, and gird the world with an iron girdle! Let your treaties of\ncommerce and navigation be signed, and embassies sent to nations\nand kings whose names till yesterday were unknown in the civilized\ntongues of Europe! Know you what you are doing in thus knitting\nhumanity together, and in connecting, with an energy unexampled\nin the whole history of the past, the orient and the occident,\nthe pole and the equator? In one mighty embrace their hands are\nclasped, and they offer to each other, if we may so word it, that\ngigantic kiss of peace which, day by day, re-echoes more loudly in\nboth hemispheres.\n\nIn all this, you are doing under the hand of God that which the\nwar-steed does under the hand that guides him and the spur that\nurges him on. For, like unto the steed, who hardly knows whence he\ncame, far less where his rapid steps are leading him and what is\nthe burden that he bears--like unto him, thou Christ-blaspheming or\nGod-forgetting age, thou boundest forward with maddening strength,\ncarrying on thy broad shoulders with proud recklessness the rider\nwhom thou scarcely knowest to the goal thou wottest not of. Every\ninvention, every development of thy industry, far from cursing it,\nI bless it from the depths of my heart! Go forward and prosper! In\na hundred years, thanks to thee, Truth will be sovereign of the\nworld!\n\nChristianity is the greatest geographical and territorial fact\nunder the sun. It is so beyond all controversary, and if this\nfact, which I simply call a miracle, seems to you natural and\neasy of accomplishment, I only ask you this: try to spread and\npropagate over the universe, not a whole complicated system of\nmetaphysics, but one single doctrine, whose mortal opponents, in\nthe first instance, shall number every human passion which repulses\nit as treason against nature, and every heathen government which\ndenounces it as treason against authority. But I will not ask\neven so much. Endeavor to persuade, not even one single nation,\none city, one family, but _one man_, of the truth of a doctrine\nat once repulsive to his passions and hostile to his interests.\nI speak to you as a man whose life is devoted to this sublime\nand laborious mission of persuasion. And knowing as I do its\nwonderful consolations as well as the superhuman and apparently\nfruitless labor it often imposes, I tell you, my brethren, what\nyou yourselves will tell me when the school of reality shall have\ntaught it to you, that Christianity as it exists, spread over the\nwhole earth by the godlike contagion of faith, is simply a fact so\noverwhelming that the language of men holds but one word fit to\nexpress its being--that one word, _miracle_.\n\nThere is, however, one thing more marvellous yet than mere\npropagation: it is duration, and a duration ever true to itself.\n\nCondense the mystery of life into one short formula, capable at\nonce of holding and adequately expressing it, and you will find\nnone more comprehensive than this--_motion and change_. From the\nmass of inanimate being which, in the bowels of the earth and in\nthe bosom of eternal night, is causing, by its agglomerations,\nits cohesions, and its fusions, a species of constant internal\nagitation, of blind and feverish restlessness as old as creation\nitself, up to the most dazzling pinnacles of life, where man\nfigures under every name and in every relation conceivable among\nmortals, there exists the same law, there reigns the same spirit.\nIn its name, by its authority, we see in private life one day\nswallowed up by the next, dethroned by its breathless and equally\nephemeral successor, doomed beforehand to annihilation, while on\nthe stage of public life events crowd each other out of time and of\nthe memory of man, empires fall, dynasties grow up under the double\nshield of God\u2019s grace and man\u2019s enthusiasm, frontiers are widened\nand narrowed, whole nations migrate and spread, and even language\nitself, though but an outward sign of immaterial substances and\nmetaphysical proportions in no way themselves subject to change,\nputs on divers forms, as if carried away by an irresistible impulse\nin the whirl of this universal frenzy. Yes, my brethren, motion is\neverywhere, and, in order that even death should not be permitted\nto fling its defiance permanently to life, this law penetrates\neven to the night and silence of the tomb, pierces the coffin,\nand installs between its four wooden walls the same unceasing\nrestlessness which torments the great world. Worms, created to\nprey on man, riot with breathless agitation over the human corpse,\nand proclaim, by their ghastly activity in the abode of final\ndestruction and in the very bosom of the crowning dread of earth,\nthat life triumphs yet over death, and that the universal law of\nmotion reigns in undisputed sway over that kingdom of darkness that\nowns no other created sovereignty.\n\nAnd what is the result of this ceaseless motion? Nothing less than\nceaseless change. Motion is a change of relations with the world\nand with one\u2019s self. There is no motion but causes change, no\nchange but presupposes motion. These terms are convertible, and so\nit is that I justify what I told you a few moments ago--that the\nconcise formula of life is _motion and change_. It follows from\nthis demonstration that nothing is so difficult of attainment as\nduration, and duration true to itself, which is to the sovereign\nlaw of _motion and change_ a permanent defiance and a marvellous\ncontradiction.\n\nLet us seek in the vast sepulchre of Time, where during so\nmany ages countless men and things, countless doctrines and\ninstitutions, have lost themselves, and in which even the\nshattered wrecks of once noble ruins, spectres of the past and\noften unconscious prophets of the future, have been swallowed\nup--let us seek one man or one created thing that has not succumbed\nto this pitiless law. Let us seek diligently in the manuscripts\nof old, in the caverns of forgotten magic, in the tombs of buried\nsages! Or stay, my brethren, and seek not! For, like unto the\nalchemist of medi\u00e6val ages, we should seek and not find, for that\nwhich we seek is not.\n\nBut if you would see this tremendous miracle of a duration as\ninvulnerable as it is abiding, lifting up its solitary existence\nin the midst of universal change and motion, do not gaze afar,\nbut turn your eyes to that tabernacle crowned with the cross, the\nstandard and badge of _Catholic_ Christianity. This, and this\nalone, abides where all else has been swept away by the ruthless\nand untiring breath which devours all that is, and ravenously\nawaits all that, as yet, is not. Christianity, and it alone, has\nlived true to itself, while all else around it was changing. Like\nunto God, the impassible and unchangeable, Christianity stands\nunmoved amidst the countless ruins with which you--men--strew the\nworld. Christianity, with its old principles and its youthful\naspect, leans on the rock of its own eternity, and gives the lie\nto the universal law with unassailable and ineffable calm. Yes, it\ndefies you! It sees you pass, as the shore looks on the lapsing\nriver, as the cliff looks on the ocean, as heaven looks upon earth,\nand as _God_ looks on _man_.\n\nIt is strange, is it not? It takes our breath away. But this is not\nall: it is scarcely the beginning. Listen! To bespread over the\nwhole earth is much; to live where all decays is more; to abide\never true to one\u2019s self when all things change is more still. My\nopponents, however--I will not say my enemies, for, thank God, I\nknow of none--are perhaps saying to themselves at this moment:\n\u201cBut are there not other forms of religion bearing much the same\nmarks, at least in a certain degree? Islamism holds a considerable\nterritorial sway. The Buddhism of India has surely been in a\ncertain sense true to itself from time immemorial.\u201d I do not deny\nit, for truth needs no dissimulation. And it is precisely on this\naccount, and because error has been permitted to bear in some\nrespects a certain likeness to truth, that it was imperative, for\nthe sake of those men of good-will whom this likeness might have\ndeceived, that truth should possess, besides those notes which she\nshares with error, other marks so utterly inimitable that on their\nappearance there could not be but instant recognition of that truth\nwhose counterfeits are as legion, but whose equal does not exist.\n\nThe touchstone by which to gauge the worth of any doctrine is\nneither this doctrine\u2019s extent in space nor its duration in time,\nnor even its impassibility amid universal transmutations; that is\nmuch, but it is not all. What is of more importance than the limits\nof its influence or the length of its spiritual reign, is _the work\nit has done_. There is its secret proof, there its most personal\nrevelation. It can give but what it has, and it can have but what\nit _is_; it can produce outwardly but what it inwardly possesses;\nif it be falsehood, then falsehood; if it be error, then error; if\nit be evil, then evil; if it be a half-truth, then half-truth; if\nit be human and natural virtue, then human and natural virtue; but\nif it be God, then _God himself_.\n\nChristianity, considered from this point of view, to which we can\ngive but a passing glance, will vindicate itself in our eyes as\nstanding unrivalled on earth, even as God is unrivalled in heaven.\n\nTo make my meaning clear, let me present to your minds one\npreliminary observation.\n\nMan often lives amid the wonders of creation without feeling the\nslightest curiosity in their regard, and this because a sublime\nspectacle, from being too constantly before his sight, becomes only\na familiar part of the daily monotony of his life. We might almost\nsay of him that, to the abiding miracle of the material universe,\nhe opposes the miracle of abiding indifference. Now, the visible\ncreation contains another, both visible and invisible, and which,\nthough far more wonderful than the material one, yet draws from\nyou, on account of its abidingness, only the careless notice of\nindifference. Inhabitants of a Christian land, members perhaps of a\nChristian family, citizens of a Christian community, children, in a\nword, of Christian civilization, you are living in the midst of a\nworld of miracles which has lost the power to interest you because\nit fails to surprise you. It is my mission to-day to rouse you from\nthis indifference, to dispel this mist, to show you things as they\nare.\n\nLook at any Christian country, any Christian or civilized nation\nof to-day; the country which harbors us at present, if you will.\nWho were here eighteen, fifteen, fourteen centuries ago? Not even\nbarbarians; savages! Who was it that came and saved you from\nyourselves? Who was it that drew you from the materialism in which\nyou were plunged in the person of your forefathers, and in which\nnumberless tribes are grovelling still to this day--nations whom\nChrist has not yet gathered in, and who horrify the sight of the\nboldest explorers? Who was it that drew you from your forests,\nbuilt your cities, founded your families, traced your boundaries,\ninspired your laws, reared your churches, anointed your kings,\nand created those two centres of light around which for eighteen\nhundred years your history has grouped itself, and your private\nsympathies, your public enthusiasm, has revolved--the altar and\nthe throne, fatherland and God? Who has reclaimed your fields, and\nmade fruitful by the labor of the plough the glorious conquests\nof the sword? Who has preserved in the silence and solitude of\nthe cloisters the scattered remnants of classical learning, and\nthrough the Scriptures and traditions has kept alive the plenitude\nof sacred lore? Who was it that created that incomparable marvel,\nof which I would fain speak with tears, rather than with words--the\nChristian _Family_?--the father, the patriarch, priest, and pontiff\nof home; the mother, the apostle of God; the Christian virgin,\nthat holy wonder which earth proudly points out to heaven, as if\ndefying even heaven\u2019s angels to surpass it? Who is it that has\ncreated virtues without number within sacrifices without name,\nputting by the side of every woe the voluntary service which will\nminister to it, giving to every misfortune some heart that will\nbeat for it, and to the most neglected grave a mourner to weep\nover it? Who is it that has freed the slaves of man to create the\nslaves of God--those slaves who can say with the humble exultation\nof a supernatural sacrifice, in the words of the Jew of Tarsus, now\nbecome the great Apostle St. Paul: \u201cEgo vinctus pro Christo\u201d--\u201cI,\nthe slave of Christ.\u201d Who is it that has created the ideal of duty\nand honor which inspired the troubadour and the knight--the ideal\nof fidelity to the pledged word, of horror at injustice, of the\nsacred hatred of evil? Who is it that has given you all the goods\nman prizes, and which you enjoy in ungrateful forgetfulness, while\ncursing those who accumulated them for you during centuries of\nuntold and weary toil, and even him who won them for your sake on\nthe cross, in a sea of tears and of blood? Who gave you the great\ngift which this age counts as the kingliest boon of all--the gift\nwhose magical name we fear, not because our lips were the first\nto pronounce and to honor it here below: _freedom_--the deliverer\nfrom sin and death, from the passions of hell, and from the hell\nof human passions? Who made you what you are, or what you ought to\nbe--beings regenerated, civilized, free, glorious, sacred--in a\nword, _Christians_?\n\nWho, my brethren? Jesus Christ, he who is there present in his\ntabernacle, he who listens to me, who sees you, and who will judge\none day between my word and your souls, between me and you.\n\nAnd henceforward, when a blasphemy against his Godhead seeks\npassage on your lips, be it in mockery or in malediction, remember\nthe Caribbean savage and the Red Indian, think of what he is and of\nwhat you are, and do not forget that, were it not for Christ, you\nwould be even as that poor savage. If your soul is not yet open to\nthe fulness of faith, at least let it hold its peace if it respects\nitself.\n\nChristianity in its breadth, its length, and its depth is the\nprincipal fact of the world. No sincere and deep intellect, when\nglancing at this comprehensive whole, can contemplate it without\ndeveloping in itself a spontaneous doubt, without saying to itself,\nif it be unhappily far from belief, \u201cMight this not be really the\nwork of God?\u201d But if the simple consideration of the effect, that\nis, of Christianity, can create this inevitable doubt, what shall\nwe say of the cause which has produced it, and of the relations\nof the one to the other? What, indeed, save this, that, face to\nface with this cause, doubt is turned into certainty, and man is\nirresistibly impelled to cry out, in the full conviction of his\nsoul, that _Jesus Christ is God indeed_.\n\n\nII.\n\nWhat, then, is the cause which has effected this mighty reality,\nas great as earth, as old as time, as marvellous as heaven, and\nwhose name among us is Christianity? Nineteen hundred years ago, a\nlittle Child was borne in an obscure village of a poor country. His\nparents were poor and of no account; he himself lived a poor man,\nunknown and unnoticed, save in one or two instances plying during\nthirty years a lowly trade in a forgotten corner of the world. Of\na sudden, however, he breaks silence: he preaches, all untaught\nas he seemed, a doctrine which earth had never before heard,\nand confirming it by signs earth had never before seen. Public\nattention is arrested: he becomes the hero of the hour, and parties\nspring up for and against him. Two years and a half go by in uneasy\npeace, but a day comes when his enemies get the upper hand, and\ndenounce him to the civil tribunals of the country, whose cowardly\njustice, while declaring him to be innocent, yet allows popular\nprejudice and the threat of imperial displeasure to wrest from it\nan unwilling condemnation. The innovator is nailed to a gibbet, and\nhis brief history, hardly three years old, seems for ever ended,\nand ended in what manner? By a sentence of capital punishment,\nand a memory left stained with ignominy by the hand of the public\nexecutioner.\n\nHere, then, is the cause we seek: A Jew! a poor, unknown, untaught\nJew! a Jew condemned to a shameful death by the justice of his\ncountry, and executed on the public road among other malefactors; a\nJew, and, if we dare to say the word, a _felon_!\n\nListen and weigh well that which you shall hear. You have seen the\ncause, you have seen the effect. Between the two rises the great\nquestion. How could such a cause produce such an effect? This we\npurpose to examine in a few words:\n\nThere are three explanations from which your choice may be made,\nand which pretend to connect a cause so radically powerless with\nan effect so immeasurably disproportionate. They are these: Either\nmankind has believed for two thousand years and actually believes\nin Christianity without sufficient reason, without adequate proof.\nIn that case, humanity is mad, and for twenty centuries has been\nso, and I myself, who am speaking to you, am out of my senses.\n\nOr else mankind believes with fully adequate proof, perfectly\ncalculated to convince it, and yet what it believes is false.\nIn that case, God has deceived us during twenty, forty, sixty\ncenturies, since the beginning of the world. In that case,\nProvidence is a mockery, and its sway over the universe has been\nfrom the very first hour of creation but one long mystification,\none scornful derision of our human reason. Or again, if you cannot\nbelieve either that mankind has mistaken God, or that God has\ndeceived mankind, there is but one hypothesis left, namely, that\nJesus Christ is God!\n\nIn order that you may choose more deliberately between these\nthree possibilities, it will be necessary to afford them fuller\ndevelopment. The first of these compels you to infer that mankind\nfor the last two thousand years has been bereft of reason, and\nthat at the present moment a considerable portion of it, myself\nincluded, is in a hopeless state of insanity.\n\nThis may seem to you an exaggerated proposition, got up simply\nto prop the weakness of an untenable argument, but it is nothing\nif not an absolute truth, most easy of demonstration. Let us\nsuppose that to-morrow, the 18th of December of the year of grace\n1865, there shall enter into this great capital, through one of\nits numerous gates and towards the dusk of evening, a poor and\nragged beggar, the dust of his journey still upon him, and his\nignorance of the language of the country painfully conspicuous.\nLet us suppose this man presenting himself before the populace,\nthe magistracy, the priesthood, the army, and before the Emperor\nhimself, and speaking to him thus: \u201cSire, a few years ago, your\nmajesty was pleased to order the public execution, in a remote\nprovince of the Empire, of a Jew. This Jew was the Messiah, the\nSaviour, God himself! Therefore, O C\u00e6sar! come down from your\nthrone, bend your knee, be baptized, and confess your sins; for,\nmark it well, this crucified Jew is none other than your God.\u201d\nWhat would you say, my brethren, to the man who should speak thus\nto-day? You would fitly account him a madman, and madder yet the\npeople and the priesthood, the army and the monarch, who should\nbelieve in his wild words.\n\nWell, then, this strange tale is a true one, it is a historical\nfact. One day, many ages ago, an old Jew, baptized by the name of\nPeter, entered, a beggar, ragged, and dust-begrimed, through one\nof the gates of the greatest capital of the mightiest empire of the\nworld--ancient Rome.\n\nIn Rome, he actually preached the unheard-of sermon I have just\nquoted, and which, repeated in that form to-day, would cause\nonly a burst of derision. Why did Rome not mock him? Why did the\npriesthood not hoot him? Why did C\u00e6sar not scorn him? Why, on the\ncontrary, did this beggar, with his rough staff and scrip, with his\nbarbarous Latin sounding harshly on the ears of those who could yet\nremember the voice of Cicero on the rostrum--why did he shake the\nfoundations of the mightiest empire of the world, and why, instead\nof provoking laughter, did the people pale and tremble before him\nin the Forum, the magistrates quail beneath their robes of office,\nthe priesthood shrink affrighted to their doomed temples, and Nero,\nthe emperor, forget to trust in his blood-stained purple? Why does\nthe deserted Palatine look to-day upon the opposite hill of the\nVatican, and behold there a dome whose summit may well be said\nto seek to scale the heavens--a dome that crowns a tomb, that of\nthe beggar Peter, a tomb which, though but the fane of the dead,\nis nevertheless the centre of Europe and the world? For this tomb\nbears a throne at once the most ancient and the most sacred in\nEurope, the only one which represents an empire whose boundaries\nare the boundaries of the universe. And why all this? Only because\nPeter proved by signs and wonders, by _miracles_ wrought both in\nlife and in death, that he spoke indeed in the name of him whom\nheaven and earth obeyed, because he was their Maker. Because he\nwrought these signs, his word was believed. And I am free to\nconfess that, had the men of his time believed in him without such\nan irrefragable proof of his mission, they would have been madmen\nindeed, and we, who are now the heirs of their faith, would have\nbeen only the successors to their folly. For two thousand years,\nI repeat it, the history of mankind would have been a long dream\nof insanity, an act of stupendous folly, and, as a climax to this\nincalculable confusion, there would have sprung from this folly the\nmost incomprehensible of contradictions--wisdom and glory, light\nand virtue, civilization and progress--in a word, that great wonder\nwhich holds all lesser marvels within itself, namely, Christianity.\n\nIf I mistake not, your common sense has already set aside this\nhypothesis as untenable. We admit it, you may say to me; to make\nmankind believe in the--humanly speaking--unbelievable, there\nmust have been proofs capable of proving and making certain, so\nto speak, the very impossible itself. We must admit it, unless we\naccuse the whole world of madness. But if Peter and the apostles,\nand all the preachers of the Gospel, confirmed their teaching by\nsigns that were accounted miracles, might this not be explained\nby a chain of fortuitious coincidences, happy accidents, seeming\nmiracles, which are every day elucidated by the progress of\ninvestigation until they utterly disappear in the full light of\nscience? A discussion of the nature and essence of the Gospel\nmiracles would be utterly out of place at this moment. I will\ntherefore confine myself to this: if the miracles which, among\noutward causes, are the principal explanation of the world\u2019s\nconversion to Christianity, are false, then it is no longer mankind\nunconsciously duped and led away, but Heaven itself, the deceiver\nand seducer, whom we must indignantly accuse.\n\nThere is no alternative, my brethren: either madness on the part\nof earth, or crime on the part of heaven. Either man is bereft of\nreason, or God is no longer just. Either man unknowingly deceives\nhimself, or God wilfully deceives him. Choose ye, therefore!\n\nBut in choosing, remember that he who accuses God of having\ndeceived the world, or even of having permitted what is called\nchance to have so deceived it, blasphemes as much against mankind\nas against God, and commits such treason against humanity as can\nnever be forgiven by it. To accuse God of having allowed evil to\ntriumph in the plausible likeness of good, and to become, behind\nthis mask, the goal, the light, the glory, the life, the very God\nof mankind, involves nothing less than the negation of Providence,\nand the abandonment of the world to the blind god of chance,\nthe savage god of fate, the shadowy god of nothingness. Such an\naccusation confuses all creation, darkens the sun of understanding,\ncasts history back into chaos, the human intellect into doubt, the\nhuman heart into despair. If Providence has betrayed mankind from\nits cradle, why should it not have betrayed me, individually, from\nmy birth? At the slightest hint of such a doubt, what a fearful\nhorizon looms up before me!\n\nI have believed in him who has numbered every hair of my head; and\nI have been deceived.\n\nI have believed in the prayer of the poor who ask for daily bread,\nand in the answer of him who gives it, and in whose sight even\nthe sparrow is not forgotten; and I have been deceived! I have\nbelieved in the eloquence of tears shed at the feet and the heart\nof God; in the blessings of mothers registered in heaven; in the\nfruitfulness of suffering; in the merit of unknown virtue, and\nof virtue unknown to itself; in defeats that are glorious and\nsuccess that is shameful; I have believed in all that showed forth\nGod in man, and man in God! But--grief unspeakable!--I have been\ndeceived, since there is no Providence, since for ages and ages\nan odious and inexplicable chance has ruled humanity, and forced\nit, humbled, mystified, levelled with the brute, miserably plunged\nin a stupid and inconceivable idolatry, to bend the knee to the\nvery dust--before what? before whom? Before a man, a Jew--before\na scourged and crucified Jew, whom it hearkens to as an oracle,\ninvokes as a master, and worships as a god.\n\nI have reached a limit beyond which I cannot go, and I stop a\nmoment to ask you: Have we not seen enough of these impossibilities\njostling one another, enough of absurdities crowding on our\nbewildered sight, and, as Scripture words it, of deep calling unto\ndeep?\n\nAnd yet, if you tear from the brow of Jesus Christ the crowning\nglory of the Godhead, you will be compelled to admit a thousand\ntimes more than this, and not only to admit it, but even to believe\nit fitting and most rational. You are therefore forced to choose\nbetween the human madness that believed in and deified an impostor,\nthe guilty and merciless fraud practised by a God whose seal was\nthus solemnly set to the most appalling scandal ever witnessed by\nmankind, or the crowning dogma of the divinity of Jesus Christ, a\ndogma which alone reconciles and explains all mysteries. When you\nrecross the threshold of this church, you must go forth believers,\neither in a miracle of folly, a miracle of treachery, or a miracle\nof mercy and love. Mankind must appear before you either as a\nregenerated, a deceived, or an idolatrous creation.\n\nWhat will be your choice? Would to God that at the solemn moment\nof your decision I might come to each one of you, and on my knees\nbeseech you, through the merits of that Precious Blood which, if\nyou will not let it be your salvation, will most assuredly be your\neternal condemnation, and the sign that will doom you to doubt in\nlife, to agony in death, to despair in eternity--beseech you, I\nrepeat it ere you have raised your voice in final decision, to free\nyour soul from the interests that bind it, the human respect that\nfetters it, the sophisms that lead it astray--in a word, from all\nthe passions of flesh and blood whose watchword is eternal hatred\nto the truth of God.\n\nThen, and only then, in that freedom from all bondage, in the\nsilence of your inmost hearts, make the choice that will lead you\nto life or to death.\n\nBut what words are these, my brethren? There will be no need of\nchoosing then: the choice will be already made; for, as the sun\nswiftly reaches the last recess of the deepest cavern the moment\nthe obstacle is removed which has hitherto resisted its light,\nso does Jesus Christ, the sun of the mind, the incarnate truth,\nflood with his radiance every soul whose own obstinate efforts\ndo not close it against this blessed transfiguration. Open wide\nyour hearts, my brethren, to this God of love and truth, who has\nvouchsafed to show himself to you in the brightness of such light\nand the majesty of such conviction.\n\nAnd thou, Lord Jesus, who art the truth \u201c_that enlighteneth every\nman that cometh into the world_\u201d (St. John i.), let it not come\nto pass that one soul out of this great assemblage should return\nthis day from the foot of this pulpit to the common turmoil of\nthe world without bearing within itself the ineffable wound of a\ndawning conviction. And if, O Lord! thou requirest unto this end\nthe sacrifice of a human life, let this day be my last on earth,\nand this hour the last hour of my mortal pilgrimage.\n\n\n\n\nAFFIRMATIONS.\n\n\n\u201cIt is the child\u2019s spirit that is to be loved and sympathized with,\nnot his body; the body must be pampered as little as possible.\u201d\n\n\u201cPrinciple must unite with purpose before it becomes practical.\u201d\n\n\u201cHuman nature must do as nature does--cling to the sustainer, and\nthen it will be always producing new fruits.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe are none the better for reflecting upon our own ideas of heat,\nbut if we would cease reflecting and let the heat warm us, the heat\nwould itself realize what our reflected reflections never can.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is a communion with God, with saints, and also with angels,\nand then with each other, but this is not in space and time, or\nwith the space and time man.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat which Love requires for the everlasting food, the man of this\nworld expends in heaping up rubbish.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nFLEURANGE.\n\nBY MRS. CRAVEN, AUTHOR OF \u201cA SISTER\u2019S STORY.\u201d\n\nTRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH, WITH PERMISSION.\n\n\nPART FIRST.\n\nTHE OLD MANSION.\n\n\nXII.\n\nClement remained a moment thoughtful and undecided. Before obeying\nhis mother\u2019s injunction, he felt the need of collecting his\nthoughts and regaining his self-control. Whatever strength of mind\nhe might manifest, he was very young to experience such painful\nemotions as he had endured the past day. He crossed the passage\nof the stairs that led to Fleurange\u2019s room, then passed on and\nwent directly into the garden. Hitherto he had only thought of his\nparents. At least, he felt all that morning that, as soon as his\nfather and mother knew everything, a great weight would be removed\nfrom his mind which would enable him to breathe quite freely. But\nthe terrible revelation was made, and yet he was not relieved. He\nwas still agitated, painfully agitated. Having passed the whole\nevening shut up in Wilhelm\u2019s office, reckoning up the sad accounts,\nhe felt the need of fresh air. It was the end of June. The weather\nwas cloudy, and somewhat showery. He walked swiftly to the end of\nthe garden, then returned slowly towards the house, and was about\nto go in search of the children and his cousin when he heard his\nname called close behind him:\n\n\u201cClement!\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it you, Gabrielle, here all alone?\u201d\n\nFleurange was sitting on an obscure bench against the side of the\nhouse.\n\n\u201cYes, I have been here an hour. You are going to tell me everything\nthat has occurred, are you not, Clement? Remain here awhile and\ntell me. Do not conceal things from me any longer.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not intend to, Gabrielle, but do not detain me now. Come in,\ndear cousin. When the children are asleep, I will return and tell\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe children are asleep, Clement, and have been for a long time.\nIt is nearly ten o\u2019clock. Poor little things, do you think they\ncould keep awake till this time? After dinner I took them to the\nfurther end of the garden, that their lively prattle might not\ndisturb the house. By eight o\u2019clock they were tired out. I made\nthem go up-stairs, and as soon as they fell asleep I came down to\nwait for you.\u201d\n\nHad her account been still longer, Clement would not have thought\nof interrupting her. He made no reply for a while, but at length\nsaid:\n\n\u201cThank you, Gabrielle. You are--\u201d He stopped. He felt an iron\ngrasp at his throat, and feared he should sob like a child if\nhe attempted to speak. With all his manly energy and precocious\ngravity, Clement\u2019s young heart was passionately tender. And yet he\nhad not been wanting in firmness throughout the day. Why, then,\ndid it seem to abandon him so suddenly now? How happened it that,\nafter considering, without shrinking, all the consequences of the\nresolution he was the first to make and propose--after manifesting\nno hesitation at the sight of his parents, and his brother and\nsister, he now felt terrified and almost overwhelmed at the thought\nof the sacrifice that had been made, and the great change about\nto occur in their lives? He hardly knew why himself, for he had\nnot examined very minutely what was passing in his dreams. Clement\nwas naturally inclined to reverie. He cared but little for the\namusements of his age. His mind sought relaxation in secretly\nbrooding over the inspirations of poetry. His friends knew he had\na good memory and was familiar with a great number of poems, but\nthey did not suspect he had a deep vein of poetry in his nature\nwhich ranked next to the influences of religion. This interior life\nwas so completely veiled that the very eye of his mother scarcely\npenetrated it. Clement\u2019s aptitude for history and the sciences, his\nturn for practical studies and a practical life, his skill in a\nthousand things of a material nature, served to conceal still more\nthe other qualities of his mind. They depended on him to train a\nhorse, settle an account, give a lesson in mathematics or history,\nplan an excursion, or make arrangements for a journey; but the\nidea of his wandering in imaginary or poetic regions, absorbed and\nlost in such waking dreams as are expressed in German by the word\n_Schw\u00e4rmen_, and silently passing a part of his life in an interior\nworld to which he never alluded, was little imagined, even by those\nwho knew him best. And perhaps he himself, as we have said, had\nnever thoroughly analyzed his own nature, for until to-day the\nactual and the imaginary had never come in conflict. But now all at\nonce he felt there was in his ideal world a sanctuary, a palace, a\nthrone, he must resign himself to see crumble away like the rest,\nand the courage he manifested at the material loss of wealth to its\nfullest extent seemed to forsake him now in view of the imaginary\nruin of this enchanted domain!\n\nFleurange, seeing her cousin made no reply, waited quietly awhile,\nbut at length she said, somewhat impatiently:\n\n\u201cCome, Clement, I pray you, keep me no longer in suspense. What are\nyou afraid of? Am I a child? Am I not older than you? And did I not\nlearn long ago the sad meaning of sorrow, suffering, and trial?\nSpeak to me freely, then, and without fear. Nothing frightens me.\u201d\n\nFleurange\u2019s earnestness roused her cousin, and restored his\ncalmness and self-control. Without any further hesitation, he\nseated himself beside her, and related the greater part of what\nhe had told his mother some hours before. She thus learned in her\nturn the extent of the disaster which had befallen them--that all\ndue reparation would be made, that the honor of her uncle\u2019s house\nand name might remain intact, though his brother, Ludwig Dornthal,\nwould be ruined--for ever ruined.\n\n\u201cAnd your good father and mother have consented to this\nrenunciation of their rights?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, and without any hesitation.\u201d\n\n\u201cO dear and noble soul!\u201d cried Fleurange, clasping her hands in her\ntransport. \u201cAnd it was you who proposed it?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n\n\u201cO Clement, my dear Clement! truly, I love you as I never loved you\nbefore!\u201d\n\n\u201cGabrielle,\u201d said Clement in a low and trembling voice, \u201cdo not say\nthat.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not?\u201d said Fleurange. \u201cI think so, and it is the truth.\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause--because, if they are often to be blamed who are wanting\nin honor and duty, there is nothing particularly praiseworthy in\nthose who are faithful.\u201d\n\n\u201cNevertheless, my dear cousin, if I love you better than before,\nyou must not be displeased, but I will not say so again if it\noffends you.\u201d\n\nThere was a moment\u2019s silence. Fleurange was lost in profound\nreverie. She soon resumed, in a grave tone: \u201cNow I understand the\nstate of affairs, I see our life is to assume an entirely new\naspect.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, entirely,\u201d said Clement, with a dull anguish.\n\n\u201cThis dear Old Mansion,\u201d continued Fleurange, \u201cmust it be left?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Clement; \u201cit will have to be sold, with all it\ncontains, for the produce of this sale is all my father will have\nto begin life anew with.\u201d\n\n\u201cSell the house!\u201d replied Fleurange thoughtfully. \u201cYes, I see it\nmust be so; and afterwards we shall be separated.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why must that be so?\u201d cried Clement with sudden impetuosity.\nBut he presently resumed in a different tone: \u201cHowever, it would\nbe very selfish in us to wish to retain you, now we have no longer\nanything to share with you but our poverty.\u201d\n\n\u201cClement,\u201d said Fleurange hastily, \u201cthat is truly a rude and\nunjust speech, which I hardly merit--\u201d She stopped an instant,\nthen went on in a tone of emotion: \u201cWhat! when poverty, misery,\nand hunger--yes, Clement, hunger!--were staring me in the face,\nyour father bethought himself of me, he invited me here, received\nme into his house, conferred on me--not a happiness I had already\nexperienced, but one hitherto unknown: he became my father, when\nmine was no more, and gave me a mother, brothers, and sisters whom\nI had never possessed. Life, youth, and joy had been meaningless\nwords to me. I only comprehended them after I came under his\nroof, and now--now,\u201d said she in broken accents, no longer able\nto restrain her tears, \u201cit is his son--Ludwig Dornthal\u2019s son--who\ntells me it is to escape the misfortunes of his family that I wish\nto leave them!\u201d\n\n\u201cGabrielle! Gabrielle!\u201d said Clement in an agitated manner,\n\u201cforgive me--have some pity on me. Stop, I beseech you; you will\ndrive me mad, if you utter such reproaches at this time.\u201d\n\nFleurange by degrees grew calm, and, forcing a smile, while great\ntears stood in her eyes, she soon resumed: \u201cPoor Clement! I am,\nthen, neither allowed to praise you nor blame you, this evening.\nWell, let us lay aside what relates merely to ourselves, or at\nleast speak of it in a different manner. What I meant just now was\nthat we could no longer remain idle. We must aid our dear parents\nall we can,\u201d she continued in a softened tone, \u201cand labor for\nthem--\u201d\n\n\u201cLabor!\u201d said Clement. \u201c_I_ must unquestionably; that is a matter\nof course; but you, Gabrielle--you! There is no reason in what you\nsay.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I also,\u201d said Fleurange calmly. \u201cAnd that is a point to be\nconsidered. I must not only cease to be a burden to your parents,\nbut I must aid them. How happy that will make me! I thank Heaven\nfor the very thought that I may now be able to do something for\nthem to whom I owe everything. This hope relieves my very sadness.\u201d\n\nShe rose and held out her hand. \u201cGood-night, cousin. To-morrow I\nwill tell you what inspiration I have received from my good angel\nduring the night.\u201d\n\nHe silently pressed her hand, and allowed her to leave him without\na word.\n\nThe night was cloudy. If Clement caught any glimpses of his\ncousin\u2019s features during their conversation, it was because, seated\nbeside her, and even favored by the obscurity, he ventured to look\nat her more closely than he would have done elsewhere. Now, the\nstars rose only to disappear beneath the sombre clouds. He was\nno longer afraid of being seen. He remained where Fleurange left\nhim, and, burying his face in his hands, gave vent at last to the\ntears that for two hours had been suffocating him--tears of sorrow,\nregret, and affection, which he must shed to keep his young heart\nfrom breaking.\n\nBut he soon surmounted this violent emotion, and rose up ashamed of\nhis weakness. At that moment he heard a window open above his head.\nIt was Fleurange, who soon appeared on the balcony. He could see\nher white dress and the regular outline of face against the light\nfrom her chamber. He saw her soft glance lost in the darkness. Then\nshe folded her hands and bent down her head. She was praying, but\nnot alone to-night. Clement, kneeling unperceived in the shade,\nprayed with her. He was in the very place where he heard her say to\nFelix: \u201cClement is my brother, and you are not.\u201d He recalled the\nwords now, and renewed in his heart the solemn promise to be for\never faithful to all the obligations they imposed.\n\n\nXIII.\n\nIf the happy inmates of the Old Mansion had been told a month\nprevious they only had a few weeks more to pass within its walls,\nthey would have been greatly dismayed by the prediction, and asked\nhow such a trial could be borne. But there is in life--even in the\nhappiest life when it is ordered aright, that is, when its duties\nare daily considered and faithfully accomplished--there is, I say,\nin such a life a latent preparation for the most violent shocks of\nadversity, and, when they suddenly come, it is surprising to find\nthat they who seemed to enjoy more than others the good things they\npossessed are the best able to resign themselves to their loss\nwith firmness and serenity. And yet they are not insensible to\nthe calamity. It falls on them with its full weight, but it comes\nalone, unaccompanied by the two scourges which generally follow in\nthe train of a misfortune resulting from misconduct--trouble and\nconfusion of mind.\n\nNeither of these followed ruin into Ludwig Dornthal\u2019s house.\nExternally the disaster was complete, but peace and order were\nmaintained within. All their decisions--even the most painful--were\nmade deliberately, and executed calmly and without delay. They\ndid not dissemble the greatness of their sacrifice; they made no\npretence to an insensibility they did not feel; but they quietly\nmade their preparations--tears often blinding their eyes the\nwhile--like a brave and worthy crew wrecked by a tempest and forced\nto abandon their vessel.\n\nIt was thus they made all the arrangements for leaving their dear\nhome and disposing of their library, paintings, and objects of\n_virtu_, which the professor had selected with so much care and\npride, and were his only source of pleasure apart from the society\nof his family and friends. And from the latter also he was to be\nseparated. When Ludwig Dornthal announced his intention of resuming\nthe career he abandoned twenty years before, positions were offered\nhim on all sides, especially in the city where he resided. But on\naccount of the strict economy he must henceforth practise, as well\nas a secret repugnance to a different social position in a place\nwhere he had been so prosperous, he decided, after some hesitation,\nto leave Frankfort, and accept a modest situation offered him at\nthe University of Heidelberg. He succeeded in purchasing a small\nhouse in that place at a low price--somewhat rustic, it is true,\nbut situated without the city walls, on the banks of the Neckar,\nand surrounded by a garden. He could easily walk to the university\nevery morning, and the perspective of the rural repose that awaited\nhim at the end of the day would enable him to endure its labors\nmore cheerfully. He therefore decided to take possession of it as\nspeedily as possible, and all the necessary arrangements had to be\nmade during the few weeks they were to remain in the Old Mansion\nbefore leaving it for ever.\n\nClement took charge of all the preliminaries of the somewhat\nextensive sale that was to take place. He wished to relieve his\nfather from so sad a task, and perform the painful and fatiguing\nbusiness without any assistance, but it was made much easier for\nhim than he anticipated. Fleurange insisted on his accepting her\naid. She set herself to work, silently going to and fro with her\nsleeves turned back, carrying the rare china carefully from one\nplace to another with her small but efficient hands, and dusting,\narranging, and numbering the books according to her cousin\u2019s\ndirections. Of course she greatly lightened his labors. In the\nevening they seated themselves in the library, now nearly stripped\nof its treasures, and wrote lists or inserted notes in the large\nregisters concerning the precious manuscripts and books that were\nto be disposed of. It was, in short, a work that required the vigor\nand activity of youth, as well as much thought and assiduous labor.\nTo say that, while performing this double task, they never found it\ntiresome, that no shade ever came over their brows, and that their\neyes were never tearful while handling so many objects they were\nnever to see again, would be false; it would be equally so to say\nthat Clement, in spite of the fatigue, was greatly to be pitied\nduring these days.\n\nThere came a time, long after, when, looking back on the past, it\nseemed to him that these hours passed in the light of Fleurange\u2019s\nbeautiful eyes, sometimes cast down as she bent over the large\nregisters, and anon raised to ask a question or give him a friendly\nglance--it seemed to him, I say, that these vanished hours were\namong the most delightful of his life.\n\nAt length came the day their task would be completed, and, while\nthey were working together for the last time, Fleurange raised her\neyes. \u201cClement,\u201d she said, \u201cwe are nearly done. I have been waiting\nfor this moment to tell you something.\u201d\n\nClement dropped his work at once, and looked up interrogatively.\n\n\u201cNo, no; finish what you are doing, and I will tell you afterward.\u201d\n\nClement soon finished. Fleurange closed the great book before her,\nand resumed: \u201cDo you remember our conversation in the garden a\nfortnight ago?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do, most assuredly.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, after leaving you that evening, I passed the night in\nreflection, and ended by writing to the best, and, indeed, the only\ngentleman-friend I have in the world out of this house.\u201d\n\n\u201cDr. Leblanc?\u201d said Clement, aware, of course, of all the\ncircumstances that preceded his cousin\u2019s arrival.\n\n\u201cYes, Dr. Leblanc. I wrote him all I had just learned. I made known\nthe situation my uncle and his family would soon be in, and my\ndesire, my ardent desire, not only to cease to be a burden, but to\nfulfil a daughter\u2019s duty with regard to them. His own daughters\nhave other duties, now they are married, but I have only this, and\nit is one so precious--so precious,\u201d repeated Fleurange in the soft\ntone that sometimes made her simplest words penetrate to the depths\nof the listener\u2019s heart, \u201cthat I shall consider my life happy and\nwell-spent if I can consecrate it entirely to this duty!\u201d\n\nClement bent down his head, and took up his pen as if to correct a\nmistake on the paper before him. She must not see the effect of her\nwords on his countenance--no! she must not.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said he presently, without looking up, \u201cwhat did Dr.\nLeblanc say?\u201d\n\n\u201cHere, Clement, read the letter I received from him two days ago.\u201d\n\nClement took the letter, but, while reading it, he was all at once\nfilled with a similar anguish to that he experienced after the\nconversation that night in the garden which Fleurange had just\nalluded to. He was obliged to make a violent effort to restrain\nhis feelings, and not tear the letter in his hands into a thousand\npieces. Fortunately he succeeded, for it would have been the most\nfoolish act he ever committed. And there was really nothing in Dr.\nLeblanc\u2019s letter to justify such a mad desire. It read as follows:\n\n  \u201cMY DEAR YOUNG FRIEND: I cannot tell you how much I am at once\n  distressed and edified by the sad account you have given me. I\n  have long known what kind of a man your uncle is. I now see there\n  are but few to be compared with him, even among the best, and I\n  never had a keener desire than to make his acquaintance. You know\n  I have always hoped for this gratification. It will probably be\n  afforded me sooner than I anticipated. And this leads me to the\n  second part of your letter.\n\n  \u201cI understand your wish, and would like to second it. Besides, I\n  have not forgotten my promise to aid you in gaining a livelihood,\n  should it ever be necessary. Poor child! I hoped never to be\n  called upon to fulfil it, but, as things have come to that\n  pass, I must tell you of a letter I received yesterday which,\n  coinciding with yours, seems to be a providential indication.\n  This letter is from the Princess Catharine Lamianoff, a Russian\n  lady, who is one of my patients. She is now at Munich, and has\n  sent for me to go there. I have already prescribed for her with\n  success, and, from what she tells me of her state, I think my\n  visit may be beneficial. I have therefore decided on the journey,\n  and shall be absent a fortnight. I shall go by the way of\n  Frankfort on purpose to see you. But, first, I must tell you what\n  there is in the letter to interest you. The princess earnestly\n  requests me to find a young lady, carefully educated and with\n  good manners, to be her _demoiselle de compagnie_. She is an\n  invalid and requires to be entertained, so the office would be\n  a charitable as well as a lucrative one. We will talk all this\n  over before another week. Meanwhile, rely always, as you have the\n  right to do, on my sincere and affectionate devotedness. I say\n  nothing about my sister, as she is writing you in a similar tone\n  by the same mail.\n\n  \u201cP.S.--The princess has been married twice, but is again a widow.\n  She is very wealthy, and offers the young lady she commissions me\n  to find one hundred and fifty louis a year.\u201d\n\nClement remained silent for some time. \u201cAnd you think of accepting\nsuch a proposal?\u201d said he, at length, in a tone of irritation quite\nat variance with his usual manner. \u201cWhat folly!\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, it is not folly,\u201d replied Fleurange mildly. \u201cIf, after talking\nwith Dr. Leblanc, I discover no reason for declining the situation,\nI cannot possibly see the folly of accepting it.\u201d\n\n\u201cGabrielle,\u201d said Clement, without changing his tone, \u201cyou know the\ncourse you wish to take is insupportable to me! This _r\u00f4le_ belongs\nto me--me alone. It is my place to labor for my parents, my brother\nand sister, and for you. If you had the least regard for me, you\nwould feel this is a favor you have no right to refuse me.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, Clement,\u201d said Fleurange calmly, \u201clet us talk it over in a\nreasonable manner. When everything is sold, and your parents are\nsettled in their new home at Heidelberg, you are perfectly aware\nthat your father\u2019s small salary, even with what you can add to it,\nwill barely enable them and Frida to live comfortably. You will\nremain at Frankfort, where, notwithstanding your youth, you have\nthe choice of several situations. But Fritz--have you forgotten our\ncalculations yesterday? Will you have sufficient means to send him\nto the excellent gymnasium you were so desirous he should enter,\nthat he might be enabled to become independent in his turn? No,\nClement, you know well you could not do it. Whereas,\u201d she continued\nwith animation, \u201cif this good lady likes me, I can send all my\nsalary, with the exception of a small part, to my dear brothers.\nThis will ensure Fritz\u2019s education, and my dear aunt will be freed\nfrom all anxiety about him as well as me. And do you not see,\nClement, that I shall be a thousand times happier far away from\nyou all, even though treated like a slave by this princess, than\namong you, useless, inactive, and adding by my presence to your\ndifficulties, instead of aiding to diminish them?\u201d\n\nClement, with his elbows resting on the table, and his face buried\nin his hands, did not answer a word.\n\n\u201cCome, come, dear Clement, put off that frown,\u201d said Fleurange in a\ncaressing tone, taking him softly by the hand. \u201cWe shall see each\nother, like school-children, during our vacations. From time to\ntime we shall meet on the banks of the Neckar! That will always be\nour home, where we shall all gather around the hearth, as here, on\ngreat festivals.\u201d\n\nWhat reply could poor Clement make? What objection could he offer?\nMust he not for ever conceal all he had hoped in his vanished\ndreams to confess some day? Was he not now reduced to constant\nlabor for subsistence? Had not his life henceforth a single aim\nthat nothing must turn him from? And were it otherwise, did she not\nlook upon him as a mere boy? Was he not destitute of every quality\nthat could please her? And had he not always foreseen that his\nenchanting dreams would vanish at the very first breath of reality?\n\nHe took his cousin\u2019s small hand in his, and, with his usual frank\nand cordial look, said: \u201cYou are right, Gabrielle, forgive me. I\nappear ungrateful, but I am not. May God reward you! You are an\nangel!\u201d\n\nAnd he added in a tone too low for her to hear: \u201cAn angel from whom\nI am more widely separated than from the angels in heaven!\u201d\n\n\nXIV.\n\nFrom that day forth Clement displayed no more interest in his\ncousin\u2019s project: at least, he never alluded to it, and the plan\nwas discussed before him without his taking any part in the\nconversation.\n\nMadame Dornthal, capable herself of the most generous devotedness,\nknew also how to accept it from others--a rarer gift, but perhaps\nnot less noble. She thoroughly understood Fleurange\u2019s disposition,\nand was unwilling at such a time to deprive a heart like hers of\nthe most exquisite joy it can taste.\n\n\u201cYes, dear child,\u201d she said, folding her in her arms, \u201cI accept the\naid you offer me, and with gratitude. Thanks to you, I shall be\nrelieved from all anxiety respecting two of my children, and, if\nDr. Leblanc reassures me as to my Gabrielle, I shall let her follow\nthe generous impulse of her heart.\u201d\n\nBut Madame Dornthal kept to herself, or only communicated to her\nhusband, another motive for her consent. Fleurange would thus be\npreserved from some of the privations of their new life. \u201cShe would\ncontinue to enjoy comforts we could no longer give her. She would\nbe happier and more cheerful away from us, the poor child! than\nwith us at such a time.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d replied the professor, \u201cit would indeed be a pity to bury\nher youth in a cottage. I could not bear it. I have so often\nblessed God within a month for having assured the destiny of our\ndear daughters! And yet,\u201d added poor Ludwig, sighing, \u201ctheir young\nfaces were so cheering around us!\u201d\n\n\u201cWe shall soon see them again, Ludwig. Hilda and Karl are awaiting\nour visit, and Clara will pass the winter near us, Julian having\nreceived a great number of orders from the vicinity of Heidelberg.\nO my dear Ludwig! as long as God leaves us these blessings, let us\nresign, not only without a murmur, but without regret, all he has\ntaken from us!\u201d\n\nThose who are absorbed in the acquisition of wealth, and make it\nthe special object of their lives, are no less liable to misfortune\nthan others. Indeed, it may be said, they are more frequently\novertaken by adversity. Would it not be well, then, for them to\nreflect a little beforehand on the means of singularly modifying\nthe features of this stern visitant, and giving it the aspect it\nnow wore in the Old Mansion? It is true, to do this they must begin\nby thinking of something higher than the mere acquisition of riches.\n\nDr. Leblanc arrived, as he promised, about ten days after his\nletter. His visit at the Old Mansion coincided with the last days\nits inmates were to pass within its walls, and this circumstance\nwould have made him hesitate to come, had not the professor\ncordially encouraged him. They had long wished to know each other,\nfor in their different spheres they were equally renowned, and\nFleurange, under so many obligations to both, was a tie between\nthem. The doctor was therefore received by M. Dornthal quite\notherwise than as a stranger. The tendency of their minds, the\nnature of their studies, and even the prominent features of their\ncharacter, were very dissimilar, but there was the same foundation\nto their nature, and they aimed at the same end by different means.\nThey therefore soon discovered that, though their lives were\ndrawing to a close without even having met before, they were born\nintimate friends.\n\nHow many unknown friends thus pass their whole lives without ever\nmeeting, or even suspecting the sympathy that unites them! Who can\ntell how many ties of this kind will be discovered in heaven? And\nwho knows but this discovery may be one of the sweetest surprises\nof another life, and, like all the joys we have a foretaste of here\nbelow, and perhaps more abundantly accorded to those who on earth\nwere the most destitute?\n\nThe hospitable doors of the Old Mansion were closed, the library\nshelves bare, the panels stripped of the rich paintings that\nadorned them, and all was now humiliation and sacrifice where once\nreigned satisfaction and enjoyment, and yet Dr. Leblanc probably\nwould not have felt so lively a sensation of respect and emotion\nhad he visited the Dornthals for the first time during the days of\ntheir prosperity.\n\nAs to them, this new friend seemed to have always occupied the\nplace he now took in their midst, and, in spite of the sadness\nof the present as well as of the future, Fleurange enjoyed the\nsatisfaction of seeing them brought together for a few brief hours,\nand, though on the eve of leaving her friends, did not find the\nlast days she spent among them the least happy.\n\nMadame Dornthal gathered nothing from her conversations with Dr.\nLeblanc that was unfavorable to Fleurange\u2019s project; but she\nlearned that the Princess Catharine was only making a temporary\nvisit at Munich on her way from a watering-place where she passed\nher summers and would soon leave for Florence, where she owned a\npalace which was her residence in winter.\n\nAfter some correspondence, it was decided Fleurange should accept\nthe princess\u2019 offer, and go to Munich under the doctor\u2019s care. She\nwould thus have the double advantage of her old friend\u2019s protection\nduring the journey, and his presence during the first days of her\nnew career among strangers.\n\nWhile all this was being decided, the time passed sadly and rapidly\naway, and the last day they were to spend in the Old Mansion\ncame--the last day their eyes would linger on the venerable walls\nwhich had witnessed all the happiness of the past, the garden with\nits velvet sward, the borders of flowers, and the wide alleys\nthrough the overshadowing trees, full of remembrances they would\nnot another spring be able to retrace, or indeed any spring of\ntheir future lives.\n\nClement, silent as he often was, but more agitated than usual,\nhastily collected the small number of books which were to form part\nof his luggage the following day. His cousin\u2019s generous sacrifice\nenabled him to fulfil his wishes at once with regard to Fritz. This\nonly left him the more completely alone--the care of the child\nwould have added to the young man\u2019s difficulties and become later\na serious burden; but Clement loved his little brother, and had\nlooked upon the necessity of keeping him with him as a consoling\nfeature of his future life. This necessity no longer existed.\nClement, left free, decided to make choice of the most laborious\ncareer offered him--the one least conformed to his tastes, but the\nbest adapted to second his desire of aiding his parents.\n\nWilhelm M\u00fcller proposed he should enter a large commercial house\nwhere M. Heinrich Dornthal\u2019s worthy and intelligent clerk himself\nhad found a situation similar to that he recently occupied at the\nbanker\u2019s. Clement accepted it. He was at first to receive only a\nsmall salary, but it would be increased from year to year. \u201cAnd\nlater,\u201d explained Wilhelm, \u201cyou may have your share in the profits\nof the house. You are young. Who knows, whatever you may say,\nthat you will not some day become rich again, and as happy and\nprosperous as you were destined to be?\u201d\n\nNothing in Clement\u2019s heart responded to this encouraging prophecy,\nbut he did not the less follow M\u00fcller\u2019s advice. Moreover, he\naccepted the kind clerk\u2019s offer of renting him a small chamber in\nthe house he himself occupied.\n\n\u201cPoor Monsieur Clement,\u201d he said, \u201cwhat I offer you is only a\ngarret, but it is under our roof, and you will feel you have\nfriends around you. My wife is a good housekeeper, and will always\nbe ready to render you a service. The little ones are good children\nalso, though somewhat noisy, and will sometimes divert your sad\nthoughts.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is all well enough,\u201d said Clement. \u201cYour offer suits me every\nway, and I thank you, Wilhelm, with all my heart.\u201d\n\nThus matters were arranged between them.\n\nFleurange made her appearance in the library while Clement was\ndiligently packing his books. She remained awhile, and learned by\nquestioning him all that has just been related, not omitting the\nkind clerk\u2019s offer to become his host as well as his colleague.\n\n\u201cOh! so much the better,\u201d cried Fleurange. \u201cThe M\u00fcllers are\nexcellent people. I know Bertha, who is an amiable little woman.\nYou can talk with her about me.\u201d\n\nBertha\u2019s name recalled Fleurange\u2019s journey, which they discussed.\nThis naturally led to her arrival on Christmas Eve, the Midnight\nMass, the festival of the following day, and all the other happy\ndays that succeeded.\n\nAll these reminiscences were too touching, too poignant, at such\na time. Fleurange at last became unable to utter a word. She\nturned her face away, and started as if to leave the room. But she\nstopped at the threshold, and remained leaning against the garden\nwindow, which at that season was surrounded by honeysuckle. Clement\nfollowed, and both stood gazing at the thousand objects gilded by\nthe brilliant rays of the setting sun. There was nothing wanting in\nthe melancholy beauty of that evening hour, either in the sweetness\nof the air, the clearness of the sky, the perfume of the flowers,\nor anything that could in their eyes add an unusual charm to all\nthey were about to leave for ever.\n\nAnd she! how did she appear in the sight of him who feared he\nmight never, after this hour, behold her again as she now stood\nbeside him? What did he think of the effect of the golden lights\nupon her fair brow and on her black and silky hair?--on the pale\nazure of her eyes, now so smiling and soft, and again so grave and\nthoughtful, but in which tenderness was overruled by a will that\nwould ever remain dominant?\n\nWe will not state what were his unuttered thoughts. The mingling\nof sweetness and energy which heightened the attraction Fleurange\ninspired he was equally gifted with, and what he ought to conceal\nwithin his own bosom he knew how to prevent his mouth from uttering\nor his eyes from ever betraying. He therefore remained near her,\ncalm in appearance, while his heart was a prey to such grief as\nin youth changes the entire aspect of nature, and makes it almost\nunendurable to live.\n\n\u201cTo-morrow!--to-morrow I shall no longer behold her,\u201d he repeated\nto himself, with a sensation that one might have in sharpening\nthe instrument of his execution, and the thought deprived him of\nenjoying the few hours that remained to him.\n\nFleurange, on her side, dwelt on the fatality that always separated\nher from those she loved. She recalled the day when the bare\nthought of ever leaving this spot caused such a painful contraction\nof the heart. And now, that prophetic anguish was justified!--the\nfrightful dream had become a reality! Sad thoughts crowded on her\nmind. Another moment, and she would be unable to restrain them, all\nher firmness was about to give way in a flood of tears, when an\neffort of her will made her triumph over the emotion, or, at least,\nprevented her from manifesting it. Putting a stop to her long\nreverie, she raised her head, and turned toward her cousin:\n\n\u201cHere, Clement,\u201d she said softly, drawing a small book from her\npocket, \u201chere is my Dante we have so often read in: keep it, dear\nfriend, in memory of our favorite study, and do not forget our\nhabit of daily reading a canto in it.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I shall never forget it. Thank you, Gabrielle: the gift is\nvery precious. I shall always prize this little book.\u201d He opened\nit: \u201cBut write my name on this blank leaf. Here is my pencil.\u201d\n\nShe took the pencil and wrote: \u201c_To Clement._\u201d\n\n\u201cOne word more,\u201d said Clement in a supplicating tone. \u201cPray write\nalso a word, a line, a stanza if you will, from our favorite poet.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat shall I write?\u201d said she, turning over the leaves.\n\n\u201cThere, that in the second canto,\u201d said he, pointing it out. She\nwrote it immediately, and then read it over:\n\n\u201cTo Clement.\n\n  \u201cL\u2019amico mio e non della Ventura.\u201d[58]\n\n\u201cThat is right,\u201d said Clement. \u201cThank you.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is a sad line: I should have chosen a different one.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is appropriate to the present occasion. Now add your name.\u201d\n\nShe was about to write it when he stopped her.\n\n\u201cYour real name,\u201d said he. \u201cWrite your other name, to-night--the\nname that suits you so well--Fleurange!\u201d\n\nFleurange smiled, and shook her head. \u201cOh! no,\u201d she said. \u201cI gave\nit up with regret, but I should not have thought of such a thing\nhad I previously known you all. But I have been so happy since I\nhave borne the name of Gabrielle--and you were the first to call\nme so, Clement--so happy that I no longer love the name associated\nwith the sadness of the past, and, were I to hear any one call me\nFleurange now, I should imagine it an ill omen.\u201d\n\nClement made no reply, but, when she returned the book, he retained\nher hand a moment: \u201cGabrielle, one word more--perhaps my last\nbefore your departure. Listen to me. Wherever you may be, if you\never need a friend--a friend, do you understand?--that would value\nno sacrifice for your sake, do not forget that your brother is\nready to aid you, not only willingly, but with a pleasure you have\nno idea of.\u201d\n\nClement\u2019s voice was grave and solemn, but at the same time\nagitated and tremulous, as he uttered these words. They were so in\nconformity with what Fleurange had reason to expect from him that\nthey touched her, but excited no surprise.\n\n\u201cYes, Clement,\u201d she replied frankly, casting an affectionate glance\ntoward him; \u201cI promise to have recourse to you. I feel I have no\nbetter friend in the world than you, and doubt if I ever shall\nhave.\u201d\n\nWere these words sweet or bitter? He hardly knew. The sadness that\noverwhelmed him it seemed impossible to increase, and equally\nimpossible to alleviate. And yet!--she was still there--beside\nhim--with an air of serenity and hope. There was not a single\nsentiment of her heart he did not share. She called him her friend,\nand there was no other she preferred to him. The moment, so full of\nanguish, was yet a happy one, and he regretted at a later day not\nhaving known how to profit more by it.\n\nThis was their last conversation in the Old Mansion. Clement\npreserved the little volume in which she had written the name of\nGabrielle as a memento of this interview, and also a sprig of the\nhoneysuckle that touched her forehead.\n\nThe remainder of the evening passed swiftly away. Soon after light\nthe next morning came the farewell hour. The Dornthals left their\nbeloved home without the hope of ever entering it again, and\nFleurange once more left those she loved, to enter upon a new life\nthat looked a thousand times gloomier and more uncertain than that\nwhich was before her when she left Paris. And Clement bade them\nall farewell, to endure as he could isolation, a laborious and\nuncongenial life, the privation of the affection and pleasures of\nhis boyhood, and especially all the pain and love a young heart can\nendure.\n\n\nPART SECOND.\n\nTHE TRIAL.\n\n      \u201cEra gi\u00e0 l\u2019ora che volge il disio\n    Ai naviganti e intenerisce il core,\n    Lo di\u2019 c\u2019han detto a\u2019 dolci amici addio!\u201d--DANTE.\n\n\nIt was a beautiful night--brilliant, serene, and starry--a night\nthe uprising moon would soon render as light as day. A fresh\nbreeze from the land swelled the sails of a vessel just leaving\nGenoa, which, far from impeding its course, only gave it a bolder\nand more rapid flight over the waves. There were various groups\nof passengers on deck, some conversing in subdued tones quite\nin harmony with the mysterious hour of twilight, and others\naloud as if it were mid-day. One was playing on a guitar, as an\naccompaniment to a somewhat remarkable voice, one of those airs\neverybody knows, sings, or hums as long as they are in the fashion.\nThe music, in itself indifferent, did not seem so on the water and\nat such an hour. It harmonized with the feelings of those who were\nsailing over that azure sea, beneath that starry sky, and in sight\nof those charming shores which the boat scarcely lost sight of\nduring its short sail from Genoa to Leghorn.\n\nApart from all these groups, and belonging to none of them, we\nagain find Fleurange, who was sitting entirely alone. She had\nbeen here some minutes, attracting general attention from the\nfirst by the gracefulness of her form, which the cloak in which\nshe was wrapped could not wholly conceal. The hood, half-covering\nher head, only added a picturesqueness to the striking beauty\nof her regular features. More than one of her fellow-travellers\nwould gladly have drawn near the place where she was sitting, but,\nthough she was alone and did not appear to be under any one\u2019s\nprotection, there was, in the simple dignity of her attitude, in\nher evident indifference to the sensation she produced, in her very\nwant of timidity, which was not boldness, but resolution, and in\nher whole appearance, a something undefinable which intimidated\nthe most lively admiration, and would have disconcerted insolence\nitself--a remark _en passant_ to those who regard familiarity as\nonly a proof of the attraction they inspire. Therefore, in spite\nof some whispering, notwithstanding more than one look toward the\ncharming face distinctly visible in the full light of the moon,\nnow risen, Fleurange remained quietly in her corner, abandoned to\nher own meditations, undisturbed by any one, and without troubling\nherself in the least about those who surrounded her. Her thoughts\nwere various and complex. A strange fate seemed to pursue her and\nconstantly break the thread of her life, and every time it was\nbroken she found the severance more painful. It was but recently\nshe wept so bitterly at leaving Paris, and Dr. Leblanc, and the\ndear Mademoiselle Josephine. But the tears were much more bitter\nshe shed at leaving the Old Mansion, and the loved circle where she\nhad first known and tasted in all their fulness the sweet joys of\nfamily life.\n\nAfter leaving Frankfort, Fleurange\u2019s firmness, which had never\nfaltered before, suddenly gave way to such a degree as to make\nDr. Leblanc resolve to take her back to her friends if, after his\nshort stay at Munich, he did not find her more resigned to her\nlot. But Fleurange was not a person to be easily subdued. Her\nnatural strength of character soon asserted itself, and enabled\nher to persevere in the path she had chosen. Her resolution was\nstrengthened by the very circumstances which would have discouraged\nmany others. At their arrival at Munich, they found the Princess\nCatharine confined to her bed by a violent attack of her malady,\nand it was as nurse that Fleurange entered upon her duties. Her\ncomplaint, all the physicians declared, was not dangerous, but it\nwas not the less painful, nor the easier to be relieved. That Dr.\nLeblanc was again successful in his treatment was partly owing to\nthe sudden and lively fancy of his patient for the young companion\nhe had brought her. To tell the truth, the doctor, knowing the\nprincess, had foreseen this attraction, but he knew Fleurange was\nfully able to justify and sustain this first impression, and he\nsincerely hoped by bringing them together he had done something no\nless useful and beneficial for his wealthy patient than for his\nyoung _prot\u00e9g\u00e9e_.\n\nHowever this might be, nothing could have been better adapted\nto dispel the burden of grief that weighed on Fleurange\u2019s heart\nthan the immediate necessity of forgetting herself in active and\nassiduous care for another. It was rather a sad beginning to pass\na succession of days and nights at the bedside of a sick stranger,\nbut in the actual state of her mind it was the best thing she\ncould have done. She possessed all the qualities that constitute\nan efficient nurse, and, to a degree that excited Dr. Leblanc\u2019s\nsurprise, firmness and promptitude, ease and gentleness in all her\nmovements, vigor and skill, and seasonable attentions--nothing was\nwanting, and the result was--the never-failing effect of her beauty\nand grace, added to the sentiments of lively gratitude sick people\ngenerally feel for those who know how to relieve them. The princess\ndid not cease thanking the doctor, and the latter, quite pleased\nwith the result of his inspiration, left Fleurange not only without\nanxiety, but with the most favorable hopes as to her position.\n\nThough scarcely able to travel, the Princess Catharine insisted on\nleaving Munich, and by easy stages she succeeded in reaching Genoa.\nNow she was on her way to Leghorn, and thence would go to Florence\nwithout delay, as she was eager to arrive at the palace which was\nher real home, having long been obliged by her health to absent\nherself from Russia, or at least to live there only during the\nbrief portion of the year known as the pleasant season.\n\nFor the first time, almost, since she left her friends, Fleurange\nwas now absolutely alone, and at liberty to indulge freely in her\nown reflections. She began by recalling the cherished memory of her\ndistant friends, from whom she was every moment drifting away with\nfrightful rapidity. It was the hour sung by the poet:\n\n              \u201cThe hour that wakens fond desire\n    In men at sea, and melts their thoughtful heart,\n    Who in the morn have bid sweet friends farewell\u201d;\n\nand Fleurange\u2019s thoughts for a long time dwelt upon the recent\nevents of her life, so rapid in their current as now to be\nnumbered among the things for ever vanished--upon the happy family\nnow scattered; the days--so few--in which she was permitted to\nbe a member of it and finally, her present isolation, for,\nnotwithstanding the kindness of the princess, she felt extremely\nisolated. By a singular exchange of _r\u00f4les_, it was she--the\nunprotected orphan, who now seemed to have become the support of\nher protectress; and the lady of rank--the rich princess, the poor\nwoman spoiled by fortune--who seemed to seek aid and consolation\nfrom her. Fleurange\u2019s kind heart found unexpected relief in these\ncares, the very success of which was ample reward. She felt her\naffection increase for the object of these attentions in proportion\nas she lavished them, but it was rather a feeling one has for a\nchild or an inferior, than one it would have seemed natural to have\nfor a person on whom she was dependent, and to whom she actually\nowed respect and obedience. She therefore felt solitary, and\nthis loneliness was depressing. And yet in spite of herself--in\nspite of her melancholy (though this may seem contradictory)--an\nirresistible sensation of joy quickened the pulsations of her heart.\n\nWho has not experienced this joy that has once seen the beautiful\nsky of Italy, and left it, and then beheld it again? Who has not\ngreeted with transport the charming and sublime features of its\nglorious scenery as it appears anew on the horizon, as if beholding\nonce more the face of a beloved friend? And who, after being long\ndeprived of hearing the sweet accents of its musical language,\nhas not heard them again with emotion? All these impressions must\nhave been more deeply experienced in Fleurange\u2019s case than in many\nothers. And as the wind went down, and the moon ascended the clear\nsky, reflecting a train of light that grew brighter and brighter on\nthe sea, like a pathway of diamonds leading to an enchanted abode,\nFleurange, with her eyes fixed on the dazzling waters, felt for a\nmoment transported with joy! All the sadness of the past as well as\nof the present vanished: she only realized the infinite pleasure\nof living, of being young, of being here under this sky, on this\nsea, near that coast whose odors were perceptible; and when she\nremembered that that coast was Italy, that she would be there in a\nfew hours, a throng of poetic dreams and confused presentiments of\nhappiness added their vague hopes to the secret joy with which she\nfelt, as it were, intoxicated.\n\nDreams--half-understood dreams of youth--which are seldom realized,\nand which at a later day, according as the soul triumphs over or\nyields to the dangers of life, are transformed into divine and\npowerful aspirations, or into deceptive and fatal realities!\n\nAt this same hour, what was Clement dreaming of, seated at his\ngarret window, and likewise gazing at the starry sky? Ah! if he\ncould have followed her whose image filled his soul, he would now\nhave been beside Fleurange as she was thus wafted away from him,\nlulled by her confused dreams. His reverie, too, was sad, but there\nwas nothing vague or indefinite about it, and the manly tenderness\nof his look expressed firmness and resolution rather than softness.\nThe future was clearly defined in his mind. Yes, though he was\nonly twenty years old, he felt capable of cherishing a fond memory\nin his heart without ever being unfaithful to it. Yes, she should\nremain there, as in a sanctuary, and, after God, he would offer\nher the labors, the studies, the poetry, and the purity of his\nlife! Every talent he had received should be cultivated, and bring\nforth all that was required on the part of the Giver. This motive\nshould quicken his mental faculties, and refresh him after the\nexertions of the day; stimulate him to arduous labor--sacred in his\neyes--which he would pursue with energy and constancy, for it was\nthe source of his parents\u2019 comfort and support, and the reliance of\ntheir old age. And if at length!--Perhaps some day!--But when the\nsudden revival of a forbidden hope gave him all at once a thrill,\nhe repressed it. His judgment, his reason, a painful and invincible\npresentiment, had for a long time assured him this hope was vain.\n\u201c_Garder l\u2019amour en brisant l\u2019espoir_\u201d was his aim and _devise_--a\ntask painful, difficult, and perhaps even impossible. But at this\ntime such was his fancy and such his dream!\n\n                        TO BE CONTINUED.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[58] \u201cA friend, not of my fortune, but myself.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTENNYSON: ARTIST AND MORALIST.[59]\n\n\nNo English voice in the world of letters wakes the pulses of our\nage to the thrill of joy which greeted _Childe Harold_ and _Rob\nRoy_. Those monarchs of the popular heart left no successors; or if\ntheir mantle hung for a moment on the shoulders of another, it is\nnow buried in the grave of Dickens. We have yet several novelists.\nWe have many poets. But none has obtained universal appreciation;\nto none has been awarded with general consent the palm of paramount\nrenown. Yet it will not be questioned that few living writers\ncommand a larger following, are remembered with more affection, and\nheard with greater eagerness than the author of \u201cIn Memoriam.\u201d\n\nThere are few studies more delightful than the growth of a poet\u2019s\nmind. In the case of Tennyson we witness the whole process of\ndevelopment. We have seen him in his timid beginnings and in his\nbrilliant prime. More than forty years have passed since a slender\nvolume of poems introduced a young graduate of Cambridge to the\nEnglish-reading world. The modest offering fell upon a time which\nhad garnered larger and riper fruit. There were giants in those\ndays. Byron indeed was dead, but his fame, although it had passed\nits zenith, still shone the brightest in the firmament. Shelley had\npreceded him, but the reputation of that sweet singer and genuine\nartist was growing, and has not ceased to grow. The lovers of\nCampbell had not surrendered their faith that the _Pleasures of\nHope_ and the story of _Gertrude of Wyoming_ were but a prelude to\nloftier strains. From the grave of _Adona\u00efs_ men\u2019s eyes had turned\nwith regret and wonder to the bold outline of _Hyperion_ and the\nrich shadows of _St. Agnes\u2019 Eve_. Coleridge was a wreck, but the\nfinger of his _Ancient Mariner_ pointed many a thoughtful gaze\ntoward the untravelled country which fringes the visible world.\nThe master-hand that had swept the chords of Scottish minstrelsy\nhad not yet lost all its original vigor. And Wordsworth\u2019s voice\ngave loud and clear the signal of poetic reform, and all who were\nready to desert the out-worn moulds of classic thought and classic\nimagery had begun to close around his banner.\n\nInto that circle of splendid names no youthful aspirant could\nwin admittance without a challenge. More fortunate, however,\nthan Keats, Tennyson secured through university friendships some\nindulgence from the reviews. A few were eager to crown him. It is\nnow acknowledged that their unwinnowed praise discovered less of\nthe judge than of the partisan. The conservative temper of Wilson\nwas provoked by the cordial welcome accorded the new-comer in\ncertain quarters to assume an attitude of repression that was, to\nsay the least, ungenerous. A measured severity might have been\namply justified. This first venture was indeed superior to those\n_Hours of Idleness_ which had drawn the sneer of the _Edinburgh\nReview_. But he would have been a bold prophet who in 1830 from\n\u201cClaribel\u201d and the \u201cMermaid\u201d would have foretold the \u201cIdylls of the\nKing.\u201d\n\nTennyson ripened slowly. His next volume was published two\nyears later. It was enriched with the \u201cLady of Shalott,\u201d the\n\u201cLotus-Eaters,\u201d and the \u201cPalace of Art,\u201d but many of the poems\nwere disfigured by his earlier mannerisms, and some discovered an\naffected mysticism and a hankering after novel expression that was\nnot indicative of health or strength. The poet, too, had betrayed a\nsensitiveness to criticism that augured ill for the discipline of\nhis powers. It was still an open question whether the great gifts\nwhich he unquestionably possessed would be burnished by patient\nlabor, or after some idle brandishings rust in satisfied repose.\nNor would he have been the first for whom victory too early and\nlightly won has twined the poppy with her laurel. A silence of ten\nyears followed, and it seemed probable that another name must be\nadded to those of Campbell and Coleridge on the roll of splendid\ndisappointments.\n\nBut during this long interval he had not been idle. He had thought\nand he had suffered. He had learned much and discarded much. On\na sudden, his treasury was opened, and the fruits of energy and\ndiscipline fell in glistening showers at the feet of a public which\nhad almost forgotten him. The \u201cMorte d\u2019Arthur,\u201d \u201cDora,\u201d \u201cLove and\nDuty,\u201d \u201cUlysses,\u201d \u201cLocksley Hall,\u201d appealed in divers tones to a\ncharmed and astonished audience. By one sweep, and with no feeble\nhand, he had planted his standard in many and widely different\nfields. The bright forecast of his college friends was justified.\nHe had sprung at a bound into the front rank of living poets.\n\nWe pass over the \u201cPrincess,\u201d which added little to his reputation,\nand reach 1850, a cardinal point in his career. In that year it\nis just to say that \u201cLycidas\u201d and \u201cAdona\u00efs\u201d were eclipsed by \u201cIn\nMemoriam.\u201d This remarkable work, at once the noblest monody and\nmost impressive of heart histories, interpreted the author\u2019s\nlife and consolidated his fame. \u201cMaud\u201d came next, and, morbid,\nincoherent, structureless as it is, would have severely tried a\ncredit less firmly rooted. \u201cMaud\u201d indeed seems to owe its origin\nrather to the blind impulse of crude intemperate youth, or the\npromptings of some delirious fever, than the deliberate, healthful\nmovement of the poet\u2019s higher faculties. It marks the single break\nin the progress of his mind.\n\nNot a few of Tennyson\u2019s admirers had always affirmed the \u201cMorte\nd\u2019Arthur\u201d to be the strongest of his works. That fragment was\npublished in 1842, but it was not until 1859 that four kindred\npoems were drawn from that Arthurian romance which had early\nhaunted his fancy and has chiefly employed the energies of his\nriper years. The \u201cIdylls of the King\u201d have had several successors,\nand the \u201cLast Tournament\u201d completes the cycle.\n\nAn effort has lately been made in certain quarters to depreciate\nTennyson. We do not object to comparisons if they are fruitful in\nsuggestion, and are instituted in a candid spirit. But perhaps\nanalysis affords the surer test. We ourselves hold Tennyson to\nbe the first of living English poets, and incline to rank him\nabove Byron and beside Wordsworth. In the course of an attempt\nto indicate his place in literature, we shall quote wherever\nquotations may sustain or illustrate our ideas. We shall draw\nmainly from those works which exhibit a writer at his best. The\nheight of mountain ranges is gauged by their loftiest peaks,\nand the merit of a public benefactor by his virtues, not his\nshortcomings. A poet is a public benefactor. Not his failures, but\nhis masterpiece, should supply the materials of an honest judgment.\n\n\nI.\n\n_Vision_, in the old Roman conception, was the distinguishing\nfaculty of the poet. And indeed _vates_, not _poeta_, marks the\nfundamental condition of his art. The _seer_ precedes the _maker_.\nIt is not indispensable that he should see more than other men, but\nhe will see more clearly. His perceptions are acute and nimble;\nhis sensations are intense. The retina and ear-drum deliver with\npeculiar speed and precision their messages to his brain. His\nglance tracks the eagle in his circles, and numbers the hues of\nthe western sky. He catches the whisper of fainting winds, and\nspells the cadence of the rippling stream. To him all outlines are\nsharp and crisp, every tint is vivid, every tone is clear. Senses\nexquisitely organized are the first essential of the poet.\n\nSensations are fraught with countless degrees of pleasure, with\ninfinite shades of pain. Those objects whose ideas awaken a\nfeeling of delight we call beautiful. To register the beautiful\nis an instinct of the poet. With a nice reference to the pleasure\nimparted, he discriminates forms, divides the chromatic scale,\ngraduates the gamut of sound. In a word, his \u00e6sthetic judgment is\nwakeful and unerring. But the keenest joys of the mind are not\nbegotten by beauty pure and simple. There is a fuller and sweeter\nsatisfaction than that derived from kaleidoscope combinations of\ncolor, arabesques without significance, and _fantasias_ without\ntext or theme. Wherever _design_ emerges, the notion of _fitness_\nis born. The Greek found it in the human body. We can trace it in\nthe flower and the star. When we contemplate those things of which\ndesign may be predicated, there is blended with the feeling of\npleasure a perception of inward adaptation. The idea of perfection\nis married to the idea of beauty. The ideal is their offspring.\nUpon it the \u00e6sthetic judgment unaided dares not pronounce. The\ncomplex faculty, whose province is the ideal, is _taste_. It is the\nsecond requisite of the poet.\n\nMost persons of culture and refinement have taste in some degree.\nThey are no strangers to the pure delight evoked by a smiling\nlandscape. In the human form they enjoy the beauty of outline and\nproportion, and recognize the nice adjustment of structure to a\ncentral aim. But their joys are transient. The flower fades; sunset\nyields to moonlight; autumn touches with her pencil the canvas of\nthe spring; one graceful attitude melts into another; emotions\ncourse across the countenance like winds over standing wheat.\nThe poet comes. His mission is to chain the fleeting, to fix the\nevanescent, to reproduce the past. He brings you a rose with the\nbloom on it; calls up the buried friend; stays the sinking sun on\nthe edge of his western bed. His life is a long revolt against\nthe law of change. Nor is he confined to imitation. His sphere\ntranscends realities. He may play with nature, if he will not\nviolate her. His memory is not a store-house only, but a crucible\nas well, where the phenomena of sense lie fused in a glowing\ngolden mass. Through his brain float airy shapes surpassing and\nyet suggesting the grace of earthly forms; ideals strange and\nfantastic, yet bound by subtle ties of relationship to types of\nthe actual world. His fancy is ever in labor. Incessant gestation,\nincessant parturition, engage her energies. Reproduction, creation,\nis a law of the poet\u2019s being. It is this which vindicates his right\nto the noble name of _maker_.\n\nKeen senses, a just taste, creative force, compose the common dowry\nof artists. But art is threefold--plastic, pictorial, poetic.\nTo each species belongs a peculiar medium in which memories are\nembalmed and fancies embodied. The media are solids, colors, words.\nIn language lie certain powers and certain limitations. The poet\ndivines them. He produces a speaking picture, but he remembers that\nmuch of a picture cannot be spoken. He demonstrates that much also\nmay be told that cannot be painted. On his canvas vivacity and\nintensity do duty for light and shade. Elaboration, suggestion,\nsilence, are the elements of his perspective. He borrows from\nsculpture the significance of _isolation_, and the incisive\nlesson of the _group_. Images, metaphors, similes, are the poet\u2019s\ngraving-tools. He learns their latent capacities and their inherent\nflaws. He secures subtle effects by climax, antithesis, evolution.\nHe plays the chemist with ideas, and presents them in every stage\nof development, now vaporous, now congealed. He weighs words,\ndetects their finer applications, and fathoms the deeper meanings\nwhich are coiled about their roots. And, finally, he masters the\nmechanism of speech, the organic structure of sentences, the joints\nand vertebr\u00e6 of his native tongue. One step remains, to seize the\nprinciples of metre, the secrets of rhythm and c\u00e6sura, the march\nand music of verse. His panoply is finished. He is a poet.\n\nLet us apply some of these tests to Tennyson. And, first, his power\nof simple imitation. At first sight this seems no lofty triumph of\nthe poet\u2019s art. And yet how much it implies! To translate substance\ninto the unsubstantial. To portray the visible and tangible in that\nwhich has neither color nor dimension. Above all, to transfuse\nthrough the spirit of man the spirit of nature. It behooves him\nwho would compass this to purge the heart of emotion, abjure\nself-consciousness, and forget, like the Pythian priestess, his\nown identity. He is not to steep his landscape in sentiment of his\nown, nor ascribe to it a fictitious sympathy with human moods and\npassions. The outward beauty he contemplates must traverse his\nmental atmosphere, untinctured, unrefracted, like white light. We\nmust catch in his work the soul of the scene, a spirit rising from\nit like an exhalation, not drenching it with alien dews. We find a\nhappy instance of right treatment in this cool upland valley from\n\u201c\u0152none\u201d:\n\n    \u201cThere lies a vale in Ida lovelier\n    Than all the valleys of Ionian hills;\n    The swimming vapor slopes athwart the glen,\n    Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine,\n    And loiters slowly drawn. On either hand\n    The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down\n    Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars\n    The long brook falling thro\u2019 the cloven ravine\n    In cataract after cataract to the sea.\n    Behind the valley topmost Gargarus\n    Stands up and takes the morning; but in front\n    The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal\n    Troas and Ilion\u2019s columned citadel.\u201d\n\nBeside this place the rank luxuriance of a tropic island where\n\u201cEnoch Arden,\u201d shipwrecked, waited for a sail:\n\n    \u201cThe mountain wooded to the peak, the lawns,\n    And winding glades high up like ways to heaven,\n    The slender coco\u2019s drooping crown of plumes,\n    The lightning flash of insect and of bird,\n    The lustre of the long convolvuluses,\n    That coiled around the stately stems and ran\n    Even to the limits of the land, the glows\n    And glories of the broad belt of the world--\n    All these he saw.\u201d\n\nOf pure imitative art Scott and Wordsworth are the great modern\nmasters. Yet we shall all acknowledge that the passages quoted\nexhibit a rare excellence. It would be hard to match in Theocritus\nthe breezy freshness of the \u201cBrook.\u201d As we listen, we lose\nourselves, and seem to penetrate the joyous heart of nature. We\ntoo are in Arcadia. It is the morning of the world, and the infant\ngod of some slender streamlet hums his na\u00efve song to Pan, who lies\nalong the sward:\n\n    \u201cI wind about, and in, and out,\n    With many a blossom sailing;\n    And here and there a lusty trout,\n    And here and there a grayling.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance\n    Among my skimming swallows,\n    I make the netted sunbeams dance\n    Against my sandy shallows.\u201d\n\nWe have dwelt at length on the sincerity with which Tennyson\ninterprets nature. It is the stamp of the true poet. The\ndilettante, however cunning, cannot counterfeit it. He cannot keep\nhimself out of the picture, but invests it with his own sentiment,\nand tricks it out in the whims and caprices of the hour. It is\notherwise with Wordsworth. That high-priest of nature enters her\npresence reverently, with humble and candid heart. He puts off the\nvanities and weaknesses of man on the verge of her holy ground.\nFrom his lips her lessons fall with a simple earnestness, like\noracles from the mouth of a child. Her truths he incarnates, but\ndoes not presume to clothe.\n\nWhile it is false art to attribute to nature a conscious sympathy\nwith man, it is true that she at times discovers an unconscious\nharmony with his moods. Our emotions are deepened by the accord.\nThe happy are the happier for sunshine. The sad are saddest in\nthe night and the rain. To aim at this mystic unison, to strike\none note from feeling and from circumstance, is legitimate and\ndelightful. Let us contrast an example of such treatment with the\nless truthful method to which we have referred. We ought always to\nstudy a theory in some felicitous expression of it, and therefore\nwe take these graceful lines from Dr. Holmes. The stars and flowers\ntouched by the woes of fallen man have conspired to watch and warn\nhim. The flowers cannot bear the sight of human misery.\n\n    \u201cAlas! each hour of daylight tells\n      A tale of shame so crushing,\n    That some turn white as sea-bleached shells,\n      And some are always blushing.\n\n    \u201cBut when the patient stars look down\n      On all their light discovers,\n    The traitor\u2019s smile, the murderer\u2019s frown,\n      The lips of lying lovers,\n\n    \u201cThey try to shut their saddening eyes,\n      And in the vain endeavor\n    We see them twinkling in the skies,\n      And so they wink for ever.\u201d\n\nAt the first glance this moves, and pleases; because the emotion\nof the moment veils the extravagant hyperbole. The writer is an\nartist, and makes us see, as it were, through tears. But the\nlines do not grow upon us like the truly beautiful. As we read\nthem a second time, there comes over us a feeling of annoyance,\nalmost of pain, that the flowers should be misinterpreted, the\nstars misconstrued. We tremble before nature\u2019s shocks and storms,\nand cannot afford to darken her brightest bloom or trouble her\nsweet serenity. Look now at this figure of \u201cMariana,\u201d weeping,\nforsaken, \u201cin the moated grange!\u201d There is no pathetic prelude, no\npreliminary appeal to human sympathies. A neglected garden and a\nlonely house. A reach of level waste, colorless, silent, cold. The\ndesolation is contagious, and just as the heart is sinking into a\nstate of depression and despair, the moan of the stricken girl\nfalls quivering on the ear.\n\n    \u201cWith blackest moss the flower-plots\n      Were thickly crusted, one and all;\n    The rusted nails fell from the knots\n      That held the peach to the garden wall.\n    The broken sheds looked sad and strange:\n      Unlifted was the clinking latch:\n      Weeded and worn the ancient thatch\n    Upon the lonely moated grange.\n        She only said, \u2018My life is dreary!\n          He cometh not!\u2019 she said;\n        She said, \u2018I am aweary, aweary,\n          I would that I were dead!\u2019\u201d\n\nWe are very far from saying that Tennyson is everywhere free from\nthe pathetic fallacy. But his sins of the kind occur chiefly in\nsome vein of sportive apologue, like the \u201cTalking Oak,\u201d or in\nthe mouth of Maud\u2019s morbid lover, half distraught by temper and\nwholly crazed by crime. And, indeed, if any could be pardoned for\nbeholding in all things one image, it would be, no doubt, the\nlover. In the old myth, love guided the hand of art; but Pygmalion\nwas a sculptor, not a landscape painter.\n\nThe portrayal of the human form is one of the painter\u2019s triumphs,\nas it is the sole province of plastic art. Poetry, for the most\npart, evades a description of personal beauty, and is content with\na suggestion. Yet there are two or three etchings in the \u201cPalace of\nArt\u201d which seem to us not unworthy of a place in that gallery of\nPhilostratus which a poet\u2019s hand repeopled:\n\n    \u201cOr sweet Europa\u2019s mantle blew unclasped,\n      From off her shoulder backward borne;\n    From one hand drooped a crocus, one hand grasped\n      The mild bull\u2019s golden horn.\n\n    \u201cOr else flush\u2019d Ganymede, his rosy thigh\n      Half buried in the eagle\u2019s down,\n    Sole as a flying star shot through the sky\n      Above the pillared town.\u201d\n\nThese are mere outlines. But Tennyson has drawn one figure with\nalmost pictorial finish and force. It is Aphrodite revealing\nherself to Paris on Mount Ida:\n\n    \u201cIdalian Aphrodite, beautiful,\n    Fresh as the foam, new bath\u2019d in Paphian wells,\n    With rosy, slender fingers, backward drew\n    From her warm brows and bosom her deep hair\n    Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat\n    And shoulder: from the violets her light foot\n    Shone rosy white, and o\u2019er her rounded form,\n    Between the shadows of the vine-bunches,\n    Floated the glowing sunlight as she moved.\u201d\n\nThis is genuine _painting_. There is form and color in it, and,\nwithal, the _spirit_ of beauty bathing the whole, untainted by the\nfaintest suggestion of wanton love.\n\nIn the temple of outward nature poetry is only the acolyte of\npainting. But one shrine is more exclusively her own. She is\nmistress of the heart. Over that ocean no other wing sustains\ncontinuous flight. There are waves of impulse which canvas cannot\nreflect, and currents of emotion untraced by the limner\u2019s skill.\nThere are dainty joys and fears that mock his grasp, and gust of\npassion that confound his cunning. Pictorial art must read the soul\nin the face, and the face is at best a clouded mirror. From the\npoet we hide nothing. The growth of character, the drift of habit,\nthe pressure of inherited tendencies, springs of motive, stings of\nappetite--he discerns and deciphers all. But he must not speak in\nriddles: he is bound to make his meaning clear. He owes a duty to\nthe humblest. They look to him to lend thought a form, shadow a\nsubstance; to explain the strange by the familiar, and flood the\nwhole with the mellow flight of fancy. The poet is, in a certain\nsense, what Sidney would make him, the right popular philosopher.\nOn the success of Tennyson in this field there is some difference\nof opinion. The fervor of his sympathies within a certain range\nand the delicacy of his intuitions are unquestioned. His style\nis allowed to be rich in color, and often fraught with incisive\nforce. Let us glance at some passages which depict the finer\nshades of feeling, or are conspicuous for felicitous expression. We\nwill then look at the charges, so often brought against Tennyson,\nof obscurity and a want of dramatic power.\n\nIt is a fact of common experience that quite opposite emotions,\nwrought to intensity, reach a state of fusion. They move, as it\nwere, in converging lines, and their vanishing point is pain; or\nrather, they have what physicists would call a common dew-point.\nThus we hear of the luxury of sorrow and of love\u2019s sweet smart.\nColeridge has touched this psychic truth with extreme tenderness in\n\u201cGenevieve.\u201d He shows us the young girl rapt in a troubled wonder\nbefore the strange feeling that storms her gentle breast. Her heart\nflutters like a snared bird:\n\n    \u201cHer bosom heaved, she stept aside;\n      As conscious of my look she stept:\n    Then suddenly, with timorous eye,\n      She fled to me and wept.\u201d\n\nSo in one of Tennyson\u2019s \u201cIdylls,\u201d the eyes of the happy Enid are\nsuffused with tears. It is hardly possible to read the lines\nwithout loving human nature:\n\n                        \u201cHe turned his face,\n    And kissed her climbing; and she cast her arms\n    About him, and at once they rode away.\n    And never yet, since high in Paradise,\n    O\u2019er the four rivers the first roses blew,\n    Came purer pleasure unto mortal kind\n    Than lived through her who in that perilous hour\n    Put hand to hand beneath her husband\u2019s heart\n    And felt him hers again. She did not weep,\n    But o\u2019er her meek eyes came a happy mist,\n    Like that which kept the heart of Eden green.\u201d\n\nMost persons have known those transient attachments which are born\nof \u201caccident, blind contact, and the strong necessity of loving.\u201d\nIn the \u201cGardener\u2019s Daughter\u201d some one alludes in this playful\nfashion to the dethroned darling of his salad days:\n\n                                \u201cOh! she\n    To me myself, for some three careless moons,\n    The summer pilot of an empty heart\n    Unto the shores of nothing. Know you not\n    Such touches are but embassies of love,\n    To tamper with the feelings ere he found\n    Empire for life?\u201d\n\nFew who have read the new \u201cMaid\u2019s Tragedy\u201d have forgotten \u201cElaine.\u201d\nThere is no sweeter face in story. We trace a master\u2019s hand in the\npassage where a passionate sympathy holds her from her sleep, and\nthe deep lines of Lancelot\u2019s countenance are mirrored in her white\nsoul:\n\n    \u201cAs when a painter, poring on a face,\n    Divinely through all hindrance finds the man\n    Behind it, and so paints it that his face,\n    The shape and color of a mind and life,\n    Lives for his children ever at its best\n    And fullest: so his face before her lived.\u201d\n\nLancelot is always gracious to her, and grateful for her tender\ncare, but he is moody and absent, and instinct tells her that his\nlove can never be hers. She bears home a heavy heart:\n\n    \u201cShe murmured, \u2018Vain! in vain! it cannot be;\n    He will not love me! how, then, must I die?\u2019\n    Then, as a little, helpless, innocent bird,\n    That has but one plain passage of few notes,\n    Will sing the simple passage o\u2019er and o\u2019er\n    For all an April morning, till the ear\n    Wearies to hear it; so the simple maid\n    Went half the night repeating, \u2018Must I die?\u2019\u201d\n\nOne more. A song of Tristram\u2019s, rife with the graceful gayety that\nmasks and half-redeems a faithless heart. It might have been made\nby Ronsard, and sung by Bussy d\u2019Amboise. The husband of \u201cIsolt of\nBrittany\u201d and the lover of \u201cIsolt of Britain\u201d gives the _rationale_\nof broken vows:\n\n    \u201cAy, ay, O ay, the winds that bend the brier!\n    A star in heaven, a star within the mere.\n    Ay, ay, O ay, a star was my desire;\n    And one was far apart, and one was near!\n    Ay, ay, O ay, the winds that bow the grass!\n    And one was water, and one star was fire.\n    And one will ever shine, and one will pass;\n    Ay, ay, O ay, the winds that move the mere!\u201d\n\nThe admirers of Byron and the poets of the Georgian era find\nTennyson obscure. By obscurity they ought to mean a darkness born\nof confusion, the cloud of fallacy, the vagueness of incoherence.\nCrude thoughts, unfledged fancies, halting metaphors, are obscure.\nPoetasters are commonly dark, and it would be easy to show that\nByron himself in his best work, the fourth canto of _Childe\nHarold_, is sometimes guilty of obscurity. And it must be admitted\nthat some poems of Tennyson\u2019s youth, and likewise \u201cMaud,\u201d are open\nto this objection. But if, as we believe, the charge is pointed at\n\u201cIn Memoriam,\u201d \u201cLove and Duty,\u201d or the \u201cPalace of Art,\u201d then we\ndeny its force. It may be that they who find enigmas in _Paradise\nLost_ and \u201cIn Memoriam\u201d mistake the source of their difficulties.\nWe incline to depreciate what we fail to comprehend. We forget\nthat deep waters are not necessarily turbid; that novelty is not\nobscurity. As we climb a mountain, we gain new views of the valley\nbeneath, yet the novel landscape may be no less vivid than the old.\nThere is, indeed, a dulness of the ear that detects no clue to the\nmyriad threads of harmony. There is a myoptic disease which sees\nnothing but indistinctness beyond its narrow horizon. In such cases\nthe fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves, that\nwe are mystified.\n\nWe have said that the poet owes a duty to the humblest. That duty\nis fulfilled when he has conjured his fancies into visible shapes,\nand given truth a concrete form. He is not called upon to find eyes\nfor the blind, or learning for the ignorant. It is enough if at his\nbanquet there is food for all stomachs. The poet owes a duty not to\nthe humble only.\n\nThere are, for example, two methods by which poetry may illuminate\nhistory. It may invest personal character with the truth and vigor\nof life, and portray detached scenes in correct and brilliant\ncolors. Or it may reveal to the imagination by exact and felicitous\nmetaphor the sequence of events, the march of knowledge, the drift\nof opinion, and the \u201clong result of time.\u201d Thus Lucan poetized\na narrative, Lucretius thinks in imagery. We recall no better\nillustration of the former treatment than the fine stanza from\n_Childe Harold_:\n\n    \u201cWhen Athens\u2019 armies fell at Syracuse,\n    And fettered thousands bore the yoke of war,\n    Redemption rose up in the Attic muse,\n    Her voice their only ransom from afar.\n    See as they chant the tragic hymn, the car\n    Of the o\u2019ermastered victor stops; the reins\n    Fall from his hands; his idle scymitar\n    Starts from its belt; he rends his captive\u2019s chains,\n    And bids him thank the bard for freedom and his strains.\u201d\n\nThe anecdote is a noble one, and has gained nobility in the\ntelling. But anecdotes after all are not the marrow of history.\nSomething may be learned from Montesquieu as well as from\nMarmontel. Two lines from \u201cLocksley Hall\u201d exhibit the other method\nof interpreting history. The lines aim at nothing less than at once\nto condense and illumine the most pregnant epoch of modern times,\nthe eighteenth century. This looks certainly like a preposterous\nabuse of that definition assigned to the drama, \u201can abstract and\nbrief chronicle of the time.\u201d Let us recall for a moment the period\nof Louis Quinze. The feudal system has fallen. The flowers are\nwithered, the chains remain. The nobles have become courtiers,\nmunicipal privilege has perished, the peasant is a slave. Dishonor\non the throne, bankruptcy in the treasury, the poor starving,\nthe rich corrupt. Oppression tightening his grasp, and knowledge\nlearning to realize the woe and to divine the remedy. On one side,\ndespair that has begun to think of vengeance; on the other, blind\narrogance that does not dream of retribution. And now, is not the\nwhole story told with almost terrible simplicity in the compass of\nthese lines?\n\n    \u201cSlowly comes a hungry people, as a lion creeping nigher\n    Glares at one that nods and blinks behind a slowly-dying fire.\u201d\n\nIt may be said that Byron was well-read in history; but he held\nthat only romantic characters and striking facts were fit subjects\nof poetic treatment. That is not our opinion. We believe Byron gave\nthe best he had. Moreover, it is not true that poetry may borrow\nnothing from history but personal traits and isolated events.\nThat narrow view of the poet\u2019s province was corrected for English\nliterature by the _Paradise Regained_. Poetry is no mendicant,\nto be put off with the stale scraps and shallow gossip of the\nservants\u2019 hall. Her seat is at the high table, beside the masters\nof the house.\n\nTennyson, we are told, has no dramatic power. It is true that he\nhas written no drama. Does it follow that he is wanting in dramatic\npower?\n\nDerivation often tells us more of words than of men. A drama is\nsomething done, not told or sung; neither narrative nor ode, but\nsomething _done_. First, then, we must have _doers_; or, if you\nplease, actors. Our actors must prove themselves alive, they\nmust be impelled to move. The impelling force is _incident_. But\ndetached scenes illustrative of character do not make a drama,\nincident is not _plot_. The action which develops character must\nat the same time tend toward a certain end, the catastrophe of the\npiece. A drama, then, in the strictest sense is this: a development\nof character in situations which excite to action in a particular\ndirection.\n\nWhere the evolution of plot is subordinate to the portrayal\nof character, the drama is loose and inorganic, like many of\nShakespeare\u2019s plays. Where the elaboration of personal traits is\nmerged in the accomplishment of the event, the drama leans toward\nthe epic, like a tragedy of \u00c6schylus. Perfect equimarch in the\ndevelopment of character and plot stamps the ideal drama. Dramatic\npower in this sense is one of the rarest of human gifts, and\nperhaps has been exerted nowhere but in the plays of Sophocles.\nThe phrase has, in English criticism, a much narrower meaning, and\npoints simply to the exhibition of character by action.\n\nWe acknowledge that those poems of Tennyson which preceded the\n\u201cIdylls of the King\u201d gave little evidence of dramatic talent. Like\nthe works of Byron, they are for the most part lyrical, reflective.\nIn them the \u201cbeings of the mind\u201d are rather analyzed than animated.\nThe poet interprets them. They do not speak for themselves. Even\ndramatic insight, which is another thing than dramatic power,\nseems at times to be wanting. Thus his \u201cUlysses\u201d is a modern\nsoul grappling with the framework of Homeric times. \u201cMargaret,\u201d\n\u201cMadeleine,\u201d \u201cIsabel,\u201d are lovely dreams, not lovely women. In the\n\u201cPrincess,\u201d if anywhere, we should look for the development of\ncharacter. But as the persons of the tale pass across the stage, we\nincline to suspect with the prince that they are but shadows, \u201cand\nall the mind is clouded with a doubt.\u201d Indeed, little Lillia, whose\nburst of pretty petulance suggests the theme, is by far the most\nlifelike figure.\n\nBut the judgment passed upon living poets is at best provisional,\nand subject to reversal on appeal. The writer of pastorals will\nperhaps produce an _\u00c6neid_ in his riper years; \u201cL\u2019Allegro\u201d and\n\u201cLycidas\u201d may be succeeded by an epic. In the cluster of poems\nwhich embodies the Arthurian legends, there is much discrimination\nof character. The courtly flippancy of \u201cGawain\u201d is distinguished\nfrom Tristram\u2019s joyous levity. \u201cEtarre\u201d is vicious, \u201cVivien\u201d is\nbase. \u201cEnid\u201d is not a gentler being than \u201cElaine,\u201d yet her meekness\nis finely contrasted with the latter\u2019s emotional nature. In\n\u201cLancelot\u201d we have a noble spirit in the toils of a great crime.\nIn \u201cArthur,\u201d the perfect equipose of _character_, illumined by a\nsublime resolve.\n\nNor are the foremost persons of the poems mere portraits. They\nare actors as well. They approach for the most part unheralded.\nTheir temper and motives are self-betrayed, or hinted with a wise\nreserve. Their personal traits are evoked by incident or emphasized\nin dialogue. Here certainly is dramatic power of a certain kind.\nNot the highest which creates a drama--is it high enough for an\nepic? We incline to doubt. At least, it has produced none. We\ncannot allow that the \u201cIdylls\u201d which are grouped around the figure\nof the king constitute an epic poem.\n\nThe epic--we speak of the _\u00c6neid_--is distinguished from the drama\nby this, that the development of character is subordinate to the\nevolution of plot, the actors are merged in the action. And as\nthe drama may lean toward the epic, so the epic may lean toward\nhistory. That the poet unites in his own person the functions of\nscene-painter, machinist, and _chor\u0113gus_, is only a difference of\nform.\n\nNow, it is not so much grasp of character as _nexus_ of plot that\nwe miss in the \u201cIdylls.\u201d Scott\u2019s _Rokeby_ is an epic, yet Bertram\nRisingham is not more lifelike than \u201cLancelot.\u201d But in _Rokeby_\nthe story grows; one event generates another, the catastrophe\nis inevitable. Episodes are admitted in the epic, but they must\nbe natural growths, or at least successful grafts. For example,\n\u201cElaine\u201d and \u201cGuinevere\u201d stand in true organic relation, but \u201cEnid\u201d\nand \u201cVivien\u201d have nothing in common with the rest of the cycle but\ntheir social atmosphere and casual reference to familiar names. In\nthe poet\u2019s mind, no doubt, the old Arthurian romances have been\nfused into a kind of unity. They present to him a coherent picture;\ndiscover a central thought. It is the soul at war with flesh,\naspiration foiled by appetite, the eagle stung by the serpent. But\nhe has conveyed the idea by short and random strokes. We catch only\nglimpses of it, and are not permitted to watch the progressive\ndevelopment. In the \u201cIdylls of the King\u201d there is the matter of an\nepic, but not the form. We should prefer to place them in a class\napart, which might include the _Faerie Queen_.\n\nOn the range, finish, and accuracy of Tennyson\u2019s diction, we\nneed not dwell. But no view of a poet\u2019s artistic powers would be\ncomplete without a glance at his command of melody and rhythm.\nFor sweetness and clearness of tone, the choral hymn in the\n\u201cLotus-Eaters,\u201d and the \u201cBugle\u201d and \u201cCradle\u201d songs which beguile\n_entr\u2019actes_ in the \u201cPrincess\u201d are excelled by few English lyrics.\nIn grasp of rhythm Tennyson yields to no recent poet, except\nShelley. There is a striking instance of rhythmic effect in the\n\u201cPalace of Sin.\u201d A strain of music floats in upon the ear, deepens,\nswells, and at length bursts forth in an orchestral symphony.\n\nMost of Tennyson\u2019s later poems have been written in unrhymed\npentameter, and his management of the verse suggests a comparison\nwith his master. In dignity of movement, Milton has never been\nequalled by any English poet. It seems that no line but his could\nexpress the lost archangel, or embody that vision of imperial Rome\nwhere sonorous names load as with cloth of gold the march of the\nstately iambics. Yet nothing could stoop more awkwardly to the\nquiet talk and joys of the married pair in Eden. While Tennyson\u2019s\nblank verse falls short of his model in majesty and serried force,\nwe must allow it to be more flexible. We cannot imagine the little\nnovice using the Miltonic line. Her gentle thoughts would have been\ndrowned in the mighty current, whereas Tennyson\u2019s tripping vocables\ndeliver with easy grace her artless prattle.\n\nWe can only allude to those experiments in metre which amuse the\nleisure of an artist, although one of them deserves attention. It\nis an ode to Milton:\n\n    \u201cO mighty-mouthed inventor of harmonies,\n    O skilled to sing of time and eternity,\n    God-gifted organ-voice of England,\n    Milton, a name to resound for ages!\u201d\n\nLet the reader compare these lines with some familiar model\nof Alcaics like \u201cVides ut alt\u00e2,\u201d and then ask himself whether\n_quantity_ has hitherto had fair play in English verse.\n\n\nII.\n\nWhat has art to do with morals? With what propriety shall a poet\nplay the moralist? His purpose is distinct, his method is radically\ndifferent, is his object ever identical? We know that it is not\nalways so. In the face of outward nature the truthful artist is\nforbidden to read humanity. Hardly is Wordsworth suffered to\ndiscover here divinity. The Greek sculptor sought beauty, not\ngoodness, in the daughters of men, and the lines that grew beneath\nhis fingers breathe the harmony of grace, not the harmony of\ncharacter. Does the application of these rigorous principles bound\nthe sphere of genuine art? Do the good and the beautiful nowhere\ncohere and interfuse? They may--in the _ideal_. For what is beauty\nin things which disclose design but the reflex of perfection?\nAnd what is goodness but the perfection of the heart? In the\nscheme of ethics, vice is ugliness, error a discord, and weakness\ndisproportion, character means equipoise, and virtue expresses\nharmony. But how shall art or ethics discern a moral symmetry, and\ncrown a spiritual perfection, without a right conception of man\u2019s\nnature, of his place and purpose, his relation to the universe\nand to God? So far as he portrays the heart, the poet must be a\nmoralist. Within this domain the truest art will utter the purest\nmorals.\n\nIt is a blessed law by which he who aims to please is constrained\nto edify. For reason is a disinherited prince, and the estate is\ntoo often squandered before he comes to his own. Pride rears the\nhead against precept. The imagination flutters and beats her bars,\nuntil experience has clipped her wings. The ideal republic could\nill afford to dispense with poets, for there is no lesson like the\nmodest lesson of a lovely life. To our gaze perhaps the influence\nseems wholly lost, and yet may be only latent. This is sure, that\nvirtue has still a foothold in the heart that keeps an altar to\nthe beautiful. We know how many seeds of goodness, what germs of\naspiration, are flung broadcast by the poet\u2019s hand. Who will say\nthat his random sowings may not stir in a genial hour, strike root\nin the depths of motive, and blossom in act and life? No thoughtful\nmind has failed to recognize the insight of Sidney\u2019s words in his\n_Defence of Poesy_: \u201cFor even those hard-hearted evil men who\nthink virtue a school name, and know no other good but _indulgere\ngenio_, yet will be content to be delighted, which is all the\ngood-fellow poet seems to promise, and so steal to see the form\nof goodness, which, seen, they cannot but love ere themselves be\naware, as if they had taken a medicine of cherries.\u201d\n\nThe ethical standard is sensitive to the influence of climate and\nof race. The Italian and the German recognize the same virtues, but\nwrite them in different scales referred to a national key-note.\nThe growth of knowledge and the expansion of sympathy determine a\ndeeper change. From the age of Pericles to the age of Napoleon,\nthe ideal of character has undergone alterations which have\npenetrated the essence and affected the type. Of certain virtues\nwhich fired the heart of an Athenian, we have kept nothing but the\nnames, and we have canonized others of which he had no conception.\nThe attitude of the individual man toward nature and society is\nconstantly shifting under the pressure of ideas. The wave of\ninquiry which rose in civic revolution has swept in widening\ncircles over the whole surface of opinion, and now dashes on the\nprimal verities which declare the origin and destiny of man. The\nmind is active, but the heart of the age is perplexed and sad. She\nponders painfully the riddle of the painful earth. She is lost in\nthe great forest, the new paths are uncertain, the old to her seem\novergrown. She is troubled with a vague unrest, beset with dark\nmisgivings, by results she loathes to accept, doubts which she\nlongs to silence, and hopes she dare not forego. Her mood is too\ngrave and earnest for blithe and heedless carol. She cannot pause\nto hear the idle singer of an empty day. The music which holds\nher ear must be attuned to serious sympathy, must echo her own\nself-questionings, and breathe her aspirations. She puts aside from\nher lip the cup of distilled water, and turns to the mineral spring\nthat savors of the rugged earth.\n\nDe Musset is not more essentially a child of the age than Tennyson.\nBoth inherited in rare perfection the exquisite sensibility and\nhigh tension of the nervous system which are developed by modern\nlife. In both the violence of emotion is succeeded by prolonged\ndepression. Their joy is often rapture, and their sorrow anguish,\nbut the prevailing tone is a dreamy languor that betrays fatigue.\nTheir intellects were plunged in the same bath of learning, and\ntempered in the furnace of the time. They unite in regretting the\ntrustful past, and complain that they were born too late into a\nsick and decrepit world. They pace together the shore of life,\nand gaze with wistful eyes over the expanse of ocean. But here\nthe parallel ends. Their roads diverge in youth. Each obeys a\ndifferent impulse, and learns a different lesson. The one hears\na growing harmony in the voices of science, and perceives an\nincreasing purpose in the movement of mankind. The other bows the\nhead in stupor before the howling storm. Tennyson has a kindly\nglance and a cheery word for his fellow-men, they are his brothers,\nhis co-workers, ever reaping something new. De Musset loads the\nheart with a sense of utter misery, and paralyzes the will by the\ninfusion of his self-contempt. He is half-indignant that his spirit\nshould be still haunted by a sublime aspiration, and confesses\nalmost with a groan:\n\n  \u201c_Une immense esp\u00e9rance a travers\u00e9 la terre._\u201d[60]\n\nIt is in another mood that Tennyson hails the promise which he sees\nin the aspiration of the soul:\n\n    \u201cWhat is it thou knowest, sweet voice? I cried,\n    A hidden hope, the voice replied.\u201d\n\nThere are few words more painful to read than the prayer in\n\u201cL\u2019Espoir en Dieu.\u201d The passionate queries are wrung from a\nbreaking heart. We offer a rude but passably close translation of\ntwo stanzas. The poet demands:\n\n    \u201cWherefore in a work divine\n    So much of discord tarrieth?\n    To what good end disease and sin?\n    O God of justice! wherefore death?\n\n    \u201cWherefore suffer our unworth\n    To dream, and to divine, a God?\n    Doubt hath laid desolate the earth,\n    Our view is too narrow or too broad.\u201d\n\nCompare the rooted faith and serene calm of the poem to \u201cIn\nMemoriam:\u201d\n\n    \u201cThine are these orbs of light and shade,\n    Thou madest life in man and brute,\n    Thou madest death, and, lo, thy foot\n    Is on the skull that thou hast made.\n\n    \u201cThou wilt not leave him in the dust,\n    Thou madest man, he knows not why,\n    He thinks he was not made to die,\n    And thou hast made him, thou art just.\u201d\n\nMuch, no doubt, of the peculiar spirit that pervades the work of\neither poet may be traced to the social atmosphere in which he\nmoved. Much also is only to be explained by the history of his\nlife. Behind the \u201cIn Memoriam,\u201d an unselfish and ennobling sorrow\nweeps and prays above a cherished grave. \u201cIn Rolla,\u201d remorse sobs\nbitterly amid the ruins of a wasted life. The song has betrayed the\nsinger. The one is the laureate of hope: the other, a prophet of\ndespair. Tennyson is a night-worn pilgrim whose kindling eye has\ncaught the glimmer of a lovely dawn; De Musset, a tired swimmer\nwhose drowning cry leaps toward us from the gates of death. The\npoetry of De Musset is a convex lens which draws to a fiery focus\nthe doubts and longings of the time; Tennyson\u2019s, a stained\nrose-window, that subdues the flaring sunlight to a mild and tender\nradiance.\n\nWhile man\u2019s moral nature is developed and determined by his\nattitude toward society and his Maker, it is also profoundly\naffected by his attitude toward women. The relative position of\nwoman has been rather raised than lowered by the movement of\nmodern thought. Much has been deciphered by speculation, and much\ndissected by science, but the deep significance of the female\ncharacter remains intact. In the fine atmosphere which nourished\nthe musings of Richter, two earthly forms move freely, the maiden\nand the wife. In the long process of comparative anatomy, the\nbeautiful first reveals itself in the sweet instinct that binds a\nmother to her offspring. Then first does the fire of Prometheus\nfairly catch the clay. The noblest instinct and the noblest\naspiration have one element in common--the abnegation of self.\nPerhaps the one is but a reflex of the other. It is certain that\nthe highest art has done the fullest justice to women. Let us\nmeasure Byron and Tennyson by this standard. To Byron, woman was\nan exquisite instrument which responds in perfect tune to the\nmaster-touch of passion. To Tennyson, she is an embodied spirit,\nwho inspires and tempers man while she seems to obey his impulse.\nIt is a shallow criticism which would excuse Byron\u2019s low conception\nby an unfortunate experience. If personal experience be narrow,\nwhy not look beyond it? If the feet stumble in the mire, the eyes\nmay still be lifted. The fact is, an irresistible instinct compels\na genuine artist to discern and to preach the truth. His life may\nprove a rebel, but his work will pay tribute to C\u00e6sar.\n\nThe author of \u201cGodiva,\u201d of \u201cEnid\u201d and \u201cElaine\u201d is eminently the\npoet of woman. It is especially worthy of remark that he should\nhave maintained a distinct and lofty ideal throughout the Arthurian\ncycle. In the medi\u00e6val myths, the lineaments of the female\ncharacter were sometimes clouded by the admixture of masculine\ntraits. Through the Carlovingian romance that lives in Ariosto\u2019s\nverse, there roves an unsexed and warlike virgin, whom the poet\nmeans us to admire; at whom we smile in secret. Tennyson has read\nwoman\u2019s nature with an insight too fine and delicate to place her\nin so false an attitude. There is no Bradamant in the \u201cIdylls of\nthe King.\u201d\n\nThe unswerving justice of true genius finds consummate expression\nin the treatment of \u201cGuinevere.\u201d The wrong-doing of imperial beauty\nwas a dangerous theme, and we may guess how it would have been\nhandled by the author of \u201cParasina.\u201d In the original legend the\nqueen commanded sympathy, but she is now positively degraded by her\npreference for a meaner soul. It is Arthur\u2019s doom, and no merit of\nhers, that he loves her still. There is little likelihood that a\nmodern Francesca will borrow impulse or pretext from her story. It\nis amusing to find the lovers of Haidee and Gulnare scandalized by\n\u201cVivien.\u201d If ever a vile nature was scorched and shrivelled by the\nflame of an honest wrath, that poem affords the spectacle. In wily\nVivien, vice is neither condoned nor glozed, but simply stripped\nand gibbeted. The pure air which breathes throughout the \u201cIdylls\u201d\nis condensed in the lines of \u201cGuinevere,\u201d which declare the great\npurpose of the king. We may say with assurance that no other\nEnglish poet, except Wordsworth, would have written them.\n\nTennyson has spoken words of comfort to many English hearts, and\ninspired with a noble purpose many English lives. His spirit has\ncrossed the seas. To him and Wordsworth the youth of America owe\nmuch that they will not speedily forget. Other benefactors may\nreceive some form of recompense, but how shall we repay a poet?\nIt is not praise, but thanks we would offer Alfred Tennyson. Rare\nartist, and high teacher, sweet voice, pure heart, there are many\nwho admire, and not a few who love him.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[59] _The Last Tournament._ Boston, 1871. J. R. Osgood & Co. _The\nPoetical Works of Alfred Tennyson, Poet-Laureate._ We have already\nprinted in this magazine a review of Tennyson\u2019s poems which aimed\nto indicate the Catholic aspects of his mind. The following article\ncovers different ground.\n\n[60] \u201cA vast hope has passed over the earth.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE CHURCH UNDERSTANDS AND UPHOLDS THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN.\n\nSECOND ARTICLE.\n\nAGES OF THE FATHERS OF THE CHURCH.\n\n\nWhen the Christian religion had triumphed over idolatry, the\nprinciple of evil took refuge in heresy, and vigorously began a\nnew attack upon the church. As women had once sealed their faith\nwith their blood, so now they came eagerly forward to preach it\nby their learning. The centuries which produced the fathers of\nthe church produced women also, to whom these great lights of the\ntrue faith were mainly indebted for their early education. The\nsame circumstances also created women who, on the throne and in\nthe council-chamber, governed turbulent nations and guided fierce\npassions, according to the rules of justice, honesty, and religion.\n\nThe mother of St. Gregory Nazianzen, Doctor of the Church, was\nNonna, and is honored as a saint. Butler, in his _Lives of the\nSaints_, says: \u201cShe drew down the blessing of heaven upon her\nfamily by most bountiful and continual alms-deeds; ... yet, to\nsatisfy the obligation of justice which she owed to her children,\nshe, by her prudent economy, improved at the same time their\npatrimony.\u201d\n\nHere, therefore, in the fourth century, we find a woman commended\nfor her practical knowledge of business and her skill in managing\nproperty. Ventura relates that, as soon as her son Gregory came\ninto the world, she placed the Scriptures in his infant hands,\nand ever after inculcated in her teaching the greatest love and\nreverence for sacred learning. Nonna\u2019s other children were both\ncanonized, one of them, Gorgonia, having led the most exemplary\nlife in the holy state of matrimony. (_La Donna Cattolica_, vol.\ni. pp. 431, 432.) St. Basil, who counted among his ancestry\nmany martyrs of both sexes, was the son of St. Emelia, and the\ngreat-nephew of St. Macrina the Elder, of whom he says himself that\nhe \u201ccounts it as one of the greatest benefits of Almighty God, and\nthe truest of honors, to have been brought up by such a woman.\u201d\nHis elder sister, also named Macrina, was greatly instrumental in\nconducting his education. When after his death his brother, St.\nGregory of Nyssa, went to visit their sister, and open his heart\nto her concerning their common sorrow, he found her dying, it is\ntrue, but so vigorous in mind that her discourse on the providence\nof God and the state of the soul after death was no less striking\nthan comforting. He could hardly believe, says Ventura, that it\nwas not a doctor of the church, a learned theologian, who was\nspeaking to him; and so much did he treasure his sister\u2019s words\nthat he compiled his admirable _Treatise of the Soul_ and _The\nResurrection_ chiefly from the matter furnished by her discourse.\nMacrina\u2019s funeral was an ovation, and the bishop of the diocese\nheld it an honor to be present thereat.\n\nOlympias, the widow of Nembridius, the treasurer of the Emperor\nTheodosius the Great, flourished about the end of the fourth\ncentury, and was the friend and helper of St. John Chrysostom. His\nletters to her are part of his published works, and Nectarius,\nhis predecessor in the Patriarchal chair of Constantinople,\noften consulted her on matters of ecclesiastical importance.\nWhen Chrysostom was persecuted and banished, she did not escape\nvexatious notice from heathen and heretical rulers; but through\nall, her fortitude would have done credit to the bravest man. The\ngreat patriarch charged her to continue, during his absence, \u201cto\nserve the church with the same care and zeal\u201d (Ventura, _Donna\nCattolica_, p. 443), and elsewhere in his works says emphatically\nthat \u201cwomen, as well as men, can take part in any struggle for the\ncause of God and of the church.\u201d (_Epistle 124, to the Italians._)\nIn a letter to her, he says that her presence was _required_ at\nConstantinople to encourage the persecuted brethren, and in another\nhe bids her exert all her resources to _save_ the Bishop Maruthas\nfrom the abyss (he having given signs of yielding to heresy).\nFurther on, in the same letter, he gives her instructions, almost\namounting to a diplomatic and official mission, with regard to\nthe request of the King of the Goths for a bishop and missionary\nin place of Aubinus the Apostle, who had just died, after\nconverting many thousand of these barbarians. When St. Chrysostom\nsent a messenger to the Pope St. Innocent, at the beginning\nof the persecutions at Constantinople, he gave him letters of\nrecommendation to none but a few Roman ladies--Proba, Juliana, and\nDemetrias.\n\nThe influence of Monica, the mother of St. Augustine, upon her\nwayward son, is so well known that it is almost superfluous\nto dwell on it; and St. Jerome, eminently a learned saint, was\nscarcely less connected with holy and well-taught women. He himself\ntells us that it was especially his friend and spiritual daughter\nPaula who engaged him in the study of the Old and New Testaments,\nand who induced him to translate the former from the original\nHebrew. Rohrbacher, in his _Ecclesiastical History_, corroborates\nthis statement; and Capefigue, in his _Four First Ages of the\nChurch_, says that \u201cthe pure society of women had imparted to\nJerome a heartfelt exaltation, a deep enthusiasm for all purity\nand nobility in themselves.\u201d We learn from Butler (_Lives of the\nSaints_) that Marcella, one of the many matrons under St. Jerome\u2019s\ninstruction in Rome, made great progress in the critical learning\nof the Holy Scriptures, and learned in a short time many things\nwhich had cost him abundance of labor (vol. ix.). Other women, of\nwhom we shall speak hereafter, were collected under his guidance;\nalmost all are now canonized saints, and were celebrated even in\ntheir own day for their skill and erudition. The great Paula was\nthe most illustrious among them, and he tells us of her as also of\nfive or six others that they were as well acquainted with Hebrew\nas with Latin and Greek. To the daughter-in-law of St. Paula,\nJerome wrote a letter full of minute and seemingly trivial details,\nconcerning the education of her little daughter, who afterwards\nbecame St. Paula the Younger. It is of such quaint interest, and\nso calculated to give a high idea of the importance attached by\nthe great doctor of the church to the minuti\u00e6 of a little girl\u2019s\ndaily life, that we cannot resist the temptation of quoting a few\nextracts from it:\n\n\u201cLet her be brought up as Samuel was in the temple, and the Baptist\nin the desert, in utter ignorance of vanity and vice; ... let her\nnever hear bad words nor learn profane songs; ... let her have an\nalphabet of little letters made of box or ivory, the names of all\nwhich she must know, that she may play with them, and that learning\nmay be made a diversion. When a little older, let her form each\nletter in wax with her finger, guided by another\u2019s hand; then\nlet her be invited, by prizes and presents suited to her age, to\njoin syllables together.... Let her have companions to learn with\nher, that she may be spurred on by emulation.... She is not to be\nscolded or browbeaten if slower, but to be encouraged that she\nmay rejoice to surpass, and be sorry to see herself outstripped\nand behind others, not envying their progress, but rejoicing at\nit while she reproaches herself with her own backwardness. Great\ncare is to be taken that she conceive no aversion to studies, lest\ntheir bitterness remain in after-years. A master must be found for\nher, a man both of virtue and learning: nor will a great scholar\nthink it beneath him to teach her the first elements of letters....\nThat is not to be contemned without which nothing great can be\nacquired. The very sounds of letters and the first rudiments are\nvery different in a learned and in an unskilful mouth. Care must\nbe taken that she be not accustomed by fond nurses to pronounce\nhalf-words, as it would prejudice her speech. Great care is\nnecessary that she never learn what she will have afterwards to\nunlearn. The eloquence of the Gracchi derived its perfection from\nthe _mother\u2019s_ elegance (of speech). No paint must ever touch her\nface or hair.\u201d He is no less sensible and moderate in physical\ninstructions than strict in things of the spiritual order. He\nsays: \u201cShe should eat so as always to be hungry, and to be able to\nread or sing psalms immediately after meals. The immoderate long\nfasts of many displease me. I have learned by experience that the\nass, much fatigued on the road, seeks rest at any cost. In a long\njourney, strength must be supported, lest, by running the first\nstage too fast, we should fall in the middle. In Lent, full scope\nis to be given to severe fasting.\u201d He advises the young girl, when\nold enough, to read the works of St. Cyprian, the epistles of St.\nAthanasius, and the writings of St. Hilary. These are grave and\nabstruse studies, requiring much time and application, and as fully\nup to the standard of a modern _male_ education as any woman could\ndesire. St. Jerome himself was living at Bethlehem when he wrote\nthis letter, and while recommending her mother to send little\nPaula to St. Paula the Elder for her later education, he himself\npromises to instruct her, adding that \u201che should be more honored\nby teaching the spouse of Christ than the philosopher [Aristotle]\nwas in being preceptor to the Macedonian King.\u201d It was the elder\nPaula who built St. Jerome the monastery of Bethlehem, in which\nhe spent a great part of his life. She governed a monastery of\nwomen not far from it. St. Jerome, in his panegyric of her life,\naddressed to her daughter Eustochium, expresses himself in the\nfollowing unequivocal language: \u201cWere all the members of my body\nto be changed into tongues, and each fibre to utter articulate and\nhuman sounds, even then I could not worthily celebrate the virtues\nof the holy and venerable Paula.\u201d As soon as her husband\u2019s death\nleft her the free use of a magnificent fortune, she liberated all\nthe numerous retinue of slaves that formed not only her household\nbut her possessions. Hundreds of Christian masters and mistresses\ndid the same, and treated their freed retainers as brethren and\nsisters in the faith, long before the philanthropy of modern times\nhad begun to envelop in a halo of unusual heroism the sacrifice of\nslave property. From a noble Roman matron, placed by her birth in\nan assured position of great prominence, she became a voluntary\nexile and wanderer for the sake of planting the faith more firmly\nin the East. St. Jerome describes, in words full of sympathetic\nadmiration, her pious visits to the Holy Places of Judea. She also\nmade a pilgrimage to the home of monasticism, the Theba\u00efd and the\nLybian desert. Humble as she was, fame followed and surrounded her.\nPilgrims to Jerusalem counted her as one of the most consoling and\nadmirable of the objects that claimed their devotion. Macarius,\nArsenius, Serapion, famous lights of the church and patriarchs of\nthe eremitical life, came from long distances and inaccessible\nsolitudes to confer with her. At Jerusalem, she founded places\nof shelter and entertainment for the many pilgrims who flocked\nthere; both at Rome and in the East, she was the mother and the\nidol of the poor, whose wants she relieved untiringly, and for\nwhose sake she was often not only penniless, but in debt. Her\nlast illness was like a royal levee, and bishops and patriarchs\nhastened to her bedside; her funeral, says Ventura, was almost a\ncanonization. Bishops carried her body to its tomb, and for seven\ndays sacred hymns and psalms echoed ceaselessly in the church\nof the Holy Grotto at Bethlehem, where the funeral service was\nperformed in Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. Capefigue calls her the\n\u201cmost remarkably erudite woman of her age,\u201d and her instincts\nof faith and learning alike made her intuitively aware of the\nartifices of the heretic Palladius, whose well-concealed Origenism\nshe unmasked and denounced in presence of St. Jerome, when the wolf\nwould have put on sheep\u2019s clothing and deceived her simple nuns.\nPaula\u2019s daughters--Blesilla, the learned and accomplished widow;\nEustochium, the celebrated virgin to whom many of St. Jerome\u2019s\nworks are addressed or dedicated; Paulina, the model wife to whose\ninfluence over her saintly husband the first hospitals in the West\nare due--and their sister-in-law, L\u00e6ta, the happy mother of the\nyounger St. Paula, are all canonized saints of the church, and each\nof them the just pride of their sex in the respective walks of\nlife to which they were destined. Fabiola, another of St. Jerome\u2019s\nscholars, was the foundress of the first hospital absolutely\nestablished in Rome.\n\nThe church has never been chary of tendering graceful homage to\nthe influence and ability of woman, and perhaps no more singular\nor flattering proof of this can be found than the pictorial honor\nwhich, Ventura assures us (_Donna Cattolica_, vol. i. p. 466), was\noffered by St. Gregory the Great to St. Sylvia, his mother. She was\nrepresented as sitting by his side, robed in white, and crowned\nwith the mitre worn by doctors of theology, while the left hand\nheld an open Psalter, and the right was raised with two fingers\nextended, in the attitude of benediction.\n\nSt. Ambrose, the Bishop of Milan, who was born and died in the\nfourth century, owed his early training of piety and solid\nlearning to his mother, who was left a widow during his infancy,\nand to his elder sister Marcellina, to whom later on Christendom\nbecame indebted for the three admirable books he wrote on _The\nState of Virginity_. Another of his famous works is a treatise\non _Widowhood_. In one of his books on _Virginity_ he meets the\ncommon though worn-out argument that virginity is a foe to the\npropagation of the human race. As this bears upon our general\nsubject, though it be not immediately akin to it, we will stop to\nquote it. \u201cSome complain,\u201d he says, \u201cthat mankind will shortly\nfail if so many are consecrated virgins. I desire to know who ever\nwanted a wife and could not find one? The killing of an adulterer,\nthe pursuing of waging war against a ravisher, are the consequences\nof marriage. The number of people is greatest where virginity is\nmost esteemed. Inquire how many virgins are consecrated every\nyear at Alexandria, all over the East, and in Africa, where there\nare more virgins than there are men in this country [Italy].\u201d And\nButler, in his _Life of St. Ambrose_, goes on to explain: \u201cMay not\nthe French and Austrian Netherlands, full of numerous monasteries,\nyet covered with populous cities, be at present esteemed a proof\nof this remark? The populousness of China, where great numbers\nof new-born infants are daily exposed to perish, is a terrible\nproof that the voluntary virginity of some is no prejudice to the\nhuman race. Wars and the sea, not the number of virgins, are the\ndestroyers of the human race, as St. Ambrose observes; though the\nstate of virginity is not to be rashly engaged in, and marriage\nis not only holy, but the general state of mankind in the world.\u201d\nNot only did St. Ambrose occupy his mind and pen with the concerns\nof holy and spotless women, but he did not think it beneath his\ndignity to write for those unhappy virgins who had fallen from\ntheir vows and thus been reft of their most precious heirloom. In\nthe third book of his work on _Virginity_, he pays the following\nhomage to Christian woman, such as she was in his age: \u201cI have\nbeen a priest but three years,\u201d he says, \u201cand my experience has\nnot been long enough to teach me what I have written. But what\nmy own experience could not teach, the sight of your conduct has\nsuggested. If, in this work, you find any flowers of thought, know\nthat I have gathered them from your own lives. I do not so much\ngive you precepts, as I draw examples from the behavior of living\nvirgins, and set them before the eyes of the world. My discourse\nhas only reproduced the image of your virtues. It is but the\nportrait of your own life, so grave and earnest, which you will\nsee here, beaming with light as reflected from a mirror. If you\nfind grace in these words, it is you who have inspired my mind with\nit. All that is good in this book belongs to you.\u201d (Third book on\n_Virgins_.) What more graceful tribute, more appreciative homage,\ncould man render to the opposite sex? Yet he who wrote this was a\ngreat and powerful bishop, a doctor of the church, a profoundly\nlearned man, whose influence was spread through kingdoms, and whose\nadvice was sought and followed by emperors. Here is yet another\nexample of the distinguished part played by woman in affairs of the\nhighest public importance. Capefigue, in his _Four First Ages of\nthe Church_, says that in the churches of Rome might be seen the\nmost noble matrons of the city, \u201cwho gave the first and greatest\nimpulse to all Christian sentiments.\u201d This was at the end of the\nfourth century, and the two Melanias were then foremost among the\nactive and energetic women mentioned. The elder Melania, whose\nfortune was immense, and who was married early by her father, the\nConsul Marcellinus, became a widow after a few years of married\nlife, and thereafter devoted herself to the church. She travelled\nto Egypt and Palestine in the interests of the persecuted Patriarch\nAthanasius, whom she protected and supported with all the moral\ninfluence and temporal means at her command. The zealous and open\nprotectress of more than five thousand Christians, the harborer\nof priests and bishops driven from their sees and parishes during\nthe Arian persecutions of the Emperor Valens, she was herself cast\ninto prison by the Governor of Jerusalem, to whom she spoke thus\nboldly and fearlessly: \u201cDo not think to despise me because I wear\npoor garments: I might wear the robes of a princess, did I choose\nto do so. Do not think to intimidate me by your threats, for I have\nsufficient influence to protect me against the slightest aggression\non your part. I tell you this, and give you this advice, that you\nmay not through ignorance commit any error that might lead you\ninto danger.\u201d The courageous woman was released, and continued her\nministrations of mercy. Her granddaughter, St. Melania, married\nyoung to a noble Roman, the descendant of the great Publicola, and\nthe son of the Prefect of Rome, was even a more prominent personage\nthan the elder Melania. After the birth and death of two children,\nshe and her husband renounced their high position, freed eight\nthousand slaves, and sold their immense possessions in several\nparts of the Roman Empire for the benefit of the poor. They then\nretired to a quiet country solitude in Campania, and with several\nassociates began leading \u201cthe perfect life\u201d which we have so often\nseen attempted in vain in this age by refined and earnest souls\nwithout the bosom of the church. Here, their chief occupation was\nthe study and the propagation of the Scriptures and other solid\nworks of learning and faith. The works of the fathers were foremost\namong the latter, and Ventura says with truth that we may well\nthank woman when we read these admirable treatises, for without her\nhelp, care, and zeal they would be considerably less in number than\nthey are. The love of the Scriptures and of Biblical lore seems\nthus to have been a distinctive mark of the sex in the early days\nof the church.\n\nMelania and her companions after a time left Italy, and settled in\nAfrica near Hippo, and there became the most active allies of St.\nAugustine. They also journeyed through Spain, Palestine, and Asia\nMinor, always in the interests of the faith, founding monasteries\nand schools, and assisting the poor and the persecuted. After her\nhusband\u2019s death, Melania, having been wrecked on the coast of\nSicily, and having found several thousand Christians in bondage to\nbarbarian idolaters, she redeemed and freed them all. At one time\nshe held a high post at court, and exerted herself successfully\nin favor of orthodoxy. When the Nestorian heresy was making great\nprogress in Asia and Africa, she uncompromisingly combated it by\nher influence and social talents, by the persuasion of her manner\nand the force of her arguments, as Ribadeneira testifies in the\nsketch he wrote of her life. Ventura asserts that she confounded\nPelagius himself, who by all manner of arts endeavored to win her\nto his side; and it is known that, when St. Augustine failed to\nconvert Volusian, the Prefect of Rome, and uncle to Melania, this\nheroic woman, according to Baronius, undertook to convince him, and\nsucceeded most triumphantly. Melania\u2019s funeral at Jerusalem was\nthe occasion of lavish homage to the power and influence of her\nsex; bishops and confessors were eager to show their respect and\nadmiration, and the Christian world proved once more that \u201cprecious\nin the sight of the Lord is the death of his saints.\u201d\n\nMarcella, one of St. Jerome\u2019s spiritual daughters, and whose\nfuneral eulogy he wrote, was, according to this great saint\u2019s own\nwords, \u201cthe greatest glory of the city of Rome.\u201d When Alaric and\nhis Goths invaded Rome, her house was broken into, and herself\ncruelly beaten and disfigured. All her reply was, \u201cMy gold I have\ngiven to the poor: you will find nothing in my possession but the\ntunic I wear.\u201d She collected many holy and learned women around\nher, and her house was the rallying point of all Christians. All\ngood works received their impetus from her, and she was often\nconsulted by bishops and priests on questions of Biblical learning,\nafter St. Jerome, who had taught her the Scriptures, had left\nRome. Although consecrated virgins of both sexes abounded in her\ntime, as yet no distinct community under a recognized rule had\nbeen formed in Rome. She undertook to establish the monastic life\nin the capital of the empire, and was the first to reduce to order\nthe elements of which such a community might be formed. With the\nadvice of St. Athanasius, and some fugitive priests of Alexandria,\nwho took refuge in Rome in 340, during the Arian persecution in the\nEast, Marcella gave up a country-seat of hers for a monastery, and\nadopted for the future religious the rule of St. Pachomius. The men\nfollowed her example, and assembled in concert to found communities\nof their own. Rome vied with the Theba\u00efd for sanctity and learning,\nand this was the work of a woman. When, in the seventh century,\nSt. Benedict, the reformer and patriarch of all religious orders\nin Europe, reduced monasticism in the West to the state in which\nwe know it in our own days, he was only, says Ventura (_Donna\nCattolica_, vol. i. p. 488), walking in the path which the heroic\nwomen of Christendom had hewn out before him in imitation of the\nhermits and anchorites of the East. But Marcella shines no less as\na pillar of orthodoxy than as the institutrix of Western monachism.\nWhen the Origenists, through the aid of the cunning Rufinus and\nthe intriguing Macarius, who disseminated skilfully veiled errors\nin Rome, began to attack the integrity of the Christian faith,\nMarcella left her solitude, and came to the capital to confront\nthe heresiarchs. The following details are all vouched for by\nSt. Jerome in the funeral eulogy addressed by him to her friend\nand scholar Principia: \u201cThe faith of the Roman people had been\nweakened on many points.... The new heresy had made many victims,\neven among priests and monks.... The Sovereign Pontiff himself,\nSiricius, who was as conspicuous for holy simplicity as for\nsanctity of life, and who judged of others by the candor of his own\nsoul, seemed for a moment to have become the dupe of the hypocrisy\nof these new pharisees. The orthodoxy of the bishops Vincent,\nEusebius, Paulinian, and Jerome had even been suspected, and, when\nthey cried out that the wolf was in the fold, no one vouchsafed\nto listen to them. In this grave emergency, in presence of much\ncoldness, indifference, and weakness on the part of _men_, God made\nuse of the far-sightedness, the zeal, the courage of a _woman_ to\nkeep the faith intact in Rome. Marcella, more eager to please God\nthan men, resisted the Origenist heresy publicly, vigorously, and\nefficaciously. She it was who by the very testimony of those who\nhad first been deceived by the new errors and then abjured them,\nconvinced every one of the real nature of the heretical doctrine.\nShe stimulated the zeal of the Sovereign Pastor by proving to\nhim how many souls had already gone astray.... She was the first\nto point out to him the disguised impieties of the garbled\ntranslations of Origen\u2019s book on _Principles_, which Rufinus had\ntranslated and altered, and was now selling everywhere. She often\nsummoned the heretics to come and justify themselves in Rome, but\nthey dared not answer, and preferred being condemned as absent\nand contumacious, rather than be publicly confounded by a woman.\nAt last, when a general condemnation was pronounced upon their\ndoctrines, it was chiefly the result of Marcella\u2019s vigilance.\u201d\nHere, therefore, is a woman exerting a guiding influence on the\ndestinies of the church by her learning, subtleness, and eloquence.\nIf the women of the early centuries achieved such successes with\nthe natural weapons of their sex and position, why do our sisters\nof the present day desire a reorganization of society, and a\nnew accession of hitherto unknown and unnatural weapons? Why\nindeed but because the order of society sanctioned and regulated\nby the church has been subverted by the Reformation; the holy\ncharter of woman abolished; and elegant and veiled Islamism, or\nin some instances a coarse and degrading barbarianism, inculcated\nand forcibly brought into action concerning woman, and the sex\ngradually forced out of its legitimate orbit, with its capabilities\ndwarfed, its intellect narrowed, its talents sneered at, and its\naffections repressed? The broad river of woman\u2019s influence, flowing\nso calmly and majestically through the centuries of the church\u2019s\nundisturbed unity, has been dammed up by the Protestant tradition\nof the last three hundred years, till it has broken forth again\nas a turbulent torrent, devastating where it once fertilized,\ndisturbing where once it conciliated. In its new form and its\nstrange aggressiveness, it now horrifies mankind, where in early\ndays, in its legitimate sphere, it guided the greatest statesmen,\norators, and saints, and gravely helped them on the road to heaven,\nto science, and to happiness. But we are digressing, for we have\nundertaken to speak of facts, not to declaim about theories. We\nhave much ground to travel over yet before we come to the end of\nthe list of glorious women who have made the church, so to speak,\ntheir panegyrist, and the world their debtor. We have once before\nmentioned the Roman ladies, Proba, Juliana, and Demetrias, to whom\nSt. Chrysostom recommended his envoys and their mission to Pope St.\nInnocent. Demetrias was the daughter of the Consul Olibrius and\nof St. Juliana; Proba was her grandmother on her father\u2019s side.\nThe two widows, having converted their husbands, consecrated their\nafter-lives to the education of Demetrias. St. Augustine was their\nfriend and counsellor, and wrote them letters that are among the\nmost prominent of his works. One to Proba is on the efficacy and\nthe nature of prayer; another to Juliana treats of the advantages\nand duties of widowhood. When Demetrias announced her intention\nof remaining a virgin, the holy joy of the family knew no bounds,\nand the day of her formally receiving the veil was a festival for\nall Rome. St. Jerome honored her with a discourse which has come\ndown to us in the shape of a _Letter to Demetrias_, followed by a\ntreatise on _Virginity_, and not only did he interrupt for this\npurpose the grave commentaries on the Scriptures in which he was\nengaged, but he also addressed to the parents of the virgin such\ncongratulations as rang throughout Italy, and made the holy and\nhappy trio the envy of every matron and maiden in the Christian\nworld. (Ventura, _Donna Cattolica_, vol. i. p. 520.) The heresiarch\nPelagius so little understood the importance of woman that he\ntook the trouble to address to Demetrias a letter so long that it\nalmost forms a book, which is still extant, and was intended to\ninstil into her mind his insidious errors. St. Augustine, however,\ncautioned her against Pelagius, and bid her keep staunch to \u201cthe\nfaith of Pope Innocent.\u201d\n\nThere was one sphere which more than any other was christianized\nand influenced for good by women, and indeed could not have been\notherwise sanctified--the sphere of the imperial court, both in\nRome and in Constantinople. We have already seen empresses and\nrelatives of the C\u00e6sars becoming Christians and often martyrs, but\nit remained for the women of the fourth and fifth centuries to make\nthe palace into a sanctuary and add the lustre of a heavenly crown\nto the majesty of an earthly sceptre. Constantine, under whose\nauspices Christianity first emerged from the Catacombs, was the\ngift of woman to the church. His mother Helena, his wife Fausta,\nand his mother-in-law Eutropia (the two latter being respectively\nthe wife and daughter of Maximian-Herculeus) were zealous and\ndevoted Christians, and to their influence are due the toleration\nand subsequently the favor with which the faith was treated by\nConstantine. Eusebius relates that Eutropia on her pilgrimage to\nthe Holy Places found idols and sacrificial rites still flourishing\nnear the famous oak of Mambre, where tradition places the scene\nof the visit of the three angels to Abraham. She wrote to her\nson-in-law in unconcealed indignation, and thus procured after a\ntime the destruction of the shameful altars. Later on we find the\nemperor building a church on the identical spot. The progress of\nthe Empress Helen through Palestine is as an ovation to the faith,\nand a record of churches built and monasteries founded in every\nHoly Place. She constantly besought her son\u2019s aid and munificence\nin these undertakings, and extended the protection of his name to\nall Christian establishments in the East. We owe to her piety and\nenergy the most solemn and the greatest of the memorials of the\nPassion, the Holy Cross on which our Lord suffered and died. It is\nlikewise to her, a woman, that we owe one of the most beautiful\nof Christian churches, that of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem,\nas well as one of the most interesting basilicas of Rome, _Santa\nCroce in Gerusalemme_, where a portion of the august relic of the\ncross was deposited. Her charities were numberless, her foundations\nmagnificent. She alleviated the condition of those who were\ncondemned to the mines, and freed many from chains and slavery.\nThe city of Drepanum in Bythinia, where St. Lucian the martyr had\ndied for his God, she so beautified and endowed in his honor that\nafter her death her son changed its name to Helenopolis. Even the\nfame of the local and municipal life of many cities can be traced\nto the influence and activity of woman, and further on we shall see\nhow some of her sex have laid colleges, schools, and universities\nunder eternal obligations. Constance, the daughter of Constantine,\nwas the first convert of the imperial family, and exercised no\nlittle influence over her father. She assembled numbers of holy\nvirgins, and consecrated herself with them in a state of virginity\nto the service of God and the poor. When Constantius, her brother,\nbecame emperor, and, favoring Arianism, called himself head of\nthe church, while he exiled Pope Liberius, hundreds of the Roman\nladies united in a deputation to protest against this illegal\nact. As long as the anti-Pope Felix remained in Rome, these same\nwomen utterly scorned his authority, and encouraged the people\nto refuse to hold communion with him. This firm attitude of the\nwomen of Rome had its reward, and Pope Liberius was at length\nrecalled when the emperor perceived that the forced schism was\nlikely to result in sedition against himself. Maximus, Emperor\nof the West, through the influence of his Christian wife, became\nthe friend and protector of St. Martin of Tours; and Theodosius,\nthe contemporary of St. Ambrose, was mainly guided in his wise\nand, upon the whole, salutary administration by his wife Placidia\nand his daughter Pulcheria. But his granddaughter, also named\nPulcheria, and justly honored as a saint, was pre-eminently the\nglory of the Eastern Empire and the honor of her sex as well as\nof her order. Her reign was the triumph of the church, the golden\nage of justice, the realization of a Christian Utopia. When the\ntranquillity of the age was disturbed, it was through the decline\nof her influence and the triumph over her of her many enemies.\nWhen her father Arcadius died and left his throne to his son\nTheodosius, she was chosen not as regent, but as _Augusta_, or\nco-ruler and empress, with her brother, and moreover was entrusted\nwith the care and responsibility of his education. The historian\nRohrbacher, ever eager to extol the sex says of her: \u201cIt was a\nmarvel, the equal of which has never been known either before\nor since, and which God wrought in those days for the glory of\nwoman, whom his grace sanctified and his wisdom inspired--that a\nmaiden of sixteen should govern successfully so vast an empire.\u201d\nPulcheria reduced the imperial household to a degree of order and\ndecorum more resembling a college than a court; her brother\u2019s\nmasters were all chosen and approved by her, and the utmost respect\nwas paid by her both to the laws and the prelates of the church.\nAlban Butler, in his _Lives of the Saints_, speaks of her and\nher reign in these terms: \u201cThe imperial council was, through\nher discernment, composed of the wisest, most virtuous, and most\nexperienced persons in the empire: yet, in deliberations, all of\nthem readily acknowledged the superiority of her judgment and\npenetration. Her resolutions were the result of the most mature\nconsideration, and she took care herself that all orders should be\nexecuted with incredible expedition, though always in the name of\nher brother, to whom she gave the honor and credit of all she did.\nShe was herself well skilled in Greek and Latin, in history and\nother useful branches of literature, and was, as every one must\nbe who is endowed with greatness of soul and a just idea of the\ndignity of the human mind, the declared patroness of the sciences\nand of both the useful and polite arts. Far from making religion\nsubservient to policy, all her views and projects were regulated\nby it, and by this the happiness of her government was complete.\nShe prevented by her prudence all revolts which ambition, jealousy,\nor envy might stir up to disturb the tranquillity of the church or\nstate; she cemented a firm peace with all neighboring powers, and\nabolished the wretched remains of idolatry in several parts. Never\ndid virtue reign in the oriental empire with greater lustre, never\nwas the state more happy or more flourishing, nor was its name\never more respected even among barbarians, than whilst the reins\nof the government were in the hands of Pulcheria.\u201d Ventura is not\nless explicit in praise of this great woman. After mentioning the\ndifferent studies embraced in the plan of education which Pulcheria\nhad traced for her brother, he says: \u201cIn these arrangements,\nboth the subject-matter which was to occupy the young prince\u2019s\nattention, and the time he was to spend in each occupation, were\nso judiciously and admirably managed that such a plan of education\nseemed rather the work of an experienced philosopher than that\nof a young girl of sixteen.... Theodosius possessed neither a\ngenerous soul nor exalted intellect; in fact, his was a nature\nscarcely above mediocrity. Pulcheria, however, by her enlightened\nefforts, succeeded in producing unexpected results from so\nthankless a field of labor.\u201d (_Donna Cattolica_, vol. ii. pp. 23,\n24.) Exiled and disgraced by the machinations of her frivolous\nsister-in-law, the Empress Eudocia, and the ambitious Chrysaphius,\none of the courtiers, she left Constantinople and retired into the\ncountry, no more downcast in adversity than she had been elated in\nprosperity. Eudocia and Chrysaphius, unable to draw St. Flavian,\nthe Patriarch of Constantinople, into their conspiracy against\nthe noble exile, became violent partisans of Eutyches and his new\nheresy. Between the years 447 and 450 of the Christian era, the\ncondition of the empire was perfectly chaotic; the heresies of the\nEutychians, the Nestorians, and the Monothelites disturbed the\npublic peace; morality was forgotten; the court became an assembly\nof intriguers; Theodosius himself was no longer obeyed at home\nor respected abroad. St. Leo the Pope, scandalized and grieved at\nsuch excesses, wrote to the emperor, the clergy, and the people\nof Constantinople, but reserved his most remarkable mission for\nPulcheria. He says, \u201cIf you had received my former letters, you\nwould certainly have already remedied these evils, for you have\nnever failed the Christian faith, nor the clergy her guardians,\u201d\nand towards the end of his letter he adds: \u201cIn the name of the\nblessed apostle St. Peter, I constitute you my _special legate_\nfor the advancement of this matter before the emperor.\u201d Referring\nto this magnificent elogium, the historian Rohrbacher remarks\nthat, \u201cwhen the Pope writes to the Emperor Theodosius, one would\nthink he was addressing a woman; when, on the contrary, he writes\nto the ex-empress, one would imagine he was speaking to a _man_,\u201d\nupon whose energy he could depend. In 450, the Emperor of the\nWest, Valentinian, and his mother and wife, Placidia and Eudoxia,\ncame to Rome, where the Pope entrusted them with the task of\nadmonishing by letter the weak-minded Theodosius and his heretical\nfollowers. Thus was the power of woman and her influence in state\naffairs recognized and honored by the church from end to end of the\nChristian world. Pulcheria, urged by the entreaties of all these\ngreat and holy personages, boldly went to the court, reproached her\nbrother, and by her firmness opened his eyes and restored peace,\northodoxy and morality in the distracted empire. Her brother\u2019s\ndeath in 450 left her, by the universal consent of the people, once\nmore ruler of the vast realm she had already so much benefited. Now\nagain she evinced consummate wisdom in her choice of Marcian, the\nmost renowned soldier and most talented statesman of the empire,\nto be her husband and fellow-ruler. Under condition of preserving\nher early vow of perpetual chastity, she admitted him to an entire\nparticipation of her life and counsels, and together, with a\nstrong yet gentle hand, they upheld and protected the fathers of\nthe Council of Chalcedon. After three years of a wise and virtuous\nreign, Pulcheria died, lamented by the thousands of the poor and\ndestitute whom she had never ceased to relieve, and honored by\nthe church as the \u201cguardian of the faith, the peace-maker, the\ndefender of orthodoxy,\u201d as the Chalcedonian fathers expressed\nit. The historian Gibbon, whose testimony can hardly be deemed\ninterested, has thus outlined the history of her reign: \u201cHer piety\ndid not prevent Pulcheria from indefatigably devoting her attention\nto the affairs of the state, and indeed this princess was the only\ndescendant of Theodosius the Great who seems to have inherited any\npart of his high courage and noble genius. She had acquired the\nfamiliar use of the Greek and Latin tongues, which she spoke and\nwrote with ease and grace in her speeches and writings relative\nto public affairs. Prudence always dictated her resolves. Her\nexecution was prompt and decisive. Managing without ostentation all\nthe intricacies of the government, she discreetly attributed to the\ntalents of the emperor the long tranquillity of his reign. During\nthe last years of his life, Europe was suffering cruelly under\nthe invasion and ravages of Attila, King of the Huns, while peace\ncontinued to reign in the vast provinces of Asia.\u201d (_History of the\nRise and Fall of the Roman Empire_, vol. vi. chapter xxxii.)\n\nThe holy Pope St. Gregory the Great did not owe less to the\ninfluence and friendship of woman than Pope St. Leo. Among his\nmany and remarkable letters, those addressed to the Empress\nConstantina and the Princess Theoclissa, wife and sister of\nMaurice, Emperor of the East, are not the least admirable. The\nemperor being both imbecile and miserly, and of a nature utterly\ndespicable, the only bulwark of orthodoxy against the heretics\nlay in the strenuous and continued efforts of these two women in\nfavor of the church. When Phocus, a general of Maurice, freed\nthe indignant empire from its supine and debased ruler, his wife\nthe Empress Leontia took the place of the former princesses, and\ncontinued their work of protecting the faith of the Councils.\nIn the West, where the Lombards were successfully laying the\nfoundation of the future power they were destined to wield, it\nwas chiefly to a woman that Gregory the Great looked to defend\nthe interests of religion, and saw among these half-reclaimed\nbarbarians the seeds of Christian chivalry. Theodolinda was his\npupil and correspondent, and by her care the future King of the\nLombards, Adoloaldus, was baptized and brought up a Christian. In\nthe matter of the great expedition which resulted in the final\nconversion of England, the same Pope testifies by his letters\nthat Bertha, the wife of King Ethelbert, and Brunehault, Queen of\nthe Franks, were chiefly instrumental in aiding and countenancing\nSt. Augustine in his mission. He says to Brunehault: \u201cWe are not\nignorant of the help you have afforded our brother Augustine.... It\nmust be a source of great rejoicing to you that no one has had a\ngreater share in this work than yourself. For, if that nation [the\nSaxons] has had the blessing of hearing the Word of God and the\npreaching of the Gospel, it is to you, under God, that they owe it.\u201d\n\nThe throne of Constantinople was to be honored yet by another\nsainted empress, the worthy successor of Pulcheria, and, like her,\nan able ally of the Pope and the orthodox patriarch of her own\ncapital. Once more, through the vices and indifference of men, a\nheresy had arisen and flourished, the heresy of the Iconoclasts.\nGreat persecution had been suffered by the faithful, during the\nreign of Leo, the husband of our heroine Irene, and the new\nheretics, had completely triumphed. At his death, his widow became\nregent for her young son. The clergy, the nobility, and especially\nthe army, were arrayed on the side of the Iconoclasts. Irene was\nas prudent in action as she was zealous in heart. The persecutions\nagainst the followers of the Pope were first merely suspended,\nthought and speech were once more free, and gradually a reaction\nbegan to take place. The patriarchal see of Constantinople becoming\nvacant by the death of Paul, the finally repentant abettor of\nthe unhappy heresy, it was Irene who proposed the election of\nTarasius, the most popular, most pious, and most talented man\namong her subjects. He, too, was the product of a wise and holy\nwoman\u2019s training, and the name of his mother, Eucratia, is among\nthe saints. Having thus paved the way, the empress wrote to Pope\nAdrian about the year 786, and begged him to assemble a general\ncouncil to further the interests of religion and cement the peace\nof Christendom. The council, which was the second of Nicea, took\nplace according to this suggestion, upon which the Pope, through\nhis legates, formally congratulated the empress. The utmost success\nhaving attended the sittings of the council, and the faith having\nbeen triumphantly vindicated against the Iconoclasts and their\nerrors, the empress sent to entreat the assembled fathers to hold\none final and ceremonial sitting in Constantinople itself. She\nprocured an efficient guard among the orthodox cohorts of the\nimperial army, and prepared an immense hall in the palace for the\ngathering of the council. Ventura describes the scene thus: \u201cThe\nPope\u2019s legates waived their right of precedence in favor of Irene,\nand the astonishing spectacle was seen of a woman, accompanied\nby a child twelve years old (her son), presiding over one of the\nmost august assemblies of the church. The sitting was opened by a\ndiscourse by the empress, in which she spoke, both in her son\u2019s\nname and in her own, with so much eloquence, warmth, and grace,\nthat the greatest emotion was manifested throughout the assembly;\ntears of joy flowed from the eyes of all present, and the last\nwords of Irene were followed by the most heartfelt acclamations....\nThe enthusiasm was at its height, when, in the assembly and also to\nthe people without, the decree or definition of faith made by the\ncouncil was read, and the empress claimed her right to be the first\nto sign it.... It must never be forgotten that this great council,\nas well as its consequences, which put an end to a great heresy\nand restored Catholicism in the East, was the thought and work of\na woman, and that it was a woman-sovereign (_un empereur-femme_)\nwho alone by her discreet and courageous zeal knew how to blot out\nand destroy the scandals caused by three men-sovereigns and even a\ngreat number of bishops themselves.\u201d (_Donna Cattolica_, vol. ii.\npp. 55, 56.)\n\nBefore the Empire of the East became totally degraded, another\nsovereign, another woman, lent it the glory of her reputation. The\nIconoclasts, profiting by the treacherous support of succeeding\nemperors, again renewed their hostilities against orthodoxy, but\nwere speedily checked once more by a brave Christian woman, the\nEmpress Theodosia, widow of Theophilus, and of whom Rohrbacher\nsays: \u201cIf in the West the temporal sovereigns were insignificant,\nin the East they were detestable. There was but one exception, and\nthat was a woman, the Empress St. Theodosia. She began her reign\nafter the death of her unworthy husband--whom she had succeeded,\nhowever, in converting on his death-bed--by threatening the\nheretical patriarch, Lecanomantes, with the condemnation of the\ncoming council unless he consented to vacate his see and renounce\nhis errors. He refused, and the council assembled within the\nwalls of the imperial palace. The Iconoclast heresy was again\nsolemnly denounced, and the previous Council of Nicea confirmed.\nFor the countenance and protection afforded by her to the church,\nthe empress only asked as a reward that the prelates should pray\nfor the forgiveness of the sin of heresy which her husband had\ncommitted. Theodosia celebrated this new victory of the church\nwith becoming solemnity, and instituted in its honor a festival,\nwhich is observed to this day under the name of the \u2018festival of\northodoxy.\u2019 When Methodius, the holy Patriarch of Constantinople,\ndied, she replaced him by St. Ignatius, the friend of the Pope, St.\nNicholas I. She made peace with the Bulgarians, whom the Pope was\ninterested in converting to the faith, and seconded his efforts\nby procuring the conversion of the captive Bulgarian princess,\nsister to King Bogoris, whom she afterward freed and sent back to\nher brother. This princess became the Clotildis of her people,\nand, together with Formosus, the Pope\u2019s legate, and St. Cyril,\nTheodosia\u2019s envoy, effected the conversion of the whole Bulgarian\nnation in 861.\u201d\n\nOther Danubian tribes also owed their conversion to Theodosia;\nshe sent missionaries to the Khazars and the Moravians, whose\nchief specially addressed himself to her for instruction. Her\nson Michael, when he came to the throne, renewed the horrors of\nthe pagan empire of Caligula and Domitian, persecuted his mother\nand sisters, exiled and deposed the Patriarch Ignatius, and put\nthe heretic Photius into his place. One of his captains, Basil,\nput a violent end to his infamous reign, and, though inexcusable\nin the eyes of the ecclesiastical law, yet redeemed his act by\nthe utmost deference to Theodosia and devotion to religion. The\nempire breathed again, and Theodosia\u2019s counsels procured another\ngeneral assembly of the church at Constantinople, when Photius was\ncondemned and the rightful patriarch reinstated in his authority.\nAfter the death of the empress, the heresy of Photius revived and\nspread, and, schism becoming more or less general, the empire began\nto degenerate, until its very name, the \u201cLower Empire,\u201d became a\nsynonym for all degradation and hopeless ruin. Ventura, who says\ntruly that real sanctity is impossible in the bosom of voluntary\nschism, attributes the degeneracy of the Empire of the East to\nthe want of strong and generous women, such as those whom we\nhave briefly sketched in this article, and asserts that the very\naccumulation of evils which this scarcity of holy women has heaped\nupon the church during some of the darkest periods of her history,\nis in itself a proof of the paramount importance of woman in the\nwork of the propagation and protection of true religion.\n\nWe are now close upon the medi\u00e6val times, when the glory of the\nsex shone forth again in the West, and counted as many champions\nas there were kingdoms to convert, universities to endow, courts\nto reform, and infidel powers to overthrow. The influence of\nwoman began to be recognized in society as it had always been in\nthe church; chivalry taught men to place the honor of woman next\nin their estimation to faith in God, and equal with loyalty to\ntheir king and patriotism to their country. We can find no more\nbeautiful, no more _Catholic_, expression of this sovereignty\nof woman\u2019s pure and ennobling influence, as consecrated by the\nchurch\u2019s approbation, and guarded by all that is noblest and\nmost generous in man, than the following extract from a modern\npoet, whose inspiration, like that of all true artists, is drawn\nperforce from the legends of Catholic antiquity. The poet of the\nHoly Grail is also the poet of woman; the legends of the deeds of\nthe prowess of knights, whose names are perchance but myths as to\nactual history, but nevertheless are human types of the exalted\nideal of the old Catholic days, are inevitably mingled with legends\nof the vows of holy chastity, and the pure and stainless lives of\nmany of those renowned heroes of the field and tournament. Let the\nfollowing serve as an introduction to our next article, which will\ntreat chiefly of the great women of the Middle Ages:\n\n    \u201cFor when the Roman left us, and their law\n    Relaxed its hold upon us, and the ways\n    Were filled with rapine, here and there a deed\n    Of prowess done redressed a random wrong.\n    But I was first of all the kings who drew\n    The knighthood-errant of this realm and all\n    The realms together under me, their head,\n    In that fair Order of my Table Round,\n    A glorious company, the flower of men,\n    To serve as model for the mighty world,\n    And be the fair beginning of a time.\n    I made them lay their hands in mine, and swear\n    To reverence the king as if he were\n    Their conscience and their conscience as their king,\n    To break the heathen and uphold the Christ,\n    To ride abroad, redressing human wrongs,\n    To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it,\n    To lead sweet lives in purest chastity,\n    To love one maiden only, cleave to her,\n    And worship her by years of noble deeds,\n    Until they won her; for indeed I knew\n    Of no more subtle master under heaven\n    Than is the maiden passion for a maid,\n    Not only to keep down the base in man,\n    But teach high thought, and amiable words,\n    And courtliness, and the desire of fame,\n    And love of truth, and all that makes a man.\n    And all this throve.... I wedded thee,\n    Believing, lo! _mine helpmate_, one to feel\n    My purpose, and rejoicing in my joy.\u201d\n                          _Tennyson_, _Idylls of the King._\n\n\n\n\nDEVOTA.\n\n\n    Sweet image of the one I love,\n      To whom your infant years were given\n    (And still the faithful colors[61] prove\n      A constancy not all in heaven):\n\n    To me a violet near a brink,\n      Far-hidden from the beaten way,\n    And where but rarest flowerets drink\n      A freshness from the ripples\u2019 play:\n\n    A lily in a vale of rest,\n      And where the angels know a nook\n    But one shy form has ever prest--\n      A poet with a poet\u2019s book.\n\n    But poet\u2019s book has never said\n      What I, O lily, find in you:\n    \u2019Twas never writ and never read,\n      Though always old and always new.\n\n    And ah, that you must change and go--\n      The violet fade, the lily die!\n    Let others joy to watch you grow;\n      Let others smile: so will not I.\n\n    Yet smile I should. Is heaven a dream?\n      In sooth, he needs to be forgiven\n    Who matches with the things that seem\n      A deathless flower, that blooms for heaven.\n\n    And while he mourns the onward years\n      That sweep you from the things that seem,\n    Let faith make sunshine on his tears:\n      \u2019Tis heaven is real, and earth the dream.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[61] Children dedicated to the Blessed Virgin wear white and blue.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CARESSES OF PROVIDENCE.\n\nFROM LA CIVILTA CATTOLICA.\n\n\nVery recently, the Liberal Italian party, finding that their\nCatholic opponents were in no wise damaged by arguments drawn\nfrom a denial of God\u2019s concern in human affairs, has changed its\ntactics, and proposes now to convert us clericals by appeals to our\nreligious sensibilities. We are assaulted by a theological attack\n_ad hominem_, which they tell us is so conclusive that, if we do\nnot acknowledge ourselves beaten, it is because we have lost our\nreason and renounced the faith.\n\n\u201cYou believe,\u201d say they, \u201cin the providence of God. You recognize\nhis hand in all the events of life, and you profess to bless and\nbow to the divine decrees. Well, then, Providence, you perceive,\nhas smiled graciously on us and on our work--a work which you\nexecrate and detest. Providence is plainly on our side. He declares\nhimself for us and against you. Submit, then, to his decrees. Lay\naside this idle expectation of the triumph of your cause, which\nis evidently opposed to the holy will of God. Accept accomplished\nfacts. Reconcile yourselves with Italy, our glorious new kingdom,\nand cease, amid your noisy professions of religion, to rebel\nagainst the will of the Most High.\u201d\n\nSuch in its naked substance is the argument to which the Liberals\nnow exultingly resort; more especially since the breach of Porta\nPia and the successful picking of the locks of the Quirinal. They\nhope in this way to convict us of apostasy from the faith, and\n(what they deem still more atrocious) of an unpardonable outrage\nagainst the laws of \u201cthe human understanding.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt seems incredible,\u201d they go on to say, \u201cthat, after such\npositive proofs of a special protection vouchsafed by Providence\nto regenerate Italy, the clerical party should cling so stubbornly\nto the hope of a resuscitation of the past--a past which, were it\nnot already irrevocably condemned by the logic of events, would be\ncondemned by their own theory of an all-seeing and all-wise God.\u201d\nThis is the language in which the Jewish journal _L\u2019Opinione_,\nafter taking Roman ground at the close of the year just elapsed,\nexpressed this very formidable argument. They had already uttered\nit some hundred times before. Many sheets of less importance had\ngot up an industrious echo to this cry; and one in particular,\na petty Florentine print, undertakes to celebrate the new year\nby magnifying \u201cthe caresses of Providence\u201d bestowed upon the\nlittle darling angel, Italy, born, as everybody knows, of the\nwonderful shrewdness of the Italian people and their undying love\nof liberty--a liberty, by the way, which never fails to exemplify\nitself by a free and strenuous appropriation of a weaker neighbor\u2019s\nearthly goods. Strange indeed it is that men, who never were\nknown as professed believers in any other divinity than Mammon,\nshould now, after having derided for years, and with every mark of\nblasphemous scorn, \u201cthe finger of God,\u201d suddenly assume the office\nof apostles of a new idea of Christian Providence. Strange it is\nthat only now, after the plunder of a city gained by battering\ndown walls and picking locks with forged keys--that these men,\nwe say, should chant the praises of the God they had defied, and\ndefend his holy decrees against the \u201cscandalous negations\u201d of the\nCatholic Church. Strangest is it of all, that the prince of these\nextraordinary apostles should be no other than the so-called Jew\nproprietor of the _Opinione_--who is not even a Jew; for he has\nalways shown that he believes as little of the Old Testament as he\ndoes of the New.\n\nBut--\n\n    \u201cTo what infamies untold\n    Hast thou man\u2019s nature not controlled,\n    Thou execrable greed of gold!\u201d\n\nSolid or not, this _argumentum ad hominem_ has for a certain class\nof minds an air of great plausibility. At all events, it might\nbe well to look into it a little; for we may thereby throw some\nlight upon several important truths which nowadays need special\nillumination. We let in the argument, therefore, as the new Jewish\nand infidel philosophers present it; and we propose to give them,\nin a nutshell, the proper answer to it. They will then understand\nwhy Catholics not only refuse to surrender to this showing, but, on\nthe contrary, see in it reason to stand firm to their first faith,\nand to cherish unceasing hopes of the speedy triumph of their cause.\n\nYes, gentlemen, we Catholics believe, with all our heart and soul,\nin the holy providence of God. In this Providence we recognize\nthe origin and order of all created things. We make it indeed our\nglory that we bless and humbly worship its adorable decrees. We\nconfess, therefore, without reserve, that what you choose to call\nits \u201cloving caresses\u201d are really yours by divine appointment; and\nthe very decree which to you is the source of so much joy, and to\nus of so much mourning, we adore as the undoubted manifestation\nof his most holy will. All this we freely admit as truth, as\nunquestionable, unanswerable truth. But while, in these explicit\nterms, we confess this Catholic verity, we deny, in equally\nexplicit terms, that what you choose to call \u201ccaresses\u201d are in\nany sense _such to you_, or that the palpable proofs of that\n\u201cspecial protection\u201d of which you make so vain a boast are proofs\nof anything but the very opposite; nay, so false is it, that the\ncaresses you claim are marks of divine approval, that the very\nassertion is a blasphemy most insulting to the sovereign providence\nof God. To prove these propositions is an easy thing to any one who\nknows his catechism; and the understanding of them easier still to\nany one who believes as well as knows. To him who either does not\nknow his Christian primer, or, knowing it, will not believe, they\nmay seem incapable of either proof or comprehension. Should such a\ncase present itself, the fault is certainly not ours. A poet tells\nus that:\n\n    \u201cOf winds the sailor ever loves to speak,\n    Of arms the soldier, and the boor of swine;\n    The astronomer, of planet, moon, and stars;\n    Of palaces and piers, the architect;\n    The juggling necromancer prates of ghosts,\n    And the old harper of his well thrummed strains.\u201d\n\nIf so, why is it that this Jew, instead of sticking like a worthy\nHebrew to his stock-list, takes to teaching us the Christian\ncatechism? And why is it that this worshipper of Voltaire, instead\nof chanting hymns to Venus, reads us a lecture on what he knows\nabout the purposes of God? _Sutor ne ultra crepidam._\n\nNevertheless, we proceed to explain the propositions advanced\nabove.\n\nCatholics acknowledge that every event, be it favorable or\nunfavorable to their prayers, is consistent with the providence\nof God. To Providence they refer evil as well as good, with this\ndifference, that good and unblamable evil they ascribe to the\ndecrees of his sovereign direction, but blamable evil they ascribe\nto his permissive decree. In a word, they believe and confess that\nGod wills _positively_ all that comes to pass without taint of\nmoral evil, and wills _negatively_ (that is, he does not preclude)\nwhat comes to pass so tainted by cause of man\u2019s abuse of his\nfree-will. They nevertheless hold and profess that whatever evil he\npermits, that also is ordained to good; so that nothing enters into\nthose most just and wise decrees that does not aim effectively at\nthe final design of the creation and redemption of mankind; which\ndesign in this life is the church militant, and, in the next, the\nchurch triumphant, the central point of his extrinsic glorification.\n\nThe reason, then, that Catholics hold and profess that God does\nnot and cannot decree, otherwise than _permissively_, moral\nevil--that is, disobedience, injustice, or briefly sin--is that he\nneither participates nor can participate in evil of this nature\nwhich is essentially opposed to his infinite sanctity. He would,\nin fact, participate therein if he willed it positively and not\nmerely negatively; whereas, permitting it only, he in no wise\nparticipates, though he allows man, whom he had created free, to\nmake an evil use of the gift of liberty. He does not hinder him,\nbecause neither is he so obliged, nor can the divine hindrance\nof human freedom be exacted by the nature of man left free. With\nall this, God is in no wise the less able to secure for himself,\nalways and in every case and from every human being, the external\nglory which he reserved to himself when he created man. Because,\nhe who shall not glorify in heaven an infinite mercy granted to\nthe good use of the free-will, shall glorify in hell an infinite\njustice merited by the abuse of this same free-will. Hence the\nAlmighty will not be shorn of the least shadow of that glory,\nfor which, among other things, he drew man out of the abyss of\nnothingness.\n\nCatholics, moreover, believe and confess that the effects of\nmoral evil are invariably directed by Almighty God to the good\nof mankind. They serve to punish in order to amend, or else to\nexercise in order to confirm. St. Augustine remarks, with his usual\nperspicacity, that the life of a bad man is often prolonged not\nonly to afford an opportunity for his amendment, but to serve as\nan occasion of sanctification to the good. _Ne putetis gratis esse\nmalos in hoc mundo, et nihil boni de eis agere Deum. Omnis malus\naut ideo vivit ut corrigatur, aut ideo vivit ut per illum bonus\nexerceatur._[62]\n\nHence it is that Catholics, in all emergencies, even in the most\ncalamitous, nay, even in those caused by the worst iniquities of\nunscrupulous men, do not fail to adore the goodness and justice of\nAlmighty God, and to acknowledge the inscrutable dispositions of\nhis most holy will. But they never think of imputing to him the\nsins and transgressions of the wicked. These he neither wills nor\nis he capable of willing them. He permits them only as subserving\nhis mercy or his justice.\n\nIt follows, then, that, in order to decide whether the easy\nsuccesses of certain definite transactions are successes due\nto divine approbation, and palpable proofs of his gracious\nprotection, or whether rather they are not facilities that\nProvidence permits for the punishment of the wicked and for the\nchastening of the virtuously minded, it is essential to see first\nwhether these definite acts are right or wrong, meritorious or\nsinful; that is, conformable or unconformable to the law of eternal\njustice, and to the Gospel of Jesus Christ.\n\nNow, certain it is that in those transactions which the enemies of\nChrist regard as sanctioned by the manifest \u201ccaresses\u201d of Almighty\nGod, Catholic Christians see nothing but acts of iniquity and sin;\nand accordingly, while they accept them as permitted by God for\nreasons and results full of justice and mercy, they nevertheless\nesteem it the height of blasphemy to look upon such outrages,\nhowever successful for the moment, as \u201ccaresses\u201d bestowed by\nProvidence upon the very men who at other times deny his existence\nor treat his word with open scorn and contempt.\n\nWe have thus, as briefly and as lucidly as we could, and with the\nChristian catechism for our guide, explained to these Jews who are\nno Jews, and to these philosophers who are no philosophers, the\nsense of the propositions we affirm.\n\nPerhaps they will now require of us to prove that the acts referred\nto are acts of iniquity and sin. This is very much like asking us\nto prove that the sun is shining, when it is evidently blazing\nat mid-day. We let pass that the highest authority on earth has\npronounced, again and again, that the acts are simply acts most\nsinful and sacrilegious. We let pass that the concurrent testimony\nof all minds endowed with natural rectitude of judgment (not\nexcluding Protestants nor Israelites nor Turks) has confirmed and\nreconfirmed the condemnations spoken already by Pope, by church,\nand by the entire Catholic world. It is enough that the authors\nand prime movers of these outrages proclaimed and stamped them as\ndishonorable and base before they perpetrated them, and even in the\nvery act of their perpetration. Can these apostolic gentlemen, now\nso anxious for the conversion of the Catholic Church, be ignorant,\nfor instance, that two of the Subalpine ministry, Visconti-Venosta\nand Lanza, declared the invasion of Rome and the usurpation of\nthe Papal power acts of barbarism destitute of every semblance of\nright? And are they not aware that they so avouched just one short\nmonth before both invasion and usurpation were consummated by\nburglary and breach?\n\nWho can hope, then, to persuade a Catholic that these successful\nshells, pick-locks, and jimmies have not been instruments of the\nmost iniquitous wrong-doing, seeing that these two men, in the\nface of heaven and earth, averred its baseness themselves only a\nfew weeks before the formal consummation of the act? Perhaps, too,\nour converters have never heard how their _divine_ Camillo Cavour\nsaid one day to their other _divine_ Massimo d\u2019Azeglio, who has\nrecorded it _ad perpetuam rei memoriam_: \u201cIf what we are doing\nfor Italy, you and I had done for ourselves, what a precious pair\nof big _balossi_ we should have been!\u201d The _Opinione_ knows too\nwell the sense of the Subalpine word _balosso_ that we should put\nit into good Italian. The editor and his pharisaical colleagues\nhave learned, no doubt, the lovely dialect of the northern masters\nthey have chosen for Italy and for themselves. They can teach us,\nwe dare say, the full force of this fine word _balosso_; that it\nmeans all that is contained in the words scamp, scoundrel, robber,\nrascal, villain, ruffian, knave. Can Catholics, then, be easily\npersuaded that the _facts accomplished_ by Azeglio and Cavour for\nthe regeneration of Italy have been free from sin and iniquity,\nseeing that these two _divines_ have stigmatized them as the acts\nof men bad enough to be _balossi_? For be it observed that Azeglio\nhimself admits that what is criminal in private life is no less\ncriminal in public;[63] showing (though we are losing time in the\nattempt to throw light upon the sun) that our apostolic friends, in\norder to justify the _accomplished facts_ resorted to for Italy\u2019s\nnew birth, have been obliged to invent a modern social law the\nconverse of the ancient one ordained by God himself.\n\nIf this be admitted, what can prove more incontestably that the\nacts complained of were acts of sin and iniquity; sin being any\nact contrary to God\u2019s commands, and iniquity an act opposed to the\njustice he enjoins?\n\nBut Catholics may go further, and say to the apostles of our\nconversion that not only are the means used for the _regeneration_\nof Italy sinful and iniquitous, but that the _end_ itself\naimed at by the ringleaders of this pretended regeneration is\nabsolutely antichristian and diabolical, being nothing less than\nthe demolition of the Catholic Church and the annihilation of the\nkingdom of God among men. Of course, the _end_ is simply absurd,\nand rendered impossible by the excess of its absurdity. But\nnevertheless, though it cannot exist as a thing attainable, it does\nexist as a thing conceivable, and as such inspires the mad career\nof Masonry, which pursues it with satanic rage and open ostentation\nas the main objective point of the machinations of the sect.\n\nMazzini, to whom the _regenerators_ are indebted for their grand\n_idea_, aimed as far ago as 1834 at the abolition of the temporal\npower, without regard to cost. His argument was that the downfall\nof this power carried with it, as a necessary consequence,\nthe emancipation of the human race from the thraldom of the\nspiritual power. \u201cThe Vicars of Christ\u201d he called \u201cVicars of the\nSpirit of Evil, to be exterminated, never to be restored.\u201d[64]\nVisconti-Venosta, a member of the present Italian cabinet, wrote\nto Mazzini, in 1851, that the rallying-cry of the _regeneration_\nshould be, \u201cDown with the Monarchy, down with the Papacy.\u201d[65]\n\nFerrari, the philosopher of the movement, proclaimed in 1853 that\nthe end it proposed was the stamping out of Pope and Emperor, of\nChrist and C\u00e6sar; the four tyrannies that Machiavelli had delivered\nover to Italian hate.[66]\n\nTo make this matter short, though we might go on for ever, the\nmore rabid partisans of the _regeneration_ do not blush to say\nthat the essential end of the great Italian movement is the\nemancipation of human consciences from the authority of the church,\nby laying prostrate the colossus against whom Luther, Calvin, and\nHenry VIII. ineffectually strove. They aim, in a word, at the\nradical destruction of the entire Catholic Church; to which end,\nnationality, unity, political liberty itself, were always to be\nregarded as nothing more than the means.[67]\n\nThese preliminaries being understood, our free-thinking friends\nought to see that their argument, derived from what they call\n\u201cprovidential protection\u201d to their sacrilegious acts, strikes the\nCatholic mind as a shocking blasphemy, because it makes our blessed\nLord an accomplice in detestable transactions, and an instigator\nto the worst of crimes--a deliberate plotter, in short, of the\nruin of that church which is the masterpiece of his wisdom, and\nthe object of his infinite love. We have no objections to their\nsaying that the anger of God has unchained their barbarous allies,\nand for a time has left them free to do their worst against the\nchildren of the church. They may say all this, and Catholics will\nassent and even approve--not the _animus_, but the words. They will\nexclaim with St. Jerome of old, when the barbarians of that day\nwere making havoc of the things of God: _Peccatis nostris barbari\nfortes sunt_[68]--\u201cIn our sins the barbarians are strong.\u201d But let\nthem not venture to say that Almighty God, because he allows them a\nfatal facility of blasphemous impiety, protects and even caresses\nthis impiety. For religious men will answer them: Yes, he protects\nand caresses you, as he protected and caressed the crucifiers of\nhis only-begotten Son.\n\nAnd here we entreat the Israelitish editor of the _Opinione_ to pay\nstrict attention to what we have to say, inasmuch as it concerns\nhim in his nationality; since he is an Israelite by nature and\nnation, and Italian only by the place of his accidental birth.\n\nThe synagogue, sustained by the coalition of Pharisees and\nSadducees, undertook to regenerate Judea by taking the life of\nJesus, Son of God, true God and true Man. The great sin of Jesus\nChrist in the eyes of the synagogue was similar to that of the\nchurch of Jesus in the eyes of the Masonic Order. He was the Son\nof God and the Word of Truth, as the church is his spouse and the\norgan of the truth.\n\nBut there stood many obstacles in the way of compassing his\ndeath. First, there needed a lawful sanction, and there was none.\nSecondly, it was necessary to take him captive, a very dangerous\nundertaking, for he was always surrounded by throngs of devoted\nfollowers and friends. Thirdly, it was necessary to keep the\npeople in good humor, or, as Jesus was their principal benefactor,\nthey might rebel against this public execution. Fourthly, it\nwas necessary to ascertain that the Romans, who had cognizance\nof capital cases in Palestine, would connive at his trial for\nlife and at his sentence to death. Fifthly, they had to risk the\ndisplay of his miraculous power, for his miracles surpassed all\nthat had ever been seen in Israel. It must be admitted that these\ndifficulties were very formidable. Yet what happened? _Everything\nwas made easy._ The sanction of law was found in a tissue of lies\nand political misindictments, successful beyond all expectation.\nHis capture proved the easiest imaginable, through the unexpected\ntreachery of one of his own disciples, who sold him for a bauble.\nThe populace was led with wonderful facility not only not to rise\nto his rescue, but in a solemn _pl\u00e9biscite_ to save the robber\nBarabbas at his expense, and to sentence him to an ignominious\ndeath. The Romans made some show, through Pilate, in his defence;\nbut after five times declaring him innocent of every charge,\ncondemned him to the cross, following the will of the synagogue to\nthe last; and finally Jesus, though challenged with insult to the\nexercise of his supernatural powers, abstained mysteriously from\ntheir use, and did nothing to withdraw himself from torture or\ndeath. Could any greater facility of consummation be imagined than\nwas here shown in the _accomplishment_ of this tremendous deicidal\n_act_? But will our Israelitish apostle have the heart to undertake\nto win over Italian Catholics to the belief that the wonderful\n_success_ of the crucifixion (permitted, as it undeniably was) is\nto be construed as a caress bestowed by Providence upon a corrupt\nand apostate synagogue, and as a palpable and unmistakable proof of\nhis protection of the bloody and treacherous council that sentenced\nhim to death?\n\nBetween the Jewish sacrilege directed against the adorable Person\nof the Incarnate Word, and the Italian sacrilege against the Vicar\nof that Word, there is but this distinction: that the Person aimed\nat in the former was God present in his human nature, and the\nPerson aimed at in the latter was God present in his church.\n\nIn the days of Pontius Pilate and Caiphas, the Jews slew the\nmaterial body of our Blessed Lord: the latter-day Jews, in these\ndays of Lanza and Visconti-Venosta, would, if they could, slay the\nSpiritual Body of the same Jesus Christ. And do you dare, wretched\nPharisees, to ask of us Catholic believers to recognize in the\nfacilities that have attended until now this monstrous sacrilege\nof yours, this second deicidal act, the smiles of an approving\nProvidence, and the marks of a divine protection accorded to the\nprompt success of your heaven-defying crime?\n\nThe capital error of the gross and impious sophism now the subject\nof our comment, consists evidently in the assumption that easy and\nunexpected success (in operations ordinarily of a very arduous\ncharacter) is a sure note of the divine approval, even when the\naccomplished facts are manifest breaches of the Decalogue.\n\nA proposition of this sort, if it had the least value, would serve\nto sanction any atrocity, however monstrous, provided it were only\nsuccessfully and rapidly achieved.\n\nSuch wretches as Passatori, Ninco Nanchi, Carusi, and Troppmann\nought in this view to be regarded as protected and caressed by\nDivine Providence. Every prosperous villain would only have to\nquote to his judges the argument of the _Opinione_ to conciliate\ntheir approbation, and to obtain from them not only an acquittal,\nbut an honorable testimonial in high praise of these favorites of\nheaven.\n\nTrue it is, however, that a striking and brilliant success dazzles\nthe judgment of men without faith, or of men with faith as sensual\nas their flesh.\n\nWe Catholics, on the contrary, are rich in the possession of a\ndivine promise which keeps us cheerful and buoyant with hope in\nthe face of what seems like the final triumph of the wicked. And\nthis is more especially true when we have to deal with those who\nplot against the church and its visible Head, _adversus Dominum,\net adversus Christum ejus_. Nobody that we know of has set this\npromise in a truer light than P. Paul Segneri, and we take the\nliberty to transcribe here for our readers two or three passages of\nhis, which are just so much gold to the purpose we have in view.\n\n\u201c\u2018The prosperity of fools,\u2019 says Solomon, \u2018shall destroy them.\u2019\nHe does not say \u2018destroys them,\u2019 but \u2018shall destroy them.\u2019 Why\nso? Because the prosperity of the wicked does not always produce\nimmediately its disastrous effects. Sometimes the reverse comes\nafter long delay. Wait patiently. You will see the end of what\nseems to begin so well. Have you never read in the Book of Job how\nthat the Almighty takes pleasure in defeating the machinations of\nthe impious? He brings their counsellors to a foolish end.\u201d Not to\na bad beginning. No; all seems prosperous at first. It is the end\nthat is disastrous. He lets them raise aloft their mighty tower\nof Babel. But afterwards, in the confusion of their pride, they\ndisperse and are gone. He lets them build up the beautiful towers\nof Siloe; but these fall, and the builders are buried beneath\nthe ruins. For want of this reflection, many men wonder at the\nprosperity of the wicked. Even the prophets themselves address God\nsometimes with tender reproaches. They almost accuse him, I might\nsay. We are apt to look too much at the beginning of things, and\nnot, like holy David, at the end. _Donec intelligam in novissimis\neorum._ As much as to say, they are so taken up with gazing upon\nthe comely golden head of their tall Babylonian colossus, that they\nhave not thought of lowering their eyes to see its brittle legs of\nclay. Now hear me, and witness the establishment of the truth. If\never since the birth of Christ there was a race of men who rose by\nunscrupulous arts to enormous wealth and power, it was doubtless\nthe Greek emperors, tyrants as they may well be called. Now answer\nme, Have there ever existed empires which have furnished subjects\nfor tragedy more truly horrible than theirs?\n\n\u201cNicephorus succeeded at first by the employment of dishonest means\nto usurp the imperial power, driving away the right inheritress,\nIrene. What then? Crushed by a series of misfortunes, he began\nto look upon himself as a modern Pharaoh, hardened by defeats.\nFinally, vanquished and slain by the Bulgarians, his enemies made\na drinking-cup of his skull, and out of joy or derision used it\nas such in the diversions of the camp. Stauratius by illegitimate\nalliances, and Leo the Armenian by repeated high-handed rebellions,\nsucceeded in establishing themselves in the height of power. How\nlong was it before these two men died under the blows of the\nassassin, the former in war, and the latter at the altar he had\nprofaned? Michael the Stammerer was so fortunate as to step, in\nhis famous conspiracy, from the dungeon to the throne; demanding\nthere the worship of his subjects, the chain still on his neck and\nthe fetters on his feet. Intoxicated by his success, he compelled\na holy virgin to share his bed. All Sclavonia revolted, his entire\narmy deserted him; nor yet repenting, he was literally devoured\nby a malady the most disgusting. Theophilus was successful in\nsuppressing, for reasons of state, the veneration of sacred images;\nbut almost immediately after, on being shamefully defeated by\nthe Saracens, died of rage and intense mortification. Michael\nIII., regarded as another Nero on account of his licentiousness\nand cruelty, succeeded so far as to put his mother and guardians\nout of the way, in order to reign without opposition or control.\nHe ended his \u2018prosperous\u2019 career by kindling against himself the\nhatred of his subjects, and encountered rebellion after rebellion,\nin the last of which, in the midst of a drunken debauch, he paid\nthe forfeit of his life. Alexander attained a sort of success in\nplundering the holy altars, and in appropriating the gold thus\nobtained to his own private use; but very soon thereafter he was\nseized with a sudden madness, and he had not held out a year when\nhe ended his life in a fearful vomiting of blood. What shall I say\nof Romanus I.? He too was successful to all appearance; for, by\na stratagem of wonderful adroitness, he expelled the legitimate\npossessor from the patriarchal see of Constantinople, and placed\nin it a mere child, his own son. The year following he himself was\ndriven from the imperial throne by another son, and banished to a\nlonely isle for life. So also fared it with Romanus II. Impelled by\nthe lust of dominion, he took the life of his own father by poison.\nHis own life was taken very shortly after, and by the self-same\nmeans. Michael Paphlagonius, by infamous devices, carried his point\nof usurping the throne. Seized suddenly with demoniacal obsession,\nhe could obtain no repose. Exorcisms and almsgivings were tried\nin vain. He died as he lived, with his agony unrelieved. Michael\nCalaphates was \u2018successful\u2019 in driving the empress into exile, that\nhe might reign alone; but the people rose against him at once,\nstoned him, deprived him of sight, and dragged him through the\ncity streets more dead than alive. Diogenes and Andronicus, two\nusurpers who had \u2018succeeded\u2019 in their treason, one by a courtesan\u2019s\nvile aid, the other by the arm of an assassin, came to the same\nlamentable end.\n\n\u201cNow answer me! Can you look upon as truly successful the wicked\narts which brought these bad men to power? Speak out! Would you\nbe willing to enjoy their \u2018prosperity\u2019 if with it you had to\naccept its reverse? Is there any one so stupid as to envy their\nshort-lived \u2018good luck\u2019? Rest assured that such has ever been\nthe fate of those who attain for a time their unhallowed ends by\niniquitous means. \u2018The prosperity of fools will destroy them.\u2019\nDoubt it not, my friends. The prosperity of fools will most\nassuredly destroy them. It is hardly worth while to labor longer\nin the proof. All writings, all ages, all powers, attest in unison\nthis truth, that \u2018Justice exalteth a nation\u2019; and this other, that\n\u2018Injustice leadeth a nation to misery and ruin.\u2019 These are the\nwords of one who was the wisest among men; and elsewhere he says,\n\u2018Man shall not be strengthened by wickedness\u2019; and, again, \u2018The\nunjust shall be caught in their own snares\u2019; and then, again, \u2018They\nwho sow iniquity shall reap destruction.\u2019\u201d\n\nThus, by examples drawn from the annals of the Byzantines (a race\ndear to our modern liberals), the eloquent Segneri points out the\nend which, according to Holy Writ, awaits the criminal successes\nof the wicked. If he had chosen to embrace a wider range of\nhistory, he might have compiled an endless catalogue of examples\nthe most frightful; commencing with the dreadful success of the\ncrucifixion of our ever blessed Lord, of which the sequel was as\ndreadful a retribution. The synagogue nailed the Messiah to the\ncross, under the pretext that otherwise the Romans would come and\noccupy Jerusalem. And _precisely because_ they did this wicked\nthing, the Romans took Jerusalem and levelled it to the ground. So\nthat the very success of the Jews, which, execrable as it was, the\n_Opinione_ would have adored as a protecting caress bestowed by\nProvidence upon Sion, ended simply in bringing upon the guilty city\na horrible siege and irremediable ruin.\n\nWe content ourselves, for our part, in citing the Roman C\u00e6sars,\nwho, in the first three centuries, renewed ten different times,\nand with all the incidents of success, the bloody persecution of\nthe followers of Christ. All of these, without a single exception,\ncame to a wretched end. When the fourth century arrived to witness\nthe triumph of Christianity, the descendants of the persecuting\nemperors were found extinct by foul or violent deaths; the series\nclosing with Maximin breathing his last amid the agonies of poison\nand the blasphemous howlings of despair, and with Candidianus (the\nadulterous son of Galerius, adopted by Valeria, Maximin\u2019s wife)\nmurdered by Licinius along with another brother, a sister in tender\nage, and finally Valeria herself. It thus appears that the massacre\nof the Christians, which our modern Caiphases would have celebrated\nas an edifying \u201cdivine caress,\u201d had this one effect after all,\nviz., to bring around the lasting triumph of the persecuted cause.\nIt was the children of the slaughtered ones who were victorious in\nthe end; the progeny of the slaughterers died suffocated in the\nblood which their guilty fathers had shed.\n\nWe might easily continue these examples, and recount, for\ninstance, the end to which a career of successful iniquity at\nlast conducted Julian the Apostate, the idol and exemplar of our\nItalian regenerators. We might enlarge on the fates of Astolphus\nand Desiderius, whose \u201cpatriotism\u201d they so much admire. We might\nwith still more force bring out contemporary cases, the case\nof Cavour, for example, withdrawn suddenly away by an ominous\ndeath in the flower of life from the hosannas of the people he\nhad misled; the case of Farini, Cavour\u2019s right-hand man, struck\nalso in life\u2019s prime by a shocking frenzy which urged him to acts\nincredibly revolting, and soon after to a most painful death; the\ncase of Fanti, the plunderer of Umbria, who, before he could die,\nwas tortured for a year with all the agonies of death; the case of\nPersano, the bombarder of Ancona, who, after making shipwreck on\nthe sea of Lissa of his rank and reputation, avenged himself of\nfortune by publishing the infamies of the successful revolution.\nAnd to these we might add the cases of Pinelli, of Valerio, of La\nFarina, and of a hundred others equally conclusive. We might even\nquote examples among the living; of a certain _regenerator_, who,\nin spite of his impious successes, roams incessantly from place to\nplace seeking a rest he cannot find--condemned, it would seem, to\nendure the torments of Caina, Antenora, and Ptolomea in Dante\u2019s\nninth circle of hell, and to realize in himself the fate described\nby Alberigo:\n\n    \u201cThis boon the sufferer hath, if boon it be--\n    Ofttimes to know the pangs of parting breath,\n    Ere Atropos shuts down the shears of death.\u201d\n\nTo be brief, we shall confine ourselves to the two most\ndistinguished and most successful persecutors of popes--Frederick\nII., a medi\u00e6val emperor of Germany, and Napoleon the First, a\nFrench emperor of the modern sort. Both of these men, in the\nstudied outrages they inflicted, the one upon Gregory IX. and\nInnocent IV., the other on Pius VII., were encouraged by such\nmarvellous successes that our Israelitish proselytizer would have\nhad them canonized as the very Benjamins of Providence. Suffice\nit to say that Frederick II. had his political C\u00e6sarism preached\ninto right divine by the most learned jurists of his day, just as\nNapoleon I. made the most powerful monarchy of Europe kneel down\nand adore his bloodier C\u00e6sarism of the sword. Both the one and\nthe other returning from their triumphs, carried fortune, to all\nappearance, chained for ever to their cars. The more they raged\nagainst Christ\u2019s Vicar, the more their victory seemed complete. The\ngreater the number of excommunications they incurred, the easier\nseemed to be their subsequent encroachments. It was after the\nlast papal censure that Frederick gained the adhesion of several\npowerful barons in Rome. It was after the Pope\u2019s worst imprisonment\nthat Napoleon won his greatest battles, making them the subjects\nof the most vainglorious boasts, that he had thus received from\nthe God of armies special marks of approbation--\u201ccaresses,\u201d as the\n_Opinione_ calls them, when bestowed upon the enemies of the church.\n\nYet where did they end, these lucky sacrileges, this prodigious\nand prolonged prosperity of crime? Both these men outlived their\nglittering fortunes. The false magnificence and grandeur for which\nthey had thrown away their souls, turned to ashes in their grasp.\n\nKing Henry, Frederick\u2019s eldest son, dies in prison, leaving a\nson who was struck dead by a blow from an unknown hand. Enzio,\nhis bastard offspring, created by him King of Sardinia, after\ntwenty-five years of imprisonment in a cage of iron dies a\nmiserable death. Ezzelino, his son-in-law closes with a horrible\nend a life, if possible, of greater horror. His great champion,\nThaddeus of Suessa, is slain with every accompaniment of contempt.\nPier delle Vigne, his evil genius, has his eyes thrust out, and\ncommits suicide in his despair. Frederick himself, after surviving\nall these horrors, is strangled by Manfredi, another of his\nbase-born sons, who, after bathing his gory hands in the blood of\nConrad, Frederick\u2019s lawful son, is himself stretched dead on the\nfield of a dishonorable strife. To close this interminable tragedy,\nCorradino, the last scion of the hated tyrant, ends on a felon\u2019s\nscaffold his seventeen short years of life. With this unfortunate\nyouth the dynasty of Frederick is closed. The empire passes over\ninto other hands, and Rodolph of Hapsburg reigns, the first of a\nbetter line.\n\nThe fall of Napoleon I. is still remembered as an event of recent\ndate. Elated with his continual victories, he invaded Russia with\nthe most formidable army the world ever saw. Warned that he had\nthe fate of the excommunicated to encounter, he asked in scorn\nwhether his soldiers would drop their muskets at the sight of a\nPapal Bull. Forced to retreat after a show of vain success, famine\nand frost decimated his ranks, and his soldiers\u2019 frozen fingers\nrefused to hold the interdicted arms. Unable to contend against\nfast-increasing numbers, he found himself by a strange fatality\ncompelled to renounce the crown in the very palace at Fontainebleau\nwhich he had turned into a prison for the Pope. The Holy Father\nhad quitted it to resume the throne. The fallen emperor left it\nto accept in Elba an asylum which he begged as a shelter in his\nfriendless old age. Leaving his place of refuge, in a mad attempt\nto resuscitate his fortunes, he incurred at Waterloo a ruin the\nmost disastrous ever known. Stripped of every resource, he was\ndragged to a prison-cell on a miserable island, scarcely noticeable\nin its vast expanse of sea. From this inhospitable rock, he was\npermitted to contemplate the plenary restoration of the mysterious\nPapal power, and simultaneously the downfall of all the thrones he\nhad presented to his brothers and next of kin. After spending, in\ndesolate captivity, the five years he had decreed of prison to the\nblameless Pius VII., he gave up his tortured soul to meet the just\ndispleasure of his God. What more striking confirmation can we ask\nof the truth of those awful words, \u201cThey who sow injustice\u201d sooner\nor later \u201cshall reap its bitter fruits\u201d?\n\nIt would not do to pass without notice the still living and\nspeaking case of Napoleon III. Who but he has been the foremost\nleader of the _regenerators_ of unhappy Italy? The Gog and Magog of\nour Italian pharisees! And are not these the men who fell down and\nworshipped the divine prosperity of their master\u2019s eighteen years\nof empire? Have they not claimed it as a miracle of God\u2019s favor,\na long and lasting \u201ccaress\u201d of Providence, the possible failure\nof which it would be impious to suspect? Have they not sung and\ncelebrated, time and again, the famous victory of Solferino as a\nprodigy sent from heaven to show that the Almighty took the side of\nItaly, and had declared against the Pope?\n\nWell, now, what has become of this epopee of miraculous prosperity,\nthis note of ruin to Catholic Christianity, to the claims of the\nHoly See, and (as justly we might say) to the repose and peace\nof Europe? It came to naught in Sedan, in a military defeat and\na dynastic misfortune the most appalling that ever was known or\nwritten of in the world.\n\nAnd it _so_ came to naught precisely because of the \u201csuccess\u201d at\nSolferino. That victory of Napoleon\u2019s, chanted so loudly and so\noften by the pious Jew editor of the _Opinione_ as an unmistakable\nrevelation of God\u2019s decision in favor of Bonaparte and his new\nItaly--that victory (when the hour of Sedan had come) was plainly\nseen as the manifest cause of his every subsequent reverse. Who\ncan help perceiving now that, had not Austria lost the battle\nof Solferino, won by France that Italy might be \u201cmade,\u201d Austria\nwould not have lost the battle at Sadowa, achieved by Prussia that\nGermany might be \u201cmade\u201d? And had not Austria lost at Sadowa, is it\nnot plain that Napoleon would never have been dragged down into the\nhorrible catastrophe of Sedan? In this catastrophe we find the\nmeaning of the \u201capproving smile\u201d at Solferino. The \u201ccaress,\u201d we\nare told, was intended for the third Napoleon. For whom, then, was\nintended the crushing dispensation at Sedan?\n\nWill our kind converters to the new reading of the ways of\nProvidence reflect maturely on this matter? All genuine Christian\ngentlemen, all admitted men of honor (except a few who were\nmisled), regarded the war of 1859, so well characterized by\nthe victory of Solferino, as iniquitous in its motives and as\nanti-Christian in its scope. It was looked upon by all as a _magnum\nlatrocinium_, a godless scheme of robbery; but it had what its\nperpetrators called \u201ca great success.\u201d Eleven years roll by, and\nwhat do we see?\n\nNapoleon III., at first so splendidly victorious by the force of\nan act of larceny that dispossessed four princes and displaced\nthe Pope, is caught at last like a weasel in a trap, dethroned in\nhis turn, driven off in scorn, steeped to the lips in indelible\ndisgrace; all his marshals and generals, without a solitary\nexception, ignominiously humbled, soundly beaten, and detained in\ndurance vile by a logical rebound from their first Italian success;\nall his army, four hundred thousand strong, lately invincible,\nnow led into exile or captivity, to shiver with cold or to wince\nunder the epithets of scorn. Victorious France, in retribution\nfor her \u201cnew idea\u201d of _nationality_, and to set the good example,\nyields up the costly tribute of _two_ of her wealthiest provinces;\njust the number she had stolen from Italy, on the strength of the\n\u201cnew idea,\u201d as her due for allowing Piedmont to absorb the entire\npeninsula within her ravenous maw.\n\nHow is it possible not to recognize, in this unprecedented drama,\nthe real lesson of divine retaliation, the exclusive right of\nProvidence to repay--to exact eye for eye, tooth for tooth, and\nlife for life, when such extremity is required? Who will hesitate\nto say with the poet:\n\n    \u201cThe sword of God is strict, and cuts amain.\n    But still in stated measure, time, and place,\n    Till all things find their equal own again.\u201d\n\nAnd in this most memorable reverse of Napoleon III., we invite our\napostolic interpreters of Providence to note a special fact. The\nfallen emperor not only lives to realize the forfeiture of all his\nfame, differing herein from those who die before the loss, but has\nto endure the bitterness of witnessing the demolition of all the\nproud creations of his reign. He had raised France to the pinnacle\nof earthly greatness, had just crowned, as he himself phrased it,\nthe glorious edifice his genius had successfully constructed.\nFrance is now dismembered, dilapidated, a mass of melancholy ruin;\nreduced to chaos militarily, morally, politically, and to a great\nextent materially, if this last trait be deemed of much account.\n\nHe had decorated the palaces of St. Cloud and the Tuileries with\nmunificence more than Asiatic. They are stripped to the bare walls.\nHe rose, on the wings of the _pl\u00e9biscite_, from obscurity to a\nthrone. The _pl\u00e9biscite_ is now an obsolete absurdity. The treaty\nof Paris, which crowned the triumphs of the East; the Chinese\nvictories and ovations at Canton and Palikao; the Mexican Empire,\nthe fruit of so much toil and treasure, the price of the good name\nand fame of France; the Prague conventions, intended to defeat the\ngrowth of Prussia into a vast and consolidated Germany--of all\nthese magnificent enterprises not a trace. In short, the countless\ndazzling exploits of the prosperous reign of the third Napoleon\nhave vanished for ever like so many dissolving views. One work,\none only work survives--the Subalpine government of Italy, to\nlick which hideous monster into shape the unhappy monarch threw\nrecklessly away his honor and his crown. We might pursue this\ntrain of thought to its logical conclusion, but we refrain. Too\nstrict an application of the laws of logic might bring us into\nconflict with other laws which we prefer not to provoke. But we may\nperhaps venture to request our pious friends of the \u201cRegeneration\u201d\nto undertake the argument themselves--an argument which runs on\nalmost of itself, being one of the kind which dialecticians call\nreasoning from analogy. Let them look to it well, and say if there\nbe not better ground to be anxious about the life of their _Italy_\nthan there is to be solicitous about converting Catholics to the\nmodern dogma, that the voice of an accomplished fact is no less\nthan the voice of God; that the lucky consummation of a crime is\nitself the signal of the divine applause. Let them reflect that\nnot a fact, which ceases afterwards to be a fact, can come into\nbeing or go out of it, without, at least, the permissive sanction\nof Almighty God. Let them pause and consider that the series of\nevents, opened by Providence in 1859, is not absolutely or finally\nclosed. Let them ever bear in mind that, when least it is expected,\nProvidence may complete the line of this analogy by dissolving into\nnothingness the only remnant left of all the Napoleonic creations.\nThe world and the ages will then believe that not a single one\nof the supposed marks of the divine \u201ccaress,\u201d claimed by Italy\u2019s\n_regenerators_, was really a mark of favor; but simply one of the\nmany illustrations of the way in which the scorner is caught in the\nmidst of his devices: _In insidiis suis capientur iniqui_.\n\nIn what we have advanced, we have, as seems to us, fairly and\nfully refuted the boastful syllogism of our adversaries. We shall\nconclude by exhorting them to lay aside all hope of converting\nCatholics by a show of blasphemous successes or an appeal to the\nlongest impunity of crime. Go on, gentlemen! Enjoy your fortune!\nVaunt as loudly as you will the triumphs you have secured over us,\nover the church, over the rights of the Holy See. Do all this, and\nwelcome. But when you come to tell us that Providence is \u201ccaressing\nyour cause,\u201d and ask our adhesion to this impiety, we warn you to\ndesist. Satan himself would not dare to give utterance to such an\ninsult, or even to harbor such a thought. Providence has allowed\nyou, in the abuse of your own free-will, a certain measure of\neasy success; as he allowed it to the synagogue, to the C\u00e6sars,\nto Julian the Apostate, to Desiderius, and to all such of your\npredecessors as were permitted for a time to triumph over Christ\nand his commandments. And this he has allowed to you, not as to\nhis loved ones, but as to his persecutors, that you may be the rod\nof his justice against the sins of the world. He will make this\nto yourselves, if you repent not, a snare and a delusion; to the\nchurch, an assurance of greater exaltation; and to all of us, a\ncall to better service and obedience. We as Catholics know that we\nmust bow beneath your blows. We bear the pain of them in peace,\nbecause faith teaches us that even scourges are wielded by God, and\nthat his hand is to be kissed as much when it strikes as when it\nstrengthens. For this reason we can accept you as you are. And yet\nwe see in you no higher mark than that of our flagellators and the\nexercisers of our patience; but be warned in time. God makes use\nof his scourges, and then destroys them. We have made this plain\nto you by innumerable examples. Beware! for the prosperous days of\nGod\u2019s scourges end invariably in misfortune and disaster. Beware,\nfor the good times of the enemies of Jesus Christ and his church\nhave ever been as pitfalls with a covering of roses; yokes of iron\nmasked by a drapery of flowers. On the contrary, from her greatest\ntribulations the church has ever issued brighter, lovelier, and\nmore radiant than before. She numbers as many victories as battles,\nas many prisoners as foes. All the promises of God are for her and\nagainst you, and all history attests that of these promises not a\nsyllable has failed. The church is our mother; her cause is our\nown. We have, therefore, no fear for the result. You may scorn us,\nyou may strip us, you may deny us the protection of the laws. You\nmay tear us limb from limb during the brief occasion of your power.\nBut conquer us, no! In all eternity, you cannot. God has ordered it\nthat we shall be _your victors_. Rallying close to the Vicar of the\nKing of heaven, and faithful to the call of his immortal Spouse, we\nshall announce to you, with front uplifted, that we have conquered\nyou; or (if that better pleases you) that Christ has conquered you\nthrough us. Laugh to your hearts\u2019 content at this faith of ours.\nAll your predecessors have done as much. Yet who triumphed in the\nend? So certain are we of the victory that we scarce dare hasten it\nby our desires. The thought of the bolts of divine wrath impending\nover you appalls us, and we abstain, out of pity for you, from\nasking what Dante, on a like occasion, prayed for in these words:\n\n    \u201cO God! when wilt thou give me to be blest\n    To see thy vengeance, which, long hid, made sweet\n    The sacred anger garnered in thy breast?\u201d\n                                         _Purg._, c. xx.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[62] In Psalm liv.\n\n[63] See _Diary of C. Pisano_, fourth part, p. 125.\n\n[64] _Ai giovani Italiani_, p. 15.\n\n[65] See _L\u2019Unit\u00e0 Italiana di Milano_, April 14, 1863.\n\n[66] See _The Republican Federation of the Peoples_.\n\n[67] See _Il Diritto_, July 31 and August 11, 1863.\n\n[68] Epist. i. ad Eliod.\n\n\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\n  LITTLE PIERRE, THE PEDLAR OF ALSACE; or, The Reward of Filial\n      Piety. Translated from the French by J. M. C. With 27\n      illustrations. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 236. New York: The Catholic\n      Publication Society, 9 Warren Street. 1872.\n\nThe French can write charming stories, as every one knows. _Little\nPierre_ is one of the best we have seen in a long time--such a\none as enchants a child, and makes him or her unwilling to lay\nit aside for supper or bed. It leads one through the romantic\nscenes of Alsace and the country of the Rhine, has plenty of\nstirring adventures, and, what is best of all, ends in a capital\nand satisfactory manner: Pierre and his little sister happily\nmarried, the old lady comfortable, Pierre a well-to-do merchant\nat Niederbronn. The illustrations, twenty-seven in all, which\nhave been recut from the originals for the American edition, are\nuncommonly well executed. Little Pierre is destined to become an\nintimate friend of our young folks, to say nothing of Christine and\nLolotte. Perhaps the most comical scene in the book is where Little\nPierre is put by Madame Frank in the top of a Christmas-tree, with\nthe name of little Cecile pinned on his breast. The most touching\nscene is the finding of little Lolotte in the wood, with her eyes\nbandaged and her hands tied. We advise our young readers not to\nrest until they get possession of this pretty book.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE MEN AND WOMEN OF THE ENGLISH REFORMATION, from the Days\n      of Wolsey to the Death of Cranmer. Papal and Anti-Papal\n      Notables. By S. H. Burke, author of \u201cThe Monastic Houses of\n      England.\u201d 2 vols. New York: The Catholic Publication Society.\n      1872.\n\nThis is a work which fairly answers its title, and we have in its\ntwo handsome duodecimo volumes sketches and descriptions so graphic\nof the men and women of the English Reformation as to place them\nmost vividly before us.\n\nBeginning with the unlovely correspondence of Henry VIII. with Anne\nBoleyn, and recounting many interesting details of the divorce\nquestion, the narrative passes on to a review of the leading\nincidents and the principal personages of the reign of Henry.\nThe political murders of Sir Thomas More and of Bishop Fisher,\nthe death of Queen Katharine, and the fall of Anne Boleyn, are\ndescribed with fresh details of interest drawn from newly opened\nsources of historic information.\n\nOn the subject of \u201cClerical Reformers and their Spouses,\u201d there\nis a very readable chapter, and, with a full disquisition upon\nthe \u201cReligious Institutions of Old England,\u201d we have startling\nstatements concerning the character of the \u201cMonastic Inquisitors\u201d\nunder that arch-villain, Thomas Cromwell, Henry\u2019s Secretary of\nState, as will open the eyes of such as are unaware of the depth of\ninfamy fathomed by the scoundrels who stole or wasted the wealth\nof England\u2019s grand medi\u00e6val charities and robbed the poor and the\nsick of their sole heritage of succor and consolation. At the sight\nof the suffering entailed by the destruction of the monasteries,\nthose glorious asylums of religion, charity, and learning, even\nas enthusiastic a panegyrist of the Reformation as Froude cannot\nhelp exclaiming: \u201cTo the universities, the Reformation had brought\nwith it desolation. _To the people of England it had brought\nmisery and want. The once open hand was closed._ ... The prisons\nwere crowded.... Monks and nuns pointed with bitter effect to the\nfruits of _the new belief, which had been crimsoned in the blood of\nthousands of the English peasants_.\u201d\n\nThe second volume gives us the principal events and personages of\nthe end of the reign of Henry VIII. and of the reigns of Edward VI.\nand of Mary Tudor; and effective use is made not only of authentic\ndocumentary evidence which has come to light within the past seven\nyears, but also of the important, because impartial, testimony of\ndistinguished Protestant writers, such as Hook, Maitland, Brewer,\nBlunt, and Stephenson. We commend the work as one of exceeding\ninterest.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE LIFE OF MARIE-EUSTELLE HARPAIN, the Sempstress of St.\n      Pallais, called \u201cThe Angel of the Eucharist.\u201d Second\n      edition. London: Burns, Oates, & Co.; New York: The Catholic\n      Publication Society. 1872.\n\nThis is one of the most interesting lives which we have read.\nThe lives of the saints always should be interesting, but often\nthe methodical and dry way in which they are, as we may say,\nconstructed, has a discouraging effect upon the reader greater than\nthat which the heroic virtues of their subjects can produce. This\nis not the case with this memoir of one whom we may be allowed\nto call a saint, though she has not yet been recognized as such\nby the church, always prudent, and especially so with regard to\ncanonizations. Marie-Eustelle died in 1842, at the age of 28, and\nbelongs entirely to this nineteenth century, which is so ignorant\nof its true glories. Her life is quite imitable in most respects,\nas well as admirable, which is an additional reason for reading a\nbook that is so very readable.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE PARABLES OF OUR LORD AND SAVIOUR JESUS CHRIST. With\n      twenty-one Illustrations, from original designs by D. Mosler,\n      H. Warren, and J. H. Powell, engraved by Holman and Bale. New\n      York: The Catholic Publication Society.\n\nThe Rev. Mr. Formby, whose zeal, learning, and taste have so\nenriched the library of Catholic books for the young, gives here a\npopular work on the Parables, which will be wonderfully attractive.\nThe Parables are all given in full, with fine illustrations to\nfix them on the mind, and explanations of their spiritual sense,\ndrawn from the holy fathers. These beautiful lessons of our Lord\ncannot be too deeply impressed on minds to serve as subjects of\nmeditation, and, well understood, they will prove sources of many\ngraces. Outside the church, they remain to most \u201cmere parables, not\nunfrequently indeed admired, and even quoted, beautiful in their\nway as anecdotes, but without in the least disclosing their true\nmeaning.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE SEVEN SACRAMENTS OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH; or, The Seven\n      Pillars of the House of Wisdom. A Brief Explanation of the\n      Catholic Doctrine of the Seven Sacraments, in connection with\n      their corresponding types in the Old Testament. Illustrated\n      with sixteen original designs by J. Powell, engraved on wood\n      by the brothers Dalziel. By the Rev. Henry Formby, Priest of\n      the Diocese of Birmingham. New York: The Catholic Publication\n      Society.\n\nAnother of Mr. Formby\u2019s charming books, \u201cnot meant as a book of\npiety alone, but rather intended as a book of general popular\nknowledge.\u201d He saw clearly the want of our time. \u201cThe whole tone\nand spirit of modern civilization is built upon the denial that\nthere either is or can be anything superior to itself, or, indeed,\nanything that is not of its own order of things in the world.\u201d\n\u201cThe young mind cannot be too soon made aware of the contradiction\nbetween the world and our Lord, and cannot be too soon and too\neffectually brought up to love and abide by all that our divine\nLord has taught, and made firmly to disregard and despise all that\nis contrary to it in the world\u2019s doctrine, from the knowledge that\nour Lord is greater than the world.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE SCHOOL KEEPSAKE, AND MONITOR FOR AFTER LIFE. By Rev.\n      H. Formby. With illustrations. New York: The Catholic\n      Publication Society.\n\nThis perfectly beautiful little gift for the young leaving school\nis one so attractive in itself that it cannot fail to be kept; so\nsound, so clear, so distinct in its matter, that it cannot but be\nsuch a help as will gladden the guardian angel watching over the\nchild as it steps from the school into the busy world.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE DEVOTION OF THE SEVEN DOLORS OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN.\n      Translated by the Rev. Henry Formby. New York: The Catholic\n      Publication Society.\n\nA devotion approved by the highest authority, commended by the\nexample of saints, and one full of consolation and piety, is here\npresented in a form that will give it currency among many who had\noverlooked it. No one can sorrow with Mary over the sorrows of\nJesus without a return on self, and a sense of what our sins, the\ncause of all, demand on our part.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  SCHOOL SONGS, to which music is adapted. Complete volume\n      containing--Part I., The Junior School Song-Book; Part II.,\n      The Senior School Song-Book. Edited by the Rev. Henry Formby.\n      New York: The Catholic Publication Society.\n\nAmid the abundance of bad books, it is delightful to find a\nminiature volume like this of 200 pages, containing hymns, nursery\nrhymes, ballads, and minor poems suited to the young selected\nwith care. The young must laugh and play; they will sing hymns\nsometimes, touching ballads sometimes, nonsense sometimes; give\nthem all this to sing, but keep them from the immoral and low,\nslangy songs that even our music stores are now flooding the land\nwith. We hope this little collection will sell by the thousand. It\nis cheap and it is good.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  WILD FLOWERS OF WISCONSIN. By B. J. Dorward. Edited by his son.\n      Milwaukee: Catholic News Co.\n\nThe productions of our author, under the signature of \u201cPorte\nCrayon,\u201d[69] have long been favorites of the Western public.\nThe late Dr. J. V. Huntington, a poet and critic of no ordinary\nability, sought him out and secured his contributions to the\nSt. Louis _Leader_. His poems are characterized by a beautiful\nsimplicity and spontaneity, genuine sentiment, and native good\nsense. Other poets may exhibit the delicate touch of the artist\nin elaborate and polished images, but the efforts of writers like\nthe present must be the inspiration of the moment, and the less\nforethought they show, the more are they enhanced in value. To\nchange the figure, the wild flowers lose their hues and fragrance\nif subjected to hot-house processes. The former excite our\nadmiration, the latter elicit our sympathy, and perhaps live longer\nin the memory by those \u201ctouches of nature which make the whole\nworld kin.\u201d\n\nWe bespeak a welcome to these flowers of song on the part of those\nwho love poetry in its native simplicity, who set a proper estimate\non all that is gentle, pure, and kind in the sentiments of our\ncommon nature, noble and sublime in our common faith, and would\ncultivate an indigenous literature worthy of the name.\n\nAmong many gems of thought and feeling, we can only particularize:\n\u201cTo a Bird in Church,\u201d \u201cBy the Rivulet,\u201d \u201cTo the Memory of Dr. J.\nV. Huntington,\u201d \u201cSt. Mary\u2019s of the Pines,\u201d \u201cThe Datura,\u201d and \u201cA\nSoldier\u2019s Funeral.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  A SISTER\u2019S STORY. By Mrs. Augustus Craven. Translated from the\n      French, by Emily Bowles. Fourth American edition. 1 vol. 8vo,\n      pp. 539. New York: The Catholic Publication Society.\n\nIt is with pleasure that we announce the appearance of a fourth\nAmerican edition of this exquisite and charming book, whose\nreputation and circulation have become world-wide. Even the\npublications most hostile to our holy religion have been compelled\nto eulogize it, although evidently feeling very uneasy about its\ngreat and increasing popularity among non-Catholic readers. The\ngreat discovery of a forgery in one part of the history which\nthe _New Englander_ fancied itself to have made, is known to a\ngreat part of the reading public. This supposed _forgery_ was a\nprofession of faith by the subject of the story, differing in form\nfrom one given in a French edition (14th of Didier, Paris), which\nthe _New Englander_ rather hastily concluded to be the genuine and\nauthentic form which Mrs. Craven had published. The _New Englander_\ndid not, however, express any suspicion that this forgery had been\nperpetrated by the American editors--on the contrary, disclaimed\nany such suspicion. Refinement of language, cautiousness in making\ninfamous charges against persons of high character, and similar\nmarks which denote gentlemanly and conscientious principles in a\nliterary man, are, however, unhappily too rare among the conductors\nof the \u201cMoral Spouting Horns\u201d of the American press. Following\nthose instincts by which they are usually impelled, and imitating a\nlong series of precedents furnished by those who have been their\nprecursors in their honorable trade, several of these papers,\nthe _Independent_ leading off, accused the American editors and\npublisher of the work with having forged a \u201cprofession of faith\u201d to\nsuit themselves. Says the _Independent_ of Jan. 15:\n\n  \u201cThe creed of this good Catholic was not half papistical enough\n  to suit these American editors; so they have introduced into\n  it not only what she did believe, but what, in their judgment,\n  she ought to have believed. We desire to call the attention of\n  THE CATHOLIC WORLD and the _Tablet_ to this translation. It is\n  possible there may be some explanation of what seems to be an\n  astonishing piece of literary knavery. If there be, we should be\n  glad to hear of it.\u201d\n\nTo this the publisher, in the \u201cLiterary Bulletin\u201d of THE CATHOLIC\nWORLD for April, replied that--\n\n  \u201cThe Catholic Publication Society\u2019s edition is printed exactly,\n  word for word, from the first London edition, published by the\n  respectable house of Bentley, in three volumes. If any deviation\n  from the French was made, \u2018The Catholic Publication Society\u2019\n  did not make it, but followed the London edition in good faith,\n  knowing the high source from which it emanated. But as the\n  writer in the _New Englander_ quotes from the _fourteenth French\n  edition_, how does he know that the alteration may not have been\n  made in that or previous French editions? We have written to the\n  translator [Miss Bowles] in reference to this matter.\u201d\n\nBut this did not seem to satisfy the _Independent_, for in its\nissue of April 4 it reiterates its accusation of forgery as follows:\n\n  \u201cLet us ask once more (this makes three times) what our Catholic\n  neighbor thinks of that forgery in one of the books of \u2018The\n  Catholic Publication Society\u2019 which was exposed in the January\n  number of the _New Englander_. We have looked in vain in the\n  columns of the _Tablet_ for a denunciation of this pious fraud,\n  and our diligent questioning has failed to elicit from that\n  usually fair journal any reply.\u201d\n\nThe Chicago _Advance_ is another paper that took particular\npleasure in re-echoing the \u201cforgery\u201d; but, unlike the\n_Independent_, it notices the denial put forth in the \u201cBulletin\u201d of\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD, and says:\n\n  \u201cTHE WORLD at last notices the forged prayer in the \u2018Sister\u2019s\n  Story,\u2019 brought to light by the _New Englander_, but affirms that\n  \u2018The Catholic Publication Society\u2019 reprinted it verbatim from\n  Bentley\u2019s London edition; and rather improbably suggests that the\n  alteration may have been made in one of the later French editions\n  of the original. Meanwhile, the editor says that the translator\n  [Miss Bowles] has been written to about it. We want THE WORLD to\n  be sure to publish her reply.\u201d\n\nTo which we reply: Here is the letter.\n\n                                \u201c5A DAVIES ST., BERKELEY SQ.,\n                                   LONDON, W., March 18th, 1872.\n\n\u201cSIR: The \u2018Profession of Faith\u2019 in the first edition (3 vols.) of\n_A Sister\u2019s Story_ was the correct one, given me by Mrs. Craven\nherself. I think she said it was incorrectly given in Didier\u2019s\neditions, having been copied from those commonly used. She was\nvery particular in writing it out herself for _A Sister\u2019s Story_.\nMr. Bentley published the one vol. edition in a singular manner,\nwithout referring to me at all, and I never knew why he had\nshortened the \u2018Profession.\u2019 I have never compared the editions, but\npossibly there are other mistakes.\n\n                             \u201cYour obed\u2019t serv\u2019t,\n                                            \u201cEMILY BOWLES.\u201d\n\nWe do not think it necessary to add anything to the above. The\nnewspapers which have published remarks similar to those we have\nquoted cannot make any apology which will entitle them to notice\non our part, and we take leave of them until we are compelled to\nrefute some new libel.\n\n  Mr. P. DONAHOE announces for early publication: _Six Weeks\n  Abroad, in Ireland, England, and Belgium_, by Father Haskins;\n  _Sketches of the Establishment of the Church in New England_, by\n  Father Fitton; _Catholic Glories of the Nineteenth Century: The\n  Old God_, translated from the German; _Conversion of the Teutonic\n  Race_, by Mrs. Hope, as well as several others.\n\n  \u201cThe Catholic Publication Society\u201d announce for early\n  publication, in addition to the books already announced, Canon\n  Oakeley\u2019s two books, namely, _Ceremonial of the Mass_ and\n  _Catholic Worship_. Also, _Aunt Margaret\u2019s Little Neighbors; or,\n  Chats about the Rosary_.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[69] This _nom de plume_, chosen without the knowledge of any other\nappropriation of the name, was quite significant in the case of the\nwriter, as he at one time took portraits in crayon, though he has\nsince restricted himself to altar pieces in oil.\n\n\n\n\n                        THE CATHOLIC WORLD.\n\n                  VOL. XV., No. 87.--JUNE, 1872.\n\n  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by Rev.\n   I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at\n                         Washington, D. C.\n\n\n\n\nDUTIES OF THE RICH IN CHRISTIAN SOCIETY.\n\nNO. V.\n\nPRIVATE DUTIES.\n\n\nThat part of our subject which is included under the title of the\npresent article is the most difficult, complicated, and extensive\nof the several divisions under which we have classed the various\nand weighty duties of the rich. A volume of the most carefully\nprepared sermons, or a copious moral treatise, from the hand of a\nmaster of spiritual and moral science, could alone do justice to\nthe demands of such a theme. The question to be answered, and it\nis one which harasses many a heart and conscience, is, How shall\none live and govern his household amid the abundance of temporal\ngoods, so as to make his state in life subserve the great end\nto which a Christian must direct all his thoughts and actions?\nThe solution of this problem is theoretically and practically\ndifficult. The language of Jesus Christ and the apostles in respect\nto the difficulty is startling, and even terrifying. Our Lord said:\n\u201c_How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom\nof God. For it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a\nneedle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God_.\u201d The\nefforts which some critics have made to soften and diminish this\nfearful declaration of Christ by changing \u201ccamel\u201d into \u201ccable,\u201d or\nmaking the \u201cneedle\u2019s eye\u201d to be a gate of the city, so-called, are\nfrivolous and futile. The figure is that of a laden camel before\nthe eye of a small needle, through which his driver is essaying\nto make him pass. And its force consists precisely in the utter\nand extravagant absurdity of the image which it presents to the\nmind. It is intended to represent that which is violently contrary\nto the laws of nature, and, therefore, impossible. And it is this\nimpossibility which is taken to illustrate the difficulty of a\nrich man entering the kingdom of God. What follows elucidates and\ncompletes the idea which our Lord intended to present before the\nminds of all his followers. His astounded listeners exclaimed,\n\u201cWho then can be saved?\u201d To whom he replied: \u201c_The things that are\nimpossible with men are possible with God_.\u201d[70] The power of God,\nsome philosophers tell us, can compress the substance of a camel\ninto such small dimensions that it can pass through the eye of a\nneedle. By that almighty power, and that alone, Christ teaches, can\na rich man with his substance pass through the narrow gate of the\nkingdom of God.\n\nSt. James addresses to the rich the following terrible invective:\n\u201cGo to now, ye rich men, WEEP AND HOWL for your miseries that shall\ncome upon you.\u201d[71] Similar passages might be multiplied, and the\ncomments and applications of the successors of the apostles, in a\nsimilar strain, have filled the pages of the fathers and doctors of\nthe church, and resounded from the chair of truth, from the days\nof the apostles to our own. Great numbers of the rich have been\nimpelled by the force of these alarming declarations to seek for\nperfection and salvation by following the counsel which our Lord\ngave to the rich young man. Let those who have the opportunity and\nthe vocation to do the same imitate their example; we will not\ndissuade them, and let parents and others beware of dissuading,\nmuch more hindering, any who are dependent on them from obeying\nsuch a divine call. This is one of the duties of the rich, which\nwe will specify here in passing, that we may not be obliged to\nrecur to it hereafter--to give their best and dearest, their sons\nand daughters, the most gifted, the most gracious, the most loved,\nas Jephte gave his daughter, a sacrifice to God and the church,\nwhenever the Lord honors them by the demand. But it is not our\npurpose to persuade any to follow the evangelical counsels. We\nare speaking of the way of keeping God\u2019s commandments in a state\nof riches in the world. There must be a way of living a perfect\nlife; and gaining heaven, not merely \u201cso as by fire,\u201d but with\nthe abundant merit which wins a bright crown--in spite of the\npossession of riches, and even by means of those riches. Wealth\nis not an evil, but the abuse of wealth. Temporal goods are not\nin themselves an obstacle to perfection and salvation, but the\nsins and vices which are caused by attachment to them, and the\nself-indulgence for which they afford the facility. The possession\nof wealth increases a person\u2019s responsibilities and dangers, but\nat the same time augments his power of doing good and acquiring\nmerit. Human nature, left to itself, ordinarily swells up, through\nthe possession of either material or intellectual riches, to such\na huge bulk of pride, avarice, and sensuality, that it is like a\nladen camel, or, as we may say, like an elephant with a tower full\nof armed men on its back; and in this condition, submission to the\nlaw of Christ is like passing through the eye of a fine cambric\nneedle. But God, with whom those things are possible which are\nimpossible to men, has not left human nature to itself. Through the\nIncarnation and the cross, through regenerating and sanctifying\ngrace, through the aids of the Holy Spirit, Catholic faith, the\nsacraments, the examples of the saints, Catholic principles and\neducation, the ennobling, purifying power of religion--human nature\ncan be kept, in the state of abundance and prosperity, as well\nas in that of poverty and adversity, from the contamination of\nworldliness and iniquity. Even more, it can glorify its state, and\nturn it to the best and highest use, by the practice of the most\nexalted Christian virtues. The proof of this may be seen in the\nfact that this has been done in many thousands of instances, and is\nbeing done now in every part of Christendom.\n\nThe principles upon which Christian sanctity in the great, the\nnoble, and the wealthy is based, are all summed up by the Apostle\nSt. James in this short sentence: \u201cLet the brother of low condition\nglory in his exaltation, _but the rich in his being low_,\u201d[72]\nwhich is more literally translated, \u201c_in his humility_.\u201d Humility\nentitles the rich man to claim all the special blessings which are\nso frequently and emphatically promised in the New Testament to the\npoor. It is poverty of spirit, or interior detachment from temporal\ngoods for the love of God, and not mere exterior poverty, which\nfits a person for the kingdom of God. The poor and lowly, if they\nare possessed of Catholic faith, have so little of that which makes\nthe present life brilliant and attractive that they are forced by\na happy kind of necessity to find everything in the church and\ntheir religion. They find their nobility in their baptism, their\nglory in the sign of the cross and their Catholic profession, their\ntreasure in the blessed sacrament, their palace with its picture\ngallery and service of gold and silver in the church, their royal\naudiences at the ever open court of the King and Queen of heaven,\ntheir gala-days and spectacles in the festivals and processions and\nceremonies of the ecclesiastical year, their ideal vision of coming\nhappiness in heaven. They are \u201crich in faith,\u201d and \u201cglory in their\nexaltation\u201d as the \u201cheirs of God and joint-heirs with Christ.\u201d\nThe rich must do voluntarily what the poor do from necessity.\nThey must quit the position in their own esteem which human pride\nloves so dearly to take, of superiority over others on account of\naccidental and temporal advantages, and come down to the common\nlevel at the foot of the cross, where pride of rank and power,\npride of intellect, and pride of wealth are alike annihilated, to\nmake way for a true and lasting exaltation in the Son of God.\n\nHere, then, is the first duty of the rich--to adopt inwardly,\nprofess openly, and act out consistently the same principles of\nCatholic faith which are common to all Christians, and to place\ntheir glory, their treasure, their heart\u2019s affection, their end in\nlife, their hope of happiness, not in the transitory things of this\nlife, but in the kingdom of God; \u201c_because as the flower of the\ngrass they shall fade away_.\u201d\n\nThese transitory things, however, do last for a little while, and,\nalthough worthless as a final end and object to live for, are\nnecessary and valuable as means. Private interpretation of the\nScripture might deduce from it that Christ intended to do away\nwith all power, rank, human science, art, commerce, wealth, and\ncivil or social polity, with marriage and the family even, and\nthus extinguish this present world and this life to make way for\nthe next. This is not the interpretation of the church or the way\nof Catholic practice. All these worldly, transitory things are\nretained and made use of, notwithstanding that \u201cthe figure of this\nworld passeth away.\u201d The rich man who is resolved to be a perfect\nChristian needs, therefore, to know not only what esteem he is to\nplace on wealth and other temporal things in reference to the real\nand final good, but how practically to use them for the attainment\nof the same, and for helping his dependents and others to attain\nit. The more we go into detail in regard to this matter, the more\ndifficult it becomes to draw lines and lay down practical rules.\nA sound and well-directed conscience must at last be the guide of\neach one, and it is a sufficient though not strictly infallible\nguide to those who are instructed in good general principles.\n\nOne general principle which may be useful as a rule for application\nto a great many particular cases is this: Those indulgences which\ngratify the more refined and intellectual tastes may be more\nfreely made use of than those which gratify the senses. Another\nprinciple, closely allied to this, is the following: Whatever has\nan honorable or useful end is allowable; whatever merely gratifies\na selfish passion must be condemned and avoided. To apply these\nprinciples as rules in certain important particular cases, let us\nbegin with the rich man\u2019s house. The first fault and folly to be\navoided is extravagance. He ought not to embarrass his estate and\nprejudice the interests of his family by spending more money on\nhis houses and the decoration of his grounds than he can afford.\nIf he does, his motive is ostentation, or some other inordinate\npassion, and therefore worthy of condemnation. That there has been\na vast amount of extravagance in this respect in our country within\nthe past thirty years is obvious to every one. The outside show\nof our towns and cities indicates an amount of wealth certainly\nfour times greater than really exists. A man who is governed by\nChristian principles, with which common sense and sound reason\nalways coincide in so far as they are competent to judge of what is\nright, will, of course, avoid all extravagance. More than this, he\nwill not take the lead in splendor and magnificence of buildings\nand furniture, even if he has wealth enough to do so without\nextravagance. On the contrary, he will choose to be rather behind\nthan before his compeers in this respect. We are not speaking now\nof princes and magnates, but of private citizens. There is no\nfitness, especially in a republic, in making private residences\npalaces. It is proper to provide for all the conveniences of\ndomestic life. Moreover, architectural beauty in the construction\nof houses, and taste and elegance in their furniture, give decorum\nto life, and innocent and refining pleasure to those who behold\nthem, and a means of living to a large class of persons who are\nespecially fitted for a kind of work which demands artistic taste\nand skill. We cannot draw the line precisely where mere useless\nand luxurious pomp, show, and splendor begin. We can only say that\na man thoroughly imbued with Christian principles and sentiments\nwill be very anxious and careful to keep on the safe side of it,\nso far as he is able to do so. But whatever degree of costliness\nand splendor may be suitable or permissible in the residence of\nany Catholic gentleman, whether he be a plain, private citizen\nin our democratic republic, or a nobleman, prince, or monarch\nelsewhere, everything should be made to conform not to a pagan,\nbut a Christian and Catholic, ideal. All that is even bordering\non heathen voluptuousness should be rigidly excluded. Works of\nCatholic art should adorn the walls even of the most public and\nsplendid apartments. Every private room should have its crucifix,\nits Madonna, its vase of holy water, its prie-dieu, and books of\nprayer and devotion. An oratory, fitted up with the utmost elegance\nand costliness that is suitable to the circumstances, should be\nthe shrine and chief ornament of the house. The library and other\nreceptacles for books should be pure of all that is tainted and\ncorrupting, and filled up with everything which Catholic literature\ncan furnish, both in English and in the other languages which\nthe members of the highly distinguished circle we have the honor\nof addressing are supposed to know. In a word, the elegancies\nand ornaments of life should be made to minister to intellectual\ncultivation, to the education of the higher and more refined tastes\nof the soul; and these should be made all subservient to that which\nis highest of all--the culture and improvement of the _spirit_ in\nthe knowledge and love of the Supreme Truth and the Infinite Beauty.\n\nJust at the moment of writing down these thoughts, we have come\nacross a beautiful sketch of the family of Count Stolberg, in\nthe pages of a German periodical. It is so appropriate as an\nillustration that we will postpone any further continuation of our\nsubject, and finish the present article with a translation of the\nsketch alluded to.[73]\n\n  \u201cIt is singular (writes Count Stolberg) that I cannot remember\n  ever to have heard in the house of my parents such words as\n  money, competency, economy, expense, saving. At that time luxury\n  had not yet become the fashion; and, even if it had been, the\n  house of our parents was like an island. We lived separate from\n  others, although scarcely adverting to the fact that our life\n  was so retired. There was just as little said about making\n  ourselves comfortable as about money and fashion. The modern\n  luxury in chairs and sofas with all its ingenious contrivances\n  was altogether unknown to us. All the articles of furniture, our\n  dress, and the table were good and befitting our rank; but we\n  might have said about all these things what Cyrus said at the\n  table of Astyages about the customs of the Persians: \u2018I do not\n  know whether at that time all people remained longer children, or\n  whether we ourselves only remained so.\u2019 Count Stolberg\u2019s father\n  died in the year 1765, and the last anxious wish of his heart\n  was that \u2018his children might walk in the way of the Lord.\u2019 How\n  much, writes the count, this desire occupied the hearts of both\n  my father and my mother! I can still hear my mother say that she\n  envied no one so much as the mother of the seven Macchabees; that\n  she was the most fortunate of mothers. It was her solitary wish,\n  prayer, and effort that she might one day be able to say, \u2018Lord,\n  here are we, and the children whom thou hast given us\u2019--it was\n  the soul of her entire plan of education.\n\n  \u201cAt the father\u2019s death, the countess gave his Bible to the young\n  Count Frederic, and wrote in it the following words: \u2018This Bible,\n  which your blessed father used on the very day of his death,\n  consoling himself with the words, \u201cThou hearest, O Lord! the\n  longing of those who cry to thee, their heart is sure that thou\n  dost give ear to them,\u201d must prove a great blessing to you, and\n  continually stimulate you to love the Word of God, to venerate\n  it, to make it the rule of your life, as he did, and to seek\n  consolation in it to the end of your life. For this, may the\n  Triune God give you his grace and benediction!\u2019\n\n  \u201cThe mother\u2019s testament to her children, which was found after\n  her death, in 1773, in her writing-desk, was as follows: \u2018Dear\n  children, cling to the Saviour, to his merits, to his faithful\n  heart; and do not love the world or what is in the world. For all\n  is passing, and but mere dust of the earth. Nothing can last with\n  us through life and in death but the blood of Jesus, the grace\n  of God, communion and friendship with him. Seek for this; do\n  not rest until you possess it; and then hold it fast; this will\n  help you through until we are with him; oh! let not one, not one\n  remain behind. I will always watch over you, and will hasten to\n  meet you with open arms when you come after me. Watch and pray!\u2019\n\n   \u201cWe can understand without difficulty from this how Count\n  Stolberg could say, \u2018Christ, the Saviour of the world, was the\n  guiding star of my youth. Our parents desired nothing more\n  earnestly than that we should seek him, love him, and confess him\n  before the whole world. I have always regarded that as my highest\n  duty, which necessarily led me into the Catholic Church.\u2019\u201d\n\nIn this sketch of Count Stolberg\u2019s parents and early home, we\nsee the old-fashioned simplicity and piety of the best sort of\nthe ancient Lutheran nobility of Germany. There is a sombre and\naustere character in the picture, partly belonging to the national\ntemperament, but chiefly due to that shadow of sadness which\nProtestantism in its more earnest phase casts over the practice\nof virtue and religion. The count himself, as is well known to\nall, while preserving all that was good and truly Christian in\nthe principles and habits given him by his early education, cast\naside its sectarian prejudices and errors to embrace the Catholic\nreligion. In him, as the model of a perfect Christian gentleman\nand scholar, to quote again the language of the writer in _Der\nKatholik_,\n\n  \u201cwas gloriously fulfilled the wish expressed by Lavater (a\n  Protestant) in a letter to the count. \u2018Become an honor to the\n  Catholic Church! Practise virtues which are impossible to a\n  non-Catholic! Do deeds which will prove that your change had a\n  great end, and that you have not failed to gain it. You have\n  saints, I do not deny it: we have none, at least none like yours.\n  Be to all Catholics and non-Catholics a shining example of that\n  virtue which is the most worthy of imitation and of Christian\n  holiness.\u2019\u201d\n\nWe have been tempted into a digression which will, we trust, not\nbe ungrateful to our readers, and find that we have not been able\nto bring our series of short articles to a close in the present\nnumber, as we had hoped to do. We must therefore resume the same\nsubject after another month, and we trust that our gentle readers,\nupon their summer excursions, will find time and inclination to\nlisten to one more brief moral instruction.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[70] St. Luke xviii. 24, etc.\n\n[71] St. James v. 1.\n\n[72] St. James i. 9, 10.\n\n[73] From _Der Katholik_, for January, 1872.\n\n\n\n\nON THE TROUBADOURS OF PROVENCE.\n\n\n    True hearts, that beat so fast, but now are still,\n      The gracious days will never come again\n    Ye loved and sang; your tender accents will\n      Linger no more on the warm lips of men!\n    Alas! your speech lies with ye in the grave!\n      Yet where Montpellier\u2019s skies their balm impart,\n    And Barcelona wooes the southern wave,\n      The student cons your pages when his heart\n    Hungers for solace. Take it in kind part,\n      Count it not loss, dear hearts, but loyalty,\n    If I like him, though with a ruder hand,\n      Am fain to cull your flowers too sweet to die,\n    To waft their fragrance to a distant land,\n      And bid them blossom \u2019neath a colder sky.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HOUSE OF YORKE.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX.\n\nEDITH\u2019S YES.\n\nIn the opinion of their old friends in Boston, the Yorke family had\nlost something during their sojourn in the wilderness. It was not\nthat they were less charming, less kind, less well-bred, but they\nwere not so orthodox in religion. Mrs. Yorke, it is true, resumed\nher regular attendance at Dr. Stewart\u2019s church; but her husband\nseldom accompanied her now, and, it was ascertained, absented\nhimself with her permission.\n\n\u201cI would not have him go for my sake, when he does not wish to go\nfor his own,\u201d she remarked tranquilly.\n\nThe time had been when Mrs. Yorke would have been horrified at such\na defection, and would have called in the doctors of the church\nto exhort the backslider. She was evidently growing lax in her\nreligious principles.\n\nMelicent always accompanied her mother, and had the true\ndown-drawn, regulation countenance; but Clara was seldom seen in\ntheir pew, and boldly answered, when questioned on the subject,\nthat she sometimes went to the Catholic churches to hear the music.\n\u201cI go wherever I can hear Wilcox play the organ,\u201d she said. \u201cI\nnever tire listening to him. Others play difficult music with\ndexterity, and you admire their skill; but he plays the same, and\nyou forget that there is any skill in it. Such bewitching grace!\nSuch laughter running up and down the keys! Such picturesque\nimprovisations! He played last Sunday something that called up to\nme a scene in Seaton--that bit of meadow on East Street, Edith.\nThere was some sort of musical groundwork, soft and monotonous,\nwith little blossoming chords springing up everywhere, and over\nit all swam a lovely, meandering melody with the _vox humana_.\nWhen the bell rang, at the Sanctus, he caught the sound, and ran\nstraight up into the stars, as though some waiting angel had flown\naudibly up to heaven to announce the time of the consecration. It\nis delightful to hear him. In his graver music, and his choruses,\nI do not so much distinguish him from others; but he is the only\norganist I know who gives an idea of the play of the little saints\nand cherubim in heaven, their dancing, their singing, their swift\nflights to the earth and back again, and all their exquisite loves,\nand pranks, and delights--their very worship like the worship of\nbirds and flowers.\u201d\n\nNot a word about doctrines, about the iniquities of Rome, the\nsuperstition of Papists, the idolatry of the Mass!\n\nWhat wonder if these good people, who considered it blasphemy to\nassociate cherubic music with any more rapid motion than that\nof the semibreve and minim, should think Miss Clara Yorke in a\ndangerous way? It was hoped, however, that when Dr. Stewart and\nMelicent were married, his influence would recall her to a sense of\nduty.\n\nThe doctor did try, carefully, though, warned by his wife, and\nby some sharp, though tacit, rebuffs from Mr. Yorke and Edith.\nHe spoke one day philosophically of the obnoxious _Review_, as\nthough there were no question of truth, but merely of cleverness\nin handling certain subjects, and, in a careless _\u00e0 propos_,\noffered Mr. Yorke the loan of certain volumes, which, he privately\nbelieved, would triumphantly controvert the controversialist. The\ndoctor had not read any of these Catholic authorities.\n\n\u201cThank you!\u201d Mr. Yorke replied. He wished to be friendly, and\nreally liked the doctor when he let theology alone. Besides, he was\ndining there, and could not be disagreeable.\n\nAfter dinner, Melicent slipped out of the room a few minutes; and\nwhen her father went home, she said sweetly, \u201cBy the way, papa, I\nput up those books the doctor spoke of to you, if you like to take\nthem now. They lie on the hall table.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet them _lie_!\u201d replied Mr. Yorke, with a glance and an emphasis\nwhich were not even doubtful.\n\nHe might permit Dr. Stewart to exhort him, but he would not be\nschooled by his own daughter.\n\nThere was but little to tell of the family for a while. Mr. Yorke\nemployed a part of his time in attending to Carl\u2019s and Edith\u2019s\npecuniary affairs, everything being entrusted to his management.\nPatrick was his assistant occasionally, and was also Edith\u2019s\ncoachman; for the only carriage they kept belonged to Edith.\n\nBetsey was Mrs. Yorke\u2019s special dependence. She was a sort of\nhousekeeper, as well as nurse. When the lady was ill, no one else\ncould lift, and serve, and watch as Betsey could; and when she was\nin low spirits, Betsey could scout her vapors very refreshingly,\nwhen the others increased them, perhaps, by indulgence. On all her\nlittle journeys, Betsey accompanied Mrs. Yorke. Her quaint, country\nways were a constant source of amusement, her faithful affection\nand sturdy good sense a staff to lean on.\n\nMrs. Yorke had, at the last moment, concluded not to bring the\nyoung Pattens to Boston, but had secured them places with the\nfamily who had taken her house. \u201cI do not approve of children being\nseparated from their parents,\u201d she had said, \u201cand being placed in\nsuch different circumstances that their childish associations seem\ndiscordant to them. I know no situation more cruel than that where\na child is ashamed of its parents\u2019 poverty and ignorance. Besides,\nI think it my duty to rescue these poor Catholic girls.\u201d\n\nSo Mary and Anne had been brought to Boston, and were now living in\na blissful state of affectionate gratitude toward their employers,\nand rapture with their church.\n\nIn Seaton, Catholics were still in an almost Babylonish captivity.\nTheir church had been burned a few weeks after the Yorkes left\ntown; but toward spring they had a priest--not Father Rasle--who\ncame once in two months, and said Mass for them in a private house.\nHe was not molested.\n\nEdith had not forgotten her friends there, and, among other gifts,\nhad sent to Mrs. Patten a small library, chiefly of controversial\nbooks. So Boadicea was now investigating the Catholic religion. She\nexamined it severely and critically, through a pair of round-eyed,\nhorn-bowed spectacles, missing not a sentence, nor date, nor word\nof title-page in those volumes. She meant to show everybody that\nshe was searching the subject in an exhaustive manner, and that the\ndoctors of the church would have to exert themselves to the utmost,\nand bring all their learning and eloquence to bear, if they wished\nto convince her. But, underneath this vain pretence, her heart\nyearned to enter that fold where her lost little one had found\nrefuge, and where she had seen such examples of Christian endurance\nand charity.\n\nAnd so, with no event in the family save Melicent\u2019s marriage, the\nwinter and summer passed away, and another winter came. In that\nwinter, Edith had news of an event for which she had been looking\nand longing ever since Carl went away. His letters had all been\naddressed to his mother, but in one of them, about Christmas-time,\ncame a note for Edith. He was in Asia, and his letter was dated at\nBangkok. He had been across Cambodia, from the Menam to the Mekong,\nas far as the country of the savage Stiens. \u201cAnd here, in this wild\nplace, my dear Edith,\u201d he wrote, \u201cI gave up, and was baptized. I\nhad thought, while talking with Monsignor Miche, vicar-apostolic of\nthe mission to Cambodia and Laos, that, as soon as I should reach\nEurope, I would enter the church. Indeed, while I heard this, an\naccomplished gentleman, tell of the persecution he had suffered\nwhen he was a simple missionary in Cochin-China, the imprisonment,\nthe beating with rods which cut the flesh so that blood followed,\nthe asking for and taking himself the blows intended for a\ncompanion too frail to bear more--a story, Edith, which carried\nmy mind back to St. Paul, yet which was told with a boyish gaiety\nand simplicity--while I heard this, my impulse was to throw myself\nat his feet, and ask to be baptized by his consecrated hand. But,\nyou know, enthusiasm does not often overcome me; and, since he\ndid not urge me then, the good minute went. When, afterward, he\nexhorted me, I promised him that I would not long delay. But, when\nI reached the Stien country, over that miserable route of swamps,\ncataracts, and forests filled with wild beasts, and found another\nsoldier of Christ living there, in that horrible solitude, sick,\nsuffering, but undismayed, my Teutonic phlegm deserted me. The\nchief citizens of Father Guilloux\u2019s republic are elephants, tigers,\nbuffaloes, wild boars, the rhinoceros; and the most frequent and\nintimate visitors at his house of bamboos are scorpions, serpents,\nand centipedes. And yet, all the complaint this heroic man made\nwas that he had but few converts. The savages are so joined to\ntheir idols, he said. Edith, tears ran down my face. My whole heart\nmelted. \u2018Father,\u2019 I said, \u2018here is a savage convert, if you will\ntake him. I cannot stay one hour longer out of the church which\ngives birth to such children!\u2019 And so I was baptized. And, my sweet\ngirl, I thought then that, if the time should ever come when I\nshould be so happy as to make Edith my wife, I should like to have\nthe same saintly hands join us. I told Father Guilloux of you, and\nhe sends you his blessing. You see I have heard all about Mr. Rowan.\n\n\u201cAnd now I turn my face homeward, though my route will not be very\ndirect. Since I am here, where I shall probably never come again, I\nthink it best to carry out my programme. But the intention of it\nis somewhat different; for I find that a Catholic does not need to\ntravel abroad to find out how men should be taught and governed.\n\n\u201cI am sure that you pray for me constantly; and, believe me,\nyour name has been as constantly uttered by me during the whole\nlength of my wanderings, and is strung, Edith on Edith, like a\ndaisy-chain, two-thirds round the world.\u201d\n\nIt was thus Carl first told Edith his wishes; and, from the moment\nof that reading, she considered herself betrothed to him.\n\nShe carried her letter to her aunt, who already knew from her own\nletter that Carl had entered the church and, placing it open in her\nhand, knelt before her while she read it.\n\nMrs. Yorke took the hands that trembled in her lap, and gazed into\nthe fair face uplifted to hers. Edith\u2019s cheeks were like crimson\nroses, her beautiful eyes shone through tears, her lips were\nparted by the quickened little breaths that told of her quickened\nheart-beats.\n\n\u201cThere is no mistake this time?\u201d Mrs. Yorke asked, smiling. \u201cYou\nsay yes with all your heart?\u201d\n\n\u201cAunt Amy,\u201d Edith exclaimed, \u201cI\u2019m one yes from head to foot, and\nthe gladdest yes that ever was spoken!\u201d\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI.\n\nCLARA\u2019S CHAPTER.\n\nThe second summer after their return to Boston, Clara went down to\nspend in Seaton with Hester; and, late in July, the ship _Edith\nYorke_, Captain Cary, came sailing up Seaton River. The captain had\nmade a prosperous voyage to India, and, having nothing else to do\njust now, had come down to Maine for a load of barrel-staves and\nboxes. To his mind, the fresh pine and ash made a pleasing contrast\nto his rich Eastern cargo.\n\nHester and her husband immediately made him at home with them.\nTheir house was not so full but there was room for him, if he could\nlive in the house with six boys.\n\n\u201cYou can, perhaps, bear it better, since they are sure to be very\nfond of you,\u201d Mrs. Hester said. For the boys had clustered about\nthe sailor before he had been ten minutes with them.\n\nMrs. Cleaveland was wont to say that the masculine element in hers\nand her mother\u2019s immediate descendants would be rather overpowering\nwere its members not the salt of the earth.\n\n\u201cPoor little mamma was quite alarmed,\u201d she said. \u201cShe protested\nthat, if Melicent\u2019s husband or mine called her mother, she would\nleave the country. So they are careful how they address her. Now, I\nam made of sterner stuff, and nothing else makes me so proud as to\nhave all these boys call me mother.\u201d\n\nHester\u2019s boys presented rather an imposing array. There were Major\nCleaveland\u2019s eldest, Charles and Henry, college-students of twenty\nand twenty-two years of age, healthy, honest lads, not very clever,\nbut full of energy and good sense. They were favorites at college,\nwhere the renaissance of muscle had destroyed the old empire of\nhollow chests and pale cheeks, and established as the watchword\n_mens sana in corpore sano_. Next to these was Eugene, now a\nslender youth of fifteen, cleverer than his brothers, but somewhat\neffeminate in character.\n\nThen came Hester\u2019s three boys, Philip, Carl, and Robert. The last,\nan infant a year old, had been named by Edith for her father, and\nhe was, consequently, her dearest pet.\n\n\u201cAnd now my troubles begin all over again,\u201d soliloquized Clara,\nas she prepared to meet the sailor. \u201cCaptain Cary\u2019s sudden flight\nseemed to cut the Gordian knot; but his coming back makes the\naffair more double-and-twisted than ever.\u201d\n\nShe went to meet him, however, with an air of pleasant ease\nwhich betrayed no sign of complicated emotions, and asked of his\nadventures, and told all that had chanced to them during his\nabsence, in the most friendly manner.\n\nNor was the sailor less dignified, though the blush that overspread\nhis face when she first appeared showed a momentary agitation.\n\nBut this highly proper and decorous demeanor did not last long.\nBefore many days, Mrs. Cleaveland perceived that her boys were not\nthe chief attraction which Captain Cary found in her house. It was\nplain that he was devoted, heart and soul, to Clara; and it was\nplain, also, that Clara was fully aware of that devotion, and made\nher sport of it, so Hester thought.\n\nIt was true, the young woman did take a very high hand with her\ncolossal admirer. She snubbed him, ordered him about, made him\ndance attendance, fetch and carry, and, altogether, tyrannized over\nhim outrageously. And he bore it all with the magnanimous patience\nof a great Newfoundland dog petting and bearing with the freaks of\na captious child. But he grew sober and silent, and lost his smiles\nday by day.\n\nSometimes Clara\u2019s mood changed, and there would be little flits\nof sunshine, momentary gleams of kindness and penitence; but her\nvictim learned that he could not depend on the continuance of such\nfriendliness.\n\nOne day she had treated him so much worse than usual that, instead\nof staying to bear her raillery, he left the room, and went out\ninto the garden where the children were playing. Clara seated\nherself in the window presently, and watched him, saw him set\nlittle Bob-o\u2019-Lincoln, as they called the baby, on his shoulder,\nso that the child could reach the branch of a tree, saw him gently\nrestrain and persuade Philip from throwing stones at the birds, and\ntalk to Carl and Philip, when they came to blows about something,\ntill they kissed each other. And through it all she read in his\nface the indication of a heart sad and ill at ease.\n\nA yellow-bird flew over the garden, and dropped a pretty feather\ndown. \u201cOh! that is what Aunt Clara likes,\u201d cried Philip, running to\npick it up. \u201cShe puts \u2019em in her books for marks.\u201d\n\nHe carried it to the sailor, who fastened it carefully in his\nbutton-hole, posy-wise. Even the children had perceived that what\nAunt Clara liked was a matter of interest to their new friend.\n\nA servant came out to call the children in to their early supper;\nand Captain Cary, catching sight of Clara in the window, went to\nher with the little feather in his hand. \u201cPhilip says you make\nbook-marks of these,\u201d he said, and offered it to her.\n\nThere was no sign of coldness or resentment, neither was there any\nof subservience. It was the patience and affection of a tender and\ngenerous heart, and the self-respect of one who is not humbled by\nthe pettishness of another.\n\nClara dropped her eyes as she took the little offering. \u201cYes,\u201d she\nsaid gently; \u201cand see the passage I am going to mark with it.\u201d\n\nThe book she held was Landor\u2019s _Imaginary Conversations_, open at\nthe dialogue between \u00c6schines and Phocion.\n\nThe sailor bent his head and read: \u201cYour generosity is more\npathetic than pity or than pain;\u201d and, looking up quickly into her\nface, to see what she meant, saw her eyes humid.\n\nHis face brightened a little, but he said nothing. He was like a\ntraveller among the Alps, who knows that a breath may bring the\navalanche upon him.\n\nAfter a few weeks of this hide-and-seek, Hester was moved to\nexpostulate with her sister, whose conduct had astonished her. For,\nhowever gay and reckless Clara might be in talk, exaggerating on\none side when she saw people lean too much to the other, and often\nsaying what she did not mean, taking for granted that she was too\nwell known to have her jests taken for earnest--in spite of this\nliveliness and effervescence of spirits, she had never been guilty\nof the slightest frivolity in her intercourse with gentlemen. Mrs.\nYorke had taught her daughters, or had cherished in them the pure\nfeminine instinct, to treat with careful reserve any man who should\nshow a marked preference for them, unless that preference was fully\nreciprocated. Hester, therefore, felt herself called on to admonish.\n\n\u201cI must say, Clara, I think you do wrong,\u201d she said. \u201cAny one\ncan see that the captain sets his life by you, and you treat him\ncruelly.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you wish me to marry him?\u201d Clara asked in a cold voice.\n\n\u201cWhy, no!\u201d exclaimed her sister. \u201cYou two are not at all suited to\neach other. But I would have you treat him kindly.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf I treat him kindly, he will think I like him,\u201d Clara said\nquickly.\n\n\u201cOh! I don\u2019t mean very kindly, but with calm friendliness,\u201d\nanswered her preceptress.\n\n\u201cCalm friendliness!\u201d repeated the culprit with emphasis. \u201cOh!\nthe airs that these little married kittens put on! Hester, seat\nyourself there, and look me in the face, while I lecture you.\nFold your hands, and attend to me. Now, allow me to remind you\nof two or three little facts. Firstly, I am two years older than\nyou. Secondly, I am not a staid married woman with six boys, and\nI won\u2019t try to act as if I were. Thirdly, you don\u2019t know as much\nabout this business as you think you do. Fourthly, women who have\na great facility for being shocked on all occasions are, according\nto my observation, very likely to be shocking women. Fifthly, if\nyou wish well to Captain Cary, you should wish to have him cease to\ncare about me; and the surest way to attain that end is to treat\nhim just as I am treating him. No man can long desire a vixen for a\nwife. Sixthly\u201d--and sixthly, Clara began to cry.\n\nHester, who never could bear to be blamed, had been herself on the\npoint of crying, but, seeing her sister\u2019s tears, concluded not to.\n\n\u201cWhy, what is the matter, Clara?\u201d she asked in distress.\n\n\u201cThe matter is that I am tired of being criticised,\u201d answered her\nsister, wiping her eyes. \u201cI am tired of having people tell me what\nI mean, instead of asking what I mean. I am tired of having people\nwhom I know to be not so good as I am, set themselves up to be\nbetter.\u201d\n\n\u201cI never meant to set myself up to be better than you, Clara,\u201d\nHester began pitifully. \u201cI--\u201d\n\n\u201cBless me! Are you here still?\u201d exclaimed Miss Yorke, with a laugh\n\u201cI\u2019d forgotten you. I was not talking to you at all, you little\ngoose! The truth is, Hester, I am getting as nervous as a witch.\nYou mustn\u2019t bother me.\u201d\n\nClara did seem to be nervous, and unlike herself.\n\nHaving failed in her attempt to admonish her sister, Mrs.\nCleaveland took occasion soon after to comfort the sailor.\n\n\u201cYou must not mind if Clara seems a little hard sometimes,\u201d\nshe said with gentle kindness. \u201cShe does not mean to hurt your\nfeelings. It is only her way. I know she thinks very highly of you.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! I understand her pretty well,\u201d he replied gravely. \u201cClara has\na good heart, and she never gives me a blow but she is sorry for it\nafterward. I don\u2019t blame her. I suppose she sees that I rather took\na liking to her\u201d--he blushed up--\u201cand that\u2019s the way she makes me\nkeep my distance. I understand Clara. She suits me.\u201d\n\nHe said this with a certain stateliness. Not even Clara\u2019s sister\nmight blame her to him.\n\n\u201cRather took a liking,\u201d was Captain Cary\u2019s way of expressing the\nfact that he had surrendered the whole of his honest, generous\nheart.\n\nThere were fires in the woods about Seaton that summer, and, August\nbeing very dry, they increased so as to be troublesome. From\nMajor Cleaveland\u2019s house, which stood on the hill-top west of the\nvillage, they could see smoke encircling nearly all the horizon\nby day; and by night flames were visible in every direction but\nthe south, where the sea lay. The air was rank with smoke, cinders\ncame on the wind when it rose, and vegetation turned sooty. Crops\nwere spoiling, farm-houses were threatened, and large quantities\nof lumber were burned. People looked every day more anxiously for\nrain, prayers were offered in the churches for it, and still it\ndid not come. The blue of the sky changed to brazen, the silver\nand gold of moonlight and sunlight became lurid, the springs began\nto dry up. Sometimes the day would darken with clouds, and they\nlooked up hopefully, and watched to see the saving drops descend.\nBut week followed week, and the refreshing messengers passed by\non the other side. More than once, when the sun was in the west,\nit showed them through that canopy of smoke the dense black peaks\nand rolling volumes of the thunder-cloud, and at night they could\nsee the beautiful lightning crinkling round the horizon, and hear\nthe music of far-away thunder that came down with pelting rain on\ndistant hills; but still their land was dry, their throats and eyes\ninflamed, and the fires crept nearer.\n\nMajor Cleaveland came home to tea one night with an anxious face.\n\u201cThey are afraid the fire will reach Arnold\u2019s woods to-night,\u201d he\nsaid; \u201cand, if it does, Marvin\u2019s house must go, and there is danger\nthat some part of the town may burn. The wind is very high from the\nnorthwest.\u201d\n\nMr. Marvin, Mrs. Yorke\u2019s tenant, had purchased her house and\nland, and lived there, but the woods still bore their old name of\nArnold\u2019s woods.\n\nLater in the evening, while they sat looking out at the baleful\nglow that grew every moment brighter in the northwest, Charles and\nHenry Cleaveland came up from the village with later news. Half the\nmen in the town, they said, had gone out beyond Grandfather Yorke\u2019s\nplace to fight fire. The firemen were all there, and Mr. Marvin\nhad his furniture packed ready to send away from the house at a\nmoment\u2019s warning.\n\n\u201cAnd those poor Pattens!\u201d Clara asked anxiously. \u201cHave they wit\nenough to save themselves? Has any one thought of them?\u201d\n\nThe boys had heard no mention made of the Pattens. They supposed\nthat, if the family had common sense, they had left their house by\nthis time, for every one said that, unless there should be a shower\nwith that wind, the fire was not two hours distant.\n\nCaptain Cary leaned from the window, and looked overhead. The only\nsign of sky was a cluster of stars in the zenith. All else was\nsmoke. \u201cThis wind will bring a shower pretty near, at least, before\nthe night is over,\u201d he said. \u201cIt isn\u2019t a wind out of a clear sky.\u201d\n\n\u201cI must know about those poor creatures!\u201d Clara exclaimed. \u201cThey\nare so shut in that they would not be able to see which way to go,\nif the fire should come upon them; and I am afraid no one will\nthink of them. Charley, if you will have the buggy out, I will\ndrive over to Mr. Marvin\u2019s.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right!\u201d says Charley promptly.\n\nCaptain Cary had already risen. \u201cI\u2019ve been thinking that I\u2019d go\nover and help the men a little,\u201d he remarked, with a moderate air,\nas if he had been in the habit of fighting fire every day of his\nlife for recreation.\n\n\u201cBut you will have to change your clothes,\u201d Clara said. \u201cThat linen\nwill never do. Now, see which will be dressed first. I must take\noff this organdie, of course. Hester, take out your watch and count\nthe minutes.\u201d\n\nShe flew off merrily, her rose-colored cloud of skirts filling\nthe doorway as she went through, and Captain Cary walked quietly\nafter, one of his strides equal to three of her small steps. In\nten minutes they were heard again, opening the doors of their rooms\nat the same moment, and Clara appeared in a plaided waterproof\nsuit, and a sailor hat set jauntily over the rich black coils of\nher hair, and laughingly claimed the victory. \u201cWe opened our doors\nat the same instant,\u201d she said; \u201cbut I stopped to button my gloves,\nand he has no gloves on. Never say again that a lady cannot dress\nas quickly as a gentleman.\u201d\n\nCaptain Cary displayed a pair of thick boots, for which he had\nexchanged his summer shoes. \u201cMay I be allowed to see what you have\non your feet?\u201d he asked.\n\nShe put out a foot clad in the thinnest stocking, and a low kid\nslipper.\n\n\u201cI appeal!\u201d said the sailor.\n\n\u201cAnd I give up!\u201d she answered. \u201cNow let me see if you are prepared\nto go into Gehenna. Are those clothes all wool?\u201d\n\nShe made him turn round, tried with her own fingers the texture\nof his sleeve, ordered him to button his coat tightly at neck and\nwrists, so that no sparks could get in, and gave him a woollen\nscarf, which she commanded him to tie about his face at the proper\ntime. Then they went out together, dropping their laughter at the\ndoor. For the wind blew in their faces a hard gale, and over the\nnorthwestern horizon glowed an angry aurora, and in the zenith\nstill hung that cluster of stars.\n\nThey drove over to Mr. Marvin\u2019s almost in silence. Carts partly\nfilled with furniture stood at the avenue-gate, and trunks and\npackages had been set out on the steps, ready to be taken away.\nTwo little children stood in the door, crying with fear, while a\nservant tried vainly to pacify them.\n\n\u201cTheir mother told me to take them out to the village, to the\nSeaton House,\u201d she said to Clara. \u201cAnd they don\u2019t want to go.\u201d\n\nMrs. Marvin was up in the cupola, watching the progress of the fire.\n\nClara reassured the little ones, put them and the girl into the\nbuggy with Charles Cleaveland, and sent them back home with him.\n\n\u201cBut how are you to get back, Aunt Clara?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cOh! in the same way the people out here do,\u201d she answered. \u201cI\nshall not be alone. Drive along, Charley. The horse won\u2019t bear this\nsmoke much longer. He begins to dance now.\u201d\n\nAs soon as they had gone, she started off through the woods.\nCaptain Cary had already preceded her, thinking that she meant to\nawait him at the house.\n\nDown in the wood-path all was darkness, only a faint reflected\nlight showing where the path lay; but the tree-tops shone as if\nwith sunset, and the sky hung close, in a deep-red canopy. Now\nand then the light steps of some wild creature, driven from its\nforest home, flitted by, and its fleet shape was dimly seen for an\ninstant. The voices of men were heard, and the sound of axes, not\nfar away.\n\nWhen she reached the opening where the Pattens\u2019 house was built,\nthe whole scene burst upon her sight. The open square of ten acres\nwas as light as an illuminated drawing-room. Volumes of red smoke\npoured over it, dropping cinders, which men and boys ran about\ntrampling out as soon as they fell. Some men were at work digging a\ntrench along the furthest side of the opening, others felled trees,\nothers dragged them away, and others sought for water, and threw it\nabout the barrier they were making. They worked like tigers, for,\nscarcely two miles distant, the fire was leaping toward them like\na courser, or like that flying flame that brought the news from\nIlium to Mount Ida.\n\nClara\u2019s eyes searched the space. \u201cDo you know where the Pattens\nare?\u201d she asked of some one who stood near, but without looking to\nsee who it was.\n\n\u201cHere we be!\u201d said a piteous voice in reply.\n\nShe turned her glance at that, and beheld Joe, with his children\nclustered about him, standing beside the path. A large bundle lay\non the ground by them, containing their valuables, probably, and\nthey were all looking back, with the light in their faces.\n\nShe asked him where his wife was.\n\n\u201cShe\u2019s there fighting fire among the men,\u201d answered Joe, with an\naccusing gesture toward the workers. \u201cI told her that it was my\nplace to be there, but she sent me off. She thinks now that I and\nthe children are down at the village; but I am going to stay to\nprotect my wife. It shall never be said that I deserted her in the\nhour of danger.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you seen Captain Cary?\u201d was the next question.\n\n\u201cThat \u2019ere big sailor? Lor, yes! He\u2019s been working like ten men.\nThere he is, chopping down a tree.\u201d\n\nMiss Yorke drew her mantle over her head, as a protection against\nthe cinders, and walked forward. The sky in front of her was like\nthe mouth of a furnace from which a fiery blast is rushing, and the\ntree-trunks in the forest opposite showed a faint glimmer of light\nbeyond them. Some of the workers were retreating at that last sign.\nThe wind caught a burning branch, and bore it almost to her feet.\nThe men stopped to trample it out, then ran. Not more than half\ntheir number remained.\n\n\u201cGood heavens!\u201d she cried excitedly, \u201cwill he never start?\u201d\n\nAs she spoke, a drop of water fell on her face. She looked up, and\nanother and another fell.\n\nOn the very frontier of the battleground, midway between the woods\nthat were on fire and those they tried to save, stood a tall maple,\nits arms outstretched, as if inviting the enemy. Captain Cary was\ncutting that tree down, swinging the axe rapidly in resounding\nstrokes. A few courageous men still lingered near, working with\nrenewed hope as they felt the scattering drops, and perceived that\nthe wind began to lull. But they gave a cry of alarm, and fled\nalso; for a fiery crest was suddenly lifted above the forest, and\nthe enemy was upon them. No one was left but Captain Cary, and his\nwork was not done. If there was a chance of checking the fire, it\nwas in having that tree down.\n\nIt bent slightly under the heavy strokes that smote it, and, as it\nbent, a long, flickering tongue of flame shot across the space, and\ncurled around its topmost tuft of foliage, and devoured it in a\ntwinkling. Twigs, boughs, branches, all as dry as tinder, kindled\ninstantly, and the whole tree, wrapped in flame, toppled over, and\nfell.\n\nWith a cry of terror, Clara Yorke lifted her face, that she might\nnot see that man perish; and, looking upward, saw the redness\nvividly threaded with a blinding white light. Then there were a\nrattle and a rumble, and the rain came down in torrents.\n\n\u201cGod be thanked!\u201d said a deep voice near by.\n\nThere stood Captain Cary, panting, blackened, scorched, torn,\nwiping his face on his sleeve, and looking to see how much more\neffectually fire could be fought by the powers of heaven than by\nthe powers of earth. The flames cowered down from the tree-tops\nunder that tumultuous descent, the brands and cinders died out,\nhissing, and streams of water pursued the fire that fled along the\nground.\n\n\u201cProvidence arrived just in time,\u201d observed one of the men who had\ngathered about him.\n\nThe sailor looked at him with a reproving glance. \u201cProvidence\nalways does arrive in time,\u201d he said reverently.\n\nHere Mrs. Patten, looking like one of those witches we see in\nthe play of Macbeth, not even lacking the long pole, made her\nappearance about as mysteriously as those witches do.\n\n\u201cGentlemen,\u201d she said, \u201csince the hour of peril has gone past, and\nyou must be fatigued by your exertions, I hope that you will take\nshelter from the rain in my poor mansion. You shall be welcome to\nsuch humble hospitality as I can offer you.\u201d\n\nThey were nearly in darkness now, having only such light as came\nfrom the frequent flashes overhead.\n\nThe sailor thanked her politely. \u201cI shall be glad if you can lend\nme a lantern,\u201d he said; \u201cfor I want to get through to Mr. Marvin\u2019s\nas soon as I can. Somebody is there waiting for me.\u201d\n\nMrs. Patten led the way, and the others followed. In the\nsemi-darkness, a smaller figure, which Captain Cary had not noticed\nbefore, came close to his side, and slipped a hand in his arm; and\nthe \u201csomebody\u201d who should have been waiting for him at Mr. Marvin\u2019s\nsaid quietly, \u201cYou see, I cannot walk very well without help, for I\nhave lost one of my slippers.\u201d\n\nThe sailor\u2019s heart had not given such a jump when the burning tree\nfell and just missed him, as it gave at the sound of that voice.\n\n\u201cYou here!\u201d he exclaimed. \u201cWhat did you come for?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo see the fire,\u201d replied Miss Yorke.\n\n\u201cAnd you are barefoot?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! no,\u201d she said cheerfully. \u201cI have a Lisle-thread stocking,\nwhat there is left of it, between my right foot and the sticks, and\nstones, and briers, and thistles, and--so forth.\u201d\n\nHe groaned out, \u201cOh! you poor little dear!\u201d and seemed on the\npoint of saying something he was afraid to say, hesitated, almost\nstopped, then stammered, \u201cI suppose it would be impudent to offer\nto carry you as far as the house, but I hate to have you walk that\nway.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! thank you!\u201d answered Miss Clara. \u201cI could not think, though,\nof receiving so much assistance from any one but my husband, or the\none who is to be my husband.\u201d\n\nThe sailor swallowed a great sigh, and they walked on, Clara\nhobbling fearfully.\n\n\u201cI wish that he were here now, whoever he may be,\u201d she said in a\nplaintive voice, after a minute. \u201cFor, really--\u201d\n\nHer escort said not a word.\n\nIn a few minutes they reached the log-house, where Joe and the\nchildren had already arrived; and, waiting only for the men to wash\nthe soot from their faces and hands, and to find a shoe which Miss\nYorke could keep on her foot, they set out again, with a lantern.\n\nAt Mr. Marvin\u2019s they found Major Cleaveland\u2019s carriage awaiting\nthem, and in twenty minutes they were at home, without having\nspoken a word on the way.\n\nBut when they reached there, Clara looked anxiously at her\ncompanion. \u201cCan\u2019t I do anything for you?\u201d she asked.\n\nHe thanked her gravely. No, he needed nothing. She had better see\nto herself.\n\nShe made a movement to leave the room, and did not go. She\nlingered, looking to see what was the matter with him. He was in a\ndeplorable condition as to his clothing, his hair was singed, his\nhands and face blistering in places; but that did not seem to be\nthe trouble. Neither was he angry. The deep thoughtfulness of his\nexpression forbade that supposition.\n\nShe chose to say, though, \u201cI hope you are not offended about\nanything.\u201d\n\nHe seemed surprised, and recollected himself. \u201cWhy, no!\u201d he\nanswered. \u201cHave I been cross? Excuse me! I was thinking of\nsomething.\u201d He looked at her earnestly. \u201cThere is something I would\nlike to know--not because I am curious, or want to interfere in any\nperson\u2019s private affairs, but because I think it might settle my\nmind to know. I\u2019ll tell you what it is, and I hope you\u2019ll believe\nthat I don\u2019t mean any offence, though it may sound impudent. You\nmust know, Miss Clara\u201d--his eyes dropped humbly--\u201cthat I took\na liking to you at first. Of course I wasn\u2019t such a fool as to\nexpect anything from you; but what you said back there in the woods\nto-night showed me that I am a greater fool than I thought I could\nbe. Do you want me to stop now?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d Clara answered gently. \u201cI would like to hear what you have\nbeen thinking of, and to say anything I can to quiet your mind.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d he went on, \u201cI should feel better to know if you have any\nman in your eye that you like. It\u2019s none of my business,\u201d he added\nhastily, \u201cbut it might do me good to know the truth.\u201d\n\nClara blushed to the forehead, but her laughing glance was raised\nto his face.\n\n\u201cYes, Captain Cary,\u201d she said, \u201cI have a man in both my eyes whom I\nlike and esteem.\u201d\n\nHe was silent a moment. Perhaps his sunburnt face grew a shade\npaler.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s all I want to know,\u201d he said then. \u201cI thank you for telling\nme; and I wish you every happiness that earth and heaven can give.\u201d\n\nHe bowed, and took a step toward the door.\n\n\u201cOh! you great stupid!\u201d she cried out in a voice of ringing\nimpatience, and with a laugh that seemed to be on the verge of\ncrying.\n\nThe sailor turned at that, and drew himself up with proud\nindignation. For the first time his eyes flashed on her, and she\nsaw how lofty he could be in self-assertion.\n\n\u201cMiss Yorke,\u201d he said, \u201cI\u2019m but a rough man, not learned nor polite\nenough to be the husband of an accomplished lady like you; but I\u2019m\nan honest man, and I won\u2019t be scorned by any woman. My love may not\nbe fit for your taking, but it\u2019s too good for your mocking. I know\nwhat I am worth!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou do not!\u201d she exclaimed. \u201cYou don\u2019t know anything about it!\u201d\n\nHe looked severely down upon her, but said nothing.\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t mean to mock you, nor treat you with any disrespect,\u201d she\nsaid. \u201cYou misunderstand me, Captain Cary.\u201d\n\nHis face softened. \u201cI suppose I do,\u201d he replied. \u201cYou have a\nlaughing way, but I know you don\u2019t mean any harm. Forget my rough\ntalk, and forget all I have said to you to-night.\u201d\n\nHe went toward the door again.\n\n\u201cI shall not forget it,\u201d she said. \u201cI shall never forget that\none of the best of men liked me, yet was capable of deserting me\nbecause I would not offer myself to him.\u201d\n\nHe looked round as if he thought she had lost her senses. \u201cWhy,\nMiss Clara, what do you mean?\u201d\n\nShe clasped her hands, and raised her eyes to the ceiling. \u201cDid you\never,\u201d she asked, addressing, apparently, a wreath of stucco faces\nthere--\u201cdid you ever witness such obtuseness?\u201d\n\nHe stared at her a moment, standing; then he sat down, and\ncontinued looking at her intently.\n\n\u201cAnd did you ever witness such inconsistency?\u201d she continued, still\nto the stucco faces. \u201cHe pretends to like me, and in the same\nbreath tells me that he won\u2019t have me--as if I had asked him to!\u201d\n\n\u201cMiss Clara!\u201d\n\nShe glanced at him disdainfully, and returned to her communication\nwith the ceiling. \u201cI shall not, however, break my heart for him.\u201d\n\nOver the sailor\u2019s weather-beaten face a soft, uncertain light was\nstealing, as you may sometimes see the morning light steal over the\nface of a rugged bluff, covering it with beauty.\n\n\u201cClara,\u201d he said--she had heard him speak to the little ones in\nthat low voice--\u201cdo you mean to say that you will marry me?\u201d\n\n\u201cCaptain Cary,\u201d she replied, with an expression of excellent candor\nand good sense, \u201chow am I to marry a man who won\u2019t ask me?\u201d\n\nThen Captain Cary asked her.\n\nA week after that she was at home with her family; and the first\nday, after dinner was over, when they sat quietly alone, she told\nher story to her father and mother.\n\nThey could scarcely believe her in earnest, and fifteen minutes\nwere taken up with exclamations and expressions of incredulity.\nClara received it all with patience, and, at length, succeeded in\nconvincing her parents that, with their consent, she meant to\nbecome Miss Clara Cary, \u201cwhich will be the first alliteration I\never purposely committed,\u201d she said.\n\nIt happens too frequently that persons of an original turn of mind\nare less understood by their familiar associates, and even by\ntheir own families, than by strangers, and that those to whom they\nnaturally look for appreciation give it only when the example is\nset them from abroad.\n\nWith all their affection for her, Clara\u2019s parents often mistook\nher, because they took for granted that they knew her perfectly,\nand, therefore, never paused to examine. The consciousness of this\ninvoluntary injustice on their part had increased her natural\nimpatience, and made her disinclined to explain herself; and, with\na perversity for which, they were half to blame, she sometimes\nsaid what they evidently expected her to say, rather than what she\nmeant. It was not surprising, therefore, that the first reasons she\ngave for her choice were superficial ones.\n\nShe liked brave, manly men, she said; and Captain Cary would give\nher just that life of adventure which she would most delight\nin. With him, that pretty old myth of women looking to men for\nprotection in danger would be realized.\n\n\u201cWhy, papa,\u201d she said, \u201cwhen I go out with any of the nice young\nmen I know, if a dog barks, or a cow shakes her head at us, my\nescort is more frightened than I am. I shall call the captain\nJason, and myself Medea--with a difference. There will be no\nCreusa. We will go after the golden fleece, and bring it home to\nput under little mamma\u2019s feet. We will gather something for you in\nevery sea, and from under every sky,\n\n  \u2018As we sail, as we sail.\u2019\u201d\n\nMr. and Mrs. Yorke neglected to observe the one significant\nsentence: \u201c_There will be no Creusa_.\u201d They did not object to the\nsailor on account of his character or wealth, they said. They did\nnot even object because they would be so much separated from their\ndaughter, though that would be a grief to them; but they thought\nthe two incongruous in tastes and habits, and feared that Clara was\nmistaking that for a serious and lasting affection which was only a\ntemporary artistic enthusiasm for a _unique_ specimen of mankind.\n\n\u201cI do not choose Captain Cary because he is rough, as you call it,\nbut in spite of his roughness,\u201d Clara said. \u201cOur tastes are not as\ndissimilar as you imagine, though. He has great delicacy of feeling\nand perception, and he is as true a gentleman as I ever knew. I\nhave always looked more to the spirit than the letter, and I can\nperceive and admire a good mind and heart in spite of some outward\ndefects. I trust and believe in him entirely. If he is not honest,\nthen no one is. He is magnanimous and truthful. I don\u2019t care if he\ndoes not know Latin and Greek. One may know too much of them. He\npretends to nothing, and he never appears ignorant. I\u2019m not ashamed\nof him.\u201d\n\n\u201cI did not know you were so much in earnest, Clara,\u201d her father\nsaid, looking at her with a smile of approval. \u201cIf you are really\nsatisfied with him, I have not a word to say against your marrying\nhim. Only I thought you would prefer a person who was more literary\nand enthusiastic. Captain Cary is rather taciturn, and very sober.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut he can be roused,\u201d Clara replied with animation; \u201cand when\nhe is, it is something lyric. You remember, papa, Villemain\u2019s\ndefinition of the true ode, as distinguished from the conventional\none: \u2018_L\u2019\u00e9motion d\u2019une \u00e2me \u00e9branl\u00e9e et fr\u00e9missante comme les cordes\nd\u2019une lyre._\u2019 It is no little factious stir at every touch, and\nsnapping at a blow, but \u2018smitten and vibrating\u2019 grandly on great\noccasions.\u201d\n\nMrs. Yorke gave a little sigh of expiring opposition. \u201cOne of my\nchief objections,\u201d she said, \u201cwas that it would look so _bizarre_.\nIf you do not care for that, then it is nothing.\u201d\n\n\u201cMamma,\u201d Clara replied, \u201cyou would be astonished to know how little\nthought I give to the opinions of the Rose-pinks and Priscillas and\npasteboard highnesses.\u201d\n\nAnd so the matter was tacitly settled.\n\nBut later, when Mr. and Mrs. Yorke sat together in the falling\ntwilight, Clara came in softly behind them, pushed a footstool\nbetween their chairs, and sat there, holding a hand of each.\n\n\u201cPapa, mamma,\u201d she said, \u201cI want you to be satisfied that I am\ndoing nothing without thought, and that I have chosen wisely. I\ntell you truly, Captain Cary is the only Protestant gentleman I\nknow whom I can marry, and would not be afraid to marry. Look how\nthe world is going. See what a frightful change has come over\nBoston since we can remember. Why, I have heard stories of some of\nour old acquaintances, people whom we thought respectable, which\nhave sickened me. Your other two daughters have married good men,\nwhom they can trust; but they are old-fashioned men, old enough to\nbe their wives\u2019 fathers instead of husbands. But of that class of\nmen from whom you would think I might properly choose, would you\ndare to have me choose? I would not dare. Marriage has no longer\nany sacredness, except among Catholics. Other men desert or divorce\ntheir wives for nothing, and do the most horrible things. I should\nthink that one-half the Protestant married ladies would look on\ntheir husbands with terror and distrust; and I wonder how any girl\ndares to marry. The weddings I\u2019ve seen lately, instead of seeming\nhappy occasions to me, have seemed most sad and painful. I heard a\nlady say this summer that in fifty years, or less, there would be\nno marriage outside the Catholic Church.\u201d\n\n\u201cCharles, it is but too true,\u201d the mother said. \u201cI am terrified\nwhen I think of what is so evidently coming. It was the thought of\nthis which reconciled me to Carl\u2019s being a Catholic.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish we were all Catholics!\u201d Clara exclaimed. \u201cNot that I know\nor think much of theology; but it is better to believe too much\nthan too little, and they are on the safe side. If we were wrecked,\nand our ship going to pieces, we would be glad of any vessel to\npick us up. We wouldn\u2019t quarrel with the cut of her jib.\u201d\n\nMr. Yorke smiled. \u201cSee how she already draws her illustrations from\nthe sea!\u201d he said, and passed over her wish. \u201cWell, Amy, she has\nproved herself a sensible girl, has she not? and deserves that we\nnot only consent, but applaud.\u201d\n\nThe mother\u2019s answer was a silent embrace.\n\nIf the thought of either parent glanced with a momentary longing\ntoward that strong inviolate church, against which the fiercest\npowers of hell beat in vain, which seems now to loom an ark indeed,\nwhile the rising waves of sin are submerging all beside, they said\nnothing.\n\nOf the shock Melicent felt on learning of this engagement, we do\nnot speak. Edith received the news with delight.\n\nEdith had also other sources of pleasure. She had good news\nfrom Seaton. Mass was said there now once a fortnight, without\nany disturbance; and Mrs. Patten, with all her family, had been\nbaptized. After that fire, which had so nearly swept away their\nhome, and had put their lives in peril, the poor woman hesitated\nno longer. She had vowed that night, in the midst of her terror,\nthat, if her life was spared, she would ask to be admitted to the\nchurch the first time the priest came again; and she kept her vow.\nEdith carefully read the long letter written to her descriptive of\nthe occasion, and, through all its absurdities, rejoiced to see the\nspirit of a sincere faith and obedience.\n\nThis baptism excited a good deal of comment in Seaton. It was\nsaid that Boadicea had taken a stick to her husband to assist his\nconversion, and that, at the beginning, poor Joe was no more a\nCatholic than Sganarelle the wood-cutter was a doctor; but, however\nthat may have been, he certainly became afterward a most exemplary\nCatholic, as far as he went. And it is likely that He who sees\nthrough all outward forms, and scorns only the scorner, received\nthese humble penitents with a welcome as fatherly as that accorded\nto any illustrious convert.\n\nThrough Father John, Edith had frequent news of her childhood\u2019s\nfriend, and all she heard was such as to fill her with contentment.\nHe did not wish to hold direct communication with the world, but\nto pursue his studies with but two thoughts in his mind--a God to\nserve and adore, and a world full of sinners to save for God\u2019s sake.\n\nMrs. Rowan-Williams, seeing that her son was not despised and cast\ndown, but rather elevated higher, and being convinced that, in some\nway she could not comprehend, he was entirely satisfied and happy,\ntook comfort. She could not, however, any longer attend on a church\nwhere his belief and profession might at any time be traduced, and\ngradually, from staying at home on Sundays, began to go to his\nchurch, to listen with curiosity, then with interest, then with\ngrowing admiration, and, at last, to feel happy and at home there.\n\nAnd in the spring, Carl was coming home.\n\n    \u201cBind on thy sandals, O thou most fleet!\n    Over the splendor and speed of thy feet.\u201d\n\nBut not in idle wishing was the winter passed. There was work,\nlightened by joyful anticipations, work persevered in in spite of\ndoubts and fears, and work dear and joyful for its own sake. And\nthus the spring was earned.\n\nThe snows melted, the robins returned, tiny green leaves appeared,\nand there came a day when they sat with their windows open. Every\none who passed by looked smiling; no one was sad that day, it\nseemed, so delightful is the coming of spring. Up-stairs Clara went\nabout from room to room, singing snatches from a hymn to joy. Mrs.\nYorke and Edith, sewing and talking in the parlor below, smiled to\neach other as they heard her.\n\n    \u201cJoy, thou spark of heavenly brightness,\n      Daughter from Elysium!\n    Hearts on fire, with steps of lightness,\n      On thy holy ground we come.\n    Thou canst bind all, each to other,\n      Custom sternly rends apart,\n    All mankind are friend and brother,\n      When thy soft wing fans the heart.\u201d\n\nA letter had come from Clara\u2019s Jason that morning. He was at Havana\nwhen he wrote, and about sailing for England. In the fall he would\nreturn to America, and then he and his lady were to sail in search\nof the golden fleece.\n\nThe aunt and niece spoke softly together of her hopes and their\nown, of their poor, of their friends, of the robins that twittered\njust outside the windows, of the rose-vines that were so forward,\nof the rainbows of crocuses in the yard, of the unexpected help\nthey had received in some benevolent projects of their own.\n\n\u201cPeople are so much better than one thinks,\u201d Edith said. \u201cIt is\ndelightful how much goodness there is, and how kind almost any\none will be if approached in the right way. I have great hopes of\nthe world. There\u2019s nothing like trying to be a saint one\u2019s self.\nIf we should all try, there wouldn\u2019t be a sinner on earth. If I\nshould try, perhaps some one else would, and then, may be, some\nother person would be excited to try, and so it would go on round\nthe world. It seems to me that cheerfulness, and kindness, and a\nhelping hand, and a looking at the bright side, and a determination\nto find a bright side, and, altogether, a persistent shining, is\nwhat is wanted. Light is good, and joy is good, and pain is good\nonly because it may be the birth of delight. Great is gladness, if\nthe Lord is behind it!\u201d\n\n    \u201cAll mankind are friend and brother,\n    When thy soft wing fans the heart,\u201d\n\nsang Clara, in the room above; then stopped, with a little outcry.\n\nThe two below glanced through the window, and saw a gentleman in\nthe street, near their steps. He walked slowly, looking straight\non, so that they saw his profile. They dropped their work, and\ngazed at him steadily. Mrs. Yorke put her hand to her heart, Edith\nheld her breath, and two red, red roses bloomed in her cheeks.\nUp-stairs, Clara made not a sound.\n\nThis gentleman\u2019s step was light and firm, his figure graceful and\nmanly, his face sunburnt, and the bright spring sunshine found\ngolden lights in his hair and long moustache.\n\nAt the step he paused, then turned and came up, rapidly now, taking\noff his hat, and looking eagerly, since he had ventured to look at\nall.\n\nClara came flying down the stairs, and reached the parlor-door,\nwith her arms twined around the new-comer, leading him in triumph.\nMrs. Yorke, without rising from her chair, stretched her hands out\nto her son.\n\n\u201cO Lord! let me never forget thee!\u201d sighed Edith, waiting her\nturn. \u201cLet me never forget thee!\u201d\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII.\n\nEXEUNT OMNES.\n\nIt is spring again, and ten years have passed since that sunny\nApril day when we saw Carl Yorke come home from his travels--ten\nyears lacking a month, for it is early in March. The afternoon is\nas still as any afternoon can be in a city. Not a twig trembles on\nthe bare trees, not a spray swings on the dry vines that drape all\nthe balcony railing. The sky is of a uniform gray, and so thick\nthat it seems to contain a deluge of snow. But the day is not a\ngloomy one. The shadow seems protecting and tender, as when the\nsmall birds are covered in the nest beneath the downy breast of the\nmother-bird.\n\nStanding on the pavement in front of Mrs. Yorke\u2019s drawing-room\nwindows, one can catch glimpses of warmer color within, bright\ncurtains and cushions, and the soft crimson glow that comes from\nan open fire.\n\nA tall, broad-shouldered man comes to one of these windows, nearly\nfilling it, and looks out at the sky. He has a long beard streaked\nwith gray, and thick black hair streaked with gray is pushed back\nfrom his sober, sunburnt face. While he makes his observations on\nthe weather, a slight figure of a woman comes to his side, drawing\nmore closely about her a white Shetland shawl, and giving a dainty\nlittle shiver. She has a delicate face, and the hair that shows\nunder the black lace scarf she wears is a bright bronze, mingled\nwith silver.\n\n\u201cThen you do not think we shall have a great storm, Rudolf,\u201d she\nsays, with another shiver. Mrs. Amy Yorke likes warmth and warm\ncolors, and only to see such a day chills her.\n\n\u201cNo, dear!\u201d (Captain Cary always calls his mother-in-law \u201cdear,\u201d\nbeing forbidden on his peril to call her mother). \u201cThis great\nparade of getting up a storm seldom amounts to much. When it\u2019s\ngoing to storm, it storms, and doesn\u2019t stop to threaten. We\nmay have a little flurry, though, but it will be fair weather\nto-morrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not care on our account,\u201d Mrs. Yorke says. \u201cWe are all very\nhappy and comfortable, thank God! but I pity the poor.\u201d\n\nThey retire, and presently another gentleman approaches the window,\nand looks out. At first glance, one might think that Mr. Yorke has\nnot changed in ten years. The hair is scarcely more gray, the face\nscarcely more wrinkled. But the second glance detects a certain\npallor of age, which has displaced the former bilious tint. A young\nwoman, dressed in gay, outlandish-looking silk, comes to his side.\nA profusion of black curls are gathered back from her brunette\nface, and fastened with a garnet chain, and a band of large\ngarnets, _en cabochon_, is clasped round her neck.\n\n\u201cPapa,\u201d she says, \u201cwhat do you see overhead?\u201d\n\n\u201cClouds,\u201d replies Mr. Yorke.\n\nShe gives his arm a little squeeze. \u201cOh! but I don\u2019t mean that.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat! you are playing Polonius to me?\u201d asks Mr. Yorke. \u201cWell, it\nis neither like a camel, nor a weasel, nor a whale; it is a tent.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! papa!\u201d cries Clara, \u201cput on your spectacles, your\nsecond-sighted ones. You have no eyes at all. In that sky I see\ncrops for the fields, billows of grass, heaps of leaves for the\ntrees, foaming torrents for all the brook-channels, and no end of\nviolets, dandelions, buttercups, and \u2018other articles too numerous\nto mention.\u2019\u201d\n\nBoth turn their heads, with an affectionate smile, as Mr. Yorke\u2019s\nyoungest daughter takes his other arm, and leans against his\nshoulder.\n\nHester\u2019s dress is black. Not a tinge of color nor an ornament\nbreaks the sombre monotony of her costume. But a white _ruche_ at\nthe throat and wrists shows that her widow\u2019s weeds have been long\nworn, and the smile on her lips, though plaintive, is not without a\ndawn of returning contentment. It is now three years since Hester\ntook her children, and came back to live with her father and mother.\n\nWhy should we stand on the pavement? Open, sesame! We enter. The\nwhole family are gathered, and it is a gala-time; for Captain Cary\nand his wife have just returned from their last voyage, and are\ngoing to settle down in a home with foundations more stable than\ngreen, wind-rolled waves; and, a greater event still, Carl and his\nwife have just arrived from a four-years\u2019 sojourn abroad. The\nfamily are all very proud of Carl--not because he has represented\nhis country at a foreign court, not even because he has done so\nwith singular ability, but because he has been so truly just and\nhonorable as to have offended prejudiced partisans on both sides,\nand won the applause of the few who believe that a man need not\nblush to be called a traitor to his party, so long as he is true to\nGod.\n\n\u201cI am glad to see you with the minority, sir,\u201d Mr. Yorke had\nsaid in welcoming him home; \u201cand to see that you can stand there\nquietly, as well as firmly. I am tired of splutter.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hope, sir,\u201d Carl replied, smiling, \u201cthat you would not object to\nmy being with the majority, if the majority were right.\u201d\n\nMr. Yorke shrugged his shoulders, and made one of his favorite\nquotations: \u201c_Il y a \u00e0 parier que toute id\u00e9e publique, toute\nconvention re\u00e7ue, est une sottise, car elle a convenue au plus\ngrand nombre._\u201d\n\nBut, though forced to resign his position, Carl is not without\na vocation. He speaks and writes; and, such is the charm of his\ntongue and pen, persons most severely castigated by them listen and\nread with a sort of pleasure. If one must be dissected, there is\nsurely a certain satisfaction in finding the hand skilful and the\nscalpel bright.\n\nThere is, indeed, danger that Carl might be too sharp, were it not\nfor his wife. But Edith is his first reader, and often, through her\ninfluence, a sentence is softened, a sarcasm struck out.\n\n\u201cLove is stronger than hate,\u201d she would say. \u201cYou have done only\nhalf the good you might do, if, in convincing a man\u2019s reason, you\nat the same time inflame his will against you. You may make him\nhate a truth of which he was before ignorant.\u201d\n\nThis is one of the couples which rests the heart to see in this\nworld of discordant matches. Every taste and instinct is so in\nharmony that all the smaller business of life goes on without that\njar which, in so many lives, makes a wrangle of pettinesses, and\nwithdraws the attention from all that is noble. And, in higher\ncharacteristics, there is only that difference which enables each\none to correct the mistakes of the other.\n\nEdith Yorke, at thirty-one, has not yet lost, she probably never\nwill lose, the simple earnestness of her childhood. It is the\nsame bud blossomed, and so fresh and lovely is she, they call her\nthe Rose of Yorke. She was much admired abroad. No other lady had\ncombined so sweet a stateliness, and such wit, with incorruptible\npiety.\n\n\u201cI think,\u201d she said, \u201cthat the reason why, while I kept my place\nin society, I never once yielded to any pernicious dissipation or\nextravagance, was because I was constantly afraid that I should.\u201d\n\nThe evening shuts in, the curtains are drawn, and the room is in\na glow. The wind has risen suddenly, and the snow is coming down,\nbeating sharply with its tiny lances on the window-panes. But the\nfamily only feel more keenly the delight of being all together and\nat home.\n\n\u201cHow cosy it is!\u201d exclaims Clara, with a sigh of immense content,\nas she hears the doors and windows rattle. \u201cOne feels so\ncomfortable in-doors when one knows that everybody out-doors is\nuncomfortable.\u201d\n\nMrs. Yorke, seated in her own especial chair, with Captain Cary\nbeside her, talks over housekeeping affairs with him, commends his\nwish to live in the suburbs instead of the city, and does not doubt\nthat he will find fanning a delightful occupation.\n\nMrs. Yorke cannot now be made to acknowledge that she ever objected\nto the sailor as a son-in-law. \u201cWhy, what should we do without\nhim?\u201d she asks. \u201cWe should feel quite lost without this dear\nHercules of ours.\u201d\n\nSomewhat withdrawn, at one side, Carl is talking to Hester about\nher boys. He advises her to send them to a private Catholic school,\nand she has almost consented. She will ultimately consent. Opposite\nthem, Edith and Melicent talk together. Doctor Stewart is kept\nat home by a rheumatism, which will not allow him to brave March\nstorms, and no one very much regrets his absence, least of all\nthe doctor himself. His efforts to prevent the whole family from\ntoppling over into Catholicism have not been agreeable to them nor\nto him, and in their intercourse they feel a constant restraint.\nBut Melicent is highly pleased by the cordial interest with which\nEdith has inquired concerning all her husband\u2019s symptoms, and,\nwishing to say something complimentary in return, observes, \u201cI am\ncharmed with your little girl. She will be a great belle some day.\u201d\n\n\u201cGod forbid!\u201d Edith exclaimed involuntarily.\n\nMelicent recollected herself. \u201cYes, to be sure, it is a position\nfull of temptations. Still, she cannot help being admired.\u201d\n\nEdith\u2019s face was very serious. \u201cIt is my dearest hope that my\nEug\u00e9nie may be a religious,\u201d she said, with a soft suffusion of her\neyes. \u201cShe would be such a lovely offering! Of course, I cannot\ntell what the will of God may be; but if it should be this, I shall\nbe happy.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut how would Carl like it?\u201d Melicent asked.\n\n\u201cWhen I first mentioned it to him, he recoiled,\u201d was the answer.\n\u201cBut when he thought more of it, he became reconciled, and now\nhe desires it as much as I do. We both feel that we would like\nto present unspotted to God that which is to us most sweet and\nprecious. It may be the partial fondness of parents for their only\nchild, but it seems to us that she is too beautiful for anything\nelse.\u201d\n\nThere was a chorus of children\u2019s voices from the next room, where\nBetsey Bates and a French _bonne_ were entertaining the little\nones, and presently the door was opened, and a little boy came in,\nwent to Mrs. Amy Yorke, and leaned on her lap. This child\u2019s face\ntold at once who he was. Brown, ruddy, black-eyed, with thick black\nhair which constantly fell over his forehead, gay and daring was\nthis four-year-old sailor. He was ocean-born and ocean-bred, he had\nplayed with babes of all nations, chattered childish words in many\na tongue, and was at home everywhere. His mother privately called\nhim Captain Kidd; and his father had often sung to him the ballad\nof that wicked sailor, when they sat on deck as their ship cleaved\nthe wave, and the fresh breeze sang in the rigging.\n\nBut, when night came on, there was one song that the child always\nasked for, and his mother always sang before he slept. Many a\ndistant sea had heard that tender evening hymn to the Virgin, _Ave\nSanctissima_, which the mother sang in a tremulous voice, mindful\nof home, and of the many dangers in her path. And, after a while,\nit became a tacit understanding, that, when at evening he saw the\nboy in his mother\u2019s arms, with his blooming cheek laid close to\nhers, and their black locks flowing indistinguishably together,\nCaptain Cary should come and stand, with bared head, beside the\ntwo, and listen as though to a prayer while the hymn was sung.\nGradually his prejudices had worn away; and when he saw that mother\nand son, so dear to him, and so inseparable, he recognized the\nsacred and indissoluble union of the Divine Son with his Immaculate\nMother. \u201cBesides,\u201d the sailor reasoned in his own mind, \u201cthere must\nbe something more than commonly good in that religion which claims\nsuch devotion from Dick Rowan and Edith Yorke, and which my Clara\nthinks as good as any, and a little better.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am glad that we are going to have a real home for the child, and\nmake a citizen of him,\u201d his father said, as the boy went slowly\ntoward the door again. \u201cClara and I have been a little too easy\nwith him, I am afraid.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is odd,\u201d Mrs. Yorke remarked, \u201cthat of my daughters, Hester,\nthe softest, should be quite strict with her children, while Clara,\nwhom I should have thought would need a warning not to be so, is\nalmost too indulgent.\u201d\n\n\u201cI could have told you that,\u201d Captain Cary answered, glancing\nacross the room to where his wife talked with her father. \u201cClara\u2019s\nheart melts only too readily, I always knew. I never mistook her\ndisposition. And, if she is literary, she can darn stockings the\nmost neatly, and make a room look prettier, and get up the best\nlittle supper of any woman I know.\u201d\n\nCharlie Cary, loitering toward the door, had scarcely reached it,\nwhen it was pushed open, and--was it a human child, or a fairy, who\nentered, and flitted across the room into Edith Yorke\u2019s arms? A\nlittle girl of five years, softly white and dainty, golden-haired\nand hazel-eyed, and so exquisite in shape that one examined her\nwith delight. Her motions were full of a captivating grace, her\nvoice silvery-fine. She was vowed to the Virgin, and wore only\nwhite and blue.\n\nCharlie stopped inside the door to stare at her. He always did\nfollow her about, and watch her, as though she were some strange,\nrare bird. He seldom volunteered to speak to her, and touched her\nwith timid care, like something he feared to break.\n\nCarl Yorke crossed the room, and leaned on the back of his wife\u2019s\nchair. One could not see a more perfect group.\n\nEdith bent over the child, her braids of shadowed gold touching the\npure gold ringlets. \u201cWhat does mamma\u2019s little girl want?\u201d she asked.\n\nThe child, smilingly aware that all eyes were upon her, but too\nmuch accustomed to love to be abashed by their gaze, lisped out\nher question: \u201cIsn\u2019t Philip, and Charlie, and all of \u2019em got\nguardian-angels?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, my love!\u201d answered Edith.\n\n\u201cThere!\u201d cried the child, with a glance of sparkling triumph at\nCharlie.\n\nShe ran to him, and put her white arms around his neck in a hug of\ncongratulation, then, as light as air, whisked herself behind him.\n\n\u201cYou\u2019s got an angel, and he stands just so, and tells you what to\ndo,\u201d she said.\n\nShe stood on tiptoe, showing a pink and white face beside his, and\ntwo tiny hands on his shoulder. Then, with a bewitching laugh, she\nended her pantomime, and ran back to her mother.\n\nCharlie did not take it well. \u201cI haven\u2019t got any old angel,\u201d\nhe said doggedly. \u201cMy mother tells me where to go, and _Ave\nSanctissima_ takes care of us nights.\u201d\n\nA vivid red shot across Clara\u2019s face as she drew the boy to her.\n\u201cIt is true, Charlie, and I will tell you all about it soon,\u201d she\nsaid.\n\nShould Edith\u2019s child, should any other mother\u2019s child, go guarded\nby angels, and upheld by a religious trust, and her son be like a\nheathen? All she had taught him had been such as pleased her fancy\nonly. _Sanctissima_ had been but a beautiful object to paint and\nsing, not a real being to whom honor was due. \u201cI\u2019ll have Father\nRasle baptize this child before he is a week older!\u201d she resolved.\n\nEdith held out her hand to the boy, and looked at him with a\nbeaming smile. \u201cCome, darling, and tell me about _Sanctissima_,\u201d\nshe said.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve no objection,\u201d Captain Cary said later that night, when his\nwife asked his permission to have their child baptized by a priest.\n\u201cBut you needn\u2019t fret, Clara, at the boy\u2019s speaking so. It is more\nnatural that a little yellow-haired girl should take to religion,\nthan that a great bouncing boy should.\u201d\n\nFather Rasle, it should be said, was at this time the pastor of a\ncity church.\n\nThis little scene ended, \u201cI am glad to see, Clara,\u201d her father\nsaid, \u201cthat in what you write lately, you employ less pure color\nfor your men and women, and use secondaries and tertiaries more.\nThere is, of course, a vast difference between the good and bad;\nbut in this life, whatever they may become in the next, all are\nhuman.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd yet,\u201d she replied, \u201cI am sometimes criticised for putting\nspots on the sun, and giving an amiable trait to my villain. The\npretext for the criticism is that perfect examples and perfect\nwarnings are wanted. I think, however, that the spots on the sun\ngive most offence.\n\n  \u2018And if Jove err, who dare say Jove doth wrong?\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cNevertheless, stick to your tertiaries,\u201d Mr. Yorke said, with\na decided nod. \u201cThe lump of glass that, seeing a flaw in the\ndiamond, went and smashed itself all to pieces, would have smashed\nitself to pieces if it had not seen the flaw in the diamond. It\nmerely used that as a pretext for what it was predetermined to do.\nIt is one thing to admire an ideal character, and another thing\nto imitate it; and many a lazy and insincere moralist would be\ndelighted to have you paint all your good characters so extremely\ngood that he could at once prove his piety by applauding, and\nhis modesty by not striving to emulate. There are, of course,\nexceptions, dear souls who love to look at unadulterated goodness;\nbut they are so charitable they will forgive you the spots on the\nsun, and so truthful they will not require you to be false in order\nto please them. My belief is that those persons do great good whose\noccasional missteps excite our courage to imitate the virtues by\nwhich they retrieve themselves. There are other stronger beings,\nwho are outwardly without a fault; but they are exceptional, about\nin the proportion of salt to your porridge. Suppose that I were\nadvised to go to the top of a high mountain. \u2018I cannot go,\u2019 I say.\nMy mentor points to a man who stands on the summit. \u2018Perhaps he was\nborn there,\u2019 I reply. \u2018Not so!\u2019 says mentor. \u2018He climbed: see the\nsteps!\u2019 \u2018But,\u2019 I still object, \u2018he must be so much stronger than I\nam. I should fall before I were half-way up.\u2019 \u2018He was as weak as\nor weaker than you,\u2019 says my adviser; \u2018and he fell after a dozen\nsteps, and fell again and again; yet, there he is!\u2019 Don\u2019t you see\nthat if anything would take me up the mountain-top, that would?\nNo, Clara, I think that, in the long run, it\u2019s best to tell the\ntruth. There may be ignorant souls who will thrive for a while on\npretence; but let them once find out that you have once pretended,\nno matter how good the motive, and, from their very ignorance, they\nwill never be able to trust you again. If you want to be politic,\nhonesty is the best policy.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf people wouldn\u2019t classify one so!\u201d sighed the young woman\npathetically. \u201cThe science and order that are abroad appall me.\nYou cannot say nor do the smallest thing, but instantly somebody\npounces on you, and pins a label on your back before you can take\nbreath. One would think that we were dried specimens. Say that\nyou sometimes fancy your departed friends may hear you speak,\nyou are without delay set down as a spiritist, a table-tipper, a\nplanchette-roller, a spirit-seer, and everything that follows; say\nthat you think Catholics, and even priests, have some little chance\nof being saved, presto! you are a Papist, you are a Jesuit, you\nare going to poison Protestants, you want the Pope to be president\nof the United States, you are going to muzzle the press, shut up\nthe public schools, destroy the Bible, put an end to free speech,\netc.; send Bridget to get your husband\u2019s slippers, instead of going\nafter them yourself, and oh! you woman\u2019s-rights woman, you! How you\nare going to abuse your husband! How you are going to let him eat\ncold dinners, wear ragged stockings, and come to grief generally!\nLabelled you must be, if you put your nose above the earth. And\nhow your dear friends like to pin on the little pieces of paper,\nand give you a pat at the same time, so that the pin shall prick!\nThere\u2019s Miss Minerva, who wants to pick me to pieces, and, at the\nsame time, keep up a reputation for charity, goes round telling\neverybody, and me among them, that I am impressionable, using the\nword in a tone that makes it mean unprincipled, of no stability,\nfrivolous, inconstant; and that, because I have eyes and a heart,\nI was delighted to find in a newspaper, not long ago, a little\nextract which I am going to send her: \u2018A strong mind is more easily\nimpressed than a weak one; you shall not as easily convince a fool\nthat you are a philosopher, as a philosopher that you are a fool.\u2019\nPapa, I insist on being eclectic!\u201d\n\n\u201cTake breath, my daughter, take breath!\u201d said Mr. Yorke\napprehensively.\n\nMrs. Clara took breath, and switched the last part of the\nconversation off the track. \u201c_A propos_ of colors!\u201d she said.\n\u201cYou remember I always liked to find out the relations of things,\nand had the idea of a trinity in everything, before I heard of\nDelsarte. And, by the way, I do not think that the theory is\noriginal with him. It seems to me I have heard it before. You know\nhow he does; groups everything in threes, the parts of which are\nco-existent, co-efficient, and co-necessary, and, as an instance,\ngives space, motion, and time, neither of which can be computed\nwithout the aid of the other two. See how I figure my Trinity with\nthe three colors: the color which signifies the Father is blue,\nthe contemplative color, the color of infinite space in which the\ncreation floats, the intellectual color, the color of faith; the\nensign of the Son is red, which is sacrifice and love; yellow is\nfor the Holy Spirit, and is the illuminating color. It is also\nthe color chosen by the Pope, who is the human voice of the Holy\nSpirit. United, these three form white, which is the seal of the\nTrinity. White is rest, peace, and bliss.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are, then, a Catholic!\u201d Mr. Yorke said, looking with keen eyes\ninto his daughter\u2019s face.\n\nShe blushed, and was embarrassed. \u201c\u00c6sthetically, papa!\u201d\n\nHe dropped his eyes, and a slight frown settled on his forehead.\n\n\u201cPapa,\u201d she said earnestly, \u201cthere is nothing else!\u201d\n\nHe smiled, but said nothing.\n\n\u201cWould you be displeased if I should be one in earnest?\u201d she asked.\n\n\u201cI should be glad!\u201d her father replied, and rose abruptly to meet\nMelicent, who was going home.\n\nThe others withdrew, leaving Mr. and Mrs. Yorke with Edith and\nCarl. They gathered closely together before the fire, the parents\nsitting between their children, and, with hand clasped in hand,\ntalked lovingly and seriously far into the night.\n\nWhen they parted, all had shed tears, but they were not tears of\nsorrow.\n\n\u201cGood-night, my dear parents,\u201d Edith said, embracing them. \u201cYou\nhave made me happy for all my life, and yourselves happy for all\neternity. I do not wonder that you find it hard to take such a\nstep, and renounce before the world the religion which you have\nprofessed all your lives. You are not cowards; you have been\nwilling to suffer that Catholics might have their rights; but, you\nknow, \u2018obedience is better than sacrifice.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps it is a whim,\u201d Mrs. Yorke said; \u201cbut I would like to be\nbaptized by that dear young man I used to love so, Mr. Rowan.\u201d\n\n\u201cYoung man!\u201d Carl said, smiling. \u201cHe and I are about the same age,\nand I am forty-three.\u201d\n\n\u201cForty-three!\u201d echoed his mother in surprise. \u201cAnd I am over\nsixty! Charles, we are entering on our service at the eleventh\nhour. We will not wait for Mr. Rowan. Let us not delay beyond\nto-morrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood-night, children!\u201d said Mr. Yorke. \u201cYes, Amy.\u201d\n\nThe next day was Sunday, and Carl and Edith went to High Mass.\nCaptain Cary\u2019s \u201cflurry\u201d had passed with the night, and not a cloud\nwas to be seen. Little heaps and drifts of snow hid under fences\nand trees, but the pavement was wind-swept. The sun shone joyously,\nand, not far from it, a waning moon dissolved in its light.\n\nThere was the dear old church again, and, just going in under the\nportal, Mrs. Rowan-Williams. She took holy water, and bowed before\nentering her pew. The same hands were on the organ-keys, the same\nsoprano, bright as a sunbeam, broke through the cloud of bass and\nalto, the same slow wreath of white-robed boys curled silently,\nlike incense, about the sanctuary, there were the same faces at the\naltar. It was like coming home again.\n\nBut, before the _Veni Creator_, who was this coming from the\nsacristy, palm to palm, draped in folds of spotless whiteness, and\nshowing, even now, through his measured steps, a familiar swing and\nfreedom? The chestnut hair, cut short, exposed the forehead, the\nface was slightly thin, but bright and healthy.\n\nThe glance this priest cast over the congregation, as he went\ntoward the pulpit, was peculiar. It took in the number of his\nhearers, but you would say that he saw their souls, not their\nbodies. So many waiting souls to whom he was to carry a message.\nSelf so completely annihilated that even humility was forgotten,\nhe went on, wrapped in calm obedience, to speak the word that was\ngiven him.\n\nThe subject of the sermon was the uses of pain; the argument, that\nall real good comes through pain. The speaker\u2019s voice was so clear\nand strong that it was heard without effort on his part or the\nlistener\u2019s, his tone was conversational, and his illustrations came\nnaturally from his old sea-life.\n\nReal confidence in God can be shown, he said, only when we are\nblind, and cannot see how our sufferings are to lead to any good\nend. Then trust is possible, is deserving, is saving. Then we learn\nquickly the lesson that God would teach us, and take a higher\nplace. Our Master does not put back any soul. If it remain long in\nthe region of trouble, it must be through its own stubbornness.\n\n\u201cWe all suffer too much, because we afflict ourselves in trying to\nescape pain, when we cannot escape it. The chalice of this bitter\nsacrament is never empty, and never set aside. Friends and foes\nalike give it into our hands, our dearest and kindest press it to\nour lips, unaware, or in their own despite; the messenger of God\npresents it. It is useless to struggle, for we cannot escape; it is\nfoolish to struggle; for in the bottom of that cup of bitterness is\na heavenly draught of sweetness.\n\n\u201cLessons are on every side, the whole creation preaches to us. Even\nthe building of a ship is like the building of a saint. The pine\nand the oak grow in the forest, they grow in rain and sunshine,\nthey swing their branches in the wind, and rock the birds to rest.\nWhat is their end? To grow, and then to decay, and feed the roots\nof succeeding trees with their crumbling remains. They grow only to\ndecay, and wish no better, and know no better, and, if better come,\nit must come from some outside, wiser will.\n\n\u201cWhen the woodman appears, he is an object of terror, fancy, the\nManichee would tell you. At the blows of the axe, the whole tree\nshivers, it trembles in every leaf, it falls with a groan. But its\ntortures are not ended. The saw, the plane, the shave, the auger,\nthe adze, do each their work; and the mourning tree says, \u2018I was\nmade to be tormented. I am covered with ruin, and good shall no\nmore come to me.\u2019 Ah, then, how happy seem the far-away, peaceful\nwoods! how dear the little nests that have been clipped off, and\nthe intertwining branches of neighboring trees!\n\n\u201cBut we are not like the tree. We know what hand lays us low, and\nclips off the unruly wishes, the foolish, twittering hopes.\n\n\u201cLook at the home of the iron! It lies in darkness and mystery\nunderground, and hears the small streams trickle down or bubble up.\nIt knows and wishes no better. The miner comes with his pick, the\ndark ore is dazzled with alien sunshine, is tortured by fire. In\nits agony it becomes more terrible than fire, and presses and glows\nto destroy. It replies with sparks to the blows of the hammer.\n\n\u201cOh! for the cool dark, the whispering stream, the moveless rock\nand earth! Its pain is to no end but that it may suffer, and ruin\nhas come.\n\n\u201cBut we are not like the senseless iron. We know what Divine Miner\ndigs us out of our abasement, shows us the light of truth, and\nmoulds us into shape.\n\n\u201cAt last the ship is built; its different elements are united into\none harmonious being; and then it fancies that it understands all.\nIt exults over the dull tree standing with its roots in earth, over\nthe brutish ore buried in the darkness. It stands in its stocks,\nand grows in beauty, looks at the shining river that flows and\nsings for ever, and sees the children play, and the days go by.\n\n\u201cBut the end is not yet. Some summer morning the workmen come to\nstrike its props away. The tide comes up, and its song is the song\nof the siren; a crowd gathers to mock at its ruin. It was raised,\nthen, only to be more cruelly cast down. One support after another\nis struck away, prop after prop falls. The ship shudders, it has\nlearnt nothing from its lesson, it moans, it slips slowly, then\nrapidly, then it plunges--whither? Into annihilation? No! into its\nown proper element at last, into the bosom of the deep. The tides\nbear it up, the winds of heaven wing its course; at last it is of\nuse.\n\n\u201cTake comfort, brethren, in your pain. He who permits it knows\nwell how hard it is to bear. When you are nailed to your cross,\nthe glorified flesh of the Man-God remembers its own agony. And,\nsuffer not only trustingly, and with resignation, but suffer with\ncourage. If you shrink and cover your eyes, you have hidden a ghost\nin your life. When a sorrow comes to you, look it in the face; and,\nby-and-by, the mask shall fall off, and you will see the face of an\nangel.\u201d\n\nWe have given but a sketch. The words are dry, but the sermon was\nfull of life.\n\nWhen Carl and his wife walked homeward, Edith did not speak for\na long time. Whenever her husband looked at her, she was gazing\nstraight forward, and seemed absorbed in thought.\n\n\u201cWell, Edith,\u201d he said at length, \u201cwhat is it?\u201d\n\nShe looked up into his face with those eyes so childlike still.\n\n\u201cI was wondering, Carl,\u201d she said, \u201chow I could ever have presumed\nto call him Dick!\u201d\n\nAnd so we leave our Edith, as we found her, wondering.\n\n\n\n\nFRAGMENTS OF EARLY ENGLISH POEMS ON THE BLESSED VIRGIN.\n\n\nTo Catholics ... it is a joy and a solace to look back into past\ncenturies, and remember that there were days when our poets drank\nof a purer fount than that of Castaly; and made it their pride\nto celebrate in their verse, not Dian nor Proserpine, but the\nImmaculate Queen of Heaven. Of Chaucer\u2019s devotion to this theme,\nI have already spoken, but other poets before his time delighted\nin dedicating their verses to her who, as she inspired the most\nexquisite designs of the artist\u2019s pencil, has also claimed not the\nleast beautiful productions of the poet\u2019s pen. Thus, one sings of\nher as \u2018Dame Lyfe,\u2019 and describes how\n\n    \u201cAs she came by the bankes, the boughs eche one,\n    Lowked to the Ladye, and layd forth their branches,\n    Blossoms and burgens (new shoots) breathed ful swete,\n    Flowres bloomed in the path where forth she stepped,\n    And the gras that was dry greened belive.\u201d\n\nOthers, according to their quaint fashion, mixed up English and\nLatin rhymes in a style which, barbarous as it is, is certainly not\ndeficient in harmony. One little poem, ascribed to a writer in the\nreign of Henry III., commences thus:\n\n    \u201cOf all that is so fayr and bright,\n              Velut maris stella;\n    Brighter than the day is light,\n              Parens et puella.\n    I crie to The, Thou se to me,\n    Levedy, preye the Sone for me,\n              Tam pia,\n    That Ich mote come to The,\n              Maria.\u201d\n\n            --_Christian Schools and Scholars._\n\n\n\n\nTHE LEGENDS OF OISIN, BARD OF ERIN.\n\nBY AUBREY DE VERE.\n\n\nVI.\n\nOISIN\u2019S GOOD CONFESSION.\n\n    Not seldom, crossed by bodings sad,\n      In words though kind yet hard\n    Spake Patrick to his guest, Oisin;\n      For Patrick loved the Bard\n\n    In whose broad bosom, swathed with beard\n      Like cliffs with ivy trailed,\n    A Christian strove with a pagan soul,\n      And neither quite prevailed.\n\n    Silent as shades the shadowing monks\n      O\u2019er cloistral courts might glide;\n    But the War-Bard strode through the church itself\n      Like hunter on mountain-side.\n\n    Yea, sometimes, while his beads he told,\n      Fierce thoughts, a rebel breed,\n    Burst up from the graves of his warriors dead,\n      And he stormed at priest and Creed.\n\n    His end drew nigh. \u2019Twas after years\n      Had proved stern warnings vain,\n    When dying he lay on his wolf-skin bed,\n      And murmured a warlike strain.\n\n    The Saint drew near: he gazed; then spake,\n      \u201cA fair child died one day:\n    Four weeks had passed; yet, changeless still,\n      Like a child asleep he lay.\n\n    \u201cThey could not hide him in the ground\n      Though hand and heart were chill,\n    For round his lips the smile avouched\n      The soul was in him still.\n\n    \u201cThen lo! a man of God came by\n      And stood beside the bier,\n    And spake, \u2018A pagan house is this;\n      And yet a saint lies here!\n\n    \u201c\u2018God shaped this child his praise to sing\n      To a blind and pagan race;\n    And till that song is sung, in heaven\n      He may not see God\u2019s face.\u2019\n\n    \u201cThen thrice around that child he moved\n      With circling censer-cloud,\n    And touched with censer fire his tongue,\n      And the dead child sang aloud.\n\n    \u201cOisin! like larks beside thy Lee,\n      So loud he sang his hymn:\n    And straight baptized he was, and died;\n      And, dead, his face grew dim.\n\n    \u201cSo then, since Christ had caught to heaven\n      The fair soul washed from sin,\n    A little grave they dug, and laid\n      The little saint therein.\n\n    \u201cAnd ever as fell the night, that grave\n      Shone like the Shepherds\u2019 star,\n    With happy beam that homeward drew\n      The wanderer from afar.\n\n    \u201cOisin! thy Land is as that child!\n      Thou call\u2019st her dead--thy Land;\n    For cold is Fionn, thy sire; and he,\n      He was her strong right hand!\n\n    \u201cAnd cold is Oscar now, thy son:\n      Her mighty heart was he--\n    Oisin! let dead at last be dead;\n      Let living, living be!\n\n    \u201cHer great old Past is gone at last:\n      Her heavenlier Future waits,\n    Yet entrance never can she find\n      Till Faith unbars the gates.\n\n    \u201cPrince of thy country\u2019s songful choir!\n      Thou wert her golden Tongue!\n    Sing thou her New Song--\u2018I believe!\u2019\n      Give thou to God her Song!\n\n    Then suddenly that old man stood,\n      And made his arms a cross:\n    Within his heart a light that changed\n      The earth to dust and dross:\n\n    And, pierced by beams from those two hands\n      Of Jesus crucified,\n    His Erin of two thousand years\n      Held forth her hands, and died:\n\n    For all her sceptres by a Reed\n      That hour were overborne;\n    And all her crowns went down, that hour,\n      Before the Crown of Thorn.\n\n    As shines the sun through snowy haze\n      Oisin\u2019s white head forth shone:\n    \u201cIn God the Father I believe,\u201d\n      He sang, \u201cand Mary\u2019s Son:\u201d\n\n    And, onward as the swan-chaunt swept\n      Adown the Creed\u2019s broad flood,\n    In radiance waxed his face, as though\n      He saw the face of God.\n\n    Then Patrick, with his wondering monks,\n      Knelt down, and said, \u201cAmen,\u201d\n    While slowly dropped a sun that ne\u2019er\n      Saw that white head again.\n\n    The rite complete, the old man sank,\n      And turned him on his side:\n    Next morning, as the Lauds began,\n      \u201cMy Son,\u201d he said, and died.\n\n\n\n\nA SALON IN PARIS BEFORE THE WAR.\n\n\nPART III.\n\nON THE BOULEVARDS.\n\nSummer had come, and was nearly gone. Paris was deserted. As autumn\napproached, lifting its fiery finger over the city, the _flaneurs_\ndisappeared. All those who could flee, fled. The faubourg had fled\nlong ago to its ch\u00e2teaux. The Chauss\u00e9e d\u2019Antin and the Champs\nElys\u00e9es were fleeing _aux eaux_ or _aux bains de mer_ and the\nboulevards, with their glittering shops and _caf\u00e9s_ and theatres,\nwere left to the mercy of the tourist. Perhaps the tourist would\nretort that he was left to the mercy of the boulevards. And,\nperhaps he would be right. _Chignoned_ sirens, who dwelt in glass\ncases surrounded by millions of glass vials ranged in rhythmic\ncolor from the ceiling to the floor, so as to make the sirens\nlook as much as possible like the centre point of an elaborate\nkaleidoscope, smiled through their crystal shell at the reckless\nbeing who stood outside to peep and wonder. The door stood open. He\nmight not hear the siren\u2019s, \u201cEntrez, monsieur!\u201d but there was no\nbeing deaf to her smile; it drew him irresistibly.\n\n\u201cWould monsieur not like just to \u2018gouter\u2019 our last novelty, \u2018cerise\n\u00e0 la Victor Noir?\u2019 Would he not very much like to take some little\nsouvenir home to madame?\u201d\n\nOf course monsieur would. Weak mortal! He unbuttons his coat,\nand straightway the bees which had sipped abundantly of native\nporte-monnaies the rest of the year, alight on the purse of the\ntourist, and suck it, if not dry, as nearly dry as they can.\n\nBusy \u201cdead season,\u201d when stale bonbons and faded finery are brought\nout, christened by new names, and sold to the barbarians across the\nChannel. Paris does not want any more of it, but Londres, that city\nwhich the English in their ignorance of the French language call\nLon-don--Londres will find it charming!\n\nGaily, busily the bees were plying their task. The long white lines\nof Haussmann barracks glared shadowless in the fierce vertical sun;\ngilded railings and balconies flashed in gingerbread magnificence;\nthe dome of the Invalides rose up against the cloudless blue\nand blazed like a burning mount; the red heat poured down from\nthe zenith on the miles of _asphalte_ that meander through the\ncity, and pelted it till it softened and gave under your foot\nlike india-rubber. Even the lordly chestnuts of the Tuileries,\nso carefully tended, so abundantly watered, were burnt brown and\nred, and were shedding their leaves from exhaustion; not a vestige\nof green was anywhere visible. The fountains were playing, but\neven they had a tired, worn-out look, and the water seemed to go\non splashing lazily from mere force of habit; the flag was still\nfloating above the palace, the gray old palace blinking with\nits myriad glass eyes in the sultry noon; the broad walks were\ndeserted, no little feet went pattering on the gravel, no merry\nchild-laughter rang through the shade to scare the swallows from\ntheir cool siesta; the whole scene, lately so animated and bright,\nhad a weary, day-after-the-ball look that was premature in the\nfirst days of July.\n\nThe bees of the boulevard were buzzing loud, and bestirring\nthemselves to good purpose. But, hark! What noise is that? Not\nthe cannon\u2019s opening roar, nor \u201cthe car rattling o\u2019er the stony\nstreet,\u201d but a sound that jars upon the lively hum, and makes the\nhive suspend labor and hush itself to listen. It comes from the\nCorps L\u00e9gislatif, first a faint surging sound, then a clamor as of\nthe waves rising and lashing themselves up for a tempest. Louder it\ngrows, and nearer. It crosses the tepid waters of the Seine, lying\nlow between its banks; it reaches the boulevards. At first the\ncries are indistinguishable, a torrent of human voice, rolling and\nheaving and rushing like the roar of a cataract, drowning all sense\nin its senseless frenzy. On it comes, gathering strength in its\nmarch, waking up the echoes of the _trottoir_, and making the crisp\nleaves quiver and drop, and fly along the dusty pavement before the\nvociferating multitude like straws before a bellows.\n\n\u201cWhat is it? Is it a revolution?\u201d cried Berthe, as the horses,\nlaying back their ears, threatened mischief, and obliged the\nfootman to get down and hold them.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know, madame,\u201d said the man, looking up the Rue de la\nPaix at the stream that was pouring along the boulevards, to the\nsound of beating drums, and blaring trumpets, and all manner of\nParisian excitableness in the shape of noise. \u201cIt\u2019s more likely\n_une d\u00e9monstration patriotique_; the horses don\u2019t seem to like it,\nor else we might drive up close and see.\u201d\n\nBut Berthe\u2019s curiosity was not proof against a certain mistrust of\nthe sovereign people. The noise might mean nothing more aggressive\nthan a _d\u00e9monstration patriotique_, but in Paris patriotism has\nmany moods and phases, and innumerable modes of expressing itself,\nand its attitudes, if always effective from a dramatic point of\nview, are not always agreeable to come close to, and, whatever\nthe character of this particular one might be, Berthe preferred\nadmiring it from a respectful distance.\n\n\u201cTurn back, and drive home by the Champs Elys\u00e9es,\u201d she said.\n\nBut the tide had risen too rapidly. The Rue de Rivoli was\nflooded. It had caught the delirium of the boulevards, and was\nsending back their echoes with frantic exultation. Cabs and\nomnibuses were seized with the sudden insanity, private coaches\ncaught it, foot-passengers, _gamins_, and _bourgeois_, and\n_messieurs les voyageurs_ careering on the top of omnibuses, all\n_en masse_ caught it, and shouted as one man: \u201cVive la France!\nvive la guerre! A Berlin! \u00e0 Berlin!\u201d Ladies and gentlemen,\nreclining in soft-cushioned carriages, started suddenly into\neffervescence, waved hats and handkerchiefs, and cried: \u201cVive la\nguerre! A Berlin!\u201d Horses neighed, and dogs barked, and the very\npaving-stones shook to the popular passion. All Paris shouted and\nshrieked till the city, like a huge belfry, rang with thundering\nsalvos: \u201cVive la guerre! A Berlin! \u00e0 Berlin!\u201d\n\nBerthe\u2019s horses, scared anew by the uproar that was now close\nupon them, played their part in the general row by plunging and\nprancing, and eliciting screams of terror from the adjacent women\nand children, while the coachman brandished his whip, and the\nfootman whirled his hat in the air, and shouted with all their\nmight: \u201cA Berlin! \u00e0 Berlin!\u201d A troop of _gamins_ laid violent hands\non a Savoyard who was grinding away \u201cNon ti scordar di me,\u201d to\nthe delight of the _concierge_ in the nearest _porte-coch\u00e8re_,\nand, dragging him to the fore, bade him at once strike up the\n_Marseillaise_. Luckily for his limbs, the despotic command was\nwithin the limits of the Savoyard\u2019s instrument. He turned its\nhandle, and began vigorously grinding out the Republican chant.\nEvery man, woman, and child within ear-shot took up the chorus,\n\u201cMarchons! marchons!\u201d till the palpitating air throbbed and\nthrilled with the passionate voices of the multitude.\n\nBerthe was not long proof against the magnetic current that\nwas whirling round her. First terrified, then bewildered, then\nelectrified, she caught the intoxication, and yielded to its\nimpulse: \u201cVive la France! Vive la guerre!\u201d And the fair hand waved\nits snowy little flag from the window as the carriage moved slowly\npast the Tuileries gardens.\n\nEmerging into the broad space of the Place de la Concorde, the\nhorses seemed to breathe more freely, and, quickening their step,\ntore at full speed up the Champs Elys\u00e9es.\n\n\u201cWhat possessed me to shout and cheer with those madmen?\u201d said\nBerthe, soliloquizing aloud, and laughing at the absurdity of her\nrecent behavior. \u201cI must have gone mad myself for the moment.\nVive la guerre indeed! Heaven help us! We shall hear another cry\nby-and-by, when the widows and orphans and sisters of France hear\nat what price her new laurels have been bought. Thank God I have no\nbrothers!\u201d\n\n\u201cMadame la Marquise de Chassedot is waiting, madame,\u201d said\nFran\u00e7ois, as Berthe entered.\n\n\u201cHas she been waiting?\u201d\n\n\u201cA short half-hour, madame.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat can she have to say?\u201d thought Berthe.\n\nMadame de Chassedot rose to meet her \u201cwith eyes that had wept,\u201d and\nextended her hands with an air that asked less for greeting than\nfor sympathy.\n\n\u201cVous ange de la peine, madame!\u201d exclaimed Berthe, her ready\nkindness going forth at once to the sufferer.\n\nThe two ladies were not friends. They had met at Madame de\nBeauc\u0153ur\u2019s and Madame de Galliac\u2019s; but only once had there been\na personal interchange of visits; Madame de Chassedot had called\non Berthe to thank her for the kindness she had shown to their\nyoung kinswoman, H\u00e9l\u00e8ne de Karodel, \u201cwhom the family had indeed\nof late lost sight of, but with whom they were delighted to renew\ncousinship,\u201d the marquise declared effusively, and as a proof\nof this she was carrying off H\u00e9l\u00e8ne to the country to spend the\nvacation with them. Berthe did not inform her that it had taken\nall her own influence to induce the high-spirited young lady to\naccept the hospitality so tardily offered. She returned Madame de\nChassedot\u2019s visit; the latter soon left for the country, and they\nhad not met since.\n\n\u201cOui, j\u2019ai du chagrin,\u201d said the marquise holding Berthe\u2019s hand, as\nshe sat down beside her.\n\nBerthe\u2019s first thought was of Edgar. But the mother was not in\nmourning. Whatever it was, the worst had not yet come.\n\n\u201cYour son is ill?\u201d she said.\n\nMadame de Chassedot shook her head. Then, after a pause, during\nwhich she gave battle to her emotion, she looked at Berthe, and\nsaid:\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s going to get married!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat! And is not that precisely what you wanted him to do!\u201d\nexclaimed Berthe.\n\n\u201cI wanted to make the match myself; but now he goes and does it\ninstead,\u201d replied the marquise.\n\n\u201cAh! It is a _m\u00e9salliance_, then!\u201d\n\nThe fact was startling certainly, but less so than it might have\nbeen, owing to certain rumors that prepared the public to believe\nin any extravagance coupled with Edgar de Chassedot\u2019s name.\n\n\u201c_Oh! mon Dieu, non!_ A thousand times no!\u201d cried his mother with\nquick resentment. \u201cEdgar _a fait des b\u00eatises_, but he is incapable\nof dishonoring himself. Oh, no! The girl is of an excellent family,\nshe is even our own cousin.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is her principles, then, or her--character that you object to?\u201d\nsaid Berthe with some hesitation.\n\n\u201cO dear! no. She is as pious as a seraph, and brought up like a\nlily!\u201d exclaimed the marquise.\n\n\u201cIs she a hunch-back, then, or lame, or blind, or what?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe is a beggar! A beggar who has not a sou to buy her own\ntrousseau. It is a beggar who has stolen the heart of my son!\u201d And\ntears of bitter, disappointed motherhood flowed down the cheeks of\nthe marquise.\n\n\u201cAnd her name is--?\u201d\n\n\u201cMademoiselle de Karodel!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat! H\u00e9l\u00e8ne? H\u00e9l\u00e8ne de Karodel, that brave, true, gentle creature\nis going to be your son\u2019s wife! And you in tears, and not of joy!\nAnd you call her a beggar! A woman whose love, since your son has\nbeen lucky enough to win it--and H\u00e9l\u00e8ne is not a girl to marry him\nif he had not--would be a prize for a prince! And you, a Christian\nmother, weep over it, and expect to be pitied! Really, madame, if\nit were not laughable, it would be deplorable, not on your son\u2019s\naccount, but on your own!\u201d\n\nMadame de Chassedot was so staggered by this unexpected sortie that\nshe was actually struck dumb. \u201cDo you know,\u201d she said, after a\npause, looking steadily at Berthe, and bringing out her words with\nslow emphasis--\u201cdo you know, madame, that my son has four millions\nof patrimony, and that he could have married any girl in France?\u201d\n\n\u201cAs to his marrying any girl in France, admitting that they were\none and all ready to marry Monsieur de Chassedot, was he ready to\nmarry them?\u201d demanded Berthe significantly; \u201cand as to his four\nmillions, they are the very reason why he should marry a girl who\nhad none. A woman who is as well born as himself, who is, you\nadmit, pure as a lily, and pious as an angel, and, moreover, quite\ngraceful and beautiful enough to satisfy your pride and his, and to\nmake her an ornament as well as a treasure in your son\u2019s house--a\nwife who will rescue him from much that I should fancy would have\ngiven you greater cause for tears than his marriage with such a\nwoman as H\u00e9l\u00e8ne de Karodel. Candidly, _ch\u00e8re marquise_, I am so far\nfrom sympathizing with you that, if I had heard this news in any\nother way, my first impulse would have been to fly to you with my\ncongratulations.\u201d\n\nMadame de Chassedot\u2019s tears were flowing still, but perhaps less\nbitterly; she was going to speak when a noise of steps in the\nante-chamber made her rise hastily, and look round for a means of\nescape.\n\n\u201cInto my bedroom!\u201d said Berthe, pulling aside the _porti\u00e8re_.\n\nThe marquise pressed her hand, and disappeared through the cloud\nof blue satin just as the drawing-room door opened, and H\u00e9l\u00e8ne\nde Karodel, holding out her arms with a cry of joy, rushed into\nBerthe\u2019s.\n\nIt was something of a disappointment to H\u00e9l\u00e8ne to find that Berthe\nalready knew her secret. But there was much left to tell still.\nMost of the tale was told with blushes and smiles, and tears\nthat had no brine in them. Her marriage was to take place in a\nfortnight. Edgar, from family reasons, chose to precipitate the\n_d\u00e9nouement_, and his young Bretonne _fianc\u00e9e_ had come up to town\nto make the few bridal preparations that he could not possibly make\nfor her.\n\nIt happened unluckily to be Berthe\u2019s day, so the usual stream of\nvisitors began soon to pour in, and broke up the _t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate_ of\nthe two friends.\n\nThe war was the topic of every tongue; but there was no mistaking\nfor enthusiasm the animation with which it was discussed. Some\nindignantly repudiated and denounced the government, and protested\nthat, so far from being a popular war, it was universally condemned\nas senseless, iniquitous, and ill-timed, and that there were not\nten men in France who would cry _Vive la guerre!_ unless they were\npaid for it. Others, who had been on the boulevards an hour ago,\nthought differently.\n\n\u201cThere are madmen to be found in every city who are glad of an\nopportunity to bark, and bray, and howl, and demean themselves\nafter the usual manner of madmen,\u201d said the Austrian _habitu\u00e9_,\n\u201cand Paris can muster as good a roll of lunatics on as short notice\nas any city in Europe; but I don\u2019t believe there were ten sane men\non the boulevards this morning who cried _Vive la guerre!_\u201d\n\n\u201cI can assure you,\u201d said Berthe, \u201cI saw hundreds of\n_comme-il-faut_-looking men, to all appearance in their right mind,\nwho were crying it frantically; so much so that I got quite carried\naway, and actually shook my handkerchief, and shouted with the rest\nof them.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy did you shout, madame?\u201d inquired the Austrian.\n\n\u201cBecause, I tell you, I was carried away, I could not help myself.\nThe excitement was catching.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course it was. Most fevers are, especially malignant ones;\nand if you asked nine-tenths of the crowd _why_ they shouted, the\nanswer, if they spoke the truth, would be precisely the same;\nthey could not help themselves, the excitement was catching. If\nan arsenal blows up, who is to blame, the powder, the matches, or\nyourself who fired the train? You might just as logically blame\nthe powder for blowing up, as the French people for marching and\nbugling and _Vive-la-guerring_ when they hear the sound of the\ntrumpet.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you agree with monsieur?\u201d asked Berthe addressing a\nquiet-looking military man who had been listening in silence to the\nconversation. \u201cAre the people not really glad of the war?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is difficult to say yet,\u201d replied the soldier. \u201cWith the\npeople, all depends on how it turns out; success alone is in the\nright.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you do not contemplate such an absurd alternative as the\nnon-victoriousness of the French arms?\u201d\n\nThere was a prompt general protest from the company. The military\nman alone stroked his moustache with a meditative air, and was\nsilent.\n\n\u201cAnswer me, I pray you, commandant,\u201d pursued Berthe. \u201cYou are not\nafraid of our troops being beaten?\u201d\n\n\u201cOur troops are matches, if not masters, of the best troops in\nEurope,\u201d replied the commandant proudly.\n\n\u201cAnd our generals? We have no lack of good ones surely?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot of veterans,\u201d was the evasive rejoinder.\n\n\u201cOh! the young ones will rise up as soon as they are wanted. We\nshall have a new generation of heroes that will eclipse in glory\nthe _vieux de la Vieille_ themselves. As for you, you will come\nback to us a marshal of France,\u201d declared Berthe merrily.\n\nThe prophecy elicited gentle cheering and congratulations from\nthe ladies, while the men approved in their own way, joking the\ncommandant, and dubbing him _Monsieur le Mar\u00e9chal_ on the spot.\n\n\u201cIf it be not a futile or indiscreet question to put, may I ask\nwhat you are going to war for?\u201d demanded Mr. Clifford, addressing\nhimself to the company in general.\n\n\u201cFor security of the dynasty,\u201d replied a Legitimist.\n\n\u201cFor the honor and security of France,\u201d said the commandant.\n\n\u201cDo you separate them, M. le Commandant!\u201d exclaimed the Legitimist\nwith mock horror. \u201cI arraign you, _de par l\u2019Empereur_, for high\ntreason against France!\u201d\n\nThe circle laughed, and the Commandant, not caring to challenge the\n_persifleur_, laughed good-humoredly, too.\n\n\u201cShall I tell you, monsieur, why we are going to war?\u201d said\nthe Deputy de la Gauche to Mr. Clifford. \u201cWe are going to war\nto _d\u00e9sennuyer_ Paris. If Paris goes on much longer _ennuying_\nherself as she has done for the last six months, she will make a\nrevolution!\u201d\n\n\u201cThat may be quite true,\u201d returned his colleague of the Droite;\n\u201cbut the preventive is rather violent; some milder form of\nexcitement might be invented for the _ennui_ of Paris than that of\ntaking her to Berlin for a distraction. It is hardly a sufficient\nreason for plunging the whole nation into war. No, I prefer to\nthink we are going to fight for the honor of France, and it may be\nfor her aggrandizement.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Madame de Beauc\u0153ur, \u201cM. le Mar\u00e9chal will win his\n_b\u00e2ton_ by taking the Rhine for us!\u201d\n\n\u201cBravo,\u201d cried in chorus the Legitimist, the Droite, and the\nGauche. \u201c_Le Rhin! le Rhin! Vive le Rhin!_\u201d\n\n\u201cI will be willing to shake hands with _ce gaillard l\u00e2_, and to cry\n_Vive l\u2019Empereur_ myself, if he comes back with the Rhine in his\npocket,\u201d declared the Legitimist with desperate patriotism.\n\nAnd the sentiment was echoed by every one present. Orleanist,\nBourbonist, Bonapartist, and Republican all united in a common\nthirst for the blue waters of the Rhine, and avowed themselves\nready to vote the war, whatever its motive, a wise war and a\nrighteous, if it gave the Rhine to France. All with one exception:\nthe old academician shook his head, and muttered some broken\nsentences in which the words, _d\u00e9mence_, _fanfaronnade_, _ruine du\ncommerce_, _feu follet de la gloire_, _d\u00e9cadence des m\u0153urs_, _jour\nde r\u00e9tribution_, etc., were audible through the general hubbub.\n\n\u201cWhat a people, _mon Dieu_!\u201d murmured the philosopher to himself,\nas, descending the softly carpeted stairs, cries of \u201cA Berlin! A\nBerlin dans six semaines! Vive le Rhin! Vive la guerre!\u201d followed\nhim through the open door of Berthe\u2019s apartment; \u201cfitful as the\nwind, passing from reason to madness, from heroism to absurdity, as\nthe weathercock turns with the breeze.\u201d The word that touches our\nvanity, touches every chord in our nature, and sets us in a blaze,\njust as the spark fires the powder-flask. _Quel peuple? Mon Dieu,\nquel peuple!_\n\n\n\n\nREVIEW OF DR. ST\u00d6CKL\u2019S PHILOSOPHY.[74]\n\n\nWe have already called attention to the necessity of providing\nsound philosophical text-books and manuals in the vernacular\ntongues, particularly the English, with which we are specially\nconcerned. We have also expressed our conviction that the only\nphilosophy which has any claim or fitness to be adopted in our\nplaces of education is the scholastic philosophy. Those who are\ncapable of studying this philosophy in the more extensive and\nelaborate works of our great Catholic authors, have all they need\nfor prosecuting their studies to any degree they please. More\nelementary treatises and compendiums in the Latin language are\nalso at hand for those who can make use of them with facility. But\nthose who cannot do so need to have books in their own language,\nand made level to their mental capacity and actual knowledge.\nAnd even those who are able to study in Latin text-books may\nderive great assistance from a good manual written in their own\nvernacular, for many reasons which are obvious, especially if\nthey are not perfect in their knowledge of Latin. Besides this,\nthere are many persons whose education is already completed, who\nwould derive great pleasure and profit from a book of this kind.\nThe English and American educated world is so unfamiliar with the\nancient philosophy of the Catholic schools, that there is need\nof an interpreter who can make it intelligible, and domesticate\nit in our vernacular scientific literature. Numbers of educated\npersons, and even clergymen, who are converts and have received a\nProtestant collegiate education, or, if old Catholics, have not\nbeen thoroughly taught philosophy according to the scholastic\nmethod, have derived their information on the subject mostly from\nthe miscellaneous philosophical literature of England and America,\nand perhaps, also, of France and Germany. In this miscellaneous\nliterature there is much that is valuable, and even of great\nvalue, the product of highly gifted and cultivated minds imbued\nwith sound and elevated principles, containing a vast amount of\ntruth and conclusive argument. There is wanting, however, the\nscientific precision, definiteness and fixedness of terminology,\nand completeness, which are found only in the masters and disciples\nof the scholastic method. Protestants, and to a great extent\nCatholics also, have been at sea in philosophy ever since the\nunfortunate epoch of the Lutheran schism. The evil began in that\nfresh outbreak of paganism, miscalled _renaissance_; a revolt\nagainst the science and the civilization founded by the Holy See,\nthe hierarchy, and the monastic orders, the only truly Christian\nscience and civilization; a retrograde movement of the most fatal\nsort under the name of progression. The vain and frivolous scholars\nof that period brought St. Thomas and the scholastic theology\nand philosophy into contempt among the crowd of their followers.\nThey affected to be Platonists, because the philosophy of Plato\nwas at that time something strange and novel, and afforded them\nthe chance of displaying their knowledge of Greek. The leaders\nof the religious revolt of the age of Leo X., at which time the\ndisorder culminated, pretended to go back to the Hebrew and Greek\nScriptures and the Fathers; where they could evade the contest\nwith scholastic theology, and make a show of learning and pure\nBiblical and patristic doctrine for a considerable time. The\nscholastic theology has, however, fully avenged itself. It has\ndefeated the enemies of the church who have attacked the Catholic\nfaith from without. Within the church, it has established its\nsupremacy, and subdued all those who have professed and endeavored\nto substitute a new system of theology for the old, while retaining\nthe dogmas of faith. The pitiable and abortive effort to produce\na new _renaissance_, which occasioned so much both of scandal and\nridicule during the time of the Vatican Council, was marked by a\nspecially violent assault on St. Thomas and St. Alphonsus, the\ntwo great doctors of the church in dogmatic and moral theology\nrespectively. The result has been the triumph of both. The Angel\nof the Schools has gone up to a pinnacle of honor and glory above\nthat which he had ever before attained, and it is safe to predict\nthat his supremacy as the master of sacred science will never more\nbe seriously questioned. The great champion of the thoroughly\nRoman teaching in doctrine, piety and morals, has been crowned\nwith the doctorate at the petition of a vast body of the men\nhighest in learning and office in the church. The great theological\ncontroversies are substantially finished and settled, and Catholic\ntheology is very nearly complete. Philosophy is now the great\nfield for intellectual activity, and that consolidated union in\nphilosophical teaching which has been secured in theology is the\nend toward which the efforts of all the ardent and loyal lovers of\nthe divine Truth should be directed.\n\nThis end can be secured only by following the same principles and\nmethods in philosophy which have effected and secured unity and\nuniformity in theological doctrine. The scholastic philosophy\nmust accompany the scholastic theology. This is obvious, without\nentering into the intrinsic merits of the question. No other system\nhas that authority, that general prevalence, that scientific\nprecision and completeness, that sanction of the rulers of the\nchurch, the great teaching orders, and the body of directors and\nprofessors of seminaries and strictly Catholic colleges, which\nare requisite for producing unity and uniformity in instruction.\nThose who do not follow the scholastic philosophy are divided into\nsmall parties holding the most opposite opinions and mutually\nhostile to each other; and these parties are again subdivided into\nsmaller sections. The subject matter of this difference is not the\nmere corollaries and remote conclusions, or the high speculative\nquestions of philosophy, not essentially affecting its substance;\nas is the case with the differences among strict adherents to\nscholastic theology and philosophy; but the very substance, the\nfirst principles, the guiding rules of philosophy itself. What\nlikelihood is there that any one of these systems will ever conquer\nfor itself sufficient territory or unite a sufficient number of\nsuffrages to become the reigning doctrine? The history of the\ndisputes which have gone on within and without the church during\nthree centuries, since the decay of the influence of scholastic\nphilosophy, may answer the question. Either we must give up the\nhope of attaining unity, and let philosophy degenerate into a mere\ntheme of endless discussion among rival parties, like doctrine\namong the Protestants, or we must range ourselves under the banner\nof the ancient and still numerous and powerful school of the\nAngelic Doctor.\n\nThe first of these alternatives we must decidedly reprobate, as\ncontrary to the Catholic sense, and incompatible with the respect\nwhich is due to the judgment and authority of the church. It is\nevident that philosophical instruction is regarded in the church\nas highly important and necessary, and as an essential part of\nCatholic education, more especially for those who are preparing for\nthe study of theology. The sense of its importance is increasing\ninstead of diminishing. Everywhere longer time and greater pains\nare bestowed upon it, and we have been told that it is the desire\nof the Sovereign Pontiff that the theological course should rather\nbe shortened if necessary, than that philosophy should fail to\nreceive its adequate proportion of the time allotted to the\ncurriculum of the ecclesiastical seminary. All this implies that\nphilosophy, like theology, is a true science, having its certain\nprinciples, methods, and doctrines. And if this is so, we are to\nlook for it where the queen of sciences, whose herald and prime\nminister it is--Catholic theology--announces her magisterial\nteaching, and not in any particular school set up by private\nauthority. In fact, the scholastic philosophy is an intimate and\nessential part of scholastic theology, which would be decomposed if\nits other elements were separated from this one, and be resolved\ninto a mere collection of dogmas and doctrines without logical\ncoherence. We may infer, therefore, from the express sanction which\nthe church has given to scholastic theology, her approbation of\nscholastic philosophy. This tacit and implied approbation is also\nmanifested in her practical action. The Holy See, the greater\nnumber of bishops, and the body of those ecclesiastics in high\npositions of authority who have control over strictly Catholic\ncolleges, sanction and establish the teaching of scholastic\nphilosophy, encourage works and authors professing to follow it,\nand in many ways repress and discourage whatever is contrary\nto it. More than this, the Holy See, during the reigns of our\npresent Sovereign Pontiff and his illustrious predecessor, Gregory\nXVI., has repeatedly intervened by acts of supreme authority,\nin which books, authors, systems, and propositions have been\ncensured and condemned on account of their teaching philosophical\nerrors contrary to the received doctrine, and either subversive\nof or dangerous to the faith. The Fathers of the Council of the\nVatican were occupied during several months with discussions upon\nfundamental questions of philosophy, the result of which is visible\nin the decrees of the Council. The doctrines which all Catholics\nare obliged to hold and teach have thus been to a certain extent\ndefined and declared, and the limits marked beyond which they are\nforbidden to stray. We have occasion, at present, to specify only\ntwo of the erroneous doctrines which have been thus condemned,\nviz.: that which is called Traditionalism, and another commonly\nknown under the name of Ontologism. We notice these, because both\nerrors arose among sincere Catholics, and were the chief cause of\ndissension concerning philosophical doctrines in our own ranks, so\nthat their condemnation has had a direct effect towards unity in\nteaching, especially as most of the principal persons concerned\nsubmitted obediently to the decision of authority. The first of\nthese errors was an extreme anti-rationalism, tending to subvert\nand sweep away all philosophy, and upon this we have no need to\nenlarge. The second was of far greater import, as it professed\nto be a new and perfect philosophy, and was the most formidable\nantagonist which the scholastic philosophy has ever had to\nencounter. The question is still a living one, and the discussion\nof it is not yet over. Moreover, it relates to the very foundation\nof philosophy and theology, and has the most wide-reaching\nrelations, wherefore we feel it to be necessary to be very careful\nand exact in what we say on the subject. That ontologism which\nwe call an error is a certain ideological doctrine professing\nto be a true _scientia entis_, or science of being, and to be,\ntherefore, the true and only real metaphysic. It has received its\nname from this profession of its advocates, and from common usage,\nfor the want of one more specific and definite. It must not be\nsupposed, however, that it is called an error on account of its\nbeing ontological, as if there were no true ontology, since this\nlatter is the most essential part of philosophy itself. Nor is it\ncorrect to say that the doctrine of all those who call themselves\nontologists by way of distinction from those whom they call\npsychologists, but whom we prefer to designate rather as Platonists\nin distinction from Peripatetics or Aristotelians, is a condemned\nerror. The condemned error, as we understand it, after carefully\nexamining and reflecting upon the matter for several years, is\na false and heterodox ontological doctrine, which radically and\nprincipally consists in the affirmation of _a natural power in\nthe created intellect to know God in himself_, as infinite and\nnecessary being, or in any other ideal aspect. The essence of the\nerror consists in that part of the affirmation which is expressed\nby the term _in himself_, denoting that the very idea which is the\nobject of the divine intelligence and is identical with it, and is\nreally the divine essence itself considered as intelligible, is the\nidea of the created, and specifically of the human, intellect. The\nfalsity of the doctrine consists in this, that it substitutes an\nimaginary intuition of God, which has no existence, for the real\nintuition of the connatural object of the created intellect; and an\nexplicit cognition of God explicated from this intuition for that\ncognition which human reason is actually capable of attaining, by\ndiscursion from self-evident truths which the developed intellect\npossesses as its first principles. It therefore overturns true\nphilosophy and natural theology, and destroys the very cause which\nits advocates are most anxious to promote. It is heterodox, because\nits logical consequences annihilate the distinction between the\nnatural light of reason and the supernatural lights of faith and\nglory, and, by ascribing to the natural condition of the creature\nthat which belongs only to its deific condition, tend to annihilate\nthe essential difference between the Word of God and the creatures\nof God, the Only Begotten Son of God and his adopted sons; thus\nintroducing pantheism by a covert road, into which Platonists\nand mystics have always been in danger of straying unawares. The\nauthors and advocates of this doctrine have been, at least in many\ncases, holy men of orthodox faith, who have strenuously denied\nits logical consequences. Wherefore, the condemnation of their\nopinions has been made in a very gentle and considerate manner, and\ntheir personal character as Catholics has not been compromised,\nunless they have shown a spirit of contumacious resistance to the\nauthority of the Holy See. They have not fallen into heresy, but\ninto philosophical error, and that in good faith, and before the\nauthority of the church had given judgment. Several of the most\ndistinguished among them have made a formal recantation of their\ndoctrine, others have done the same tacitly, and we may take it as\na settled fact that the ontologism condemned at Rome is banished\nfor ever from the Catholic schools.\n\nIt is equally certain, however, that there is an ideology,\ndistinct from that of the Thomist school, and frequently called\nontologism, which is not condemned. Its advocates profess to find\nit in St. Augustine. It is probably contained in the doctrine of\nSt. Bonaventura. It is the doctrine taught in the later and more\nmature works of the great and saintly Cardinal Gerdil, who was\nin his youth a disciple of Malebranche the author of the theory\nof the vision in God. And it is still maintained, under various\nforms, by a considerable number of most respectable persons in\nthe church. Rosmini is well known as the author of a system which\nbears an affinity to it, and, in a general sense, it may be said\nto include all those Catholic teachers and disciples of philosophy\nwho are Platonists rather than Aristotelians. It is certain, we\nsay, that this ideology, distinct alike from that of the Thomists\nand the pure ontologists, is not condemned. This is proved by the\nanswers given to queries on the subject by persons connected with\nthe Roman congregations, by the fact that the doctrines in question\nare openly advocated in lectures and published works under the eye\nof the Sovereign Pontiff, and by the express or tacit admission\nof the opponents of ontologism. We have been informed also by a\ndistinguished prelate who was present at the discussions of the\nVatican Council, that such was the general understanding of the\nbishops there assembled.\n\nThis ideology gives the human intellect an idea created by an\nimmediate illumination of God, and preceding all apprehension and\nperception of particular, finite objects. It may be an idea of\nGod, of the infinite, of being, of the necessary and universal,\nunder any aspect, or under many distinct aspects; or it may be an\nassemblage of ideas representing both the infinite, and finite\nexterior objects. According to St. Bonaventura, it is an idea\nrepresenting God; according to Rosmini it is idea of _ens in\ngenere_. But in whatever way this theory of innate ideas may be\nexpressed, the intellectual object is always an image, something\ncreated with and in the mind, and even where it represents God,\nor the archetypal ideas of God, it is not identified with the\nuncreated _ens_ of which it is the created image. The theory is\ntherefore free from the censures of the church. It is necessary,\nhowever, for those who still adhere to the Platonic ideology to\nbe very careful and accurate in their expressions, in order to\navoid the likelihood of being understood by their readers to teach\ncondemned propositions. The looseness of language which is more\nor less found in the more ancient authors; in all authors not\nfamiliar with the scholastic method, unless they have a precise\nterminology of their own, which is another difficulty in the\nway of understanding them; and the abstruseness of the subject\nitself, produce a great deal of misunderstanding. There is a great\ndeal of obscurity in the writings of Plato whenever he speaks of\nideology, and his disciples have inherited the same. It has been\nquite possible, therefore, for writers whose doctrine is sound to\nuse the language and adopt many of the ideas of the celebrated\nauthors of the ontologistic party, without really apprehending\nthe nature and bearings of that erroneous doctrine which was at\nthe bottom of their whole system. These authors have frequently\nexpressed their ideas under terms and forms of expression borrowed\nfrom St. Augustine, St. Bonaventura, Gerdil, F\u00e9nelon, and other\nwell-known doctors, prelates, and theologians. Very few of them\nhave elaborated their doctrine with sufficient completeness and\nprecision to make it easy to be understood. Those who have done so\nhave been the occasion of its precise formulation and condemnation\nin the famous seven propositions. But, now that the supreme\nauthority in the church has distinctly specified what errors of\nontologism must be rejected as dangerous to faith, it is specially\nimportant that every Catholic writer should be precise, accurate,\nand clear in his language, so that he may not be misunderstood\neven by the ordinary student or reader of philosophical essays.\nThe supreme, infallible authority of the Holy See has not, in\ncondemning certain errors, prescribed or defined what precisely\nis the true ideological doctrine. Catholic philosophers must\ntherefore seek to come to as close an agreement as possible by\nthe way of reason. In order to do this, it is necessary that the\nmethod and terminology sanctioned by ancient and general usage\nshould be strictly adhered to, since, otherwise, endless discussion\nwill be the only result. We think, moreover, as we have already\nsaid, that this agreement can only be effected by means of the\nideology of St. Thomas. The church has not, indeed, formally\napproved it, but, in our opinion, she has condemned that which is\nits only logical alternative. Therefore, we trust in the power of\nreason and logic to bring all master-minds into agreement with\nSt. Thomas, and in the authority of these teachers and leaders to\nsecure the adhesion of the great majority, who must ever be their\ndisciples. It is, we believe, ignorance or misapprehension of the\nscholastic philosophy, as taught in the school of St. Thomas,\nwhich has been the occasion of the attempt made by so many highly\ngifted and noble-hearted men to fabricate out of Platonism a\nbetter ideology. Disgust at nominalism, sensism, and psychologism,\nabhorrence of the scepticism into which Hume and Kant sought to\nresolve all knowledge and belief, have driven them to seek for a\nself-subsisting, objective foundation of the ideal, separate from\nand independent of the sensible. Irresistible logic has impelled\nthem by degrees toward the ultimatum which the pure ontologists\nhave reached; and which is simply the affirmation of God existing\nin his attribute of absolute being, the infinite, or archetypal\ntruth, beauty, and goodness, to which Gioberti adds in the creative\nact; as the immediate ideal object of the intellect. They have\nsupposed that this is the only alternative of the opposite extreme,\nand have put aside the scholastic ideology as halting between the\ntwo upon untenable ground. The opinion which they have of its\ninconsistency and insufficiency is distinctly expressed in the\noft-repeated assertion that it is mere psychologism. This term\nproperly denotes any system which makes ideas mere subjective modes\nof the mind. It is obvious that every species of semi-ontologism,\nevery theory of innate ideas, every system shaped out of Platonic\nelements, which separates ideas from the sensible as the centre\nof their concretion and their focus of visibility to the human\nintellect, without locating them in God, is psychologism. But it\nis not true of the philosophy of Aristotle and St. Thomas, that it\nreduces ideas to this condition of subjectivity, no better than\nthat of the phantoms which arise in the imagination of the sleeper\nor the day-dreamer. In this philosophy, the intelligible object\nhas a reality exterior to the mind, which it directly perceives,\nand by which as a medium it attains self-evident and demonstrated\ntruths, having their foundation in the eternal truth, in the\ninfinite, in absolute being, in the Word, in God; who is the object\nof the mediate intellectual vision of the mind, as the apostle\ndeclares. _Invisibilia ipsius; per ea qu\u00e6 facta sunt, intellecta,\nconspiciuntur._ His invisible perfections are disclosed to our\nsight, being perceived by the intellect through those things which\nare made. _Videmus nunc per speculum._ We see even now, although\nonly in a mirror. The scholastic philosophy is not identical with\nany merely sensistic, conceptualistic, or empirical system. It\ndoes not reduce ideas to mere abstractions, make philosophy a mere\ninduction from the results of experience, or the knowledge of God\nby reason the sum of an aggregate mass of probabilities. It is\nnot in any wise a system of subjectivism. On the contrary, it is\nobjective in the highest sense of the term, and truly ontological,\nthe real _scientia entis_, and not an imaginary one like that of\nthe so-called ontologists. If this be so, the whole ground of the\nprejudice against the Catholic peripatetic philosophy falls away,\nand there is no reason to desert the common teaching of the schools\nfor any other doctrine, either ancient or modern.\n\nThe four great masters in philosophy are Plato, Aristotle, St.\nAugustine, and St. Thomas. Plato is rather a teacher of theology\nand ethics than of metaphysics. His doctrine concerning God, the\nimmortality of the soul, and the moral ideal, is in many respects\npurer and more sublime than that of his pupil. Yet Aristotle\ndeserves _par excellence_ the title of the heathen philosopher. The\nname of _the d\u00e6mon_ given to him by his fellow-pupils on account\nof his wonderful intellect well expresses what he really was--the\ngreatest intellectual prodigy that has appeared in human history,\nthe real creator of logical and metaphysical science. St. Augustine\nfollowed Plato rather than any other heathen philosopher, and does\nnot appear to have been acquainted with the works of Aristotle.\nYet his philosophy as a whole was original; it was chiefly his\ntheology under a rational aspect; it was by no means a complete\nand distinct system. St. Thomas, with the Aristotelian system\nas a plan and basis, built the vast and sublime structure of a\nCatholic philosophy. Although it may be true that he derived his\nknowledge of Plato chiefly from Aristotle, and the latter may have\nmisrepresented his master; yet, through St. Augustine, he obtained\nall that was really valuable in Plato purified and improved; and\nhas thus incorporated into his system everything, whether pagan\nor Christian, which tradition had brought down to his time. As\nAristotle is the d\u00e6mon, St. Thomas is the angel of philosophy. It\nis difficult to compare his natural gifts with those of Aristotle\nin such a way as to make a relative estimate of the genius of the\ntwo men. But in actual wisdom, enlightened as he was by revelation\nand the Christian luminaries of the ages which preceded him, and\nelevated above the natural capacities of man by the gifts of the\nHoly Ghost, he is like the bright mid-day sun compared to the pale\norb of night. All other stars in the firmament must be content to\nshine as lesser lights, and the brightest among them are only his\nplanets. Metaphysical genius of the highest order is the rarest of\ngifts. Clement of Alexandria thought that the Greek philosophy had\nnot arisen without a special act of the divine providence which\nwas preparing the way for Christian theology. When we consider the\nwonderful work accomplished by Aristotle, and the manner in which\nhis philosophy has become blended with the theology of the church,\nwe cannot fail to recognize the hand of God making use of the\nhuman intellect in its most consummate perfection as the servant\nof the Eternal Word in his mission as the teacher of divine truth.\nMuch more must we recognize the same divine hand in the genius and\nwork of St. Thomas. God does his work once for all. The apostles\nfinished their special work, the fathers finished theirs, and we\ncan have no more apostles or fathers of the church. The doctors\nhave done their work, and, although they may have left room for\nsuccessors, yet this is not in the sense that their work is to be\ndone over again. We do not believe there can ever arise another\nSt. Thomas to reconstruct more perfectly the edifice of theology\nand philosophy in those parts which he has built, and these are\nits essential and principal parts. Of theology we need not speak\nparticularly. Of philosophy, the principal parts are those which\ngive a scientific exposition of the rational basis of theology;\nthat is, which treat scientifically of the objective reality\nof the intelligible which the human intellect perceives by its\nnatural power; of the first principles of reason; of self-evident\nand demonstrable truth; of the process by which the mind ascends\nfrom the knowledge of things to the knowledge of their highest\nand creative cause, from the creature to the Creator, from the\nvisible and ideal world to God, from the knowledge of God through\nthe creation to the knowledge of God through revelation. It is\nprecisely here, as we have shown, that the dispute lies between\nscholastic philosophy and ontologism. And it is precisely what\nwe claim for scholastic philosophy, that it gives us the true\nscience of ideology and theodicy, which satisfies reason and\naccords with faith, and is really that which is implicitly and\nconfusedly possessed by the common sense of all men, especially\nof all Christians, in proportion to the degree in which reason\nis developed and instructed. This has been proved in the most\nthorough and ample manner by F. Liberatore in his great work\n_Della Conoscenza Intelletuale_, F. Kleutgen in his _Philosophie\nder Vorzeit_, and F. Rami\u00e8re in his _Unit\u00e9 de l\u2019Enseignement\nPhilosophique_, as well as in other recent works of the same kind.\n\nWe will endeavor to give a statement as succinct and clear as\npossible of the scholastic theory, in order that its opposition to\nevery form of sensism, idealism, and ontologism may be apparent.\n\nIn thought or cognition, we find by analysis these three, the\nsubject, the object, and the intellectual light; as in vision we\nhave the visual faculty, light, and the visible object. The subject\nis the human intellect; the primary, immediate object is the\nintelligible in the sensible, or the essences of sensible things;\nthe light is intelligence. It is a primary maxim that nothing\nis in the intellect which was not first in the sense. Sensible\nexperience is therefore the starting point of thought. The thought\nitself is the result of an active operation of the intellect upon\na passive impression which it receives from the object. This\nactive operation produces a similitude of the object (species)\nin the mind, by which it becomes cognizant of the object itself\nas distinct from and extrinsic to the subject. The intelligible\nessence which is in the sensible object is distinguished and made\nthe object of apprehension by the process of abstraction. In this\nintelligible essence, or what is called in common parlance \u201cthe\nnature of things,\u201d are contained the fundamental notions which are\nthe first germs of all intellectual processes, the first product\nof the act of abstraction which is the beginning of intellectual\nactivity in the infant. In these notions are given the first\nprinciples, the self-evident principles, the axioms of reason;\nand with these reason is able to start the discursive process,\nby which it demonstrates conclusions from premises, which in the\nlast analysis are intellections _a priori_ and self-evident. By\nthis reasoning process, the existence and attributes of God are\nproved from the rational and material universe by the principle\nof causality, which is one of the self-evident principles.\nSelf-consciousness begins as soon as the mind takes note of itself\nas acting, and thus the subject becomes objective to itself without\nany need of a species or impressed similitude of itself, because\nit is itself, and present to itself, and more vividly cognizant of\nitself in acting than of anything exterior to itself. The notions\nderived from reflection on its own operations are thus added to\nthose which are derived by abstraction from sensible objects. The\nimmediate perception terminates only on particular individual\nobjects, but the notions obtained by abstraction are universal,\nwhence it is necessary to define in what consists the objective\nreality of these universals. The universal is defined by Aristotle\nas that which is one, but having aptitude to be contained in many.\nThat is, it is _genus_, with whatever is included under genus, to\nwit, species, differentia, essential and accidental propriety.\nFor instance, the notion of man is the notion of a nature which\nis one, but apt to be contained in an indefinite number of men.\nIt includes the genus animal, the species rational animal, the\ndifferentia rationality, the essential propriety, or the entire\nhuman constitution, mental and physical, and, in respect to the\nvarieties of race, the accidental proprieties which distinguish\neach one from the others. All particular and individual objects\nof cognition can be classed under these five predicaments of the\nuniversal. The universal itself has its formal existence and\nreality, as universal, only in the intellect. It is a conception of\nthe mind, formed by abstraction from the concrete and particular.\nIt is not, however, a mere abstract conception, but an abstractive\nconception. An abstract conception is one in which a quality is\nconsidered as separated by thought from any particular subject in\nwhich it has residence, as goodness or sweetness. An abstractive\nconception, as that of the human species, is one formed from\nthe consideration of men actually existing, in whom the species\nis actually individualized. The conception has, therefore, its\nfoundation in the real object of mental intuition, the individual\nman, and in him the whole that is contained in the universal\nconception really exists. The conception is universal, because the\nintellect perceives the intrinsic possibility of an indefinite\nmultitude of men in the very essence of man, as made known by\nthe existence of any one man in particular. This possibility is\nsomething necessarily and eternally true, which is disclosed to\nthe intellect by means of its outward expression and realization\nin the human race. That is to say, it is a thought which has\nbeen expressed and communicated, by an intelligence in which the\npossibility eternally and essentially subsists, to the human\nintelligence. The foundation of the universal conception is\ntherefore in God. It is in God as archetype of man, as the reason\nof the possibility of man\u2019s nature, and the cause of his existence.\nBut the idea in God is totally different from the conception in\nthe mind of man. God understands the possibility of the existence\nof man in the vision of his own essence, as imitable in this\nparticular form, and of his own creative power. But man cannot see\nthis idea as it is in God; he cannot compare the human type with\nits archetype. He can only produce an afterthought of the divine\nthought itself, a copy or imitation of the divine idea, which is\nwholly inaccessible to his immediate vision, and is only known to\nhim inasmuch as it is manifested through the created type.\n\nLet us take another example, that of a triangle. The figure\ndrawn on the blackboard is the sensible object. The conception\nof a triangle is the intelligible object formed by abstraction,\nand universal. In this conception are contained the general\nnotions of a point, a line, an angle; and in these notions are\ninvolved several self-evident principles or axioms. From these are\ndemonstrated the various mathematical propositions of trigonometry.\nIt is easy to see that, in the intellectual process of the pupil\u2019s\nmind, the genesis and development of the act of cognition of\nmathematical truth is precisely what has been above described. In\nan intelligent and well-developed mind, many of the steps of the\nprocess may be made with such ease and rapidity that they appear\nto be instantaneous, and the conceptions gained are so clear and\nevident that they appear like innate or intuitive ideas. But they\nare not so, and this is made manifest enough in the case of dull or\nslow-minded pupils. The conception of the triangle, with all the\nmathematical truth which it contains, is necessary, universal, and\neternal. It has, therefore, its foundation in necessary being, or\nin the divine intelligence. But it is in God in an eminent mode,\nand formally only in the human intellect. Geometrical truth is\nfounded in the essence of God, who is the archetype of the triangle\nand of every other geometrical figure. But that which the triangle\nimitates the human intellect cannot see; the divine idea in which\nmathematical truth as apprehended by us is eminently contained is\ninapprehensible by any created mind; and the procession of the\ndivine thoughts expressed in quantity and its relations in a manner\nintelligible to us, from the divine essence, is as much above our\nunderstanding as the procession of the Holy Spirit from the Father\nand the Son. It is impossible to think of mathematical conceptions\nexcept as having objective verity, and equally impossible to think\nof them as identical with the ideal being of God; they must be,\ntherefore, as St. Thomas teaches, concrete only in particular\nquantities, but in their universality, _conceptus mentis cum\nfundamento in re_.\n\nIt is the same with the conceptions of time and space. These\nconceptions come from the apprehension of things which succeed or\ncoexist with each other. Real time and space are relations of real\nand finite things. Ideal time and space are necessarily conceived\nas illimitable. It is equally evident that these conceptions of\nillimitable time and space are not purely subjective categories of\nthe mind, and that they are not, in the formality which they have\nin our mind, either eternal realities in themselves or identical\nwith God. They have a foundation in the divine essence, which we\ncan demonstrate to be nothing else than the infinite possibility\nof being imitated in created existences. But this is a conclusion\nof reason, and not an intuition of the divine essence as infinite\narchetype. In our minds, the conceptions represent space and time\nas boundless extended locality and boundless successive duration,\nas Locke and Clarke have so clearly set forth, and as every one\nknows by his own reflections. As conceptions of the universal, they\nhave their existence, therefore, only in the mind, while their\nfoundation is in reality. They presuppose and demand an eternal\nthinker and an eternal thought; we can see immediately neither\nthe thought nor the thinker as they are in themselves, but we\nbehold both mediately by the conceptions of the universal and the\nnecessary; which reflect in our minds the eternal thought of the\neternal thinker, the eternal idea of the eternal God.\n\nIn point of fact, ontologists are obliged to admit that the process\nof the act of the cognition of the infinite is historically the\nsame in substance with that which we have just explained. Their\nimmediate ideal intuition is something involute and out of the\nreach of consciousness, until contact with sensible objects,\nreflection, experience and instruction bring it into the state of\nevolution. On the one hand, this proves that it has no existence,\nexcept in their own imagination. An innate or intuitive idea of\nGod would make his infinite splendor to shine on the mind with\nsuch incessant and dazzling splendor, that the sunlight would\nappear as darkness, and finite things as nonentities, before it.\nIt would be impossible to doubt or to forget it, if it existed.\nOn the other hand, this shows that the scholastic theory of the\norigin of ideas and knowledge adequately expresses everything\nwhich they can reasonably desire in respect to the relation of the\nintellect to the infinite, or real and necessary being, as the\nobject of cognition. The idea of the infinite and the knowledge of\nGod are _virtually_ in the intellect, because the light of reason,\na participation of the divine light, gives it the potentiality\nwhich can be reduced to act by union with the intelligible object.\nThe theory which ascribes to the newly created soul something\nbesides its rational capacity, which it brings with it as a kind of\nform to vivify the sensible object, or keeps as a distinct ideal\nobject within itself, is wholly unnecessary and superfluous. It\nis, moreover, not in accordance with the true doctrine respecting\nthe human soul as _forma corporis_. It belongs rather to that\nimperfect philosophy which ascribes to the soul in this life a\nseparate and independent subsistence, into which the body does not\nenter as an integral part of the personality, but which it merely\nserves as a machine. The scholastic doctrine preserves the unity of\nthe essence and the operation of man, as a rational animal. That\nan intellectual operation should begin from our senses, and the\nmind commence its existence in its rudimental body as a _tabula\nrasa_, is in accordance with our humble position in the natural\norder. The capacity for gaining knowledge by the slow process of\nexperience and discursion is all that we have any right to claim\nfor ourselves. It is enough for us that we are rational, that \u201cthe\nlight of God\u2019s countenance is signed upon us\u201d by the impress\nof an image of his intelligence upon our souls; and that we are\nenlightened by \u201cthat light which enlighteneth every man coming\ninto this world\u201d by receiving the power to know God as manifested\nin his works. We are certainly a \u201clittle lower than the angels,\u201d\nwho have no natural vision of God in his essence, and how are we\nessentially inferior to them, except in the necessity of beginning\nthe process of intellectual cognition from the apprehension of\nsensible objects? It still remains true that God is both the\nauthor and the object of knowledge even in the natural order,\nand that we naturally tend to the contemplation of his being and\nperfections. But this process carried on for eternity could never\nbring us to a point where we could obtain the faintest glimpse of\nan intuitive vision of the divine essence. The capacity to attain\nto this vision is wholly gratuitous and supernatural, a gift of\ngrace, an elevation of our nature above itself, and above the\nangelic nature to a similitude with the divine nature. The actual\nvision is reserved for the state of glory in which the blessed see\nGod in himself and all things in God. The scholastic philosophy\nis therefore in conformity with Catholic theology, and a proper\npreparation for studying and understanding this sublime science.\nEvery other system is either in discord with it, or deficient\nin the perfect logical concord which ought to make the inferior\nharmonize completely with the superior science.\n\nThe revival of scholastic philosophy, and the general consent with\nwhich, in all parts of the world, those who lead in the great\nwork of Catholic education and instruction are uniting together\nin promoting its study and exposition, are a most hopeful sign\nfor the coming age. It is especially encouraging to witness this\nrevival in Germany; and to see the powerful and heavily panoplied\nchampions of orthodox theology and sound philosophy coming forth\nfrom the German schools, to meet and overthrow the boastful giants\nof that land of colossal intelligence and learning; who defy the\narmies of the living God and aim at an imperial domination over\nthe world of science, as its statesmen and warriors do over the\npolitical world. They are but giants of condensed cloud, like\nthe genii of Arabian fable who escaped from the bottles of King\nSolomon. The wisdom of Solomon subdued these genii, and it is the\ntrue wisdom, _sapientia_, which must subdue the cloudy giants\nof critical, historical, and philosophical sophistry; the Bruno\nBauers, Strausses, D\u00f6llingers, Kants, Hegels, and B\u00fcchners, who\nmake war on the old Bible, the old church, the old religion, the\nold philosophy, the old God of Germany and Christendom. A nephew\nof Hegel and pupil of Feuerbach asked the latter what was to be\ndone next, since the Kantian philosophy had ended in the complete\ndissolution of all science. The reply was, that we must return to\ncommon sense. The pupil followed the advice by returning to the\nold God and the old religion. To bring back the next generation to\nthis old religion, and to educate in it the youth who have received\nit by their baptism in the church, is the great task of Catholic\nteachers. This can be done only by the aid of the old philosophy.\nThe attempts made everywhere, but especially in Germany, to do\nthis by a new philosophy and a new theology are all failures, and\nend only in betraying the whole cause of the church to the enemy.\nThose Catholic scholars of Germany who are sound and strong alike\nin their faith and in their science are beginning to see this, and\nare returning to the philosophy of the Angelic Doctor as the only\nfit companion to theology, the true wisdom in the rational order.\nThose who become the interpreters and teachers of this wisdom to\nthe young are the most valuable and efficient of all laborers in\nthe field of divine philosophy. They need to be thoroughly learned\nboth in theology and philosophy, and at the same time to have a\nspecial gift for teaching and explaining doctrine in a condensed,\nlucid, and attractive manner.\n\nIn all these respects, Dr. St\u00f6ckl is pre-eminent. He has the\nvast and solid erudition of the great German scholars. He has,\nmoreover, an intellect which is remarkable both for strength and\nclearness, a masterly reasoning faculty, great talent cultivated\nby long experience for instructing young students, and a style\nwhich represents his thoughts with the precision of a photograph.\nThe German language is, moreover, of such a nature that, while it\nreproduces exactly the Latin terminology of scholastic writers, it\nbrings out the idea in a new and fresh form, in which it becomes\nmore intelligible to those who belong to the Teutonic race than\nit is in the Latin dress. We have never yet met with a manual of\nphilosophy which seems to us so perfectly satisfactory as the\n_Manual_ of Dr. St\u00f6ckl; and the speedy call for a second edition\nwhich followed its publication, as well as the praise given to it\nby competent authorities, proves that it has met the want which\nhas been felt in Germany as in Great Britain and America. Besides\nthe ordinary topics which are treated in our text-books, it\ncontains also treatises on political and social morals, and has a\ncompanion volume of small size which contains a masterly treatise\non \u201c\u00c6sthetics.\u201d We have noticed it especially for the purpose of\nrecommending it to the examination of those who are engaged in\npromoting the study of the scholastic philosophy, as a suitable\nwork to be translated into English for the use of students. It is\nperhaps too large for a college text-book. It contains about one\nthousand pages octavo, and would require two years\u2019 study, with an\nordinary class, to be properly mastered, in connection with the\n_Manual of the History of Philosophy_, which is a volume of equal\nsize. Nevertheless, although a smaller text-book is needed for\nthe majority of pupils, this one would make an admirable work of\nreference for more advanced scholars, and supply the other needs\nwhich we have pointed out in the earlier part of our article as\ncalling for a book of this kind in the English language. The great\ncost of translation and publication, coupled with the risk of a\nsmall sale, makes it somewhat difficult to undertake the task we\nhave suggested as desirable. It cannot be done, of course, without\nthe author\u2019s permission, which, we suppose, he will readily grant\nto those who can give the proper guarantee for the faithful and\nscholarly performance of the work. We intended, when sitting down\nto begin this article, to make only a brief introduction of our own\nto a translation of the author\u2019s chapter on the \u201cOrigin of Ideas,\u201d\nas a specimen of the work. But we have not done so, as the reader\nknows, and have been unwittingly led on over such a length of space\nthat we have left no room for any citations from the author, or\nminute review of the different parts of his philosophy. We trust\nthat he will become speedily known to all lovers of the philosophy\nof St. Thomas, which he has so ably presented and defended, and\nwe are sure that he needs only to be known to be most highly\nappreciated.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[74] _Lehrbuch der Philosophie._ Von Dr. Albert St\u00f6ckl, ord.\nProfessor der Philosophie an der Akademie M\u00fcnster. Mainz: F.\nKirchheim. 1869.\n\n\n\n\nFLEURANGE.\n\nBY MRS. CRAVEN, AUTHOR OF \u201cA SISTER\u2019S STORY.\u201d\n\nTRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH, WITH PERMISSION.\n\n\nPART SECOND.\n\nTHE TRIAL.\n\n\nXVI.\n\n\u201cThe princess begs Mademoiselle Gabrielle to descend.\u201d This message\nwas brought Fleurange by one of the servants of the princess, whose\nattendants were a German valet de chambre, an Italian courier,\nand a Russian waiting-maid. The latter, named Varinka, literally\nbelonged to the princess, being her slave. But Varinka, skilful and\nintelligent like all the Russians of her class, kindly treated by\nher mistress, to whom she was faithfully attached, and clothed in\nher cast-off garments, did not look upon her condition as in the\nleast humiliating. In French she was called Mademoiselle Barbe,\nin Italian the Signora Barbara, and she considered herself, and\nindeed was regarded, as one of the most accomplished of servants.\nExtremely exacting of all who were beneath her, and inclined\nto be jealous of those she considered her equals, she at first\nwished to class the princess\u2019 new _demoiselle de compagnie_ among\nthe latter. But Fleurange, without even observing this, knew how\nto take the place that belonged to her, and oblige Mademoiselle\nBarbe to maintain a respectful deportment towards her. Barbara was\nconsequently inclined to dislike her, but, after some attentive\nobservation, she had sufficient wit to refrain. The fact was,\nFleurange\u2019s activity relieved her from a part of her cares without\nincreasing them in the least (for the young girl never required\nany one\u2019s assistance), and used her influence in a way which every\none else profited by as well as Barbara. When the Princess was\nrecovering from one of the attacks of physical suffering that\nall at once showed how unavailing were the comforts, luxuries,\nand attentions that surrounded her, she dwelt constantly on her\nillness, its cause, duration, and probable or improbable cure, and\nunder the influence of this preoccupation she became capricious,\nwhimsical, and almost impossible to satisfy. No one had ever\nsucceeded so well as Fleurange. Mademoiselle Barbe could not help\nacknowledging, \u201cShe really has all the trouble of keeping madame in\na good humor, and we the benefit of it,\u201d and this plain reasoning\nmade her decide to live at peace with the new-comer, and take\nall possible advantage of the accommodating turn she noticed in\nFleurange, who thus unwittingly disarmed her enemy and converted\nher into an ally, and almost a friend.\n\nThe princess\u2019 message, which put an end to the young girl\u2019s\npleasant dreams, was, it must be acknowledged, merely an invention\nof Mademoiselle Barbe\u2019s, who, being told by the courier it was\nvery delightful on deck, was suddenly seized with the desire of a\nwalk by moonlight. With this end in view, she sent the courier for\nFleurange. As before stated, she was sure Mademoiselle Gabrielle\nwould come down immediately without making any objections or asking\nany questions, which was one of her meritorious qualities in the\neyes of this sagacious servant. \u201cThat young lady does not meddle\nwith what does not concern her, which, I must acknowledge, is very\nagreeable,\u201d she said.\n\nAs she had foreseen, Fleurange left her seat in the open air\nwithout any objection, and went down to the ladies\u2019 cabin, of\nwhich the princess had exclusive possession. She found the invalid\nasleep, and quietly took a seat beside her without questioning the\nexactness of the message she had just received. Throwing off the\ncloak she wore, she said: \u201cHere, Barbara, put on this, if you like,\nand go up and take the air. It is delightful on deck.\u201d\n\nIt was by such pleasing good humor she had unintentionally made a\nconquest of one who naturally regarded Fleurange as a rival, and\nthis, above all the qualities she possessed, was the charm that had\nmost power over the princess, and changed the sudden infatuation to\nwhich she was liable (like most of the ladies of her country) into\nsomething deeper and more permanent.\n\nThe Princess Catherine was lying on a couch, her head propped up\nby several cushions, and her feet covered with a cashmere shawl.\nIn spite of her age and ill health, which had changed the outlines\nof her face and form, beauty and grace had not disappeared without\nleaving on her person traces much less fleeting than beauty itself.\nFleurange, looking at her face by the light of a lamp suspended\nfrom the ceiling, could not help admiring her noble brow, and the\nexpressiveness as well as the still remarkable delicacy of her\nfeatures. Suddenly, as she thus sat contemplating her with more\nattention than ever before, it seemed as if the face before her\nawoke some indistinct remembrance--but before she could grasp the\nidea that suddenly came into her mind, the princess opened her\neyes. Seeing Fleurange beside her, she smiled, and extended her\nbeautiful hand.\n\n\u201cYou here, Gabrielle?\u201d she said. \u201cSo much the better.\u201d\n\n\u201cI was told you wanted me.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; but I am very glad you are here.\u201d\n\nFleurange bent down, and kissed the hand she held with an impulse\nmore affectionate than she had ever felt towards her before. The\nprincess seemed touched, and pressed her hand in return without\nspeaking. Then she went to sleep again. Fleurange remained with her\neyes fastened on her a long time, then she too lay down on a couch\nat the other end of the cabin, to pass away the few hours that yet\nremained before their arrival at Leghorn, which would be about\ndaybreak.\n\nAt that time, long before the era of railways, the route from\nLeghorn to Florence, a long and dusty one, was not always traversed\nin a single day, and our travellers stopped at Pisa for the\nnight. The princess no longer felt any interest in the places\nshe had visited so many times. She had only one wish, and that\nwas--to rest, and, once rested, to resume the journey. But it was\nquite otherwise with Fleurange. Pisa was her birthplace. In Pisa\nlay buried the mother she never knew. Here her father brought\nher during the few happy days they passed together. How many\nvicissitudes her young life had passed through since that time! How\nmany sorrows and joys she had experienced! How many ties she had\nformed and broken! And with what interest she already dwelt on the\npast at an age when others are only thinking of the future! As soon\nas it was light, long before the princess awoke, Fleurange went to\npray beside her mother\u2019s grave. Then she directed her steps towards\nthe Campo Santo, around which she slowly walked. Of all the places\nshe visited with her father, this was the one of which she retained\nthe most vivid recollection. The paintings of the Campo Santo are\nlike a poem which it is impossible to understand if ignorant of the\nlanguage in which it is written. This language she learned from her\nfather, and had not been allowed to forget it in her uncle\u2019s house.\nShe remembered that her cousin, without ever having visited this\nspot, was as familiar with all the paintings as herself. \u201cHow much\npoor Clement would enjoy all these beauties of nature and art, and\nthese scenes of historic interest!\u201d she said to herself. \u201cHow much\nhe would enjoy Italy!\u201d\n\nShe might have added that, like many of his countrymen, he already\nknew and loved\n\n              \u201cThe land where the lemon-trees bloom,\u201d\n\nwithout ever having seen it. Many Germans have loved it with a\nprofound and material passion, fatal when satisfied by violent\npossession, but reciprocated and fruitful when the forced and\nhated union was broken and gave place to voluntary and acceptable\nalliance.\n\nLeaving the Campo Santo, Fleurange went into the church, the\nwonderful Cathedral of Pisa, which cannot be compared to any other;\nfor, if there are any finer, it is doubted or forgotten as soon\nas this is entered. Here Fleurange heard Mass, after which she\nremained a long time on her knees, praying, thinking of all those\nshe loved, and looking around: and all this without losing her\nspirit of devotion. This may appear strange to those who wish to\nconfine the soul\u2019s impulse towards God within narrow and rigid\nlimits. It is nevertheless certain that, in a simple and upright\nheart, a good will, a more ardent love of the eternal goodness, the\nresolutions so properly called a firm purpose of amendment, all\nthese effects of prayer often spring from what does not naturally\nseem destined to produce them. In those lands where religion and\nthe arts go hand in hand, and where the inspiration which guides\nthe painter and the architect is the same that draws the believer\nto the foot of the altar, it often happens that a glance at a\nfresco or painting aids the soul more than a sermon in its upward\nflight, and in accomplishing the very act for which it is prostrate\nbefore God.\n\nIt was thus Fleurange, kneeling on the pavement, holding her\nclosed book in her hand, meditated, looked around, and prayed.\nAmong the thoughts floating in her mind, there was one especially\nwhich seemed to harmonize with everything around her: it was the\nremembrance of the cloister of Santa Maria, and the friend of her\nearly childhood, whose features at this moment seemed to beam out\nof some of the holy faces on the walls around her. She was once\nmore beneath the same sky, and sufficiently near to cherish a hope\nof seeing her. At this thought her eyes overflowed with tears.\nThe remembrance of her childhood prevailed over all others, and\nrendered her prayer more concentrated and more fervent.\n\nMild and saintly Madre Maddalena!--perhaps at this same hour you,\ntoo, were praying--praying for the child that was still dear to\nyou: perhaps, afar off, you echoed her prayer and made it more\nefficacious--the oft-recurring prayer now on Fleurange\u2019s lips as\nshe was about to leave the church: \u201cOur Father, ... lead us not\ninto temptation, but deliver us from evil!\u201d\n\n\nXVII.\n\nFor the first time since her illness, the princess rose above her\nlanguor, and resumed the faculty of talking of something besides\nherself. As they drew near the end of their journey, Fleurange\nperceived she knew how to converse, and that the indifference she\nsometimes manifested to what seemed most worthy of interest was\nnot the result of ignorance, but simply a preference for something\nelse. Like other people, she admired monuments, galleries, splendid\nchurches, and museums, but she preferred the shops where she could\nprocure the rarities she had a taste for, and liked to adorn her\nhouse with for the admiration of others. She enjoyed the brilliant\nsky of Italy and the comfort of its mild climate, so necessary to\nher health; but, if these advantages had not been accompanied by a\nsumptuous palace and a large circle of fashionable acquaintances,\nshe would have regarded her expatriation as an exile, and found\nit but slightly mitigated by all the wonders of nature and art by\nwhich she was surrounded.\n\nTheir journey at last came to an end. The princess descended from\nher carriage at the foot of the magnificent entrance to her palace,\nso overjoyed at finding herself once more at home that the last\ntraces of her recent malady disappeared as if by enchantment.\n\nNumerous servants relieved Fleurange from the care of the light\nbaggage with which the princess\u2019 carriage was always encumbered,\nand she hastily followed her protectress up the broad steps\nof white marble that led to the first story. Here a vast hall\nornamented with statues opened into apartments whose splendor\nsurprised the young girl. She had already visited more than one\npalace in Italy with a similar display of grand proportions,\nfrescoes, ceilings richly painted and gilded, but she had never\nseen anything comparable to the luxury of the furniture and the\nrichness of the long suite of rooms through which they passed. When\nthe princess came to the last, she stopped. This salon, smaller\nthan the others, opened, as well as the one next it, upon a large\ncovered terrace with frescoed arches, which, filled with flowers,\nrare plants, and seats of all forms and sizes, resembled a garden\nscreened from the sun, and formed an appendage to the elegant\napartment they had just entered, which was the princess\u2019 private\nsitting-room. A table loaded with fruit-cake and ices stood in\nthe centre of the room. The princess threw herself on a _chaise\nlongue_. \u201cWe dine late,\u201d said she. \u201cI will take a biscuit and an\nice. Eat something also yourself. But first take off your hat, lay\ndown your satchel, and rest yourself. It is exceedingly warm.\u201d\n\nFleurange attended to the princess\u2019 wants, and then very willingly\ntook a slight repast, which the heat of the mid-day hour made quite\nacceptable. While she stood taking an ice, the princess opened the\npile of notes and letters on a small table near her. She read the\nnotes first.\n\n\u201cWell, there are more people here than I expected. So much the\nbetter! Let me look over my cards.\u201d\n\nShe read out a succession of names of people from various\ncountries, with a running commentary on each which would have given\nthe impression that these people she was so glad to find again were\nindividually perfectly indifferent to her. Then she took up her\nletters.\n\n\u201cAh! at last!\u201d she exclaimed, tearing open a large envelope. \u201cLet\nme see the date.--Now I am relieved!--Thank heaven, he is still\nthere!\u201d She read about a page, and then suddenly cried: \u201cIn less\nthan a month? What, in less than a month?\u201d Then she finished the\nletter in silence, and afterward remained a long time without\nspeaking, but with an anxious and thoughtful look.\n\n\u201cAh! Gabrielle, are you still here?\u201d she said, rousing at last from\nher reverie. \u201cI beg your pardon.\u201d She rang. \u201cYou must be shown to\nyour room. I advise you to take some repose. I shall do the same.\nWe shall see each other again at seven o\u2019clock, which is my hour. I\nexpect hardly any one to-day, and shall wear my morning dress.\u201d\n\nFleurange, thus dismissed, gladly followed the valet de chambre,\nwho answered the bell, through the salons and up the grand\nstaircase to the second story where her chamber was. There he left\nher with a respectful bow, after pointing out the corridor that\ngave access to the princess\u2019 apartments without the necessity of\npassing through any of the rooms.\n\nThe chamber to which she was taken was handsome and spacious,\nbut it seemed rather ornamented than furnished. Its size, its\npainting and gilding would have allowed much more and much richer\nfurniture. But such as it was, it pleased the young girl\u2019s fancy.\nThe broad and lofty window in a deep embrasure admitted floods\nof light, but would have afforded no other view than the sky, if\nthree stone steps had not made it accessible. From the upper step\nthe eye looked down upon the interior court of the palace, which\nresembled a cloister with its light colonnade. A limpid stream\nflowed from a white marble fountain in the midst of velvet-like\nturf and surrounded by rhododendrons. Birds were warbling in a\nlarge aviary. All these things combined to make up a soft, pleasing\npicture, crowned by the azure vault of heaven--a picture singularly\nquiet and dreamy, and Fleurange remained a long time seated on a\nstone seat within the embrasure, allowing her thoughts to wander,\nas often happened, in vague regions, until a servant with her trunk\nreminded her it was time to descend in more than one sense from her\nelevation, and proceed to the matter-of-fact task of unpacking and\narranging her effects. About to commence, she found she had left\nher satchel in the salon. As it contained her keys, she was obliged\nto go for it, and she took the short passage which led directly\nto the princess\u2019 sitting-room; but, instead of returning the same\nway, she could not resist the desire of examining again, alone\nand at leisure, the sumptuous rooms she had only passed through\nbefore. She went leisurely through them, admiring as she went, with\na mixture of childlike curiosity and an innate perception of the\nbeautiful, all the objects that were collected here in uncommon\nprofusion; but, notwithstanding the exquisite taste displayed, she\ncould not help observing the ostentation, which by contrast vividly\nrecalled the remembrance of the Old Mansion--the dear Old Mansion!\nwhere simplicity was so happily combined with the magnificence of\nart, where everything that charmed the eye appealed to the soul,\ninspired serenity and peace, and inclined one to application and\nstudy; whereas here, what met the eye and struck the attention\nspoke of amusement, luxury, and pride.\n\nThis comparison made Fleurange melancholy. She ceased looking\naround with interest, and was about to return to her chamber by\nthe grand stairway without continuing her explorations, when, in\ncrossing the hall, a large half-opened door opposite attracted\nher attention, and she yielded to the curiosity of glancing into\nthe only apartment she had not seen. She pushed the door open,\nand entered a room equally as large as the others, but which\nseemed rather a study-room than a salon. The half-open shutters\nallowed the volumes in Russia leather that lined the walls to be\nseen, as well as the ebony book-cases on all sides. Furniture\nsystematically arranged and protected by coverings, tables loaded\nwith books placed in order as if no one had touched them for a\nlong time, everything showed this room was unoccupied, and had\nnot, like the rest, been prepared for the return of the mistress\nof the house; but a certain atmosphere of studious repose pervaded\nit which was more in conformity with Fleurange\u2019s real tastes than\nall the magnificence she had just beheld. She therefore advanced\nsome steps, looking around, and, the better to see the objects\nscarcely to be distinguished in the obscurity, she went to one\nof the windows and ventured to throw the shutters entirely open.\nThe strong light which at once filled the room revealed a picture\nbefore her which she had not previously noticed. She glanced at\nit, and--it is impossible to describe her feelings!--She could not\nherself have found words to express her extreme astonishment and\nthe overpowering emotion that made her turn pale and then red\nas she almost fell.--The picture thus suddenly revealed to her\nwas that which had played so important a part in her life--her\nfather\u2019s last work--in a word, the Cordelia for which she had sat\nso long ago, and which she had never heard mentioned since without\nagitation!\n\nFor some moments she was overpowered by a thousand thoughts rushing\nover her--thoughts similar to those she had so successfully\nbanished some months before by a supreme effort. It is not\nastonishing they should be involuntarily reawakened now. The lively\ncuriosity with which she was filled was excusable, as well as her\nimpatience to know how this picture came here, and whose room\nit was.--She felt she should soon know, and, with a heart still\nthrobbing, she closed the shutters, and softly left the room in\nwhich she had just beheld this unexpected apparition, as it were.\n\nShe crossed the hall, and was at the foot of the stairs when she\nmet Mademoiselle Barbe in a great hurry, and in that stage of\nfatigue bordering on ill-humor which, on a day of departure or\narrival, is to be seen (and not wholly without reason) in those on\nwhom rests the weight of packing and unpacking. Fleurange stopped\nher nevertheless, having resolved to ask an explanation of the\nfirst person she met.\n\n\u201cBarbara,\u201d she said, \u201cI have been examining all the rooms.\u201d\n\nThese words brought a smile to the servant\u2019s face, for she prided\nherself on the splendor of her mistress\u2019 palace.\n\n\u201cWe are well quartered, aren\u2019t we?\u201d she said, with an air of\nsatisfaction.\n\n\u201cYes, quite. Does the whole palace belong to the princess?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly, from the garret to the cellar.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd she lives here alone?\u201d\n\n\u201cAlone, of course, with Monsieur le Comte.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe count?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; her son, who always lives with her when here. There--in that\nroom,\u201d said she, pointing towards the door Fleurange had just\nclosed.\n\n\u201cHer son! What is his name?\u201d\n\n\u201cCount George de Walden.\u201d\n\n\u201cCount George de Walden?\u201d echoed Fleurange, as if in a dream.\n\n\u201cWhy, yes; that was the name of the princess\u2019 first husband. Did\nyou not know it?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I did not.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe died young--that one. Madame, too, was young. She mourned for\nhim a long time, and then married again, but had no more children.\nThe prince is dead also, but--\u201d\n\nJust at that moment a servant appeared with an armful of packages\nof all sizes, one of which fell from his hand. Barbara left\nFleurange abruptly, and sought relief from her fatigue in a severe\nreprimand to the awkward man, more tired than herself.\n\n\nXVIII.\n\nFleurange returned to her seat on the top of the three steps that\nled to her window, and was again looking down on the quiet and\nsecluded court. But what a change had been wrought in her feelings\nsince she sat there half an hour before! What contrast between\nthis tranquil scene, which then harmonized so perfectly with the\nserenity of her thoughts, and her present agitation of mind! She\nendeavored to be calm, but for some time could not succeed. Was the\nemotion caused by this unexpected discovery surprise and joy, or\nregret and fear? She could not clearly decide, but it was a mixture\nof all these different sensations; and she gave herself up for a\ntime to be buffeted by a whirlwind of contradictory thoughts. By\ndegrees they at last became clearer and more distinct. Fleurange\nrecalled the last time she heard Count George\u2019s name mentioned, as\nwell as the resolution she made that day. That resolution had been\neasily kept, thanks to all that had since happened to divert and\nabsorb her attention. She must still remain faithful to it under\nentirely different circumstances. It was, however, no longer a\nquestion of forgetting the very name of Count George, as she was\ndoubtless to see him, know him, and live under the same roof. But\nwhat she must impress most seriously on her mind was--that he would\nbe as widely separated from her here in his mother\u2019s house as when\nhe only lived in the world of her dreams. This of course would\nbe extremely difficult, but it was evidently a duty she owed to\nherself. This point once established, her course was plain.\n\nThe gentle hand that guided her childhood did not try to extinguish\nthe exquisite though somewhat dangerous qualities with which she\nwas gifted. She did not stifle the liveliness of her imagination,\nor the ardent tenderness of her heart, or the tendency of her\nsentiments to extremes.\n\nMadre Maddalena considered these precious gifts only dangerous in\nthe absence of two other qualities which she sought to develop in\nFleurange, with a care only comparable to that which is used (in\nan inferior sense) in developing the human voice, and transforming\nit into an instrument at once powerful, harmonious, and almost\ndivine. However musical a voice may be, one cannot sing without\ncorrectness of ear, and the power of sustaining its clearness for\na long time without faltering. The divine harmony of the human\nfaculties also depends on the correctness with which the word\n_duty_ is echoed in the soul, and the strength of character to\nact upon it unhesitatingly and unfalteringly. These were the two\nqualities that overruled all others in Fleurange\u2019s nature, and had\nhitherto preserved her from the dangers to which the others exposed\nher.\n\nMore than two hours passed away: the shadows of the columns grew\nlonger beneath the portico: the evening star, herald of holy\nthoughts in Fleurange\u2019s soul, came out clear and brilliant in the\ncloudless sky, reminding her of her accustomed prayer. She had\nhardly finished it when the clock struck and abruptly recalled the\nyoung girl to herself. She hastily opened her trunk, changed her\ndress, and entered the dining-room the very moment the Princess\nCatherine appeared.\n\nFleurange wore a plain dress of black silk. In the present state\nof her wardrobe, she would have been embarrassed if required to\nincrease the elegance of her toilet, but she had not thought of\nit on the present occasion, after hearing the princess say she\nintended dining in her morning dress. She was, therefore, somewhat\nsurprised to see the garment thus designated was a flowing robe\nof white cashmere richly embroidered with gold. Her coiffure was\na tissue of lace and gold, and she wore on her neck six strings\nof magnificent pearls which hung down over her waist. But what\nsurprised and disconcerted the young girl more was the dissatisfied\nlook the princess gave her when she appeared. It was the first time\nthe kind and cordial greeting to which she had become accustomed\nwas wanting.\n\nBut it was no time to give or receive any explanations, for the\nprincess was not alone. There were two or three guests whose names\nFleurange afterwards learned: an old _savant_ named Dom Pomponio;\nSignor Livio, a young artist: and the Marquis Trombelli, who was\nsomewhat of a bore. To tell the truth, they occupied an inferior\nrank among the _habitu\u00e9s_ of the palace, but they preserved the\nmistress of the house from the mortification of seeing the products\nof her cook\u2019s skill waste their sweetness on the desert air, as\nwell as the danger of dining without a sufficient number of guests\nin a vast room, where a _t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate_ with Fleurange would have\nbeen unsatisfactory. Not that she was by any means indifferent to\nthe quality of those she received in her drawing-rooms, but with\nrespect to her _convives_ she attached almost as much importance\nto their number as to their worth, and only required in return the\nability of appreciating the exquisite dishes placed before them.\n\nNotwithstanding the simplicity of her dress, Fleurange did not\nescape notice. The man of letters talked a little more than usual\nwith the hope of dazzling her; the marquis directed his eye-glass\ntowards her several times; and the young artist ventured on some\nwords complimentary in their tone, but as she only replied in\nmonosyllables the conversation languished. The evening seemed long,\nand the princess had yawned more than once, when she was suddenly\nroused at hearing announced--the Marquis Adelardi! She made a\njoyful exclamation.\n\nThe gentleman who appeared was about forty years of age. Fleurange\nafterwards learned he was a Milanais. She immediately perceived\nhe was one of those men who converse well on every subject, and\nknow how to excite an interest in what they are talking about,\nwhether it be fashionable gossip, a political novelty, or a social\nand literary question, and who have no other fault than that of\ntreating these subjects as if they were all of equal interest!\n\nThe atmosphere of the room at once changed. The Marquis Adelardi\nhad not been there a quarter of an hour before he found means of\nsetting off the indifferent elements of the circle to the best\nadvantage, making each one talk of what he knew the best. He passed\nfrom politics to history, from the sciences to the arts, showing\nhimself capable of conversing on all these subjects, if not of\nsounding their depths.\n\nFleurange silently listened to this conversation, which amused\nher, but her interest redoubled and changed its nature when the\nnew-comer, drawing near the princess\u2019 arm-chair, said:\n\n\u201cAnd when are we to see our George again?\u201d\n\nThe princess replied in a pleased and yet half-anxious tone: \u201cWe\nshall see him again soon, for the letter I received from him this\nmorning, written at St. Petersburg, announced his return at the end\nof this month.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo much the better, I miss him everywhere, and every way, here.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I assure you I do also, as you may imagine,\u201d said the\nprincess, with a thoughtful air, as she played with her necklace of\npearls. \u201cNevertheless, Adelardi, you know as well as I it would be\nbetter for him to remain where he is till the end of the year.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, my dear princess, give it up. I advise you to abandon the\nidea of making a courtier of George.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is not the only point.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I understand. You think the fair Vera--\u201d Here the marquis\nleaned forward, and exchanged some words with the princess in a low\ntone. Fleurange only heard these: \u201cAnd you know this is my only\nwish.\u201d It was the princess who spoke.\n\n\u201cAnd he?\u201d said the marquis.\n\n\u201cHe! You know him well.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut that is precisely the reason I should not have supposed him\ninsensible to such attractions as hers.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, indeed, but it is never sure he is not absorbed by some fancy\nnot to be foreseen. Moreover, I believe if she had not been at\ncourt--\u201d Here the princess again lowered her voice.\n\n\u201cDo not worry. He will yield at last.\u201d\n\n\u201cI truly hope so, but meanwhile acknowledge it would be better for\nhim not to return.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes and no. I am not sure it is very judicious to expose him to\ncompromise himself, as he is always tempted to do.\u201d\n\nThe princess looked very grave. \u201cYou are right from that point of\nview,\u201d said she. \u201cHe really terrifies me often. But I think he\nwould become more prudent if obliged to be so. It is a necessity of\nwhich one is at last convinced by living in Russia.\u201d\n\nThe conversation was continued for some time in a low tone. Then\nthe princess declared herself fatigued, and an exception was made\nto her custom of prolonging the evening to a late hour, and they\nall retired.\n\nFleurange was about to do the same when the princess stopped her\nand asked the reason of her simplicity of dress. \u201cI am particularly\ndesirous,\u201d she said, \u201cthat they who in some sort aid me in doing\nthe honors of my salon should be dressed stylishly--and I pay them\naccordingly,\u201d she added with the want of delicacy sometimes to be\nremarked even in well-bred ladies with regard to their dependents.\nIt was a fault the princess was not often guilty of, but this side\nof her nature became apparent when she was in a bad humor.\n\nFleurange blushed. \u201cI beg your pardon, princess,\u201d said she, \u201cbut I\ncannot comply with your request--I cannot,\u201d she repeated, her eyes\nfilling with great tears.\n\n\u201cWhat does all this mean?\u201d\n\nFleurange hesitated an instant, but, obedient to her impulses,\nalways frank and simple, she related what the princess had hitherto\nbeen ignorant of--the ruin of her family, and the motive that had\ninduced her to accept the place she now occupied.\n\n\u201cIf I am obliged to expend the money I receive from you in\nadorning my person; if I can only aid my relatives at the risk\nof displeasing you, then--then--\u201d And her voice faltered. \u201cAlas!\nmadame, I should be obliged to seek elsewhere the means of--\u201d\n\nThe princess did not allow her to finish. The young girl\u2019s accent,\nas she gave her simple account, excited her sympathies; her\ndissatisfaction vanished, and the result of this little scene was\nthat Fleurange was allowed not only to dispose of a part of her\nsalary as she pleased, but the whole, on one condition, which the\nprincess insisted upon, and to which Fleurange was at length forced\nto consent--that the princess, and she alone, should have the\ndirection of her young companion\u2019s dress and ornaments.\n\nFrom that time Fleurange was profusely provided with all that\ncould satisfy the singular requirement of her protectress, and at\nthe same time gratify her generosity, keenly stimulated by her\ninterest in the account she had just heard. Fleurange yielded with\na mixture of gratitude and repugnance, endeavoring to reconcile the\nsimplicity of her tastes with the elegant taste of the princess.\nThe result, however, was that, when she appeared for the first time\nin public, the effect she produced far surpassed the expectations\nof her who seemed to attach so much importance to enhancing her\nbeauty.\n\nElegance and luxury seemed really to be necessary elements of the\nPrincess Catherine\u2019s existence, and as an inferior article of\nfurniture or hangings of any plainness would have been considered\nout of place in her apartments, so Fleurange\u2019s simple black dress\nwould have marred the prevailing harmony, and she regarded it as\na matter of importance to change what injured the general effect.\nBut she was by no means disposed Fleurange should cease to be her\n_prot\u00e9g\u00e9e_, which gratified her pride as well as her kind heart.\n\nIf the somewhat too enthusiastic homage paid the young girl at\nher first appearance had been sought or even welcomed by her, the\nprincess\u2019 humor would doubtless have been affected by it; but the\ndignified modesty of Fleurange\u2019s deportment soon modified the\nadmiration whose incense would only have troubled the purity and\nelevation of her heart had vanity given it entrance.\n\nFleurange was not vain. This was one of her charms, and at the same\ntime a safeguard.\n\nThe princess\u2019 observant eye soon assured her there was no cause for\nfear. This increased her confidence in Fleurange, which soon became\nboundless. It was the height of her wishes to be attended by one\nwhose beauty added to the attractions of her salon and gave her no\nanxiety as to the consequences; to enjoy, herself, the charm of\nFleurange\u2019s presence, her activity, and a thousand little talents\nwhich made her useful at every turn; and this without requiring the\nleast vigilance on the part of herself, which would have greatly\nannoyed her. She was glad she could now be indolent at her ease.\nFleurange wrote her notes, arranged her flowers, and completed\nwork she zealously commenced and then abandoned, and afterwards\ncomplacently showed as her own. Fleurange was also ready to read to\nher, with her harmonious voice and expression only the more rare\nbecause perfectly natural, sometimes Italian or German poetry, and\nsometimes articles in the reviews and journals; then, at the hour\nof receiving visits, she was glad to absent herself, unless the\nprincess invited her to remain or sent for her. By thus following\nher own judgment, she unwittingly fulfilled the secret wishes of\nthe princess, who was perhaps better pleased with the tact with\nwhich she knew how to anticipate her desires than the promptness of\nher obedience.\n\nMeanwhile the days passed away, and it was more than a month since\ntheir arrival at Florence. During this time Count George\u2019s name was\nmentioned a thousand times in Fleurange\u2019s presence, but it ceased\nto produce the effect she once wisely resolved to resist. Sometimes\nshe smiled to herself as she thought it possible, after knowing\nhim, she might be greatly astonished at his ever having occupied\nher thoughts to such an extent. \u201cPhantoms always vanish, they say,\nwhen we approach and look them in the face.\u201d\n\nSuch was the thought that crossed her mind, one morning, as she sat\nalone in the small salon. The princess had gone out, and Fleurange\nwas seated at an embroidery frame completing some work. The thought\njust mentioned was suggested by the news received that morning of\nthe certain arrival of Count George by the end of the week.\n\n\u201cYes, reality puts all fancies to flight; and it is very probable,\u201d\nshe continued, pursuing the course of her reflections, \u201cwhen I\nknow him better--\u201d She was suddenly interrupted by the noise of\nhasty steps in the next apartment. Generally, no one came that way\nwithout being announced. Surprised, Fleurange hastily rose to leave\nthe room according to her custom, but had scarcely started when she\nfound herself face to face with the person who entered.\n\nIt was he--yes, _he_--Count George!\n\nShe had not time to define her sensations. The effect she herself\nproduced surprised her, or, to speak more correctly, terrified her\nso much that she remained motionless, silent, and astonished.\n\n\u201cFleurange!--Great God! is it possible! Is it true? Fleurange!\u201d\nrepeated he with an emotion more profound than that of joy. His\nvoice, no less than his features, was graven on the memory of\nher who heard it. The name, the almost forgotten name of her\nchildhood, uttered in such a tone; the hand that grasped her own\nas that of a friend he had found again, but with a look that made\nFleurange instinctively withdraw her eyes; his rapid questions,\nincoherent replies, the eager, tender, passionate tone of his\nwords--everything in this meeting was sudden, ardent, and dangerous\nas lightning!\n\nA carriage was now heard; but, before the Princess Catherine\nentered the salon, Fleurange had reached her chamber, pale and\nready to faint.\n\nAll the unreasonableness, the madness almost, of her former\nthoughts, all that had seemed impossible, was in an instant\ntransformed into a sudden, unforeseen, and dangerous reality! What\nhad she just heard? What did he say? What! The thought of her had\nfollowed him for a year; he had endeavored to banish it, but had\nnot succeeded; and now he had returned decided to make every effort\nto find her again--to behold her once more whose image had been\nconstantly present in his mind!\n\nYes, he said all this!--And what she heard was the counterpart of\nwhat she herself had felt and struggled against.--Poor Fleurange!\nwas it joy her pale and troubled face expressed? Was it a transport\nof pride, or of tenderness, that caused her heart to beat so\npainfully? Was it happiness that made her shed such a torrent of\ntears?\n\nOh! no, the words so sweet to hear when it is lawful to listen;\nthe happiness of being loved when one loves--one of the greatest\nin the world; the words so readily understood because they express\nwhat one has so deeply felt; all that sometimes suddenly illumines\na life like the light of the sun, had just fallen on hers with the\nbrightness, instantaneousness, and danger of a thunderbolt!\n\n\nXIX.\n\nCount George de Walden possessed every exterior quality that could\nplease or fascinate, and, though it would not have been wise to\nregard his chivalric air and the nobleness of his features and\nmanners as the sure indices of a soul exempt from egoism, it was\nimpossible not to be struck by his appearance, and difficult to\nforget him after he was once seen. The lively impression he made on\nFleurange\u2019s memory was not therefore so strange as might appear,\nand there were more excuses for it than she found herself. What was\nmuch more surprising was that, notwithstanding the charm with which\nshe was endowed, the impression was reciprocal, and, at the end of\na year, was not effaced.\n\nWe must not, of course, compare the simple, confused, and\ninvoluntary feelings of a young girl with those of such a man\nas Count George. Under the semblance of Cordelia, Fleurange had\nbeen constantly before his eyes as well as in his imagination.\nHe passionately desired to behold her again. He resolved to find\nher without examining his intentions as to the project, and\nthis tenacious preoccupation influenced more than he would have\nacknowledged the decision he recently made in spite of his almost\npledged word.\n\nNevertheless, without being very scrupulous, the Count de Walden\nwould have thought twice before allowing himself to make such a\ndeclaration to his mother\u2019s companion as that with which he greeted\nher. But he by no means expected to find in the Gabrielle sometimes\nmentioned in his mother\u2019s letters her whose singular name had\nremained imprinted on his memory, as well as her wonderful beauty,\nand the first moment of surprise deprived him of the faculty of\nreflection. Then, seeing the young girl\u2019s sweet face blush and turn\npale, seeing her charming eyes full of alarm, he uttered in spite\nof himself the words he would perhaps have been better able to\nsuppress if she herself had been more successful at concealment.\n\nBut, as we have said, all this was quicker than thought. Five\nminutes had not elapsed from the moment of his sudden appearance\nbefore the princess, breathless with joy and haste, fell pale with\nemotion into her son\u2019s arms. George led her to her _chaise longue_,\nand knelt beside her, and, while she was asking him--embracing\nhim at every word--sometimes why he had returned so soon, and\nsometimes why he had kept them waiting for him so long, by degrees\nhe entirely regained his self-control. When, after a long hour\u2019s\nconversation, he found himself once more alone, he asked himself\nif the vision he beheld at his arrival was a reality or a dream of\nhis imagination, and then, if he were pleased or not, that it had\nappeared to him beneath his mother\u2019s roof.\n\nDuring this time Fleurange also regained her self-possession,\nthough slowly, and her first sensation was a kind of terror. \u201cO\ndear friends! why did I leave you?\u201d she cried, with a feeling\nanalogous to that of one in the midst of a tempest, longing for\nthe security of land. She felt the need of protection even more\nthan at Paris with want staring her in the face, and more than ever\ndid her isolation and weakness make her afraid. She wiped away her\ntears, folded her hands, and endeavored to reflect calmly, but it\nwas beyond her power to be calmed yet. Her surprise and agitation\nhad been, this time, too violent. In spite of all her efforts, the\naccents still ringing in her ears filled her with an acute, almost\npainful joy, which pierced her heart like a sword.\n\n\u201cNo, no, I must not dwell on it,\u201d she said, clasping her forehead\nwith her hands as if to stay the current of her thoughts.\n\nAll at once a new idea occurred to her: \u201cWhat will he tell his\nmother? What would she think? Would she be proud, haughty, and\ndisdainful as she sometimes knew how to be? Would she order her new\ncompanion to leave her at once? What was to be the result?\u201d\n\nShe was taking this new view of her position when Barbara, without\nthe usual formality of knocking, came rushing in with the eager air\nof a person who brings news and a message.\n\n\u201cMademoiselle Gabrielle,\u201d she said, \u201cthe princess has sent me to\ninform you of the count\u2019s arrival, and that there will be a great\nmany at dinner. She wishes you to look your best.\u201d\n\nThis message, in the midst of Fleurange\u2019s reflections, was like\ncold water on a furnace, causing a kind of effervescence, and the\nconfusion of her thoughts became more inextricable than ever. She\nlooked at Barbara as if she did not comprehend her.\n\n\u201cYou were asleep, perhaps,\u201d said she, noticing the young girl\u2019s\npallor and bewildered look. \u201cAre you ill?\u201d\n\nThis question suggested an affirmative reply, and she told the\nservant she would be obliged to remain in her room. She was\ncongratulating herself on this happy means of escape, when Barbara\nexplained:\n\n\u201cRemain in your room! Sick! Well, what an idea! And on a day like\nthis!--Madame would be pleased!--Come, mademoiselle, you know well\nshe would never consent to it!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut if my head aches so I can hardly raise it?\u201d said Fleurange.\n\nBarbara looked at her. Fleurange was not deceiving her. She had a\nheadache; she was very pale, and there was an unusual expression in\nher eyes and face, but she was no less beautiful than usual; rather\nthe contrary.\n\n\u201cCome, Mademoiselle Gabrielle, you are not very ill, I know,\u201d said\nBarbara. \u201cMake an effort, otherwise you may be sure the princess\nwill be up here, and then you will have to yield.\u201d\n\nThis perspective reduced Fleurange to immediate submission.\n\n\u201cThen, Barbara,\u201d she said, in a tone half plaintive and half\nimpatient, \u201clet her tell me what to wear! Dress!--If she only knew\nhow I detest it!\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, mademoiselle, there are many others who would be glad to be\nin your place,\u201d said Barbara in an ill humored tone.\n\nAt first she was very much opposed to all her mistress\u2019 generosity\nto Fleurange, but she soon softened, for the latter had a means\nof conciliating her which she often made use of, and always at a\nseasonable time.\n\n\u201cHere, Barbara, take this shawl. You may keep it. Come back in an\nhour, and tell me what the princess wishes me to wear. That is\nalways the shortest way, and saves me the trouble of deciding.\u201d\n\nBarbara went away, but reappeared in an hour, bringing a dress of\nsky-blue gauze and some silver pins.\n\n\u201cHere, mademoiselle, is your toilet for to-day. Dress\nyourself quick; I am going to help you. Let me arrange your\nhair.--There!--These bright pins have a fine effect in your black\nhair. Now your dress, quick. The princess is already in the salon.\nMonsieur le Comte also, and a great many others. You will be\nlate.--Come, what are you thinking of, Mademoiselle Gabrielle, to\nsit down instead of completing your toilet?\u201d\n\nFleurange was indeed at once agitated and confused. She walked to\nand fro in her chamber, sat down, and rose up without any attention\nto the appeals addressed her. At length she resigned herself to\nlet Barbara dress her as she pleased, and the latter, with a\nnatural taste for the art, acquitted herself so well that, when the\nyoung girl, with a trembling hand, opened the door of the salon,\nhoping to glide in unperceived among the numerous guests already\nassembled, there was a general murmur of admiration. This added a\nmortal embarrassment to her trouble.\n\nIf any one had asked her the color of her dress she could not\nhave told; but the idea suddenly occurred to her that Barbara\nhad perhaps arranged her hair and dress in a different and more\nbecoming way than usual, and she blushed, wondering what the\nprincess would think of her unaccustomed display.\n\nBut the princess did not appear to take any notice of her. Standing\nin the centre of the room in the richest of dresses, she was doing\nthe honors of the house with her usual ease. All at once Fleurange\nheard her name called: \u201cGabrielle!\u201d It was the princess who\nbeckoned to her. Fleurange approached, but a mist veiled her eyes,\nfor she had seen from the first that Count George was beside his\nmother.\n\n\u201cMy bracelet is unclasped. Fasten it, Gabrielle,\u201d said the princess\nin her usual tone, at once kind and patronizing. Fleurange bent\ndown and clasped the bracelet.\n\n\u201cGeorge,\u201d said the princess, \u201cthis is Gabrielle of whom I have\noften spoken to you. Gabrielle, this is my son.\u201d\n\nGeorge bowed without attempting to speak. Fleurange did the same,\nbut a painful sensation made the blood rush to her face. For the\nfirst time in her life, she felt tacitly guilty of a falsehood, or\nat least of deception, and, though comforted by the certainty the\nprincess had no suspicion of what had taken place two hours before,\na flash of haughty displeasure escaped from her eyes as she raised\nthem and turned away her head.\n\nCount George looked at her attentively for an instant, then became\nthoughtful, and it was only with an effort he took any part in the\nconversation at table. But in the evening, thanks to the Marquis\nAdelardi, whose friendship he valued and whose mind was in sympathy\nwith his, he became more animated, and in his turn shone almost\nas much as his brilliant interlocutor; but he did not approach\nFleurange, and did not even seem once to look towards her.\n\n                         TO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n\n\nART AND RELIGION.\n\n\nGod reveals himself to all the faculties of the soul. We not\nonly know him as truth; we also love him as beauty. As he is\ninfinite truth, so is he perfect beauty. Without the existence of\nGod as absolute truth, science is impossible. Science, which is\nco-ordinated knowledge, can never be well grounded unless it rest\nupon the eternal and first cause, which is God. God as truth is at\nthe bottom of all knowledge; as beauty, he is the ideal present to\nthe soul in every conception of art.\n\nArt is the expression of ideal beauty under a created form.\nThe philosopher, in his meditations, seeks the true, which he\ntranslates into formulas; the artist in his impassioned love seeks\nthe beautiful, which he makes to live on canvas, to breathe in\nmarble, to speak from the living page.\n\nThe end of art is not to imitate nature. On the contrary, in the\npresence of natural beauty it looks beyond to the type, the idea\nof a still higher beauty. Hence the artist is not a mere copier of\nnature; for he is enamored of an ideal that disgusts him with all\nthat he beholds in the real world. The aim and despair of his life\nis to give to this ideal a form and a sensible expression. Ideal\nbeauty is that which disenchants the soul of the love of every\ncreated thing, and which in the presence of reality lifts it up to\na higher love. It is a gleam from the face of God reflected through\nthe blue heavens, the starry sky, or whatever in nature is grand or\nbeautiful. It is the eternal allurement and eternal disenchantment\nof the noblest souls. True beauty is ideal beauty, and ideal\nbeauty is a reflection of the infinite. Hence art, which aims to\ngive expression to this beauty, is essentially religious, and tends\nto elevate the soul from earth to heaven, and bear it away toward\nthe infinite.\n\nIt is the ideal side of natural beauty that gives to it its\nreligious power.\n\nThe view of the beautiful in nature creates in us a longing for\nheaven, because the image of God is reflected from all those\nobjects which so inspire the soul. When, in the spring-time we seat\nourselves on the border of a lake in whose tranquil waters, as\nin a vast mirror, are reflected the green woods and the laughing\nmeadows, the trees and the plants and the flowers; into whose bosom\nthe rippling waters of rill and rivulet are flowing, all joyous\nlike children that run to meet their gentle mother, whilst the\nquiet winds whisper to one another from leaf to leaf, as if afraid\nto dispel the enchantment of the spot--does not, in such an hour,\na mysterious solitude creep over the soul, and free it from the\ndistracting thoughts of life, giving it power to raise itself on\nthe wings of contemplation to the very throne of God? The sight\nof true beauty always reminds us of heaven. Seated on the border\nof that enchanted lake, man grows sad and thoughtful, a sweet\nmelancholy takes hold of him, because he has caught a glimpse of\nhome, but is still an exile. When, on a summer\u2019s evening, the sun\nhas sunk to rest, and not a breath creeps through the rosy air, but\nall nature is bowed in silent prayer, and the stars come out one\nby one, the guardians of the night--in this heavenliest hour, who\nhas not been impressed by a sense of the infinite, the unmistakable\npresence of God, before whom heaven and earth, \u201cfrom the high\nhost of stars to the lulled lake and mountain coast,\u201d grow still,\nabsorbed in adoration?\n\nThere is also in the grand and rugged scenes of nature an immense\nreligious power.\n\nThe ocean, the desert, high mountains and mighty rivers, storm\nand darkness, with the voice of thunder and the lightning flash,\nall speak of God, and in their presence man bows in homage to the\nomnipotence of his Creator. Hence the child of nature, however rude\nand imperfect his idea of God, is essentially religious in his\naspirations.\n\nMan must isolate himself and become absorbed in his own abstract\nand empty thoughts before he can lose consciousness of the\never-abiding presence of the Creator. For every creature is a\nrevelation of heaven to the human soul, reminding it of its origin\nand high destiny. If nature leads us to God, why may not art have\nthe same power, since both are expressions of the same eternal\nbeauty?\n\nBefore considering this question, we wish to advert to the immense\npower and universal influence of art.\n\nFew can enter into the sanctuary of science--even the rudest mind\nwhen brought in contact with ideal beauty by the creative power\nof art--but feel its force and its inspiration. Art is the most\nlasting of national glories. Indeed, we may say that without art\nthere is no glory either national or individual.\n\nThe greatest deeds and the proudest names sink back in death unless\nart embalm them in poetry or in song, give them immortality on the\nspeaking canvas or in the breathing marble.\n\nBrave men lived before Agamemnon, but they are forgotten, for\ntheir names never shone on the poet\u2019s page. Those nations are most\nglorious in which art attained its highest development.\n\nThe muse of Homer, the eloquence of Demosthenes, and the chisel of\nPhidias, have done more to immortalize Greece than the deeds of\nher proud heroes. The greatest human actions are in themselves but\nlittle removed from the commonplace affairs of everyday life; but\nthe creative power of art transforms them and invests them with\na charm which the reality never possessed. The primeval forests\nof Kentucky, in the day when its name was the \u201cdark and bloody\nground,\u201d witnessed many a deed of human daring and of warlike\nprowess equal to those of Achilles and Hector under the walls of\nTroy; but art with its celestial wand never transfigured those\ndeeds on the poet\u2019s page, and they are forgotten, buried with the\nleaves that overshadowed them. The life of man is short, even that\nof a nation is not long; but art dies not, and has moreover the\ndivine power of conferring immortality upon all that it touches.\nShakespeare is worth more to the glory of England than all the\nvictories of all her generals. Dante, Raphael, and Michael Angelo,\nwith innumerable other names which represent the highest artistic\npower, have made Italy the consecrated land of poetry and of song,\nthe home of beauty and of all loveliness--the native country of the\nsoul.\n\nTime alone, which is the approver of all things, can give to art\nits full power, and it is only when we consider it in the past\nthat we become aware of its great influence in the history of the\nhuman race. The present is always a vulgar time; too real to be\nbeautiful. The present is the slave of power and wealth, but these\nsoon disappear, and art remains for ever. The first impulse in the\nmovement which has carried the European mind to its present state\nof enlightenment was given by art in conjunction with religion. The\nstudy of the Grecian and Roman models, in poetry, in eloquence,\nand in architecture, fired the nations of Europe with a love of\nartistic perfection, and consequently greatly contributed to our\npresent civilization. The historic power of art is in some respects\ngreater than that of history itself. Few men know history as a\nscience--the masses are brought into contact with the heroes of the\npast by poetry and by song.\n\nHas God, who has given to art a universal mission in the\ndevelopment of man\u2019s moral and intellectual nature, banished its\nelevating influence from the sphere of religion? It would be\nforeign to our present scope to discuss the actual and possible\nperversions of art. There is naught on earth so holy that the free\nwill of man may not turn it to evil. The fact that a thing may be\nabused simply proves that it has a right and proper use. The abuse\ncomes from the free agency of man; the use is the mission given by\nGod, which is always holy and elevated.\n\nThe direct aim of art is the expression of infinite beauty under a\ncreated form, and hence a true work of art should elevate the soul\nto the contemplation of heavenly beauty. This contemplation of the\ndivine ideal disenchants us of the things of earth; which truth is\nexpressed by the old proverb, that there is no great genius without\nmelancholy.\n\nHe whose soul habitually contemplates the ideal world is\nnecessarily saddened by the reality of life, which is so\ninfinitely beneath the elevation of his thoughts.\n\nThere is nothing sensuous in the idea of true beauty. Its property\nis to purify and moderate desire, not to inflame it. Hence art\naddresses itself less to the sense than to the soul. It seeks to\nawaken not desire, but sentiment. Chastity and beauty seek each\nother. Chastity is beautiful, and beauty is chaste.\n\nThese considerations go to show that art, the end of which is the\nexpression of beauty, is in its tendency moral and elevating, and\nconsequently religious.\n\nThere can, then, be no just cause of antagonism between religion\nand true art, as there can be no contradiction between theology and\nreal science.\n\nFar from being enemies, religion and art are allies. This truth\nthe Catholic Church has ever proclaimed. She has stigmatized no\none of the arts. In her universal life, she has a mission for each\nand every one of them. Her churches are not alone the temples of\nthe living God--they are also the home of the arts which point\nheavenward.\n\nThe Christian religion in its dogmas and aspirations is essentially\nspiritual. The Catholic Church is the great and only successful\ndefender of the distinction between spirit and matter. By her\nteachings and practices, she has rendered man more spiritual, and\nconsequently more beautiful. By awakening him to the consciousness\nof the diviner and more ethereal part of his nature, she has\ndeveloped in him the instinct of art, which is essentially\nspiritual because its soul is the ideal.\n\nThe more we meditate upon the nature of art, the more thoroughly\nare we convinced that true art is the sister of true religion.\nProtestantism, protesting against many truths, also protested\nagainst the alliance of religion and art. We speak of the\nProtestantism of the past; for no man knows what Protestantism\nis to-day. It is anything and everything, from semi-Catholicism\ndown to naked infidelity. It has become mere individualism, and\nmay consequently no longer be spoken of as an organization. The\nProtestantism which is dead objected to the alliance of religion\nand art because it conceived them to be of opposite nature and\ncontrary tendency. Religion is the worship of God in spirit and in\ntruth, and Protestantism looked upon art as purely material.\n\nBut in this as in other matters, the Protestant view was based upon\na misconception both of religion and of human nature. If man were\nwholly spiritual, his religion would also be purely spiritual.\nBut matter forms part of his nature. Even that which in him is\nmost spiritual--thought--has its sensible element. An idea is an\nimage, whence it follows that we cannot even think without forming\nto ourselves a mental representation of the thing thought of. No\nhuman act can be purely spiritual. The law of our being is that we\nrise from the visible to the invisible, from the sensible to the\nsupersensible. An invisible and purely spiritual religion would\nbe to us an unreal and intangible religion. An invisible church\nis a contradiction in terms, and without a church there can be\namongst men no authoritative religious teaching. Neither religious\nnor intellectual life, in our present state, can exist without\nlanguage, and language addresses itself directly and primarily\nto the senses. It is therefore impossible for man to express the\nspiritual without making use of the material. Hence art, which\nseeks to adumbrate the infinite under a finite form, in this simply\nconforms to the universal law of man\u2019s nature, which in all\nthings, even in thought, subjects him to matter.\n\nIs not Christianity based upon this fact? Did not God take unto\nhimself a visible and material nature in order to manifest to\nthe world his invisible power, and beauty, and holiness? Is not\nthe Christian religion a system of things invisible, visibly\nmanifested? The end of religion is spiritual, but in order to\nattain this end it must possess a visible and material element.\nThis fact of itself gives to art a religious mission of the highest\norder.\n\nThis mission is to proclaim to the world Jesus Christ and him\ncrucified and glorified--by poetry, by song, by painting, by\narchitecture, in a word, by every artistic creation of which genius\nis capable.\n\nJesus Christ is the beau ideal of art--the most lovely and\nbeautiful conception of the divine mind itself. He is the visible\nmanifestation of God, the all-beautiful.\n\nPurity, and gentleness, and grace, with power and majesty, all\ncombine to make him the most beautiful of the sons of woman, the\nfairest and the loveliest figure in all history, to whom the whole\nworld bows in instinctive love and homage. There is a shadow on the\ncountenance of Jesus which gives to it its artistic completeness.\nIt is sorrow. There is something trivial in gaiety and joy which\ndeprives them of artistic effect. The cheek of beauty is not divine\nexcept the tear of sorrow trickle down it. Hence to preach Jesus\nChrist and him crucified is not to preach perfect religion alone,\nbut also the perfect ideal of art.\n\nChristian science, which is theology, has as its object the dogmas\nof the church. Christian art relates directly to religious worship,\nbut it has incidentally a doctrinal significance. If we consider\neloquence an art, which we may do, for true eloquence is always\nartistic, we must concede that it holds a most important place\nin the church of Jesus Christ. He blessed eloquence and bade it\nconvert the world when he spoke to the apostles these memorable\nwords: \u201cGo ye therefore, and teach all nations.\u201d The divine command\nwas to preach the Gospel, not to write it. The living word spoken\nby the divinely commissioned teacher has alone borne fruit in the\nworld, converted the nations, and changed the face of the earth.\nEloquence must be spoken. If you take from it its voice, you take\naway its soul. It is the cry of an impassioned nature, in which\nlove, and faith, and deep-abiding conviction are enrooted. Add to\nthis purity and holiness of life in him who speaks, and let him\nbe in earnest, and he will be eloquent. Eloquence in the mouth of\na consecrated teacher has a sacramental power. It is one of the\ndivinely established ordinances for the propagation of religious\ntruth, and for the conversion of a soul to God.\n\nPoetry, too, is consecrated to the service of religion. The muse\nnever soars her loftiest flight except when lifted up on the wings\nof religious inspiration. The most poetic word in language is that\nbrief, immense word--God. It is the sublimest, the profoundest, the\nholiest word that human tongue can utter. It forms the instinctive\ncry of the soul in the hour of every deep emotion. In the hour\nof victory, in the hour of death, in the ecstasy of joy, in the\nagony of woe, that sacred word bursts spontaneously from the human\nheart. It is the first word that our mother taught our infant lips\nto lisp, when, pointing to heaven, she told us that there was God\nour Father, and bade us look above this base, contagious earth.\nWhen the mother for the first time feels her first-born\u2019s breath,\nin tenderness of gratitude she pronounces the name of God; when\nin utter helplessness of woe she bends over the grave of her only\nchild, and her heart is breaking, she can find no relief for her\nagonizing soul, until, raising her tearful eyes to heaven, she\nbreathes in prayer the name of God.\n\nWhen two young hearts that are one vow eternal love and fealty, it\nis in the name of God they do it; and the union of love loses half\nits poetry and half its charm except it be contracted before the\naltar of God and in his holy name.\n\nWhen the mother sends her son to do battle for his country, she\nsays, \u201cGod be with thee, my boy!\u201d\n\nWhen nations are marshalled in deadly array of arms, and the\nalarming drum foretells the danger nigh, and the trumpet\u2019s clanguor\nsounds the charge, and contending armies meet in the death grapple,\namid fire and smoke and the cannon\u2019s awful roar, until victory\ncrowns them that win; those banners that were borne proudly on\ntill they floated in triumph over the field of glory are gathered\ntogether in some vast temple of religion, and there an assembled\nnation sings aloud in thanksgiving: \u201cWe praise thee, O God! we\nglorify thee, O Lord!\u201d How often has not God chosen the muse of\npoetry in order to convey to the world his divine doctrines! The\nBible contains much of the sublimest poetry ever written. Some of\nthe Psalms of David, portions of Job and Isaias, equal in deep and\nlofty poetic feeling anything that Dante or Milton wrote. And did\nnot these privileged minds also receive their highest inspirations\nfrom religion?\n\nWe may not separate poetry from music. Music is poetry in tones.\nIt is the language of feeling, the universal language of man. The\ncry of joy and of sorrow, of triumph and of despair, of ecstasy\nand of agony, is understood by every human being because it is\nthe language of nature. All the deep emotions of the soul seek\nexpression in modulation of sound.\n\nCousin says: \u201cThere is physically and morally a marvellous relation\nbetween a sound and the soul. It seems as though the soul were an\necho in which the sound takes a new power.\u201d\n\nByron, too, seems to have felt this:\n\n                  \u201cOh! that I were\n    The viewless spirit of a lovely sound,\n    A living voice, a breathing harmony;\n    A bodiless enjoyment, born and dying\n    With the blest Tone that made me!\u201d\n\nAt the awakening call of music, the universal harmonies of nature\nstir within the soul. The ancients were wont to say that he who\ncultivates music imitates the divinity, and St. Augustine tells\nus that it was the sweet sound of psalmody which made the lives\nof the monks of old so beautiful and harmonious. God is eternal\nharmony, and the works of his hand are harmonious, and his great\nprecept to men is that they live in harmony. Did not Jesus Christ\ncome into the world amid the choral song of angels? Would you,\nthen, banish music from the church of Jesus? No art has such power\nas music to draw the soul toward the infinite. It would seem as\nthough the sounds of melody were the viewless spirits of heaven,\ncalling us away from earth to our true home in the mansion of our\nFather. Whosoever has enjoyed the rare privilege of being present\nin the Sistine Chapel, during Holy Week, when the melodies of Leo,\nDurante, and Pergolesi, on the _Miserere_, are sung, has felt the\nimmense power of religious music. For a moment, at least, he has\nquitted this earth, and the voice of song has borne his soul in\nineffable ecstasy to the very throne of God. As music develops\nreligious sentiment, so religion gives to music its sublimest\nthemes. To her, Haydn, Beethoven, and Mozart owe their divinest\ninspirations.\n\nPainting, too, asks to be received into the temple of religion.\nWhat sentiment is there that the painter cannot express? All nature\nis subject to his command--the physical world and the moral world.\nHis muse soars from earth to heaven, and contemplates all that lies\nbetween them. Above all, the human countenance divine, that mirror\nof the soul, belongs to the painter. His brush, dipped in the light\nof heaven, gives to virtue its own celestial hue; to vice, its\ninborn hideousness. He expresses every emotion of the human heart,\nevery noble love, every lofty aspiration, every dark and baneful\npassion. Aristotle, the most comprehensive mind of the pagan world,\naffirms that painting teaches the same precepts of moral conduct as\nphilosophy, with this advantage, that it employs a shorter method.\nChristian painting began in the Catacombs. In the rude pictures of\nthat subterranean world we find the chief doctrines of Christianity\nreduced to their most simple expression under forms the most\ntouching.\n\nPainting there represents the Ph\u0153nix rising from its ashes, emblem\nof the immortality of the soul and of the resurrection of the body;\nthe good shepherd bearing upon his shoulders the lost sheep, which\nteaches with touching simplicity one of the most beautiful of our\nLord\u2019s parables; the three youths in the fiery furnace, signifying\nthe providence of God for those who fear and love him; Pharao and\nhis hosts engulfed in the Red Sea, proclaiming to the faithful that\nGod is the avenger of those who put their trust in him. These and\nsimilar subjects were peculiarly adapted to inspire courage in the\nhearts of the Christians of the first ages, when to be a follower\nof the cross was to be a hero.\n\nAs men of genius and learning by their life-long labors show\nus the divine beauties and perfections in the character of\nJesus in new bearings, so the art of painting throws around his\nhistory an intenser light. His divinity is as manifest in the\n\u201cTransfiguration\u201d of Raphael as in the famous sermon of Massillon.\nHis ineffable sufferings on Mount Calvary and the Godlike power\nwhich consented to death, but conquered agony, are as vividly and\nfeelingly portrayed on the canvas of Rubens as in the unequalled\nand inimitable discourse of Bourdaloue. No one can look upon the\n\u201cLast Supper\u201d by Leonardo da Vinci without being inspired with a\nmost sublime conception of that holiest event. Can we think of the\npassion and death of the Saviour without forming to ourselves a\nmental image corresponding to the scene? If, after all, we must\nhave a picture, why not take that of genius rather than trust to\nour own tame plebeian fancy? And then, for those who cannot read or\nmeditate profoundly, for the poor whom Jesus loved, what master is\nlike painting?\n\nSt. Basil declares that painters accomplish as much by their\npictures as orators by their eloquence.\n\nThe church as a lecture-room will interest only the cultivated few;\nthe church as the temple of art sanctified by religion is the home\nof worship for the multitude.\n\nReligion, if it be anything, must be popular, which science can\nnever be, and which art always is. Then, in the name of the\nreligion of the poor, let architecture advance to raise to God the\ntemple of majesty and beauty, the democratic palace of the people,\nwhere the prince and the beggar sit side by side as brothers, a\nbasilica prouder and loftier than that of the sceptred monarch.\n\n\n\n\nA FETE-DAY AT LYONS.\n\n\nSome writer has remarked that \u201cthere is no purgatory in France,\u201d\nmeaning thereby to illustrate the great extremes of piety\nand irreligion in the national character; and, although on a\nbroad ground this assertion is by no means orthodox, yet it is\npractically true to a certain extent, and nowhere perhaps are these\ntraits more noticeable to a stranger than in the time-honored city\nof Lyons. Here faith and disbelief walk side by side through all\ngrades of society, each stronger and more resolute from its very\nproximity to the other; and when the tide of revolution swept over\nFrance, nowhere have the excesses been greater or religion more\nmonstrously profaned than here; and yet nowhere has faith been\nmore profound, more edifying, and more uncompromising. The blood\nof its early Christian martyrs has been a wonderful leaven and has\nworked well, and the thousands of pilgrims who yearly tread the\nheights of Fourri\u00e8re, the extraordinary solemnity and fervor of the\nexterior devotions and religious ceremonies, show that there is a\ncountercurrent stronger and more powerful than any opposing force\nthat infidelity can bring to bear against it.\n\nIt is to give a few impressions made by these latter\ncharacteristics of this old city that we now recall some\nreminiscences of a visit there several years ago. The antiquity of\nLyons, and its many monuments of interest, are quite sufficient to\ninduce a traveller to linger on his route, and a week can be easily\nfilled in exploring the city proper and its environs.\n\nLike many of the European cities, its streets are narrow, and the\nhouses high and badly ventilated; but a great change has taken\nplace in regard to these defects within the last ten years, and a\nrenovation without mutilation has opened its thoroughfares, adorned\nit with beautiful squares, fine bridges, broad and handsome quays,\nand placed it on an equal footing with any city in Europe in regard\nto its sanitary advantages.\n\nDating as far back as the Christian era and beyond, there are\nmany remnants of its Roman origin yet to be seen, which have been\ncarefully preserved through its various vicissitudes. Christianity\nwas here planted in blood; and under the Roman emperors, three\npersecutions of Christians took place, which numbered forty-five\nthousand martyrs on their crimson pages; and this is why faith\nhas taken such deep root, and why it opposes itself so firmly to\nthose subtle influences of the day which threaten to endanger a\nbirthright so dearly bought.\n\nTo us Americans who are only familiar with Lyons in its commercial\nbearings, and from the superior quality of its manufactures which\nfind their way into our market, the fact that its inhabitants are\na lettered as well as a business people is rather a matter of\nsurprise; and we gaze in wonder at its magnificent buildings,\ndevoted to the fine arts, its lyceums, colleges, academies of\nscience, schools and institutions of every kind for instruction and\nthe development of the finer tastes; and the riddle is solved by\nknowing that their manufactures, their commerce, their business,\noccupy only a part of their lives, and by no means constitute the\nsum total, as is so nearly the case in this country. This repose is\nvery attractive to us Cisatlantic people, who lead such restless\nlives; and the lovely summer days that we spent in the old city\nenjoying this tranquillity are never to be forgotten.\n\nWe were awaiting the celebration of the _F\u00eate du Saint\nSacrament_,[75] which is usually kept with so much solemnity in\nthe provinces. On the eve of the feast we made the ascent of Mont\nFourri\u00e8re, though not in the garb of humble pilgrims, \u201cwith sandal\nshoon and scallop-shell,\u201d but in the more commonplace character of\nsightseers from the Western World, attracted to this height by the\nfar-famed shrine which crowns its summit, and by the many historic\nassociations that cluster round it.\n\nOn our way up we visited a cemetery which almost hangs by the\nmountain-side, and from which there are lovely views in every\ndirection. It made a strange impression, this city of the dead, so\nfar above the noise and clatter of the busy world below. It was\nso still, nothing broke the silence except our footsteps along\nthe gravelled walks. One tomb especially attracted our attention:\nit was fairly buried and hidden by the quantity of fresh flowers,\nand the crosses and wreaths of immortelles which covered it. While\nwondering who could be the silent occupant of a grave so much\nloved, a lady approached in deep widow\u2019s mourning, leading two\nlittle children, clad in the same sombre hue. They came and knelt\nat the tomb. Our question was answered, and we moved silently away,\nsorry for even the momentary intrusion we had been guilty of. Near\nthe cemetery is the church of St. Iren\u00e9e, which contains the bones\nof 18,500 Christians, martyred by order of Septimius Severus, 193\nA.C. The remains of its ancient crypt are also shown, which dates\nback to the second century. There is also a well in this crypt, in\nwhich it is said these bones were found. The roughly paved road\nthen leads up to the Chapel,[76] and Terrace of Notre Dame de\nFourri\u00e8re. We found we were just in time for the Benediction of the\nBlessed Sacrament, which was given here every afternoon during the\nTriduum which preceded the feast.\n\nThis little chapel was not remarkable either for its architectural\nfinish nor for the richness and perfection of its ornamentation;\nit is plain, very plain indeed, but the marvellous number of its\n_ex-votos_, the gilt and silver hearts which actually burnish its\nwalls, the crutches and other instruments suggestive of disease\nwhich hang around, tell of the moral and physical burdens which\nhave been brought here and left, and of the weary, sorrowing\nsouls who have wandered up this rocky height, who have made their\ndeposit, and returned singing alleluias.\n\n    \u201cThere is one far shrine I remember\n      In the years that have fled away,\n    Where the grand old mountains are guarding\n      The glories of night and day.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    \u201cIt is one of Our Lady\u2019s chapels,\n      And though poorer than all the rest\n    Just because of the sin and the sorrow,\n      I think she loved it the best.\n\n    \u201cThere are no rich gifts on the altar,\n      The shrine is humble and bare,\n    Yet the poor, and the sick, and the tempted\n      Think their home and their haven is there.\u201d[77]\n\nA fine terrace is just at the side of the chapel, and the view\nmagnificent from the parapet which guards its eastern face. Just\nbeneath lies Lyons in all its stateliness, traversed by two superb\nrivers from north to south, and prominent among its most striking\npoints is the grand old Cathedral of St. Jean, which stands\ndirectly at the base of the mountain.\n\nThe surrounding country is a succession of lovely landscapes, and\nbeyond, looking far away, a hundred miles off into Switzerland,\nthe glorious Alps, with Mont Blanc\u2019s snowy peak towering far\nabove all, bound the horizon. We were fortunate in getting this\nview in perfection, for frequently a veil of mist and fog shuts\nout entirely this latter part of the tableau. On ascending the\nbelfry of the chapel, we found the panorama yet more extended and\nenchanting. In every direction the views were entirely unbroken\nand uninterrupted. Seven rich provinces of France unfolded their\nscenery before our delighted eyes. At the extreme edge of the\nsouthern horizon rose Mont Pilat; at the west, the mountains of\nForey and Auvergne; toward the north, Mont d\u2019Or; and on the east,\nthe Alps, in their eternal mantle of snow, completed a picture that\ncould not be surpassed. Every prominence had caught the golden\nlight of the sinking sun, and the shadows that had crept into the\nvalleys only enhanced the coloring of the scene and made the effect\nmore striking.\n\nA Jesuit college, with its garden and appurtenances, is an\nappendant on the southern side of the terrace, and we crossed over\nto take a peep at their chapel, well knowing the good taste and\nexquisite finish which are usually displayed in their churches.\nThere we found them also holding a Triduum, and, their service\nbeing a little later than that of the other chapel, we had the\npleasure of attending Benediction a second time. Here the music was\ndelightful and the chapel a gem. It was very small, and seemed to\nbe lit entirely from the altar, which was ablaze with wax-lights\nand natural flowers; there appeared to be no external light to\nenter at all, and yet from its miniature size none of its details\nwere lost, and, with the accessories of the solemn service then\ngoing on, it was the embodiment of beauty and inspiration.\n\nWhen we turned our footsteps downward, the shadow\u2019s had lengthened,\nand were fast creeping out of the valleys, and by the time we\nreached home the heights of Fourri\u00e8re, which we still had in sight,\nwere shrouded in gloom.\n\nThe next morning we were awakened by the booming of cannon, which\nannounced the inauguration of the _f\u00eate_.\n\nWe hurried through breakfast, so as to reach the cathedral in time\nfor the procession. In the square opposite our hotel, an altar had\nbeen erected, and we passed several others on our way, but their\ndecorations, at this early hour, were not quite complete.\n\nEverything wore a festive look, and everybody was out in holiday\nattire, flags and banners were flying, and the fa\u00e7ades of some of\nthose immensely high houses were festooned from top to bottom with\ncrimson and yellow hangings. One building in especial was very\neffective; it was the Palais de Justice, which is on the right bank\nof the Sa\u00f4ne, and which we faced in crossing the bridge to the\ncathedral. Its extended front of Corinthian pillars was draped\nin crimson cloth, which contrasted finely with the gray stone of\nwhich it was built. A little to its left is the old cathedral,\nstately and grand in its sombre livery of centuries. It has seen\ngenerations pass away, emperors and empires, kingdoms and kings,\nand yet it stands to-day intact, and ready to do duty for another\nhundred years, unless demolished by the sacrilegious hand of the\niconoclast of the nineteenth century.\n\nOn reaching the _place_ in front of the cathedral, we found a\nlarge crowd awaiting the procession. In a short time the sound of\nmartial music was heard, and presently several officers rode up on\nhorseback to open a passage through the crowd.\n\nThe procession was escorted by a troop of cavalry and military\nband, and preceded by a number of lovely children, dressed in\nwhite, with silver wings, their hair flowing, and scattering\nflowers as they passed along. As it entered the church, the\norgan pealed forth, filling the vast aisles with its magnificent\nharmony. Then Pontifical High Mass began, in all the grandeur of\nthe especial ritual which is attached to this church, and which\nis the oldest in France, having been introduced here by one of\nthe first bishops of Lyons; the liturgy is also different from\nthat ordinarily used, and the ceremonies are of the most imposing\ncharacter. The band, placed in a remote part of the church, played\nat intervals during the service, and the harsh and deafening sounds\nwhich are usually the result of brass instruments in a close\nbuilding were lost in the immense space, and only the sweetest\nstrains swept up through the nave and aisles.\n\nIn like manner the glare of day fell through the richly stained\nwindows in a mellow and subdued light, which diffused itself\ngenerally over the church.\n\nA very pleasant American writer[78] has said: \u201cIf we could only\nbring one thing back from Europe, that one thing would be a\ncathedral.\u201d And truly these old monuments have a prestige to\nwhich persons of all creeds must pay tribute; and the veriest\nscoffer lifts his hat with reverence as he enters, and feels\nthe influence of that wonderful atmosphere which pervades their\nhallowed precincts. After Mass we prolonged our walk home to see\nthe decorations of the city. The altars were now entirely finished,\nand dressed with a profusion of natural flowers.\n\nIn the afternoon the procession passed round the city in a line\nwith the altars, at each of which benediction was given. In their\nliturgy there are four special hymns for each of these stations or\n_reposoirs_, and, when the latter exceed that number, the chants\nare repeated until they have all been visited. There is generally\none altar in each ward or district of the city, to satisfy the\npious devotion of those who cannot attend service at the church.\n\nIn the evening illuminations and fireworks completed the\nfestivities of the day--of a day whose minutest detail showed how\ntrue \u201c_the Rome of Gaul_\u201d had been to the colors which she unfurled\nnearly seventeen hundred years ago on the ramparts of paganism.\n\nSince then I have seen other _f\u00eates_ in other lands, but none have\nleft the impression of the first which I saw inaugurated in the old\nCathedral of St. Jean, under the shadow of Mont Fourri\u00e8re.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[75] Corpus Christi.\n\n[76] This chapel is built on the site of the ancient _Forum Vetus_\nof the Romans erected by order of the Emperor Trajan. A part of\nthe chapel is built of the stone that was left of its ruins. It\nis now, and has been for more than a thousand years, a celebrated\npilgrimage.\n\n[77] Procter.\n\n[78] Hillard.\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE CHURCH UNDERSTANDS AND UPHOLDS THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN.\n\n\nTHIRD ARTICLE.\n\nTHE MIDDLE AGES.\n\nThe middle ages were undoubtedly the epoch during which the\ninfluence of woman upon the gravest affairs and most important\nissues in the history of the church was most widely exercised.\nThere was hardly a single country in Europe that was evangelized\nand reclaimed from social barbarism without the direct intervention\nof the power of women, and wherever the inevitable excesses of a\nsystem in the main both useful and honorable, such as the feudalism\nof the middle ages, had to be checked or corrected, it was always\ndone through the merciful intercession of holy and generous\nwomen. To begin with the country whose daughters have ever been\nforemost in zeal for the cause of religion, France, we have a\nlong list of queens whose names are conspicuous in the annals of\nchurch history. They were no less honored in their own day than\nthey have been since the voice of the faithful has proclaimed\nthem saints. When the French monarchy was in its first military\nand elementary stages, the young Frankish conqueror, the heathen\nClovis, who had just forced the ancient Gauls of the province of\nRheims to bow before his power, found at the court of Gondebaud,\nKing of Burgundy, the niece of that prince, Clotildis, a Christian\nmaiden, renowned for her learning in matters of theology, and for\nher undaunted stand against the Arianism of her uncle\u2019s court. St.\nGregory of Tours, says Ventura,[79] represents her as evincing\nthe most varied and reliable knowledge of Christianity, and\nespecially of the questions at that time lately decided at the\nCouncil of Nic\u00e6a. She knew equally how to combat paganism on her\nhusband\u2019s part and Arianism upon her uncle\u2019s, and displayed all the\nself-possession of a great apologist, with the theological science\nof a doctor of the church. This was as early as the year 493, not\nlong after Clovis won the great battle of Tolbiac against the\nAlemanni, and became a Christian, according to his vow, made during\nthe engagement, to the \u201cSon of the living God, thou whom Clotildis\nworships.\u201d The queen then sent for St. Remigius, the Bishop of\nRheims, to instruct and baptize her husband. She instructed the\nwomen of her court and family herself, and showed herself most\nzealous in the propagation of the faith. The ceremony of baptism,\nand the anointing of the king which followed it, were performed,\nby the queen\u2019s care, with extraordinary solemnity. She herself\nwalked in the procession between the king\u2019s two sisters, the one\nformerly a pagan, the other an Arian. The first, the Princess\nAlbofleda, renounced the world and consecrated her virginity to\nGod, thus giving a first example to the numerous royal maidens of\nFrance who have since left the court for the cloister. Clotildis so\nfired her husband\u2019s heart with her holy enthusiasm that he built\nand endowed the church of SS. Peter and Paul in Paris, now called\nSt. Genevieve in honor of the sainted shepherdess who, later on,\nshared with Clotildis herself the title of patroness of France.\nClovis was afterwards buried in this church. The Visigoths and\nBurgundians, who were Arians, were shamed into less inhuman ways\nby the example and widespread influence of the victorious Clovis\nand his Christian warriors; the foundations of the great French\nmonarchy were laid by the evident desire of the neighboring tribes\nto coalesce with the Franks; the future Catholic monarchy of Spain\nwas consecrated by the heroic zeal and suffering of Clotildis\nthe younger, the only daughter of Clovis, married to the Arian\nAmalaric, King of the Visigoths, in Spain, and the mitigation of\nmany lawless and still half-barbarian acts during the reigns of her\nsons was successfully undertaken; so that it may be said with truth\nof this period of history that its chief glory was the supremacy of\nwoman. Clotildis died at Tours, where for many years she had lived\nin solitude and humility, entirely ignoring her high rank, and\nemploying her influence over her sons in exhortations to preserve\nthe peace of their respective kingdoms, to protect the poor, and to\ntreat them as brethren. But great as her services to religion and\ncivilization had been, the church was not destined to suffer by her\ndeath, for a long succession of imitators of her virtues took her\nplace from century to century, and protected the interests of that\nchurch whose champions cannot fail her as long as principle and\nhonor exist in the world. Radegundes, the daughter of Bertarius,\nKing of Thuringia, and the captive of King Clotaire I. (fourth\nson of St. Clotildis), was instructed in the Christian faith at\nthe court of the latter, whom she afterwards married. Her great\ndelight during the short period of her court life was the care of\nthe sick in the hospital of Athies, which she had founded, and the\nalleviation of the miseries of the poor. She endeavored to restrain\nthe lawlessness of the court; but, when her husband caused her\nbrother to be treacherously assassinated, as Butler tells us,[80]\nin order to possess his kingdom of Thuringia, she was so grieved\nat the time that she begged for leave to retire into a monastery.\nHere her influence was greater than it had been at court. The great\nabbey of Poitiers was founded and the first abbess, Agnes, chosen\nby her. She enriched the church of this monastery with numerous\ngifts, and sent ambassadors to the Emperor Justin of Constantinople\nto obtain a relic of the True Cross. This being given her, she\nhad it placed in a shrine, to which it was carried in solemn\nprocession. She had already invited to Poitiers many learned and\nholy men, among others the orator and poet Venantius Fortunatus,\nwho on this occasion composed the famous processional hymn \u201cVexilla\nRegis Prodeunt,\u201d which is now one of the most prominent features of\nour liturgy. Thus, to a woman\u2019s inspiration do we owe one of the\nhymns of world-wide renown, synonymous with the name and practice\nof Catholic Christianity. Butler tells us that Radegundes herself\nwas a good scholar, and read both the Latin and Greek fathers.\nShe procured for her monastery the rule and constitution of St.\nCesarius of Arles, and had it confirmed by the Council of Tours,\nassembled 566. Here again, in the letter of Cesaria, the abbess\nof the monastery of St. John, at Arles, we have a most remarkable\ninstance of the great discernment and prudence of a woman in\nher management of a numerous community. She gives the strictest\ncautions against all familiarities and partiality in a religious\ncommunity, and also enjoins that each nun should learn the Psalter\nby heart and be able to read well. Biblical learning is thus\nproved to have been ever foremost in the minds of the pioneers of\nmonasticism. But Radegundes, so great was her anxiety to make her\nmonastery of Poitiers a perfect work, repaired to Arles herself,\nand studied the rule personally for some time, in order to help the\nAbbess Agnes in establishing it the more effectually. After the\ndeath of her husband, and during the shameful disturbances caused\nby the famous Fredegonda, the mistress of Chilperic, Radegundes\nbecame once more the support of orthodoxy and of the persecuted\nbishops of the realm. Among other proofs of the high esteem in\nwhich prominent churchmen held this great woman, let us cite the\nletter addressed to her by the assembled bishops of the Council\nof Tours, wherein they say: \u201cWe are rejoiced, most reverend\ndaughter, to see such an example of divine favor repeated in your\nperson; for the faith flourishes anew through the efforts of your\nzeal, and what had been languishing through the wintry coldness of\nthe indifference of this age, lives again through the fervor of\nyour soul. But as you claim as a birthplace almost the same spot\nwhence St. Martin came, it is no wonder that you should imitate in\nyour work his example and teaching. Shining with the light of his\ndoctrine, you fill with heavenly conviction the hearts of those who\nlisten to you.\u201d[81]\n\nThe tradition of constant faith and resolute orthodoxy on the part\nof the queens of France was upheld in the century following that\nof Radegundes (the seventh), by Bathildis, the wife of Clovis\nII.; the friend of Eligius, Bishop of Noyon, and of Owen, Bishop\nof Rouen. Both of these had been placed in responsible positions\nat court through the influence of Radegundes--the co-operator of\nGenis, the holy almoner, who subsequently became Archbishop of\nLyons, and the wielder of great power through the complaisance\nof her husband. Bathildis was pre-eminently the support of the\nepiscopate and the refuge of the poor. She had herself been a\ncaptive, being by birth an Englishwoman, and having fallen to the\nlot of Erchinoald, the first officer of the King of Neustria,\nwho treated her very kindly. Ventura says of her: \u201cAt the death\nof her husband, having been entrusted with the regency of the\nkingdom and the guardianship of her three little children, the\noldest only five years old, she acquitted herself of this double\noffice with such wisdom and prudence that even the great nobles\nand statesmen could not withhold their admiration and respect.\nWith such counselors as the holy bishops Eligius, Owen, and Leger,\nit is not astonishing that she should have succeeded in banishing\nfrom the church in France the shameful simony which, through royal\nconnivance, had hitherto dishonored it, and abolishing in civil\nmatters the unjust and vexatious taxes that were grinding down the\npeople. She multiplied hospitals, monasteries, and abbeys. The\nfamous monastery of Chelles owes its origin to her.... But the\nmost important of all her foundations was that of Corbie, which\nafterwards became so celebrated in France, and where this queen,\nas zealous for the propagation of science as for the strengthening\nof religion, established under able masters, gathered from all\nparts of the world, a system of the most complete literary and\nscientific education. This monastery, next to that of Lerins, was a\ntrue university and a centre of enlightenment. The regency of this\nwoman renewed the glories and wonders of the reign of Pulcheria.\nNever had sovereign so exerted herself for the welfare of her\npeople, both religiously, scientifically, and politically. But her\ngreatest glory, which has not been sufficiently recognized, was ...\nthat, contrary to the cold calculations of a false philosophy, she\ndared to do what no man had done before her. She abolished slavery\nin France (where it still subsisted), and was the first Christian\nsovereign who proclaimed as a national principle ... that a slave\nbecomes free on setting his foot on the soil of France!\u201d[82]\n\nBetween Bathildis and Blanche of Castille, from the seventh to the\nthirteenth centuries, there was no lack of holy and learned women\nin France, but it would be impossible to enumerate them all. \u201cThe\nmother of St. Louis, though the church has never formally canonized\nher, stands out as one of the grandest figures in ecclesiastical\nhistory. Her stern and unflinching devotion to religious principle,\ninstilled early into the mind of her son, sowed the seeds of\nsanctity in the exceptional life of that holy king. Her talents\nwere no less remarkable than her austerity. Her marriage at the age\nof fourteen with Louis VIII., King of France, gave her the high\nposition to which her birth, her genius, and her beauty entitled\nher. This union was the model of Christian marriages, and her\nhistorian, the Baron Chaillon, says that during the twenty-six\nyears it lasted she and her husband were never separated for a\nsingle instant, and that not the slightest shadow darkened the\nserenity of their intercourse. Even at an early age and before\nher husband\u2019s accession to the throne, her father-in-law, Philip\nAugustus, did not refuse to take and follow her advice in matters\nof state importance.\u201d[83] At her husband\u2019s death she became, by\nhis desire, regent of the kingdom. Ever eager to put her son\u2019s\npersonal prestige foremost, she carefully initiated him into the\naffairs of the realm, and accustomed him early to appear in his\nroyal character in public. She wisely averted the ever-impending\ncoalitions of the great vassals of the crown against the royal\nauthority. She continued the war against the Albigenses, whose\ndissensions were ruining the kingdom; she obtained the annexation\nof the territory of the Counts of Toulouse to the crown, and\nquelled the revolt of the Duke of Brittany, who ended by gladly\nrecognizing his fealty to her son. When she committed to Gaulthier,\nthe Archbishop of Sens, the mission of treating for the hand of\nMargaret of Provence for the young king, these were the severe\ninstructions she gave him: Only to propose the marriage formally\nafter he had well studied the character of the young princess, and\nhad well satisfied himself as to the stability of her principles,\nthe purity of her life, and the sincerity of her religion. Butler,\nin his life of St. Louis, says of the queen: \u201cBy her care, Louis\nwas perfectly master of the Latin tongue, learned to speak in\npublic, and to write with elegance, grace, and dignity, and was\ninstructed in the art of war, the wisest maxims of government, and\nall the accomplishments of a king. He was also a good historian,\nand often read the works of the Fathers.\u201d Thus it will be seen\nthat, without departing from the strictest feminine delicacy, a\nwoman may be the sole responsible preceptor of a statesman and\nwarrior, and yet leave no stain of \u201cpetticoat government\u201d on his\neducation, nor any suspicion of undue asceticism on his belief.\n\nConcerning the dissensions of the nobles and vassals who refused to\nbe present at the young king\u2019s coronation, Butler says: \u201cThe queen\nregent put herself and her son at the head of his troops, and,\nfinding means to bring over the Count of Champagne to his duty,\nstruck the rest with such consternation that they all retired....\nThe whole time of the king\u2019s minority was disturbed by these\nrebels, but the regent, by several alliances and negotiations,\nand chiefly by her courage and diligence, by which she always\nprevented them in the field, continually dissipated their cabals.\u201d\nOf the negotiations with the Count of Toulouse, a dangerous and\npowerful vassal, Butler gives these details: \u201cIn the third year\nof her regency, she obliged Raymund, Count of Toulouse and Duke\nof Narbonne, to receive her conditions, which were that he should\nmarry his daughter Jane to Alphonsus, the king\u2019s brother, who\nshould inherit the county of Toulouse, and that, in case they\nshould have no children by this marriage, the whole inheritance\nshould revert to the crown, which last eventually happened.\u201d The\nsame author says of Margaret of Provence \u201cthat she surpassed\nher sisters in beauty, wit, and virtue.\u201d In 1242, after the\nmajority and marriage of her son, Blanche founded the monastery\nof Maubuisson. Louis was remarkable for the even-handed justice\nwith which he protected the serfs against the encroachment of their\nfeudal lords, and on one occasion refused to allow Mgr. Enguerrand\nde Coucy the privilege of being tried by his peers, and condemned\nhim to death by the ordinary process of law, for having arbitrarily\nhanged three children who had been caught hunting rabbits in his\nwoods. He afterwards spared his life, but deprived him of all his\nestates and exacted from him an enormous fine, which he employed\nin building and endowing a mortuary chapel where Mass should be\noffered every day for the souls of the murdered children. The rest\nof the fine was divided into several foundations for hospitals and\nmonasteries. In 1248, St. Louis, according to a vow he had made\nin sickness, set out for the crusade against the Sultan of Egypt,\nleaving his mother once more regent of France. Ventura says of her\nduring this second regency that, \u201cbeing in France in the body, yet\nin the East in spirit, and following mentally her heroic son in his\ndangerous undertaking, she seemed to multiply herself. Entirely\nabsorbed in the care of the home government of a great kingdom,\nthat she might make justice, order, and peace supreme therein, she\nwas also participating none the less entirely in the great struggle\nbetween the Cross and the Crescent, ... and it is impossible to\nentertain a correct idea of the wisdom, forethought, and activity\nof which Blanche, during those five years, gave proof, thus being\nenabled to send aid in kind, in arms, and in money, to the army in\nthe East, yet without taxing and unduly oppressing the people at\nhome. Thus she did not neglect the smallest details in order to\nassure the success of an expedition in which the rational honor of\nFrance as well as the triumph of Christianity was engaged.\u201d Ventura\nthen goes on to remind the would-be \u201cemancipators\u201d of woman that,\nthroughout her arduous duties, Queen Blanche, notwithstanding her\nimmense governing powers and her proud experience of fifty years,\ndid not hesitate to take as a trusted friend and counsellor the\nlearned Archbishop of Sens, Gaulthier-Cornu. Of this latter prelate\nand statesman, a contemporary historian has said, \u201cAs long as his\npower was in the ascendant, fraud and dishonesty hid their face,\nwhile peace and justice reigned.\u201d Blanche of Castille died before\nher son\u2019s return from Egypt, and hastened to pronounce her vows of\nmonastic consecration to God before she breathed her last, on the\nfirst of December, 1252.\n\nWe must now go back some centuries to place before our readers a\nfugitive account of those French princesses who exercised in Spain\na true apostolate. We have already mentioned the younger Clotildis,\nbut Indegonda, the daughter of Sigisbert, King of Austrasia, and\nRigontha, the daughter of Chilperic, King of Neustria, remain\nto be noticed. They were married to two brothers, the former to\nHermenigild, the latter to Reccared, sons of Levigild, King of the\nSpanish Visigoths. Indegonda suffered great persecutions from her\nhusband\u2019s step-mother on account of her religion, the second wife\nof Levigild being a bigoted Arian, and it was even a long time\nbefore Hermenigild consented to become a Catholic. When at last\nIndegonda had obtained this happy conversion, she herself and her\nhusband\u2019s uncle, the holy Leander of Seville, were exiled, and\nHermenigild so persecuted by his father that, having been betrayed\nby the Greeks and deserted by the Romans, he fell a victim to\nArian vengeance, and, after suffering torture and imprisonment, was\ncruelly put to death by order of Levigild himself. This barbarian\nking, however, repented his unnatural cruelty before he died,\nand, recalling his brother-in-law Leander, entrusted him with the\ncare of his remaining son Reccared. Rigontha, the wife of the\nyoung prince, had suffered great injustice at the hands of her\nown father Chilperic, the lover of the too famous Fredegonda. She\nhad succeeded in converting her husband, and, together with his\nuncle Leander, exercised a salutary influence over him. Reccared\nassembled the Arian bishops of his kingdom, and spoke to them\nso persuasively that they acknowledged themselves willing to be\nreconciled to the church. The province of Narbonne, at that time\nunder his dominion, followed his example, while the neighboring\ntribe of the Suevi, also Arians, speedily joined the church. A\ncouncil was then assembled at Toledo, and the intimate union of\nSpain with Catholic interests was founded on a solid and reliable\nbasis.\n\nIt is told as a pleasantry of some shrewd critic of modern times\nthat, whenever he saw or heard a disturbance of any sort, his\nunfailing question was, \u201cWho is she?\u201d being certain that, whatever\nmight be the effect, a woman was sure to be the cause. If this\nis unfortunately no longer a libel on the sex in this distracted\ncentury, at least we may point back to the so-called dark ages, and\nproudly say, with a certainty far more absolute than that of our\ncynical contemporary, when we read of any great consummation in the\nhistory of religion and civilization, \u201cWho was she?\u201d\n\nNot long after the death of Blanche of Castille, another Spanish\nprincess, the daughter of Peter III. of Aragon, and the niece of\nSt. Elizabeth of Hungary, took up the tradition of holiness, which\nseemed the birthright of the royal maidens of medi\u00e6val times. Her\nfather attributed his success in his undertakings against the\nMoors to her prayers and early virtues. At twelve years old she\nwas married to Denis, King of Portugal, to whom she was not only\na most faithful wife, but whom she succeeded, by her meekness and\nsilent example, in winning back from his sinful courses. She is\npraised by her biographers for her ascetic virtues, and for her\nutter disregard of her earthly rank. But what concerns us more\nis to look into the influence she held on social and political\naffairs. Among these it is impossible not to reckon her charities,\nfor private charity has often much to do with public honesty and\nmorality. Butler tells us that she \u201cmade it her business to seek\nout and secretly relieve persons of good condition who were reduced\nto necessity, yet out of shame durst not make known their wants.\nShe gave constant orders to have all pilgrims and poor strangers\nprovided with lodging and necessaries. She was very liberal in\nfurnishing fortunes to poor young women, that they might marry\naccording to their condition, and not be exposed to the danger of\nlosing their virtue. She founded in different parts of the kingdom\nmany pious establishments, particularly a hospital near her own\npalace at Coimbra, a house for penitent women who had been seduced\ninto evil courses, at Torres-Novas, and a hospital for foundlings,\nor those children who for want of due provision are exposed to\nthe danger of perishing by poverty or the neglect and cruelty of\nunnatural parents. She visited the sick and served them with her\nown hands, ... not that she neglected any other duties, ... for she\nmade it her principal study to pay to her husband the most dutiful\nrespect, love, and obedience, and bore his infidelities with\ninvincible meekness and patience.\u201d Let us stop to note this last\nsentence, which no doubt by many of our chafing sisters of this\nage may be misunderstood. This meekness was not a want of spirit;\nit was the effect of \u201cthe subordination of our inferior nature\nto reason, and of our reason to God,\u201d as one of the most lucid\nand most sympathetic of American exponents of Catholic truth once\nexpressed to the writer the whole duty of man upon earth. It was no\npassiveness, no supineness, but the heroic endurance of the martyr,\nwho is more concerned at another\u2019s sin than his own wrong, and who\ndoes not consider that reprisal and resentment are efficient means\nto win the sinner back. When a woman stoops to retaliation, she\nforgets the dignity of her sex, and, if _she_ forget it, who can\nshe expect will remember it?\n\nWe may also be allowed to say one word about the numerous\nfoundations constantly mentioned in the lives of these great\nChristian women of past ages. It is perhaps the general belief\nthat nothing but monasteries were endowed in early times. We\nhave sufficiently shown how fallacious such belief would be.\nInstitutions of every kind, in which Catholic ingenuity was\nmultiplied till it embraced every need and provided for every\ncontingency, were sown all over the Christian world. The East was\nnot forgotten, and, indeed, even the great orders of the Templars\nand the Hospitallers were originally nothing but organized bodies\nfor the defence and shelter of the pilgrims who flocked to the\nholy places. Such charities as tended to diminish the temptations\nto crime were foremost among the many originated during the middle\nages. We have only to refer to history to prove this. Even had\nthese foundations been confined to monasteries, we must remember\nthat the conventual abodes of old united in themselves nearly\nall the characteristics of other institutions, and in the less\nfavored districts virtually supplied their place. Besides being\nthe only secure and recognized homes of learning, the solitary\ncentres of education, they were also the refuge of the homeless or\nbenighted wanderer; the asylum of the oppressed poor, of threatened\ninnocence, and of unjustly accused men; the hospital of the sick,\nthe sure dispensary of medicines to the surrounding peasantry, and\nthe unfailing granary of the poor during troublous times or years\nof famine. There was hardly one want, physical or spiritual, that\ncould not find ready relief at the monasteries of both monks and\nnuns, so that in founding such retreats it is no exaggeration to\nsay that orphanage, asylum, reformatory, hospital, and school were\ncomprised within their walls.\n\nWe must return to the great queen whose munificence has led us into\nthis digression, and resume, as was our purpose from the beginning,\nthe rigid relation of mere historical facts to which we more\nwillingly entrust the cause than to the most eloquent apologies.\n\nWhen Elizabeth\u2019s son, Alphonsus, revolted against his father and\nactually took up arms, she made the most prudent efforts to mediate\nbetween them, for which the Pope, John XXII., greatly praised her\nin a letter he wrote to her on the subject; but, certain enemies of\nhers having poisoned her husband\u2019s mind against her, he banished\nher to the town of Alanquer. She refused all communication with the\nrebels, and at last was recalled by her penitent husband. Butler\nsays: \u201cShe reconciled her husband and son when their armies were\nmarching one against the other, and she reduced all the subjects\nto duty and obedience. She made peace between Ferdinand IV., King\nof Castille, and Alphonsus della Corda, his cousin-german, who\ndisputed the crown; likewise between James II., King of Aragon, her\nown brother, and Ferdinand IV., King of Castille, her son-in-law.\nIn order to effect this last, she took a journey with her husband\ninto both these kingdoms, and, to the great satisfaction of the\nChristian world, put a happy end to all dissensions and debates\nbetween those states.\u201d During her husband\u2019s illness, which followed\nsoon after, Elizabeth nursed him most devotedly, and ever exhorted\nhim to think of his spiritual welfare. Her husband\u2019s death was\nthe end of her public career as queen--a fitting proof of the\nlittle value she placed upon the distinctions for which half the\nworld is periodically laid in ashes. Her son, Alphonsus, and her\ngrandson, also named Alphonsus, the young King of Castille, having\nagain proclaimed war upon each other, Elizabeth set out to meet\nand reconcile them. She died on the way, in 1336, having obtained\npeace through her exhortations to her son, who attended her at her\ndeathbed. Thus peace and brotherly love among princes and nations,\nas well as among the individuals of her own immediate circle, was\never nearest the heart of this great and admirable woman. How well\nit would be if she were taken as a model by the women of our day,\nand if her influence could be followed by the reward which our Lord\nhimself attached to the noble office of peace-makers!\n\nTurning to England, once the Island of Saints and the home of\nreligious learning, we see the influence of woman most peremptorily\nasserted. There is Bertha, the daughter of Charibert, King\nof Paris, and wife of Ethelbert, King of Kent, whom we have\nalready mentioned, with Brunehault, as being the apostles of\nthe faith in England, and the zealous helpers of Gregory and\nAugustine. Rohrbacher says of her that she contributed mainly to\nthe conversion of her husband and of the whole nation, and St.\nLethard, her almoner and Bishop of Senlis, greatly aided her.\nThere is Eanswide, her grand-daughter, the child of Eadbald, who\nwas also converted later on and became abbess of the monastery\nat Folkestone, as Butler tells us. There is the great Edith, or\nEadgith, the daughter of King Edgar, who in the tenth century was\nthe ornament of her sex and the marvel of men. \u201cShe united,\u201d says\nButler, \u201cthe active life of Martha with the contemplation of Mary,\nand was particularly devoted to the care of the sick. When she\nwas but fifteen years old, her father pressed her to undertake\nthe government of three different monasteries, of which charge\nshe was judged most capable, such was her extraordinary virtue\nand discretion. But she humbly declined all superiority.... Upon\nthe death of her brother, Edward the Martyr, the nobility who\nadhered to the martyred king desired Edith to quit her monastery\nand ascend the throne, but she preferred a state of humility and\nobedience to the prospect of a crown.\u201d Another Edith, the daughter\nof the great Earl of Kent, Godwin, became the queen of Edward the\nConfessor, with whom she lived by mutual consent in perpetual\nvirginity, according to a vow the king had made many years before\nhis marriage. Reading, studying, and devotion were her whole\ndelight. Edward\u2019s mother, Emma, is ranked among the saints, and\nwas mainly instrumental in the religious and learned education\nof her son. Ventura, in his admirable work on Woman, which has\nbecome, as it were, a text-book for all those who are truly\ninterested in the theme and history of woman\u2019s greatness, draws\nattention to the fact that it was under the reign of Edward the\nConfessor--who is credited by prejudicial historians with \u201cwomanly\u201d\nweakness, and who, on the contrary, was such an irrefragable proof\nof what the grave and wise influence of good women can do--that\nthe equality of all men before the law was first recognized as a\nprinciple. Edward\u2019s niece, Margaret, the wife of Malcolm, King\nof Scotland, was also a most eminent and influential princess.\nHer husband, whose confidence in her was unbounded, deferred to\nher in every particular of state government, whether internal or\nexternal, secular or religious. Their children\u2019s education he left\nentirely in her hands, and, while she carefully surrounded them\nwith masters well versed in all the knowledge then attainable, she\nwas no less solicitous for the improvement of the nation. Butler\nsays of her: \u201cShe labored most successfully to polish and civilize\nthe Scottish nation, to encourage among the people the useful and\npolite arts, and to inspire them with a love of the sciences.... By\nher extensive alms, insolvent debtors were released, and decayed\nfamilies restored, and foreign nations, especially the English,\nrecovered their captives. She was solicitous to ransom those\nespecially who fell into the hands of harsh masters. She also\nerected hospitals for poor strangers.\u201d Her daughter Maud, who was\nthe first wife of Henry I. of England, followed in her footsteps,\nand was highly revered, both during her life and after her death,\nby the two nations to which her birth and marriage linked her. Two\ngreat hospitals in London, that of Christ Church, Aldgate, and of\nSt. Giles in the Fields, are due to her munificence and foresight.\n\nWe have no space to mention many of the Anglo-Saxon princesses who,\neither on the throne or in the cloister, swayed great political\nissues and protected learning while they shielded the virtue of\ntheir sex. We must leave the Island of Saints for other kingdoms\nwhose queens were conspicuous not only in procuring the conversion\nof these realms to Christianity, but also in the territorial\naggrandizement and material prosperity of the countries they\ngoverned. Bridget, Queen of Sweden, the famous author of the most\ninteresting revelations ever written, was no less remarkable\npersonally than fortunate in her many and distinguished children.\nWarriors and crusaders, holy wives and consecrated virgins, she\noffered them to God in every state, and instructed each with\nparticular care. A pilgrimage to Rome in days when the journey\nfrom Scandinavia to the south was more an exploration than a safe\npastime was bravely undertaken by her in her widowhood, and the\nfoundation of her order and chief monastery at Vatzen is certainly\none of the most boldly conceived systems known to the world. The\nmonasteries of this order were double, and contained a smaller\nnumber of monks and a larger of nuns, divided by so strict an\nenclosure that, although contiguous, the communities never even\nsaw each other. In spiritual matters, the monks held authority,\nbut in temporal the nuns governed the double house; and in fact\nthe monks were only attached to the foundation in a secondary\ndegree of importance, and for the greater spiritual convenience\nof the cloistered women. Such subordination goes far to show how\nthe pretended inferiority of woman is really an unknown thing in\nthe church. The fanaticism and bad faith of later times affected\nto see an abuse in this system, and most of these monasteries were\ndestroyed at the Reformation, but Butler says that a few exist yet\nin Flanders and Germany. St. Bridget\u2019s works have been printed and\nreprinted from age to age, and have seemingly never lost what may\nbe styled in modern parlance their popularity. She also procured\na Swedish translation of the Bible to be written by Matthias, the\nBishop of Worms, who died about the year 1410. She was altogether\none of the most prominent women of the fourteenth century, and no\nunworthy successor to the central figure of the preceding age,\nCatherine of Sienna, of whom we shall have to speak briefly later\non.\n\nTwo empresses of Germany deserve a passing notice here--Mathilda,\nthe wife of Henry I. called the Fowler, and her daughter-in-law,\nthe famous Adelaide. The former had been educated by her\ngrandmother, who bore the same name as herself, and who was the\nabbess of the monastery of Erfurt. Once again we have a woman of\ngenius, prudence, and great governing powers coming forth to rule a\ndisturbed empire--and from what school? The world will hardly dare\nto call it unenlightened or narrow-minded; yet it was a monastery.\nDuring her husband\u2019s wars against the Danes and Hungarians, then\n(it was in the ninth century) nothing better than barbarians,\nMathilda was several times left regent, and Ventura tells us \u201cthat\npublic affairs did not prosper less, the country was not less\ntranquil, nor the people less contented, because it was a woman who\nsteered the helm of the state. When the emperor returned, he found\neverything in perfect order. The empress relinquished the functions\nof regent only to resume her former place of intercessor for the\nunfortunate, protectress of prisoners, and wise auxiliary to\njustice.\u201d Adelaide, Princess of Burgundy, renewed in the following\ncentury the glories of Mathilda\u2019s reign. She was married to the\nson of the latter, after having been for a short time the Queen\nof Lothair, King of the Lombards in Italy. Ventura says that her\nzeal for the public good and her love of the people gained her the\nappellation of the \u201cmother of her kingdom.\u201d After her husband\u2019s\ndeath, Adelaide, says Butler, \u201ceducated her son Otho II. with\ngreat care, and his reign was happy as long as he governed by her\ndirections.\u201d His mother became regent after his death and that of\nhis wife, and her biographer, Butler, tells us that she \u201clooked\nupon power as merely a difficult stewardship, and applied herself\nto public affairs with indefatigable care.\u201d[84]\n\nThe middle ages are so fruitful a field for historical details of\nthe greatness of woman, that we find our materials crowding one\nupon the other in too great a profusion for our present limits.\nBut some great figures in what we may call the Christian Pantheon\nof woman cannot be passed over without a word of notice. The\ntenth century gave another holy empress to Germany, Cunegonda,\nthe wife of Henry II., himself a saint, and a descendant of St.\nMathilda. His sister Giselda married King Stephen of Hungary, upon\nthe express condition that he would endeavor to christianize his\npeople. Cunegonda, who reigned for a short time between the death\nof St. Henry and the election of his successor, proved herself\nas competent to govern a realm as the greatest man; these are\nVentura\u2019s own words. The story of Elizabeth of Hungary has been\neloquently told by the author of the _Monks of the West_, and\npictorial art has handed down from generation to generation the\ntouching legend of her life. Married early to a prince remarkable\nfor his piety and generosity, she was able to indulge in her\nfavorite pastime--working for and serving the poor. We, in these\ndays, seem to think that philanthropy, the \u201clove of man,\u201d is an\ninvention coeval with the erection of gossiping committees and\nwrangling \u201cboards\u201d; but, when we look back upon the history of\nour race, we are forced to remember that when man was loved for\nthe sake of God, spiritually as well as temporally, and when the\nold-fashioned virtue of \u201ccharity\u201d was not ashamed to own its\ncreated--not self-existent--origin, a broader system of benevolence\nwas spread over Christian earth, and more daring undertakings\nwere cheerfully and successfully carried through. Elizabeth of\nHungary was not untried by adversity, and after her husband\u2019s death\nsuffered cruel persecutions from her brother-in-law Henry, with\nthe undaunted fortitude which a good conscience ensures and which\nGod\u2019s grace strengthens. We are told of her that she spoke little\nand always with gravity, and especially shunned tattlers. Women\nare always being taxed on one side with ridiculous frivolity in\nspeech, and urged, on the other, to a contradiction of the charge\nby the pedantic phraseology of surface science. We have not alluded\nin these pages as often as we should have done to the great love\nof silence which distinguished the great women whose memory is\nhonored. Whether as religious or as seculars, the useful employment\nof time and a discreetness of conversation were the two special\nand similar characteristics of their widely different lives, and\nthus they provided for the devotions and the acts of charity which\nshared so large a portion of their days and nights. They were never\nidle or even uselessly occupied, and we know but few women of our\nown generation who could truthfully say the same of themselves.\nWhat powers, what energy, do we not see wasted in superfluous\nsocial duties; for while, as our modern phrase goes, they _kill\ntime_, they are also engaged in stifling, dwarfing, or destroying\nthe higher powers of their mind. Solitude, silence, meditation,\nthese are essentials to a well-balanced mind; but how many minds\nthere are who voluntarily go on, not heeding, until the world and\nits claims, its sham triumphs, and its petty rivalries upset this\nbalance and obscure the mind\u2019s eye! There are as many women whose\nintellect is wrecked on the shoals of Fashion with its \u201claws of\nthe Medes and Persians,\u201d as there are others whose sensibility is\nstranded on the rocks of Woman\u2019s Rights Conventions with their\nreckless disregard of all natural ties and time-honored duties.\n\nPoland presents us with several instances of heroic womanhood\nduring the middle ages. Dombrowka, the daughter of Boleslas, Duke\nof Bohemia, married Mieczylas, Duke of Poland, on condition of\nhis becoming a Christian. By her example he not only became a\nreligious, but a pure, merciful, and just, man. His wife could not\nforget her own countrymen while evangelizing her new subjects,\nand it was to her repeated solicitations that Bohemia owed the\nestablishment of the Archiepiscopal See of Prague. Christianity,\nwhich in those times we might call the dower of the royal maidens\nof Europe, was first carried into Hungary by the marriage of\nAdelaide, the sister-in-law of Dombrowka, to Geisa, chief of the\nHuns. This Geisa was father to St. Stephen, of whose exemplary\nqueen, Giselda, we have already spoken. Of another Polish princess,\nHedwige, the wife of Henry, Duke of Silesia and Poland, we are told\nthat by her prudence and persuasiveness she succeeded in delivering\nher husband, who had been made a prisoner by her uncle, and in\nobtaining peace between these two princes. Even in our own days,\nhave we not had recent examples of the high esteem in which the\nmediation of woman was held in a Catholic country by a Catholic\nsovereign? Who can forget that delicate diplomatic missions have\nbeen confided in past years to a woman who was the incarnation of\nsocial charm as she was also the most devoted and uncompromising\nenthusiast in the cause of the Catholic religion--the Empress\nEugenie! This Hedwige, who, in 1240, was so instrumental in raising\nan army with which to encounter the heathen hordes of Tartars\nwho threatened at that time to destroy civilization in Europe,\nwas succeeded by another queen of the same name as the saintly\nCunegonda of Germany. It was she who towards the beginning of\nthe fourteenth century, as Dlugossius, her biographer, and the\nBollandists relate, was the first to provide for the working of\nthe salt mines of Wieliczka, which afterwards proved an infinite\nsource of wealth to the kingdom. She also cheerfully contributed\nthe _whole_ of her princely dowry to the equipment of an army\nto be led against the Tartars who had made a second raid upon\nthe frontiers of Poland. But the greatest heroine of the country\nwhose women are to this day the bravest under misfortune, and\nthe most faithful to their religion, was another Hedwige, to\nwhom Poland is indebted for her territorial aggrandizement and\nsome of the most interesting as well as useful of her public\ninstitutions. Born a princess of Hungary, the elective crown of\nPoland was offered to her when she was only eighteen, and, when\nher marriage became a matter of national importance, she made,\n_herself_, a choice which only her own consummate prudence and\nforesight could have justified. Jagellon, Grand Duke of Lithuania\nand the surrounding barbarous provinces, became her husband, on the\nconditions, proposed by Hedwige, that his entire domains should\nbe incorporated _for ever_ in the kingdom of Poland; that his\npeople should embrace Christianity; that Christians who had been\nenslaved should be set free; that certain Polish provinces once\nalienated should be restored, and that all Lithuanian treasures,\nwhether hereditary or conquered by Jagellon from his enemies,\nshould be appropriated for the benefit of the kingdom of Poland.\nHere is a treaty in which a kingdom is consolidated and a dynasty\nestablished, through the unassisted efforts of the genius and\nprudence of a woman. Hedwige founded numberless hospitals, schools,\nchurches, and monasteries; the great cathedral of Wilna and seven\nepiscopal sees also owe their origin to her. Only through her death\nand her husband\u2019s good-natured but weak indifference when once her\ninfluence was removed was a great monastic institution abandoned,\nwhich had for its object the study and preservation of the Slavic\nlanguages and peculiar rites. The University of Prague was already\nin her day a world-famed seat of learning. Hedwige, in concert\nwith the King of Bohemia, founded and endowed in that city a\nspacious and magnificent college, where the youth of Lithuania were\ngratuitously received and provided for during their academical\ncourse. Education was certainly as gravely thought of in those\ndays as in our later times, when we boast of its benefits being\nso _widely_ diffused. Whether it is as _deeply_ impressed on its\nordinary recipients, let the recent \u201ccommemorations\u201d at Oxford\nproclaim. Dlugossius says the college (which exists to this day)\nwas called the Queen\u2019s House, \u201ca name which is in itself an undying\nmonument to the memory of this great woman, whose worthy thought\nit embodied, and charity it still expresses; remaining for ever\na living testimony to the world of the merits of its illustrious\nfoundress.\u201d Boniface IX., who reigned during the last decade of the\nfourteenth century, corresponded with Hedwige, upon whom he relied\nas the principal support and auxiliary of religion in her realms.\nShe was always appealed to as mediatrix between the king and his\nsubjects, as also by the vassal nobles among themselves. What\nthe king could not do by threats, she accomplished partly by her\npersuasive exhortations, partly by her grave and majestic demeanor.\nHer historian relates that she even quelled a popular rising, and\nput down the abuses which had given occasion to it, before the king\nhad time to march an army into the disaffected district and reduce\nit by force. Once, while her husband was fighting in Lithuania,\nthe Hungarians, her own countrymen, invaded Poland and captured\nseveral towns. \u201cShe no sooner heard of this,\u201d says Ventura, \u201cthan\nshe assembled the nobles and barons, improvised an army on the\nspot, and, without losing an instant, herself led it on to the\nfrontiers. There, to the great astonishment of her generals, she\ndisplayed the military talents and bravery of an old warrior. It\nwas she who directed the sieges, organized the sallies and attacks,\nand gave battle on the open ground, while the whole army obeyed\nher enthusiastically, proud to serve under a woman-general. She\nconquered the enemy at every encounter, wrested from them the\nimportant stronghold of Leopol, took other cities, and not only\nrepossessed herself of the Russian territories usurped by the\nHungarians, but also added to the kingdom of Poland a vast tract\nof country which voluntarily surrendered itself to her rule.\u201d[85]\nHedwige is perhaps less known than other renowned women of the\nmiddle ages, and therefore we have been led to speak more at\nlength of her extraordinary powers. It would be useless to remind\nthe reader that she was no less remarkable for the modesty of her\nprivate life and the austerities and charities of her secret life\nthan famed for the wonderful and versatile talents displayed in\nher public career. Chastity and devotion invariably accompany all\ngreatness in Catholic womanhood, but, as we shall have occasion to\nillustrate this fact later on, we will not now stop to consider it\nin its evident bearings on the vexed question raised by certain\nindiscriminate apostles of the rights of woman.\n\nWe cannot pass over, among the prominent women of medi\u00e6val times\nthe famous Countess Mathilda, of Tuscany, the friend and ally of\nGregory VII., Hildebrand the Reformer. Rohrbacher calls her the\nmodern Deborah, and adds that in Italy, whose princes were mostly\ntraitors to the cause of truth and patriotism, \u201cone man only,\nduring a long reign of fifty years, showed himself ever faithful,\never devoted to the church and her head, ever ready to second them\nin efforts for the reformation of the clergy and the restoration of\nancient discipline, ever prompt to defend them, sword in hand, from\ntheir most formidable enemies, never allured by bribes, intimidated\nby threats, or cast down by adversity, and this _one man_ was _a\nwoman_, the Countess Mathilda.\u201d\n\nHer donation of Tuscany, the Marches, Parma, Modena, Reggio, and\nvarious other cities and lands, to the Holy See, is a fact that\nstands alone in history, and is simply the most momentous act of\npractical devotion which the Chair of Peter ever received. This\ngenerous and unreserved gift, first made to Gregory VII. in 1077,\nand confirmed in 1102 to Pascal II., is the unparalleled expression\nof the whole nature of woman, in its thoroughness, its spirit\nof martyrdom, its enthusiastic and unerring instincts, towards\nthe good and the true. Henry IV. of Germany, having incurred\nexcommunication, was reconciled to the Pope through the good\noffices of the great countess, and met him for that purpose at\nthe fortress of Canossa, then a fief of the Countess of Tuscany.\nVentura says of her that she was as learned as she was pious, and\nas solicitous for the propagation of science and the interests\nof literature as for the reformation of clerical abuses and the\nconsolidation of the church. She multiplied schools and colleges\nover her dominions, but the crowning work of her great reign was\nthe foundation of the famous University of Bologna, confessedly\nthe best seat of learning in Europe for many centuries. Mathilda\ngathered together all the enlightened and talented masters of her\nage in this time-honored and world-renowned university, and in\nhonor of her munificence it has remained a custom to this day to\nallow women to graduate there, to take a doctorate, and \u201cprofess\u201d\nin public any of the learned faculties. Women, we are told by\nVentura, the earnest panegyrist of the sex, have taken advantage of\nthis custom at all times, and even up to the present day, when (in\nthe beginning of this century, we believe) the celebrated female\nprofessor, Tambroni, taught Latin and Greek within the Bolognese\nuniversity. Cardinal Mezzofanti, the great linguist, was at one\ntime her pupil.\n\nWe have been led so far in the search, however superficial, for\ninstances of the greatness of woman, as recognized, protected,\nand rewarded by the church, that we have reached a limit to our\nexplorations in this article without mentioning any of the great\nwomen of the middle ages save those of royal descent. There are\nmany who claim our attention, and whose influence over public\naffairs and the minds of men was not less than that exercised by\nthe royal matrons and maidens we have cursorily named. Some were\ndestined to mingle in political struggles, others owe their fame\nto their learning, one of them to actual feats of arms, and all to\nthe spirit of chivalry which rendered a woman inviolable and sacred\nwherever honor was known and laws revered. But this spirit itself,\nwhat was it save the offspring of that higher spirit of reverential\nhomage ever inculcated by the church towards that sex which gave a\nmother to our God?\n\nBefore taking up the subject of the status of woman within the\nchurch after the sixteenth century, we may, perhaps, return for a\nbrief space to the Catherines of Sienna, the Joans of Arc, and the\nGenevieves of ecclesiastical history.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[79] _Donna Cattolica_, ii. p. 74.\n\n[80] _Lives of the Saints._\n\n[81] _Life of St. Radegundes._ By Bussl\u00e8re\n\n[82] _Donna Cattolica._\n\n[83] _Donna Cattolica_, vol. ii. p. 104.\n\n[84] _Lives of the Saints._\n\n[85] _Donna Cattolica_, p. 174.\n\n\n\n\nBRYANT\u2019S TRANSLATION OF THE ILIAD.[86]\n\n\nThe appearance at this time and in this country of a first-rate\ntranslation of the _Iliad_ is an event of much significance.\nThrough the exaggerated praise which London critics bestow on our\ndialect poetry, there runs a quiet assumption that our culture is\nnarrow and unsound. Our oaten pipe is well enough, but our lyre\ndisjointed and unstrung. To such insinuations Mr. Bryant\u2019s work\nis a complete and final rejoinder. We shall find it easy to show\nthat he has made the best translation of Homer in our language,\nand with one exception the very best extant. In the face of such\nan achievement, it will henceforth be preposterous to sneer at\nAmerican scholarship.\n\nWinged words the Homeric poems may well be called, which, fledged\nin the dawn of time, have not yet faltered in their flight across\nthe centuries. Their superiority as works of art is not more\nunquestionable than is their procreative power. They have ever\nbeen--to use Milton\u2019s words--as lively and as vigorously productive\nas those fabulous dragon\u2019s teeth. The history of Greek letters, we\nmight almost say, is the genesis of the _Iliad_ and the _Odyssey_.\nUpon them Aristotle based his canons; from them the Attic tragedy\ndrew her inspiration and her argument. To the same source the most\ndelightful of Greek historians referred his style and his method,\nwhile the choir of lyric and erotic poets confessed their debt to\nhim who \u201cgave them birth, but higher sang.\u201d The direct action of\nthe Homeric poems upon the masters of the Latin literature has been\ncompared to that of the sunlight, but their indirect influence\nthrough the medium of Athenian models was pervasive and quickening\nas the solar heat. The development of poetry among Western nations\ncan be accurately measured by the thoroughness with which they have\nassimilated Homer. The _Orlando_ and the _Lusiad_ repeat the story\nof Ulysses. Even minor excellences of the _Iliad_ are reproduced in\nthe _Jerusalem Delivered_. Milton and Goethe have drawn copiously\nfrom the same stores. Nor is there a single modern poet of the\nfirst rank, with the exception of Shakespeare, whose obligations to\nHomer are not manifold and obvious.\n\nIt is true that the eighteenth century, which sought to shatter\nso many idols, chose to depreciate these poems. Embellished by\nPope, dissected by Fontanelle, and patronized by Mme. Dacier, they\nfell, it must be confessed, upon evil times. It is a suggestive\ncommentary upon the self-styled _si\u00e8cle du go\u00fbt_ that the autocrat\nof letters could pronounce the _Iliad_ \u201cune po\u00e8me qu\u2019on admire,\net qu\u2019on ne lit pas.\u201d[87] To the author of the _Henriade_, Homer\nwas only a _beau parleur_. It is now many years since the stigma\nwent home to roost. Perrault and La Motte Houdart, who knew him\nonly in the rags and gyves of an obscure translation, point with a\nsatisfied smirk to the \u201ccoarseness\u201d and \u201cbarbarism\u201d of Homer. One\nis reminded of those Philistine lords who flung their jests at\nSamson Agonistes while he leaned against the pillars in Gaza.\n\nOf living English poets, the strongest and sweetest acknowledge\ngratefully in Homer a source of their melody and strength. The\nfragment of an epic which is perhaps the Laureate\u2019s best work was\npresented by the author as \u201cfaint Homeric echoes.\u201d From Homer,\nquite as truly as from Chaucer, has the _Earthly Paradise_ caught\nits genial sunshine and bracing air. The world, we presume, would\nhave lost nothing had Mr. Swinburne read Euripides less and the\n_Iliad_ more. A timely reaction has set in against the morbid\nself-consciousness and the hankering after glitter and novelty\nwhich are sure precursors of decay. Of that reaction, Matthew\nArnold, who in childhood was taught to reverence Homer, has been\nthe prophet and protagonist. With the same movement the temper and\ndiscipline of Mr. Bryant\u2019s mind place him in active sympathy. We do\nnot doubt that it was the aim of his _Iliad_ to elevate and purify\nthe taste of his countrymen. The success which his translation has\nalready achieved augurs for it not a little influence upon the\nnational literature.\n\nTo the thoughtful artist, Schlegel could suggest nothing more\nuseful than the study of casts from the antique. A faithful\nversion of the _Iliad_ opens whole galleries of casts. The\nsculptor Bouchardon, we are told, was discovered reading Homer in\na translation, and that a sorry one. \u201cAh, monsieur!\u201d he exclaimed,\n\u201cdepuis que j\u2019ai lu ce livre, il me semble que les hommes ont\nquinze pieds de haut.\u201d[88] We know what Keats beheld upon looking\ninto Chapman\u2019s _Homer_, and we know that the quarry from which he\nhewed _Hyperion_ is not yet exhausted. Of the thousands who will\nnow listen for the first time to the story of Achilles, it may well\nbe that some will kindle at what they hear. They will know how to\nthank Mr. Bryant that those flames which blazed over Troy, leaping\nfrom headland to headland, have once more borne a message across\nthe sea.\n\nSince the beginning of the seventeenth century, repeated attempts\nhave been made to translate the master-poems of the Greek and Latin\nliteratures into English verse. We suppose it will be acknowledged\nthat those attempts have for the most part failed. The truth is\nthat translation as commonly practised in England cannot properly\nbe called an art. There are no fundamental principles universally\nrecognized as the conditions of its development. It is still hardly\nmore than a trick, in which one succeeds better than another, but\neach proceeds upon a method of his own. Who has prefaced his work\nwith such a definition of translation as criticism can admit to be\nexhaustive and final? We might have expected so much from Hobbes.\nWe do not find it. Dryden\u2019s cardinal idea, that translation is \u201ca\nkind of drawing after the life,\u201d has never been literally accepted\nby others. It did not uniformly govern himself. The face seen and\nthe face drawn both appeal to the brain through the eye, whereas\neven those English translators who aim to infuse the identical\nthought, feeling, or fancy of their original have recourse to\nmedia of sensual metaphor, sometimes modified, sometimes distinct\nfrom those employed in their author\u2019s language. On Sir George\nCornewall Lewis\u2019 view of translation we will not dwell, because we\nare not sure that we understand it, and at least cannot conceive\nthe practical application of it. It is enough for us that he\nheartily commended as an instance of right treatment Hookham\nFrere\u2019s _Aristophanes_, which is clever, fresh, and racy enough,\nbut certainly not Attic. There is another theory, that we should\nask ourselves what our author _would_ have said had he been writing\nin English. One objection to this is, as Mr. Newman remarks, that\nno two men would agree in their answers to such a question. Homer,\nif an Englishman and writing in our tongue, would unquestionably\nhave given a different turn and tinge to his verse from that which\nit takes in Greek. But are we not bound to make the province of\ntranslation, as discriminated from paraphrase, the reproduction\nof what an author did actually say? Certainly the aim of Homeric\ntranslators into our tongue should be, not of course to compass\nthe effect produced upon an Athenian reading Homer in the age\nof Peisistratos or upon a consummate scholar capable, we will\nsay, of _thinking_ in Ionic Greek, but to make upon Englishmen\nor Americans of average culture an impression nearly identical\nwith that which they derive from the _Iliad_ itself. Achieve\nthis, and they who are themselves not scholars will at least be\nassured that they are reading Homer, not Sotheby or Pope. Such an\naim does not seem too ambitious, but it has never been attained,\nrarely approached, in English. A radical error runs through all\nour metrical versions of the classic poets. Literal accuracy is by\nsome repudiated, attempted by others, and occasionally secured in\ndetached passages, but is always subordinate to the attainment of\nharmonious numbers and agreeable diction. Whenever literal accuracy\nseems likely to conflict with these, it is sacrificed. Now, if\nit be true that such sacrifice is frequently inevitable, then a\ngenuine translation of the _Iliad_ is an impossibility. But this we\nare reluctant to admit. The matchless version of Voss has proved\nthat it is possible to be at once literal and musical, to preserve\nin one Germanic language at least as much of the Homeric flavor\nas Germans of average culture can detect in the original. Perhaps\none clue to his success is to be found in his employment of the\nhexameter. A profound artist, he could not fail to recognize the\ninextricable connection of rhythm and c\u00e6sura with the shape and\nplay of thought. He saw that in some subtle sort the metre _is_\nthe poem. We have not abandoned the hope of seeing the hexameter\none day naturalized in English. Mr. Kingsley\u2019s _Andromeda_ showed\na marked improvement on _Evangeline_, and what the Laureate might\ndo in this way is sufficiently clear from his _Ode to Milton_,\nwhere he has grappled successfully with alcaics, undoubtedly the\nmost intricate and difficult of dactylic measures. The distinction\nbetween quantitative and accentual metres has been pressed too far\nby men who have wanted patience to cope with those peculiarities\nwhich render our language somewhat intractable to dactylic verse.\n\nAlmost every familiar scheme of English metre has been applied to\nthe reproduction of Homer. We have had Chapman\u2019s fourteen-syllable\nline, the rhymed couplet of Pope and Sotheby, the unrhymed iambics\nof Cowper, Mr. Worsley\u2019s Spenserian stanza, the ballad movement in\nseven beats of Mr. Newman, and many more. One or two of these are\nnoble English poems, but as translations none can be compared with\nthe work of Voss. We should have said, before the appearance of Mr.\nBryant\u2019s volumes, that a new version of the _Iliad_ executed upon\none of the old plans and in one of the old metres was not called\nfor. The attempt of Lord Derby to vie with Cowper in blank-verse\nhad proved singularly unfortunate. Failing to accredit the scholar,\nits publication belittled the statesman. It is not with such a\nperformance that the conservative party can match Mr. Gladstone\u2019s\n_Homeric Age_. We should not highly commend Mr. Bryant were we to\nsay that he is every-way more successful than Lord Derby. He has,\nin our judgment, surpassed Cowper, and that was no easy task. The\nassociations, indeed, connected with what is known as blank-verse,\nrender it to an English ear somewhat unsuitable to a poem like\nthe _Iliad_, which presents an infinite variety of incidents and\nsituations quite as often trivial as dignified. Still, Cowper,\nalthough his muse, stooping to certain homely details, discovers a\nsort of prudishness which is highly amusing, is generally vigorous\nand noble where energy and majesty are required, and had hitherto\nbeen the least unsatisfactory of Homer\u2019s English translators. In\nexamining Mr. Bryant\u2019s work we shall mainly confine ourselves--so\nfar as English writers are concerned--to a collation of Cowper and\nLord Derby. We have neither space nor inclination to quote from\nthe rhymed versions. Faithfully to reproduce Homer in rhyme was\ndeclared by Pope to be impossible, and Mr. Worsley\u2019s _Odyssey_,\ndelightful as it is, has not availed to set aside the judgment.\n\nIt would be easy to misinterpret the views which have governed Mr.\nBryant\u2019s work by his application of Latin names to the Homeric\ndeities, and the reason which he assigns in the preface for this\npractice. It is true that he is countenanced by Lord Derby, but\nwe think we had a right to expect more from his scholarship. We\ncannot but deem them both in the wrong, and to our mind the error\nis serious and far-reaching. The denizens of Homer\u2019s Olympus are in\nthe strictest sense personal gods. Such superhuman attributes as\nthey severally possess are sharply defined, the degree and scope of\ntheir authority, except, perhaps, in two instances, clearly marked.\nThey live the life of men, eat, drink, love, quarrel. They exhibit\nthe most passionate interest in the war which rages before Ilium.\nThey are bitter and unscrupulous partisans, wheedle, lie, bargain,\nrebel, in the cause of their _prot\u00e9g\u00e9es_. They forsake their\ndwellings to take part in the debates of mortals, mix in the fight,\nare pierced with spears, and the celestial ichor flows precisely\nlike human blood. In short, they resemble rather the demigods of a\nlater mythology, and are rarely invested with that awful sublimity\nand mystery which enshroud most of the elder Roman divinities.\nEven in the _Theogony_ of Hesiod, the attributes of certain gods\nhave undergone a degree of alteration which it is tax enough to\nbear in mind. To insist upon confounding Ares, Aphrodit\u00ea, and\nAthen\u00ea with Mars, Venus, and Minerva, deities which, as enshrined\nin the literature purely and distinctively Latin, are as native\nand peculiar to Rome as her language, is to mystify the reader\nwho knows anything of either. It appears to us as unreasonable to\nrename the gods as to miscall the heroes of the _Iliad_. Surely it\nis no apology for the confusion of things essentially distinct that\nthe practice has been in some sort naturalized in our literature.\nSo are the legendary chronicles of the kings of Rome, so are the\ndistorted portraits of Shakespeare\u2019s histories. A manifest error\ncannot plead undisturbed possession. Moreover, it is now many years\nsince English scholars have labored to educate their countrymen\nup to something like discrimination between the Greek and Latin\nmythologies. Their task is well-nigh done. Lempri\u00e8re\u2019s Dictionary\nis at length obsolete, and the volumes of Grote are in the hands\nof every schoolboy. If the prevailing excellence of Mr. Bryant\u2019s\nwork had not disarmed us, we should be disposed to protest against\nthe repetition of an error, as well as against the presumption of\nnational ignorance, by which it is excused. It is certainly matter\nof regret that such an objection should lie on the threshold of a\nwork in most respects so sound and scholarlike.\n\nThe new version begins well:\n\n    \u201cO Goddess! sing the wrath of Peleus\u2019 son\n    Achilles; sing the deadly wrath that brought\n    Woes numberless upon the Greeks and swept\n    To Hades many a valiant soul, and gave\n    Their limbs a prey to dogs and birds of air.\n    For so had Jove appointed, from the time\n    When the two chiefs--Atrides, King of men,\n    And great Achilles--parted first as foes.\u201d\n\nSeven hexameters in eight lines of blank-verse--certainly a\nremarkable instance of compression. Except \u1f21\u03c1\u03c9\u03c9\u03bd, \u03c0\u03b1\u03c3\u03b9 (almost\nan expletive), and \u03c0\u03c1\u03bf in \u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03b9\u03b1\u03c8\u03b5\u03bd (which, perhaps, is faintly\nsuggested by \u201cswept\u201d), not a word of Homer is omitted, not a word\nis added. \u201cBirds of air\u201d is an accurate translation of \u03bf\u1f30\u03c9\u03bd\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9.\n\u201cParted first as foes\u201d is exceedingly close. There is but one\nerror, \u03b4\u03b9\u03bf\u03c2 is rendered \u201cgreat.\u201d To this word no moral attribute\nwhatever is attached in the Homeric poems. It is equivalent to\n\u201chigh-born\u201d or \u201cnoble\u201d (as Cowper gives it) in the primitive\nsense of that word. Lord Derby makes it \u201cgodlike,\u201d which is quite\nincorrect. If there be a fault in the lines just quoted, it is a\ncertain coldness. They hardly lift us to the height of the great\nargument. But for conscientious fidelity to the original, these\nlines have not been approached in English, and are in this respect\nfully equal to Voss. Hear, for instance, Cowper, who requires an\nextra line:\n\n    \u201cAchilles sing, O Goddess, Peleus\u2019 son,\n    His wrath pernicious, who ten thousand woes\n    Caused to Achaia\u2019s _host_, sent many a soul\n    Illustrious into Ades premature,\n    And heroes gave (so stood the will of Jove)\n    To dogs and to all ravening birds a prey.\n    When fierce dispute had separated once\n    The noble chief Achilles from the son\n    Of Atreus, Agamemnon, King of men.\u201d\n\nThis is pitched in the right key, although the finest line, the\nfourth, is perhaps too suggestively Miltonic. In his scholarship\nCowper is loose. \u201cWho\u201d is grammatically wrong and \u00e6sthetically a\nblunder. It is not Achilles, but Achilles\u2019 wrath that Homer means\nto sing. \u201cHost,\u201d \u201cravening,\u201d \u201cfierce,\u201d \u201cchief,\u201d \u201cAgamemnon,\u201d are\nmerely supernumeraries. \u201cIllustrious\u201d was inserted, we presume,\nfor rhythmical reasons; it does not translate \u1f30\u03c6\u03b8\u03b9\u03bc\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2. \u201cStood\u201d\nfor \u1f10\u03c4\u03b5\u03bb\u03b5\u03b9\u03b5\u03c4\u03bf is fine; Mr. Bryant fails to convey the notion of\nfulfilment, of inevitable accomplishment, which the word seems\nto carry. The antithesis between \u03c8\u03c5\u03c7\u1f70\u03c2 and \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2, significant\nas regards the Homeric theory of a future life, is quite lost in\nCowper, while it is cleverly projected in Mr. Bryant\u2019s lines.\n\u201cPremature\u201d preserves the force of the preposition in \u03c0\u03c1\u03bf-\u03b9\u03b1\u03c8\u03b5\u03bd,\nwhich ought not to be overlooked.\n\nIt may be well now to quote Lord Derby. He needs _ten_ lines:\n\n    \u201cOf Peleus\u2019 son, Achilles, sing, O Muse.\n    The vengeance deep and deadly whence to Greece\n    Unnumbered ills arose, which many a soul\n    Of mighty warriors to the viewless Shades\n    Untimely sent, they on the battle plain\n    Unburied lay, a prey to ravening dogs\n    And carrion birds, but so had Jove decreed.\n    From that sad day when first in wordy war\n    The mighty Agamemnon, King of men,\n    Confronted stood by Peleus\u2019 godlike son.\u201d\n\nThis is hardly worth criticising in detail. First, why \u201cMuse\u201d?\n\u201cVengeance\u201d is bad for \u03bc\u03b7\u03bd\u03b9\u03c2. \u201cDeadly\u201d translates \u03bf\u1f50\u03bb\u03bf\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03b7\u03bd well\nenough, but \u201cdeep and deadly\u201d suggests the harrowing phraseology of\nthe _Ledger_ romance. \u201cViewless Shades\u201d is possibly poetical, but\nHomer chooses to be geographical--he says \u1f08\u03b9\u03c2. \u201cThey on the battle\nplain unburied\u201d; we cannot find this in the Greek, but it accounts\nfor one extra line. \u201cRavening\u201d and \u201ccarrion\u201d raise Cowper\u2019s\nexpletive to the second power. \u201cSad day\u201d! And so it was, but to\ncall it so is almost maudlin. \u1f18\u03c1\u03b9\u03b6\u03c9 does indeed mean to wrangle,\nbut \u201cwordy war\u201d is petty and poetastic. \u201cThe mighty Agamemnon\u201d!\nHomer is satisfied with _Atrides_. And now we will see if it be\npossible to give this magnificent prologue measure for measure,\nline for line, almost word for word. Hear Voss:\n\n    \u201cSinge den Zorn, O G\u00f6ttin, des Peleiaden Achilleus,\n    Ihn der entbrannt den Achaiern unendbaren Jammer erregte,\n    Und viel tapfere Seelen der Heldens\u00f6hne zum Ais\n    Sendete, aber sie selber zum Raub\u2019 ausstreckte den Hunden\n    Und den Gev\u00f6gel umher--so ward Zeus\u2019 Wille vollendet,\n    Seit dem Tage als einst durch bitteren Zank sich entzweiten\n    Atreus\u2019 Sohn der Herrscher des Volks und der edle Achilleus!\u201d\n\nThe figurative _entbrannt_ for \u03bf\u1f50\u03bb\u03bf\u03bc\u03ad\u03bd\u03b7\u03bd is not to our taste.\n_Bitteren_ is superfluous, and _sendete_ imperfectly translates\n\u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03b9\u03b1\u03c8\u03b5\u03bd. Otherwise these lines are flawless.\n\nWe pass to the sixth book, to a passage which Pope and Chapman\nhave done well, Sotheby on the whole better, where even Hobbes\ngrows tender, where every translator has sought to do his best.\nThe parting of Hector and Andromache is a scene (if we except the\n_Alcestis_) unique in classic literature. When we consider the\nstate of society depicted in the Homeric poems, the figure of\nAndromache seems anomalous and inexplicable; or rather she almost\nconstrains us to recast our notions of the social framework in\nwhich we find her set. In her the sexual passion is refined and\nsublimated to that noblest form of conjugal love which is thought\nto be peculiar to the civilized and christianized descendants from\nthe chaste German stock. Through the historical ages of Greece, in\nthe Roman Republic and Empire, we seek in vain a pendant to this\nportrait. The ideal would seem to have been lost. The painter who\ndrew Alexander\u2019s favorite could not have limned Andromache; he who\nsang _Ariadne in Naxos_ would have failed to understand her. To\nrecover the type, we must descend to a much later age--to Raphael\nand to Wordsworth. The sweetest words in our language--sweetheart,\nhelpmate, wife--describe Andromache. She is not the wanton idol of\na despot\u2019s caprice, nor the dull victim of a convenient Athenian\nmarriage, nor the selfish _prot\u00e9g\u00e9e_ of the cynical Roman law. She\nmight have been bred in a Christian world and blessed an English\nhome. We quote twenty lines from Mr. Bryant:\n\n     \u201cShe came attended by a maid who bore\n     A tender child--a babe too young to speak--\n     Upon her bosom, Hector\u2019s only son,\n     Beautiful as a star....\n\n            *       *       *       *       *\n\n                             The father on his child\n     Looked with a silent smile. Andromache\n     Pressed to his side meanwhile, and all in tears\n     Clung to his hand, and thus beginning said:\n     \u2018Too brave! thy valor yet will cause thy death!\n     Thou hast no pity on thy tender child,\n     Nor me, unhappy one, who soon must be\n     Thy widow. All the Greeks will rush on thee\n     To take thy life. A happier lot were mine,\n     If I must lose thee, to go down to earth,\n     For I shall have no hope when thou art gone,\n     Nothing but sorrow. Father have I none,\n     And no dear mother....\n     Seven brothers had I in my father\u2019s house,\n     And all went down to Hades in one day.\n\n            *       *       *       *       *\n\n                               Hector, thou\n     Art father and dear mother now to me,\n     And brother and my youthful spouse besides.\u2019\u201d\n\nNo man, we imagine, who examines the above lines will question the\ngeneral accuracy of Mr. Bryant\u2019s scholarship. They are at once the\nmost succinct, literal, and beautiful reproduction of Homer\u2019s words\nwhich has been achieved in English. As Americans, we are proud of\nthem. Cowper, indeed, had finely rendered this passage, and it is\npossible that some persons unfamiliar with the Greek and habituated\nto the movement of the _Paradise Lost_ may prefer his inverted\nconstruction and sonorous phrase. We will not quote him, however,\nbut rather choose to pay Mr. Bryant the highest homage in our power\nby placing beside his lines the version of Voss:\n\n        \u201cDie Dienerin aber ihr folgend\n    Trug an der Brust das zarte, noch ganz unm\u00fcndige Kn\u00e4blein.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Hektor\u2019s einzigen Sohn, dem schimmernden Sterne vergleichbar.\n    Siehe, mit L\u00e4cheln blickte der Vater still auf das Kn\u00e4blein,\n    Aber neben ihn trat Andromache Thr\u00e4nen vergiessend,\n    Dr\u00fcckt ihm freundlich die Hand, und redete also, beginnend,\n    Seltsamer Mann, dich t\u00f6dtet dein Muth noch und du erbarmst dich\n    Nicht des stammelnden Kindes, noch mein des elenden Weibes,\n    Ach, bald Witwe von dir, denn dich t\u00f6dten gewiss die Achaier\n    Alle mit Macht aust\u00fcrmend; allein mir ware das Beste\n    Deiner beraubt in die Erde hinabzusinken; denn weiter\n    Bleibt kein Trost mir \u00fcbrig, wenn du dein Schicksal erreicht hast,\n    Grau nur und nicht mehr hab\u2019 ich ja Vater und liebende Mutter.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Sieben auch waren die Br\u00fcder mir dort in unserer Wohnung,\n    Und die wandelten all \u2018am selbigen Tage zum Ais.\u2019\u201d\n\nWe doubt if these lines can be surpassed except by the Greek\nitself. They echo the melody of Homer. Mr. Bryant, of course,\nrelinquished the hope of competing with him in this respect when\nhe adopted iambic verse. In point of compression, however, and\nliteral accuracy, we shall find him not inferior. There are in\nboth versions some imperfections. \u201cTender\u201d (_zarte_) may perhaps\nstand for \u1f00\u03c4\u03b1\u03bb\u03b1\u03c6\u03c1\u03c9\u03bd although it represents but partially that\nexquisite epithet. Cowper omits this word altogether, and Lord\nDerby substitutes something of his own, \u201call unconscious.\u201d To our\nmind Mr. Bryant\u2019s \u201ctoo young to speak\u201d is most felicitous for\n\u03bd\u03b7\u03c0\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd \u03b1\u1f50\u03c4\u03c9\u03c2. The word, however, in many passages of the _Iliad_\nshows no trace of relation to \u03b5\u03c0\u03bf\u03c2, and means simply \u201cunder age,\u201d\nas Voss gives it. The force of the adverb is nicely preserved in\nthe German. Both versions make \u1f01\u03b3\u03b1\u03c0\u03b7\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd \u201conly\u201d (_einzigen_). The\nline of the _Odyssey_ (b. ii. 365) seems to us conclusive against\nthe propriety of this translation. We prefer Cowper\u2019s \u201cdarling.\u201d\nAnd now we come to the famous simile, \u1f00\u03bb\u03b9\u03b3\u03ba\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd \u1f00\u03c3\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\u03b9 \u03ba\u03b1\u03bb\u1ff7. Mr.\nBryant, following Cowper, writes \u201cbeautiful as a star.\u201d But Homer\nis far more picturesque than this. He shows us the bright cheeks\nand glancing eyes of Hector\u2019s boy gleaming from his nurse\u2019s bosom,\nas a star gleams. \u201cA fair star\u201d--Lord Derby would make it a planet,\n\u201cmorning star\u201d he calls it. But stars that twinkle and glimmer\nare most alluring to the eye, are the fairest, and therefore Voss\nis right--_schimmernden Sterne vergleichbar_. Mr. Bryant is not\nsuccessful in the next line. We cannot like \u201csilent smile.\u201d Can a\nsmile be other than silent? Neither can Voss match Cowper\u2019s\n\n          \u201cThe father silent eyed his babe, and smiled.\u201d\n\n\u201cPressed to his side\u201d is vivid, where Cowper and Voss are tame;\n\u201cclung to his hand\u201d--the Greek is yet stronger, \u201cgrew on his hand.\u201d\nVoss was certainly drowsy when he could render this \u201cpressed kindly\nhis hand.\u201d Andromache\u2019s touching first word is quite lost in the\n\u201cDear lord\u201d of Lord Derby. Cowper\u2019s \u201cMy noble Hector\u201d is even\nworse. The truth is that \u0394\u03b1\u03b9\u03bc\u03bf\u03bd\u03b9\u03b5 is uttered by the young wife\nin tender reproach, and this is conveyed in good measure by \u201ctoo\nbrave,\u201d but _seltsamer Mann_ is perfect. \u201cTender child\u201d--Cowper\nand Lord Derby write \u201chelpless.\u201d Voss\u2019 _stammelnden_ is based, we\npresume, on _Il._ 2, 238, where some command of speech more or less\narticulate seems to be conceded to \u03bd\u03b7\u03c0\u03b9\u03b1\u03c7\u03bf\u03b9\u03c2. The next four lines\nof the new version are close and felicitous, but \u03b8\u03b1\u03bb\u03c0\u03c9\u03c1\u03b7 is not so\nmuch \u201chope\u201d as \u201ccomfort\u201d; and \u201cwhen thou art gone\u201d hardly expresses\nthe thought in \u1f10\u03c0\u03b5\u03b9 \u1f04\u03bd \u03c3\u03c5 \u03b3\u03b5 \u03c0\u03bf\u03c4\u03bc\u03bf\u03bd \u1f10\u03c0\u03b9\u03c3\u03c0\u1fc3\u03c2, whereas the German\ndelivers it faithfully. We have reached finally a wonderful couplet\nwhich fairly throbs with passionate devotion. Here is the Greek:\n\n    \u201c\u2018\u1f19\u03ba\u03c4\u03c9\u03c1, \u1f00\u03c4\u03b1\u03c1 \u03c3\u03c5 \u03bc\u03bf\u03b9 \u1f10\u03c3\u03c3\u03b9 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c4\u03b7\u03c1 \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c0\u03bf\u03c4\u03bd\u03b9\u03b1 \u03bc\u03b7\u03c4\u03b7\u03c1,\n    \u1f28\u03b4\u03b5 \u03ba\u03b1\u03c3\u03b9\u03b3\u03bd\u03b7\u03c4\u03bf\u03c2, \u03c3\u03c5 \u03b4\u03b5 \u03bc\u03bf\u03b9 \u03b8\u03b1\u03bb\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03b1\u03ba\u03bf\u03b9\u03c4\u03b7\u03c2.\u2019\u201d\n\nWhich we may venture to render thus:\n\n    \u201c\u2018Hector, united in thee still, find I my worshipful mother,\n    Father and brother in thee, O blooming Hector, my husband!\u2019\u201d\n\nVoss is exceedingly sweet:\n\n    \u201c\u2018Hector, O du bist jetzo mir Vater und liebende Mutter,\n    Auch mein Bruder allein, O du mein bl\u00fchender Gatte!\u2019\u201d\n\nDerby:\n\n    \u201c\u2018But, Hector, thou to me art all in one,\n    Sire, mother, brother, thou my wedded love.\u2019\u201d\n\nCowper:\n\n    \u201c\u2018Yet, Hector, O my husband, I in thee\n    Find parents, brothers, all that I have lost.\u2019\u201d\n\nBryant:\n\n                                \u201c\u2018Hector, thou\n    Art father and dear mother now to me\n    And brother and my youthful spouse besides.\u2019\u201d\n\nLord Derby\u2019s version is curiously bad. Strange that one striving\nto utter to modern ears words which in the _Iliad_ seem to break\nfrom the heart should go out of his way for \u201csire\u201d and \u201cbrethren\u201d!\nAnd for \u201cwedded love,\u201d it is not only incorrect, but mawkish, and\ntherefore in this place detestable. Cowper likewise is weak and\nfalse. \u201cParents\u201d is intolerable; \u03c0\u03bf\u03c4\u03bd\u03b9\u03b1 and \u03b8\u03b1\u03bb\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 are overlooked.\nAnd in exchange for those adjectives we have \u201call that I have lost\u201d\n(pure Cowper). Mr. Bryant does very much better, but he is again\nsomewhat cold; and coldness here is hardly pardonable. He was\ndetermined to give the last line literally; but to put \u03c0\u03b1\u03c1\u03b1\u03ba\u03bf\u03b9\u03c4\u03b7\u03c2\nin the vocative, as Voss has done, makes the verse literal enough\nand more glowing. Both Voss and Mr. Bryant are wrong in \u03c0\u03bf\u03c4\u03bd\u03b9\u03b1. The\nactive participle (_liebende_) is out of the question, and even\n\u201cdear\u201d conveys an erroneous impression of the relations subsisting\nbetween mother and daughter in the Homeric age. \u03a0\u03bf\u03c4\u03bd\u03b9\u03b1 predicates\na sentiment of respect and reverence, and is often associated\nwith the names of deities. For an exact analogue we must go back\nto English domestic life in the last century. We shall find it in\nwhat was then a household word--\u201chonored mother.\u201d We must do Lord\nDerby the justice to say that he had hit upon the translation in\nline 413. It is a pity that he did not repeat it here. \u0398\u03b1\u03bb\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 has\nproved a stumbling-block to most translators. It is a beautiful\nword: and placed with exquisite propriety in the mouth of a young\nwife who gazes on the bravest face and noblest form in Ilium. Mr.\nBryant\u2019s \u201cyouthful\u201d is not absolutely wrong, but it is rather\nthe impression which youth and health make upon the eye, their\nvisible glory, their \u201cpurple light,\u201d which Homer makes in \u03b8\u03b1\u03bb\u03b5\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2.\n_Bl\u00fchende_ gives it exactly. We wish that with these perfect words\nAndromache might have vanished from literature. The later myths\ndishonor her. It seems a crime against nature to recount of this\nwoman that\n\n              \u201cVictoris heri tetigit captiva cubile,\u201d\n\nand that Hector\u2019s widow bore children to the son of Achilles.\nSurely instinct would have taught her the tenet of a later\nphilosophy: \u201cWe are in the power of no calamity while death is in\nour own.\u201d Not in Euripides and Virgil, but rather in Racine, would\nwe follow the fortunes of that Andromache whom we knew by the Sc\u00e6an\ngate.\n\nLet us glance next at the concluding lines of the eighth book. They\nhave been translated by Tennyson, and it may be interesting to\ncontrast his version. Mr. Bryant writes:\n\n    \u201cSo high in hope they sat the whole night through\n    In warlike lines, and many watch-fires blazed\n    As when in heaven the stars look brightly forth\n    Round the clear-shining moon while not a breeze\n    Stirs in the depths of air, and all the stars\n    Are seen and gladness fills the shepherd\u2019s heart,\n    So many fires in sight of Ilium blazed\n    Lit by the sons of Troy between the ships\n    And eddying Xanthus: on the plain there shone\n    A thousand; fifty warriors by each fire\n    Sat in its light. Their steeds beside the cars--\n    Champing their oats and their white barley--stood,\n    And waited for the golden morn to rise.\u201d\n\nTennyson renders the same passage thus:\n\n     \u201cAnd these all night upon the ridge of war\n     Sat glorying; many a fire before them blazed;\n     As when in heaven the stars about the moon\n     Look beautiful when all the winds are laid\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n                            ... and all the stars\n    Shine, and the shepherd gladdens in his heart.\n    So many a fire between the ships and stream\n    Of Xanthus blazed before the towers of Troy,\n    A thousand on the plain, and close by each\n    Sat fifty in the blaze of burning fire.\n    And eating hoary grain and pulse the steeds\n    Stood by the cars waiting the thron\u00e8d morn.\u201d\n\nSome may prefer the general effect of the Laureate\u2019s lines, but\nour American version adheres quite as closely to the text. We\nare surprised, however, to find \u201cwarlike lines.\u201d Mr. Tennyson\u2019s\nalternative translation, \u201cridge of war\u201d is an exact reproduction of\nthe Greek, \u1f00\u03bd\u03b1 \u03c0\u03c4\u03bf\u03bb\u03b5\u03bc\u03bf\u03b9\u03bf \u03b3\u03b5\u03c6\u03c5\u03c1\u03b1\u03c2. \u201cBridge,\u201d which he first wrote,\nis post-Homeric. Lord Derby\u2019s phrase is close enough, but wanting\nin pictorial power:\n\n    \u201cFull of proud hopes, upon the pass of war\n    All night they camped, and frequent blazed their fires.\u201d\n\nIf one care to see what sad work may sometimes proceed from a\ntrue poet, here is Cowper\u2019s version of these lines--ten words are\nrequired to misconstrue three:\n\n    \u201cBig with great purposes and proud they sat,\n    Not disarrayed but in fair form displayed\n    Of even ranks, and watched their numerous fires.\u201d\n\nThe familiar simile of the moon and stars in the above passage is\nsharply and faithfully reproduced by Mr. Bryant, whereas Tennyson\u2019s\n\u201clook beautiful\u201d for \u03c6\u03b1\u03b9\u03bd\u03b5\u03c4' \u1f00\u03c1\u03b9\u03c0\u03c1\u03b5\u03c0\u03b5\u03b1 is both loose and weak.\n\u201cAll the winds are laid\u201d; Cowper says \u201chushed.\u201d Either is closer\nthan Mr. Bryant\u2019s phrase. Lord Derby\u2019s translation of \u03c0\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1 \u03b4\u03b5 \u03c4'\n\u03b5\u03b9\u03b4\u03b5\u03c4\u03b1\u03b9 \u1f00\u03c3\u03c4\u03c1\u03b1 is ambitious and clumsy--\u201cShines each particular\nstar distinct.\u201d The last six hexameters are given in seven lines\nof our version. Tennyson has compressed them into six, but with\nthe sacrifice of \u03a4\u03c1\u03c9\u03c9\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd, which the other neatly expressed\nby \u201cLit by the sons of Troy.\u201d We could have dispensed with the\nLaureate\u2019s \u201ctowers,\u201d but are delighted to find \u1f10\u03c5\u03b8\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd preserved\nin \u201cthroned.\u201d\n\nTo some readers our criticism may have seemed to dwell too nicely\non details; but, if they will reflect a moment, they will perceive\nthat this is itself a guarantee of sincerity. We propose to give\ngrounds for our opinions, that others may accept them knowingly, or\nrefute them, if they can. To flood with general praise or spatter\nwith vague abuse belongs to the Cheapjacks of literature. Moreover,\nno American needs to be told that Mr. Bryant is a poet. Men do\nnot ask whether his _Iliad_ is a delightful poem, but whether it\ntruthfully photographs Homer. That question, if we may judge from\nhis performances, the average magazine critic has preferred to\nevade.\n\nFrom the extracts already presented, it is manifest that our\nAmerican translator has followed the text of his author with\na scrupulous exactitude which required unusual self-command\nfrom a poet of original powers; yet he is often so truly and\nnobly poetical that many will overlook the superiority of his\nscholarship. Most countries of Western Europe have produced\nseveral translators of the _Iliad_. But in each language one has\neventually obscured the rest, and thenceforward kept unchallenged\na niche in the national literature. Some such pre-eminence among\nEnglish versions belongs, in our judgment, to Mr. Bryant\u2019s work.\nFor conscientious adherence to the text, his version has no rival\nin our tongue, and ought, in justice, to be compared with Voss. In\npoint of scholarship, Cowper had shown himself much stronger than\nPope, but his translation beside Mr. Bryant\u2019s _Iliad_ seems to us a\nparaphrase. Both are masters of blank-verse, but Cowper is a pupil\nof Milton, while Mr. Bryant\u2019s diction and rhythm are his own.\nThe iambic pentameter is, in his hands, surprisingly plastic. We\nshould not have supposed it capable of such happy adjustment to the\nshifting mood and varying pitch of the original; yet we cannot help\na regret that this version was not executed in hexameters. We are\nquite sure that the achievement was possible to the author of this\ntranslation.\n\nIn such extracts as we have yet to make from Mr. Bryant\u2019s work, we\npropose to compare him, not with his English rivals whom we hold\nhim to have excelled, but with some of those translators who are\nmost highly esteemed in other countries.\n\nFew lines of the _Iliad_ have been more frequently imitated than\nthose which paint with the tints of Albano the girdle of Aphrodit\u00ea.\nThe incident which calls forth the description is well known.\nDetermined to lull the vigilance of Zeus and rescue her darling\nGreeks, Her\u00ea flies to her toilet. The most truthful of poets puts\nno faith in beauty unadorned, and himself performs the part of\ntire-woman. It occurs, however, to Her\u00ea that her lord is already\nfamiliar with the resources of her wardrobe, and the fear of a cold\nor careless eye leads her to borrow of Aphrodit\u00ea. She receives\na talisman, but precisely what this was is--to men, at least--a\nriddle. It was an embroidered strap, so much is certain; but how\nused, and where? Belt or waist-girdle it was not, for that Her\u00ea had\non. It was plainly a slender and dainty thing, or how could she\nhide it in her bosom? For our part, we believe it to have been a\nbreast-band (_Brustg\u00fcrtel_) worn just under the breast, although a\nFrench commentator with much heat pronounces this view an insult to\nthe figure of the goddess. The one translator competent to decide\nso nice a question was Mme. Dacier. Unhappily she throws no light\non it. Mr. Bryant turns the passage thus:\n\n    \u201cShe spake, and from her bosom drew the zone\n    Embroidered, many-colored, and instinct\n    With every winning charm--with love, desire,\n    Dalliance, and gentle speech that stealthily\n    O\u2019ercomes the purpose of the wisest mind.\u201d\n\nWe must object to \u201czone.\u201d Mr. Bryant has just given (_Il._ 14, 181)\nthe same name to a broad, heavily-fringed belt which Her\u00ea is now\nwearing. But Homer makes a difference, calling that \u03b6\u03c9\u03bd\u03b7 and this\n\u1f31\u03bc\u03b1\u03c2. Voss likewise is here somewhat careless, rendering both words\nby _G\u00fcrtel_. \u201cDalliance\u201d translates a stubborn word, and projects\nthe idea which lay at the root of \u1f40\u03b1\u03c1\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03c5\u03c2. Let us turn to Voss:\n\n    \u201cSprach und l\u00f6ste vom Busen den wunderk\u00f6stlichen G\u00fcrtel\n    Buntgestickt; dort waren die Zauberreize versammelt.\n    Dort war schmachtende Lieb\u2019 und Sehnsucht, dort das Get\u00e4ndel,\n    Dort die schmeichelnde Bitte die oft auch den Weisen beth\u00f6ret.\u201d\n\nHow neatly \u03c0\u03bf\u03b9\u03ba\u03b9\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd and \u03ba\u03b5\u03c3\u03c4\u03bf\u03bd are compressed in _buntgestickt_!\n_Wunderk\u00f6stlichen_ is, of course, mere padding. _Schmachtende_\nlikewise is superfluous. Neither can we altogether like \u201cbefool\u201d\nfor \u1f10\u03ba\u03bb\u03b5\u03c8\u03b5 \u03bd\u03bf\u03bf\u03bd. Mr. Bryant\u2019s phrase is certainly more felicitous.\nOn the whole, it must be conceded that Voss flickers in these lines.\n\nWhen Mme. Dacier brought out her _Iliad_, it was affirmed on all\nhands that Homer could never, in the nature of things, be presented\nin French verse. From that verdict an appeal has from time to\ntime been taken, but the decision has never been reversed. Mme.\nDacier\u2019s stiffness and the flippancy of La Motte are indeed equally\nintolerable. We decidedly prefer to any metrical version in French\nthe prose translations of Bitaube and Dugas Montbel. Both are\nin the strictest sense belles-lettres works, and are generally\naccurate and spirited. Bitaube portrays the girdle thus: \u201cEn m\u00eame\ntemps elle d\u00e9tache sa ceinture riche d\u2019une superbe broderie. L\u00e0 se\ntrouvent r\u00e9unis les charmes les plus s\u00e9duisants; l\u00e0 sont l\u2019amour,\nles tendres d\u00e9sirs, les doux entretiens et ces accents persuasifs,\nqui d\u00e9robent en secret le c\u0153ur du plus sage.\u201d There are some\nadjectives here for which Homer is not responsible.\n\nMonti\u2019s version is well known. It has been called the golden ring\nwhich links the Greek and Italian literatures, and is ranked\nwith Caro\u2019s _\u00c6neid_. Beside _La Morte d\u2019Ettore_ it appears a\nmeritorious work. No doubt the climax of false taste was reached\nwhen Cesarrotti, who had executed a good translation in prose,\nproceeded to metamorphose the _Iliad_ into a strange monster which\nhe called The _Death of Hector_. We will not quote Monti now, for\nin this place he is tame and redundant. Yet he has skilfully hit\nwith _favellio_ a secondary meaning of \u1f40\u03b1\u03c1\u03b9\u03c3\u03c4\u03c5\u03c2. The French have\na word from the same root, _babil_; but we have nothing in English\nwhich so happily expresses the _cooing_ of young lovers. Tasso\u2019s\nreproduction of these lines is exquisite. He is depicting Armida\u2019s\ngirdle. It was fraught, he says, with--\n\n    \u201cTeneri sdegni, e placide, e tranquille,\n      Repulse, cari vezzi e liete paci,\n    Sorrisi, parolette, e dolci stille\n      Di pianto, e sospir tronchi, e molli baci.\u201d\n\nAfter the short, swift strokes of Homer, this picture seems almost\nflorid with _concetti_. But each poet meant to epitomize the charms\nhe had beheld in life. The countrywomen of Tasso were skilled in\nlovers\u2019 sleights, whereas the simple virgins of Homeric times\nhad never heard of the _gai scavoir_. If we may trust Brant\u00f4me,\nwho knew something of Italian manners in that age, the dames of\nSienna were quite competent to instruct Aphrodit\u00ea in the arts of\nfascination.\n\nThe range of Homeric similes is not limited to the phenomena of\nsky, river, and ocean, to the familiar experiences of the forge,\nthe vineyard, and the chase. The lightning play of fancy and memory\nand the emotions of the heart are submitted to the same scrutiny,\nand portrayed with like felicity. \u201cRapid as thought\u201d has become the\ntritest commonplace in every European language, but the guise which\nthe simile originally wore in Homer is still novel and effective.\nIncensed at the trick which has just been cleverly executed, Zeus\norders Her\u00ea back to Olympus. Then Mr. Bryant:\n\n    \u201cHe spake, the white-armed goddess willingly\n    Obeyed him, and from Ida\u2019s summit flew\n    To high Olympus. As the thought of man\n    Flies rapidly, when having travelled far,\n    He thinks, Here would I be; I would be there--\n    And flits from place to place.\u201d\n\n\u201cWillingly\u201d is supported by Voss\u2019 _willig_, but has no correlative\nin the Greek. The context, moreover, shows that Her\u00ea departed\nin a pet, and her peevishness finds full vent when she reaches\nOlympus. Mr. Bryant omits to translate \u03c6\u03c1\u03b5\u03c3\u03b9 \u03c0\u03b5\u03c5\u03ba\u03b1\u03bb\u03b9\u03bc\u1fc3\u03c3\u03b9. For this\nphrase Voss gives _sp\u00e4henden Geiste_, deriving the adjective from\n\u03c0\u03b5\u03c5\u03ba\u03b7, by which, with Buttmann, he understands the _pointed_ (not\n_bitter_) fir-tree. But if Schneider be right, these words are\nequivalent to \u03c0\u03c5\u03ba\u03b1 \u03c6\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\u03b5\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd in the description of the girdle just\nquoted. The root would then be looked for in \u03c0\u03c5\u03ba\u03bd\u03bf\u03c2, and the latter\nphrase might find an analogue, though not an exact one, in our\n\u201cclose schemers.\u201d These details are worthy of notice, for Chapman,\nmistaking the primitive sense of this adjective, has utterly missed\nthe point of the simile. The perversity of Hobbes is ludicrous. He\ncondenses Homer after this fashion:\n\n    \u201cThis said, went Juno to Olympus high,\n    As when a man looks on an ample plain\n    To any distance quickly goes his eye.\u201d\n\nVoss and Mr. Bryant are in this place so much alike that we will\nnot collate the German, but give instead Monti\u2019s blank-verse:\n\n    \u201cDisse e la Diva dalle bianche bracchia\n    Obbediente dall\u2019 Idea montagna\n    Al Olympo sali. Colla prestezza\n    Con que vola il pensier del viatore\n    Che scorse molte terre le rianda\n    In suo segreto e dici, Io quella riva\n    Io quell\u2019 altra toccai.\u201d\n\n_Scorse_ and _rianda_ are pictorial, and perhaps sufficiently\nliteral. We like also _suo segreto_ for \u201cclose mind.\u201d Altogether\nthe version is neat and animated, but less compact than Mr.\nBryant\u2019s. Both are quite as faithful as the prose of Bitaube and\nMontbel. The former writes: \u201cIl dit, et Junon soumise \u00e0 son \u00e9poux\ns\u2019\u00e9l\u00e8ve des sommets d\u2019Ida sur Olympe. Tel que le rapide essor de\nla pens\u00e9e de l\u2019homme lorsqu\u2019ayant parcouru des pays d\u2019une vaste\n\u00e9tendue, et se rappelant en un moment tous les objets qui l\u2019ont\nfrapp\u00e9, il dit en lui-m\u00eame, j\u2019\u00e9tais ici, j\u2019\u00e9tais l\u00e0.\u201d It will be\nobserved that Mr. Bryant\u2019s \u201cHere would I be, I would be there!\u201d\nreproduces the optative \u03b5\u1f30\u03b7\u03bd. So does the _Dorthin m\u00f6cht ich, und\ndort_ of Voss. An alternative reading is \u1f20\u03b7v which Bitaube and\nMonti have preferred. The verb, however, should then be in the\nthird person, not the first as they give it. The imperfect would\nimpart to the thought a slightly different tinge, and make the\ntraveller rather retrace in memory than revisit it in desire. If\nthis reading be accepted, we might, perhaps, venture to present the\npassage in this form:\n\n    Thus he pronounced; and Her\u00ea, the white-armed goddess, obeyed him,\n    Down from the summits of Ida speeding to lofty Olympus,\n    Darting as darteth the mind of a man who whilom has travelled\n    Up and down on the earth, in close thought ponders his travels,\n    Here was he now--now there!--still aiming in many directions.\n\nIn the battle which opens in the twentieth book culminates the\naction of the poem. Achilles now enters the field, and Mr.\nGladstone has justly remarked that we seem never to have heard\nof wars or warriors before. To frame his central figure, Homer\nsummons from Olympus the whole hierarchy of heaven. Amid thunder\nand earthquake, the gods are seen rallying to either side. No part\nof the _Iliad_ is pitched in a loftier key. Nowhere is a translator\nmore strongly impelled to put forth all his powers. We quote Mr.\nBryant:\n\n              \u201cFrom above with terrible crash\n    Thundered the father of the blessed gods\n    And mortal men, while Neptune from below\n    Shook the great earth and lofty mountain-peaks.\n    Then watery Ida\u2019s heights and very roots,\n    The city of Troy, and the Greek galleys, quaked.\n    Then Pluto, ruler of the nether world,\n    Leaped from his throne in terror, lest the god\n    Who makes the earth to tremble, cleaving it\n    Above him, should lay bare to gods and men\n    His horrible abodes, the dismal haunts\n    Which even the gods abhor.\u201d\n\nWe ought not, perhaps, to dislike the expansion of \u03c0\u03b1\u03c4\u03b5\u03c1\n\u1f00\u03bd\u03b8\u03c1\u03c9\u03c0\u03c9\u03bd \u03c4\u03b5 \u03b8\u03b5\u03c9\u03bd \u03c4\u03b5 in the second line, for the epithets added\nare themselves hardly more than formulas. The next four lines\nexhibit Mr. Bryant\u2019s best work. Their vigor and elegance are not\nextraneous, but wrought with patient fingers out of the text\nitself. \u201cLeaped from his throne in terror\u201d is a melancholy falling\noff. This indifferent line must stand for three Greek verbs which\nrender with startling accuracy the staccato movement of fear. We\ngive from Voss the three hexameters which depict the panic of\nA\u00efdoneus:\n\n    \u201cBang auch erschrack dort unten des Nachtreichs F\u00fcrst Aldoneus,\n    Bebend entsprang er dem Thron, und schrie laut dass ihm von oben\n    Nicht die Erd\u2019 aufrisse der Landersch\u00fcttrer Poseid\u014dn.\u201d\n\n_Nachtreich_ is not quite equal to \u201cnether world,\u201d but really these\nlines are incomparable. Beside them even the prose of Montbel seems\na little wide of the text: \u201cDans ses retraites souterraines le\nroi des ombres Pluton fr\u00e9mit; \u00e9pouvant\u00e9 il s\u2019\u00e9lance de son tr\u00f4ne,\npousse un cri, de peur que le terrible Neptune entr\u2019ouvrant la\nterre ne montre aux dieux et aux hommes ces demeures terribles en\nhorreur m\u00eame aux immortels.\u201d\n\nWe are unable to speak without contempt of the _Morte d\u2019Ettore_,\nbut it is right to state that Cesarrotti\u2019s prose translation of\nthis passage is perhaps the closest extant. Monti\u2019s verse will be\nfound less literal:\n\n                                \u201cTremonne\n    Pluto il re de sepolti et spaventato\n    Die un alto grido, e si gitto del trono\n    Tremendo non gli squarci la terrena\n    Volta sul capo il crollator Nettuno\n    Ed intromessa collaggi\u00f9 la luce\n    Agli Dei non discopra ed ai mortali\n    Le sue squallide bolge, al guardo orrende\n    Anco del ciel.\u201d\n\nHomer says nothing of _intromessa luce_. The words are no doubt\ntransferred from Virgil\u2019s paraphrase--\n\n               \u201cTrepidentque immisso lumine Manes.\u201d\n\nLonginus, in his treatise _On the Sublime_, had quoted this\npassage of the _Iliad_, and Boileau in a translation of that work\nhas reproduced it with considerable care. Boileau had positively\ncondescended to defend Homer, but it is plain that his own theory\nof translation was that accepted by his age. La Motte has stated it\nin his ode. He tells Homer that he proposes\n\n    \u201cSous un nouveau langage\n    Rajeunir ton antique ouvrage,\u201d\n\nand deeming the unconscious energy of his author _un peu sauvage_\nengages to _r\u00e9gler son ivresse_. From Boileau no engagement was\nrequired. His Muse was too thoroughly the _grande dame_ ever to\nforget herself, and even in Pythian convulsions retained a measure\nof decorum. We shall find his version at once droll and impressive.\nIt is, so to speak, a Greek myth treated by Paul Veronese:\n\n    \u201cL\u2019enfer s\u2019\u00e9meut au brait de Neptune en furie\n    Pluton sort de son tr\u00f4ne, il p\u00e2lit, il s\u2019\u00e9crie\n    Il a peur que ce dieu dans cet affreux s\u00e9jour\n    D\u2019un coup de son trident ne fasse entrer le jour\n    Et par le centre ouvert de la terre \u00e9branl\u00e9e\n    Ne fasse voir du Styx la rive d\u00e9sol\u00e9e\n    Ne d\u00e9couvre aux vivants cet empire odieux\n    Abhorr\u00e9 des mortels, et craint m\u00eame des dieux.\u201d\n\nTo us no book of the _Iliad_ is more delightful than the\ntwenty-fourth. There are many scenes in which we would willingly\nlinger not alone for the tender pathos with which the poet has\ninformed them, but also for the light they throw on the social\nethics of the later as well as primitive Greek world. The figure\nof Achilles weeping through the long night the loss of the\nbeloved Patroclus is the immortal type of that devoted friendship\nwhich illumines with a peculiar radiance the stream of Hellenic\nbiography. In the incessant warfare of sympathy with selfishness,\nfriendship between man and man seems to have played something of\nthe master _r\u00f4le_ which in modern times has been engrossed by\nthe passion of love. Again, Helen in her lament over Hector\u2019s\ncorpse lets fall some bitter words that deserve to be weighed in\nconnection with the peculiar attitude which Menelaus maintains\nthroughout the poem. They would assist us to understand her\nstrangely equivocal position, as well as the conception of the\nmarriage relation which obtained in the Homeric age. We have space,\nhowever, but for a single extract. We will choose Priam\u2019s prayer\nto Achilles. How often and with what careful hand these lines have\nbeen reproduced in English is well-known. In French there are no\nless than ten metrical versions, to say nothing of prose. To poets\nof every nation this passage has remained a bow of Ulysses which\nmany have been eager to grasp, but none save Voss has hitherto had\nsinew enough to bend. The circumstances under which the prayer is\nmade are inexpressively affecting. The fate of Troy has at length\ncompelled the combat of Hector and Achilles. From the walls of the\ncity Priam has beheld the fatal issue. The pride and prop of his\nold age, the bulwark of his kingdom, lies dead and dishonored in\nthe hostile camp. Conducted by Hermes, Priam passes the sentinels,\nand gains the quarters of his foe. He enters, springs toward\nPelides, clasps his knees, and kisses those \u201cslaughter-dealing\nhands\u201d which had slain so many of his sons. Then Mr. Bryant:\n\n    \u201cThink of thy father, an old man like me,\n    God-like Achilles! on the dreary verge\n    Of closing life he stands, and even now\n    Haply is fiercely pressed by those who dwell\n    Around him, and has none to shield his age\n    From war and its disasters. Yet his heart\n    Rejoices when he hears thou yet dost live,\n    And every day he hopes that his dear son\n    Will come again from Troy. My lot is hard,\n    For I was father of the bravest sons\n    In all wide Troy, and none are left me now!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n                            Oh! revere\n    The gods, Achilles, and be merciful,\n    Calling to mind thy father, happier he\n    Than I; for I have borne what no man else\n    That dwells on earth could bear--have laid my lips\n    Upon the hand of him who slew my son.\u201d\n\nHad these lines been pointed at by the legend, we could well\nunderstand why Solon should have burned his epic. Let us not stay\nfor criticism, but, with eyes fixed on the Greek, give our ears to\nVoss!\n\n    \u201cDeiners Vaters gedenk! O gottergleicher Achilleus,\n    Sein des Bejahrten wie ich, an der traurigen Schwelle des Alters,\n    Und vielleicht dass jenen die umbewohnende V\u00f6lker\n    Dr\u00e4ngen, und niemand ist ihm Jammer und Weh zu entfernen.\n    Jener indess so oft er von dir dem lebenden h\u00f6ret\n    Freut er sich innig im Geist, und hofft von Tage zu Tage\n    Dass er den trautesten Sohn noch seh\u2019 heimkehren von Troja.\n    Ich unseliger Mann die tapfersten S\u00f6hn\u2019 erzeugt\u2019 ich\n    Weil im Troegebiet, und nun ist keiner mir \u00fcbrig!\n    Scheue die G\u00f6tter demnach, O Peleid! und erbarme dich meiner\n    Denkend des eigenen Vaters! Ich bin noch werther des Mitleids:\n    Duld\u2019 ich doch was sonst kein sterblicher Erdebewohner\n    Ach die die Kinder get\u00f6dtet die Hand an die Lippen zu dr\u00fccken.\u201d\n\nWe hold that it lies not in the power of translation to surpass\nthese lines of Voss. They are truly marvels in photography. To\nevery Homeric line corresponds a German hexameter. In every verse\nthe emphatic word stands where Homer placed it. The very pauses\nare for the most part preserved. The translator has not retrenched\na word. He has scarcely added one. He has certainly not added\nan idea. On the nice propriety of his diction, and his perfect\nsympathy with the _feeling_ of the Greek, we need not dwell. In\nthese respects Mr. Bryant must be ranked next to him--with an\ninterval, perhaps, but next. His \u201cdreary verge of closing life\u201d\nskilfully interprets an ambiguous phrase which Voss has chosen\nto retain. Again, _unseliger Mann_ is somewhat cold, whereas\n\u201cmy lot is hard\u201d has caught, so to speak, the genuine accents\nof heartbreak. \u201cAnd every day he hopes that his dear son,\u201d etc.\nReaders of the _Holy Dying_ will recall the touching picture of a\ndrowned sailor rolled upon his floating bed of waves, while at home\n_his_ father \u201cweeps with joy to think how happy he shall be when\nhis beloved boy returns into the circle of his father\u2019s arms.\u201d\n\nVoltaire has somewhere asserted that Homer never drew a tear. Yet\neven he could not behold this scene unmoved, and himself entered\nthe lists as a translator. His version of this passage embodies\nthe principles which he maintained ought to govern translators of\nHomer. It forms a curious chapter in the history of taste. Achilles\nturning discovers Priam, \u201cce vieillard v\u00e9n\u00e9rable,\u201d\n\n    \u201cExhalant \u00e0 ses pieds ses sanglots et ses cris\n    Et lui baisant la main qui fit p\u00e9rir son fils;\n    Il n\u2019osait sur Achille encor jeter la vue,\n    Il voulait lui parler, et sa voix s\u2019est perdue,\n    Enfin il le regarde et parmi ses sanglots\n    Tremblant, p\u00e2le, et sans force, il prononce ces mots.\n    \u2018Songez, seigneur! songez que vous avez un p\u00e8re--\u2019\n    Il ne put achever. Le h\u00e9ros sanguinaire\n    Sentit que la piti\u00e9 p\u00e9n\u00e9trait dans son c\u0153ur,\n    Priam lui prend les mains, ah prince! ah mon vainqueur?\n    J\u2019\u00e9tais p\u00e8re d\u2019Hector, et ses g\u00e9n\u00e9reux fr\u00e8res\n    Flattaient mes derniers jours, et les rendait prosp\u00e8res.\n    Ils ne sont plus.\u201d\n\nThese lines are not altogether without merit, but no man,\nwe suppose, who possesses what has been termed a historical\n_conscience_ will allow them to be poetic. The elements of the\nscene are there, but they are worked up in accordance with the\ntricks and traditions of the _Com\u00e9die Fran\u00e7aise_. To the eye of\nVoltaire, Priam was simply an antitype of the _p\u00e8re noble_, and\nmust assume the attitude and demeanor appropriate to that _r\u00f4le_.\nIn short, the verses are conceived in the spirit of his age, and\nexhibit his best manner. But read them after the Greek, and what\nfresh point they impart to the familiar words, \u201cIn old times men\nwrote like orators, but now like rhetoricians.\u201d\n\nFrom Voltaire to Monti is a long stride toward Homer\u2019s Olympus.\nThe Italian has infused much sweetness into this passage. And it\nis a native, not a grafted, sweetness. Writing in blank-verse, he\nneither needs nor claims the license of French translators; yet we\nsometimes miss Mr. Bryant\u2019s terseness and simplicity; as in the\ninitial lines:\n\n    \u201cDivino Achille ti rammenta il padre\n    Il padre tuo da sia vecchiezza oppresso,\n    Qua io mi sono! In questo punto ei forse\n    Da potenti vicini assediato\n    Non ha chi lo socorra e all\u2019 imminente\n    Periglio il tolga.\u201d\n\nTo appreciate this version one needs only to glance at\nCesarrotti\u2019s. Priam\u2019s first three words--\u039c\u03bd\u03b7\u03c3\u03b1\u03b9 \u03c0\u03b1\u03c4\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2\n\u03c3\u03bf\u03b9\u03bf!--comprise the most effective exordium in literature. They are\ntrue projectiles shot from soul to soul. Let us see if they are\neasily recognized in the _Morte d\u2019Ettore_:\n\n                        \u201cAh pieta, grida,\n    Divino Achille! Il padre tuo t\u2019implora\n    Per tuo padre, pieta!\u201d\n\nIs it possible to place artist and word-monger in sharper\nantithesis? The success of his mission--perhaps his life--depends\nupon the first impression. Conceive royal Priam whining forth\n\u201cPity, pity!\u201d like some professional beggar mumbling his worn-out\nlies. Homer said simply, \u201cThink of thy father, Achilles!\u201d The\nwords, like the stroke of Moses\u2019 rod, split the stubborn heart, and\npity gushed forth in tears.\n\nIt must be admitted that Mr. Bryant\u2019s lines are not always invested\nwith the impassioned fervor and glowing life which have rescued\nthe works of his English predecessors from oblivion. But it\nwill often be found that where they were most spirited they were\nleast Homeric. It is inevitable that a conscientious workman who\nresolves to copy his model in the minutest details will produce at\ntimes a _mosaic_ rather than a _casting_--his materials will seem\npieced and not fused. But we are sure that the sweetness of Mr.\nBryant\u2019s verse will delight the general reader, while scholars will\nappreciate his self-control. Animation is desirable, but fidelity\nis indispensable; and they who truly love the _Iliad_ will prefer\nHomer in marble to Pope and Chapman in the flesh.\n\nOver all translators of the _Iliad_, we confess that Voss is\nparamount; but no other version with which we are acquainted\nwill bear a sustained comparison with Mr. Bryant\u2019s. The latter\u2019s\nobligations to Voss are undoubtedly great; but he has well-nigh\ncancelled the debt, for the next worker in the field will owe much\nto him. It may be that translation is not the highest function of\ngenius; yet where it is nobly fulfilled it deserves and commands\nour gratitude. Nor is this all. It is something more than a figure\nof speech--the fine figure of Politian\u2019s--by which Homer, assisting\nin the person of Ganymede at the banquet of the gods, is made to\ndistribute to his best lovers some portion of his own ambrosia.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[86] _The Iliad of Homer._ Translated by Wm. Cullen Bryant. Boston:\nFields, Osgood & Co.\n\n[87] \u201cA poem people admire without reading.\u201d\n\n[88] \u201cAh, monsieur! since reading that book men seem to be fifteen\nfeet high.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nSPAIN: WHAT IT WAS AND WHAT IT IS.\n\n\nA nation vegetating on old memories; a people for two centuries\npriest-ridden, just beginning to awaken and show some signs of\nthe enlightenment of the age; a government liable to change every\ntwenty-four hours; an empty treasury shifting from one to another\nincapable ministry; and, above all, a ridiculous pretension and\nholding to such an Old World phrase as national honor--such is the\nordinary run of opinion on Spain. What is it coming to? What is its\ndestiny? Has it a destiny in these busy, practical days? Or is its\nlife played out long ago, and the nation simply drifting downwards\ninto the yawning gulf of insignificance where many another has been\nswallowed up?\n\nHave Catholics an interest in the question?\n\nYesterday, when mention was made of Spain, the enlightened world\nlifted up its eyes and hands in pious protestation against such an\noutrage on our nineteenth century of civilization. A superstitious\nrace given to the worshipping of graven images, hoodwinked by the\npriests, those inveterate enemies of progress; no free-will among\nthem; no understanding; nothing but memory. To-day all is changed.\nThe dawn long delayed of enlightenment has come at last to the\nunhappy land--has come accompanied by the usual signs. Churches\nhave been rifled, the sanctuary has been desecrated, the Jesuits\nhave been scattered, nuns and monks have been robbed of their homes\nand driven naked into the world, blood has flowed freely, murder\nhas been done. So, to-day the world smiles, and rubs its hands,\nand hopes better things for Spain.\n\nThat it was a great nation we all acknowledge, and the title is\na true one. It was not alone a mighty nation; those buried under\nthe Eastern sands were mighty nations, yet their workings in this\nworld were as barren of fruit as the shifting covering that has\nhidden them away, without an oasis to redeem their barrenness.\nChina might be called a mighty nation, but it has walled itself in\nfrom the world by the most narrow-minded and selfish policy, and we\nhave had to fight our way through good and evil up to our present\nstandard without a helping hand from it. Russia is a mighty nation,\nand we look anxiously to the development of its vast power, but\nup to the present its only effect on the world has been that of\nbrute strength. But Spain has been pre-eminently a _great_ nation;\nthat is, a nation that has done much for its own and others\u2019\ndevelopment, in all that can make peoples sound, intelligent,\nprosperous, and happy.\n\nLooking back at its history as far as we can look back, we find\nthe same characteristics in the race as we find to-day; above all,\nthat intense, all-absorbing nationality which has kept it unmixed\nand unconquered. Hannibal courted its alliance; the Roman failed\never to subdue it thoroughly. Great stubborn resistances to the\nEmpress of the World stand out now and then in clear relief from\nthat dim background--awful sieges wonderfully sustained, where the\nwomen play an equal part with the men. We shall always find these\nSpanish women leading the van in the hour of their country\u2019s\ndanger. The victories gained over them resembled the victory of\nPyrrhus. The Romans went and the Moors came, and fastened on the\nheart of the kingdom, populating and flourishing there, sucking\nout its life. They built their cities and their palaces in the\nfairest spots in the land. Powerful, warlike, rich, with immense\nresources, they laughed at the handful of men, kingless, skulking\namong rocks, and starving for liberty. But that handful will not\nsurrender what is their own while one arm can be raised to defend\nit. They are true to one another as Spaniards and as Catholics now;\nfor a new element is in them binding them more firmly than the\nvery blood that is common to their veins--religion, the religion\nof Christ, which they have seized upon with all their passionate\nnature, never to relinquish. Inch by inch the Moors are driven\nback over the sea. They were invaded again by a more terrible foe\nthan all--more terrible even than France in her deep distress has\nlately seen. Bonaparte had drained the country of its armies, had\nemptied its coffers, and taken away its king, all under the shadow\nof friendship and alliance. When he held it thus powerless in his\nhands, he sent in his armies, and impudently set his brother on\nthe throne. Kingless, moneyless, defenceless as they were, the\npeople rose up, the women again leading the van, and the priests\ninflaming all. Bonaparte was driven out. The priests, for all their\nhoodwinking, can be good patriots, it seems. The London _Times_,\nthe mouthpiece of the enlightenment of the age, certainly no great\nfriend to Spaniards and Catholics, contrasted the conduct of\nFrance during the late invasion with that of Spain. France, in her\nsorest straits, was never so hard pushed as Spain when the first\nNapoleon entered; yet a nation of over 30,000,000 could not rid\nthemselves of half a million. There was no Carthagena, no Saguntum,\nno Saragossa--no approach to such. And the _Times_ confessed that\nFrance failed because she possessed neither the patriotism nor the\nreligious enthusiasm of the Spaniards. Such examples has Spain\ngiven to the world of the purest patriotism, the first element of\ngreatness in a nation; of a self-reliance that, when all seems\nlost, will not look without for aid, but to itself.\n\nShe has not ceased her working here. In no department has she\nbeen backward. Science owes her much. Literature is enriched by\nher authors. The inspirations of Murillo are the embodiment of\nall that our religion can feel in its deepest moments; before his\ncanvas, the Christian prays, the infidel cannot scoff. She has\ngiven soldiers of the noblest type; statesmen the most benevolent\nand enlightened. The Spanish constitution in itself is from days\nremote admirable for equipoise and justice. In England they are\njust approaching the Spanish marriage laws. A Spanish merchant will\ntell you that for the generality of commercial questions he is his\nown lawyer, so clear and well-defined is the law.\n\nWhat do we Catholics owe to Spain?\n\nFirst of all, that high example of unswerving faith and devotion to\nthe Holy See through ages of evil report and good report. The great\nheart of the nation is not moved by events that will come under our\nnotice after. She has not only given a host of theological writers,\nbut, what is still better, a host of theological actors--notably\nthe Order of St. Dominic and the Society of Jesus, the names of\nwhich are enough to recall our debt.\n\nTo the Old World she opened up a New. Here Spain had a mission\nthat is rarely given to nations. She failed, though the monarch\nsent priests to accompany the soldiers, to temper the conquest of\nthe sword by that of the cross. How well the warriors of Christ\ndemeaned themselves, our Bancroft and Prescott tell us.\n\nShe failed; but who shall cast the first stone at her? That nation\nonly which has subdued another by Christian love and the weapon of\nthe cross--a phenomenon that has not yet appeared even in these\nblessed days.\n\nWe hear much of the cruelty of these Spanish settlers, of their\nselfishness, of their greed of gold.\n\nWe must make a little allowance for the days in which they lived.\nMen were untutored then; peace congresses (save the mark!) were\nunknown; an _Alabama_ case would either have been let alone or\nsettled by the sword long ere it could have grown into a mere\ntalking difficulty; men did not consult lawyers on the nice\ndistinctions of _meum_ and _tuum_. The Spaniards landed, and\nheld their own by cruelty, oppression, and rapine, no doubt. We,\nwith all our enlightenment, have followed their example pretty\nfaithfully; except that, for men like the saintly Las Casas, we\ndespatched an agent that worked a speedy conversion--fire-water.\nWe have taken root here and grown up, and are a great nation,\nspreading out in all directions, wealthy, prosperous, enlightened,\nwith civilization at our finger-ends, and Bibles willy-nilly in\nevery one of our schools. Yes, we are a decided improvement on the\nSpaniards. But a hundred years ago there existed a race in this\ncountry to whom the land that we tread upon belonged. Where is\nthat race now? A wretched remnant of it scowling and prowling on\nour outskirts; we are killing them off. We heard of them the other\nday joining in the great hunt. The most enterprising and powerful\nof our journals, one that has fitted out a purely benevolent\nexpedition to Africa, sent its correspondent down to record it\nall. We had an \u201cidyl of the plains\u201d; the course of our great\nenlightenment and progress was drawn in fanciful colors, with this\ncorrespondent for central figure, riding for miles and miles under\nthe stars to tell us at our breakfasts of the exact position of a\nsoldier throwing an ornament round the neck of a savage maiden, and\nthe evident appreciation the savages exhibited of champagne.\n\nSpain failed in her mission, great and glorious as it was. Have we\nsucceeded better? Has England, in India, or Tasmania, or wherever\nshe set her foot?\n\nGold brought its own curse. When wealth comes unasked, few men will\nlabor. The \u201cEldorado\u201d filled the dreams and stopped the life of the\nSpaniards. One by one her rich possessions dropped from the parent\nnation, till Cuba was the only one left, and Cuba wishes to go also.\n\nShe has become a second-rate power in Europe, if so high--the\nkingdom \u201con whose dominions the sun never set.\u201d\n\nAnd here, with this glance at her past history to call to mind\nwhat she was, what she has achieved, the truly great elements that\nwere always in her, we turn to look at her as she is; to consider\nher present bearing on the church, for we Catholics must always\nlook at all things with a Catholic eye, knowing, as we do, that\nour religion is the one religion upon which the salvation of this\nworld hangs; that, if the world is to be saved by us, we can never\nput our faith upon the shelf and enter the world as worldlings. The\nSpirit of God must permeate and pervade all people, all places,\nall things, at all times; and when that is accomplished, and not\nbefore, then will the world be saved.\n\nSpain groaned under the rule of Isabella, or rather under the\nrule of her rulers. She was a woman far \u201cmore sinned against\nthan sinning.\u201d We are apt too often to blame the victim for the\ncircumstances which make the victim. From her infancy a tool in the\nhands of unprincipled men; forced to marry a man utterly worthless\nin every respect; almost without one true friend, without a soul\nfor her woman\u2019s heart to cling to. We accuse her of all the evils\ncreated, fostered, encouraged by a host of powerful men, who used\nher as a chess-piece; while she stood, their game was safe. The\nrevolution more than smouldered; but O\u2019Donnell, at once a statesman\nand a soldier, kept it down. Narvaez, crafty and bold, succeeded\nhim, and in turn went. These men, particularly the latter, in\nstriking at their own foes, left a bitter legacy of hatred and\nrevenge to the queen. What all foresaw came to pass--the last\nrising which ousted her. Prim came in; the nation\u2019s destiny was at\nlast in its own hands; now for the millennium.\n\nPrim commenced it--a likely man for such a purpose. A bold,\nunscrupulous adventurer, whose chief virtue was his reckless\nbravery; no great talker; not a man who would astonish you by the\nwisdom of his words, but quick to decide, speedy to execute; a\nvery soldier whose \u201cvoice was in his sword\u201d--such was Prim. He\nfound himself adored by the soldiers, glorified by the people. He\ndid not care for the latter: when they wished to tear the crown\nfrom his cap on his entry into Malaga, he would not let them; he\ndeclared himself in plain words for monarchy from the beginning.\nHe found the cortes split up into parties. Many for Don Carlos,\na strong body, who if not crushed would have their king; so Prim\nresolved to crush them. A few for Montpensier; another few for\nDon Alfonso, the queen\u2019s son; neither worth bothering about,\nPrim let them alone. A small compact party of republicans, very\nably led; nearly all young, enthusiastic, lawyers many of them,\nexcellent speakers, excellent fighters at a pinch, too. This was\na dangerous party, who had been most instrumental in putting Prim\nwhere he was. He dared not turn round on them at once, the people\nwere still armed. He coquetted with them. They were young, and\nmany unfledged, eager to try their lungs, fond of the sound of\ntheir voices. Spain should be governed only as Spain wished; she\nshould have a model constitution; freedom of the person, freedom\nof the press, freedom of religion, freedom of everything. No more\nconscriptions, only a few more thousands just to enable the army\nto quell those troublesome Carlists. He threw them a constitution,\na model indeed in its construction, fit for Utopia, but scarcely\nfor the wild spirits then raging in Spain. He let them wrangle\nover that, and turned himself to the army. He had always been\npopular with the soldiers; he moved everybody up a grade; by this\nmeans he created all the colonels, and the army was his. With this\nweapon secure in his grasp he could beat them all, and he did. He\nplayed them off, one against the other, in the cortes; he knew,\nsplit up as they were, the elements too opposed to coalesce, they\nwould never agree about any single thing or any single person; he\nsuggested this and he suggested that; if they would not take his\nsuggestions, that was their fault. One thing was clear, they must\nsupport him, or anarchy would ensue. The Carlists left the chamber\nto fight. Precisely what Prim wanted; he had encouraged it, in\nfact; the sooner, the better for him, as he could the more easily\ncrush them. He did so, cruelly and mercilessly. In the meantime,\nhe was all honey to the republicans. But at last they began to see\nthat they had been hoodwinked; that there was no hope of a republic\nfrom Prim; that the monarchy they hated would come in again, and\nall their efforts prove fruitless. Prim demanded the arms of the\npeople--the arms which had been distributed to enable him to crush\nthe monarchy. The republicans in their turn left the chamber to\nfight; and well they fought, too, against the overwhelming forces\nthat Prim sent to quell them; for no half measures would do for\nJuan Prim. Those men who rose and fought so tenaciously at Cadiz,\nat Jerez, at Malaga, Valencia, had been well schooled beforehand\nby the preachers of the age. \u201cYou are poor, and your children will\nbe poor after you. The labor of your hands goes to dress the fine\nladies of the rich; to fatten lazy priests, who do nothing for\na living; to set those brave gentlemen on horseback, who think\nthemselves made of other flesh and blood than yours. We will change\nall that when the queen is driven out. We will all be equal, and do\nequal work or no work. Our men are men as theirs are; our women are\nwomen also.\u201d\n\nThe queen was driven away; the friars, and the Jesuits, and the\nnuns banished. The government seized upon their houses and what\nwas in them; of course it was not robbery when the government took\nthem. Still the poor were not a penny the richer. These plausible\ndoctrines had seized upon their simple minds. It was something\nworth fighting for, and they fought. No Paris barricades were\never defended with half the fury and obstinacy displayed by those\nAndalusians--the mountaineers and villagers whose fathers and\ngrandfathers had harassed, surrounded, and captured a force of 4000\nor more, under one of the First Napoleon\u2019s generals. Still, we\nhear of none of those outrages at which the world sickened lately\nin Paris. \u201cAqui nadie se roba caballeros\u201d--\u201cGentlemen, no one robs\nhere,\u201d was the first cry at Cadiz. A commandant of the forces was\nstruck down in the midst of the revolutionists by a shot. They knew\nhim well, and that he was going to fight against them; yet they\nwere the first men to take him from the street and care for his\nwounds. There is all that is noble, generous, and faithful in the\nheart of this people, which it only requires a wise government to\ndraw out.\n\nThey were beaten on all sides. They dared not rise in Madrid, for\nPrim kept his forces there, as a centre, menacing the country. In\nthe midst of all this distraction, we see one flash of the old\nspirit that, however it might split against itself, was one against\na common foe. Cuba saw its chance, and, though many concessions had\nbeen made, it would have liberty at once. Prim had quite enough to\ndo at home; his hands were full with Carlists and republicans. We\nlent our sanction to the Cuban claims, with an after-eye to our\nown interests; and our minister made some representations that\nnever quite came to light. Prim made no answer to them, at least\nin words. But, notwithstanding the dearth of money and of men, the\nstrain at home requiring every nerve to sustain it, the old Spanish\nblood was true to itself. Volunteers sprang up in crowds; and\nforce after force was shipped, is shipped still, to the island,\nostensibly to quell a rebellion that never held a position from\nthe first. A nation that can act so in such a moment must have\nsomething in it.\n\nBefore taking leave of Prim, in turn the hero and the terror of\nthe revolution, much as we deplore that the destinies of such a\nnation at such a crisis should have fallen into the hands of such a\nman, we cannot help paying a tribute to his never-flagging energy,\ndauntless courage, and prompt decision. Men laughed at Prim, at his\nspeeches, and wondered how he ever gained his position. Speaking\non the deficiency of the national treasury, and utterly unable to\ntide over those rocks on which all governments break--figures: \u201cI\nknow we shall be able to meet the deficiency,\u201d said Prim, \u201cBut\nhow?\u201d asked the deputies. \u201cI do not know exactly how; but I have\na _feeling_ in my breast which convinces me;\u201d the words are from\nmemory, but they convey the substance. Men laughed, but Prim stood\nhis ground; and gradually the question, \u201cWhat will Spain do?\u201d\nmerged into that of \u201cWhat will Prim do?\u201d A better man and a wiser\nstatesman, neither very difficult to obtain, would have availed\nhimself of such an opportunity to heal his country\u2019s wounds. Prim\ncould not do this; he did not know how; but he was at least \u201cwise\nin his generation.\u201d He could not save the sick man; he did the next\nbest thing, he kept him from killing himself. The foolhardiness of\nthe man was his destruction. He had often had warnings, but he knew\nnot what fear was, and took no precautions.\n\n\u201cTo have the republic is easy,\u201d said Castelar, the leader of the\nrepublicans, after one of his defeats, to Prim. \u201cWe have only to\nkill one man.\u201d \u201cNothing but a thunderbolt kills me,\u201d retorted Prim,\n\u201cand of those very few fall.\u201d\n\nThe thunderbolt fell and crushed him, but failed to crush what it\nwas aimed at, the monarchy. Amadeus landed just in time to learn\nthat his right-hand man was gone--a fearful venture for a young\nking and his queen. But he braved it royally; and though the race\nof Victor Emanuel can never find much favor in our eyes, this\nson of his, we confess, has borne himself through trying scenes\nlike a king and like a gentleman, nobly supported by his brave\nand Catholic lady. That he was never elected by the people is\nclear; that, notwithstanding his personal merit, he is not likely\nto stay long where he is, is the surmise of all. If a telegram,\nwithout the slightest foundation in fact, announced his expulsion\nto-morrow, not a man in the world would disbelieve it. The people\ncan feel no sympathy with a man who has no sort of title to their\nancient crown; who is a perfect stranger to them, and almost to\nthe world; who after the hawking of their throne about Europe, was\nforced upon them against their will. Besides, the Italians, of all\nEuropean nations, are despised in Spain. They are considered there\nas good singers, dancers, cooks, and such like, but not the men for\nanything manly or great: how much less for the throne of Ferdinand\nthe Catholic! \u201cKing Macaroni the First\u201d was the burlesque that\ngreeted Amadeus on his arrival in the capital. With him we will\nnot trouble ourselves further, but with the revolution that gave\noccasion to the accident of his accession, and which will displace\nhim to-morrow or the next day.\n\nSpain undoubtedly was in a bad state under the _r\u00e9gime_ of\nIsabella. The question is, Has she bettered herself by driving out\nthe queen? The new order came in with a grand flourish of trumpets.\nProgress was the watchword: the \u201cProgressistas\u201d were Prim\u2019s party\ntill he broke them up. We have touched already on the blood shed\nin civil strife for this party and for that, but there are other\nthings to consider. Education is the word of the day; let us see\nwhat the revolution effected in this direction.\n\nThe Jesuits under great difficulties were organizing colleges\nand missions; they were straining every nerve to educate and\nimprove the people, and were just beginning to make some headway\nwhen the revolution came; and of course the first \u201cabuse\u201d to be\nabolished was the Order of Jesus--that order that flourishes\neven in Protestant countries like England, where the government,\nunder such a chancellor as Mr. Lowe, grants them a pension for\ntheir observatory at Stonyhurst. They had to fly the country;\ntheir establishments were all broken up and seized upon by the\ngovernment. A case in point:\n\nAt Port St. Mary\u2019s, between Cadiz and Jerez, the gentlemen of the\ntown, seeing the good effected by the Jesuits in their missions,\nand feeling it in the improved conduct of the men they employed, as\nmore than one of them assured the writer, united and raised funds\nsufficient to build a magnificent college which they presented to\nthe society. The government, then of Isabella, had nothing to do\nwith it. When the revolution broke out, there were three hundred\nstudents there, many of them from the first families of Spain.\nIn addition to these, forty of the poor children of the district\nwere admitted to the course of studies free. The Jesuits were\nbanished, and escaped with their lives, thanks to the courage\nof a noble-hearted gentleman of the town and his sons, who at\nthe risk of their own lives and property gave them shelter till\nTopete himself went and conducted them to the sea. The college was\nclosed and seized by the government. The gentlemen who built it\ndemanded the building to be used at least for educational purposes,\nno matter under whom. To all their remonstrances a deaf ear was\nturned; and the college stands tenantless to this day. Those who\nhad the means sent their children out of the country to England,\nFrance, or elsewhere. Many could not, and for them there was no\nremedy. Their children must do without education while the work of\nenlightenment goes on.\n\nThey drove out the friars and the nuns destitute into the world;\nseized upon their property, and possessed themselves of their\ntreasures, the vessels of the sanctuary, vestments, paintings,\ngifts given in expiation of sins or propitiation of heaven by\nmen and women long ago resting in their graves. Not a year back\nthe writer, then in London, saw an announcement in the _Times_\nof the accession of some rare Spanish jewelry to the curiosities\nof the very interesting Museum at Kensington. He went, and found\nthe ornaments that had decked the images and altars of the Virgen\ndel Pilar at Saragossa, neatly arranged in two large cases, each\nornament ticketed off as in a Jew\u2019s shop, with the estimated value\nunderneath in sums varying from over a hundred, sometimes over two\nor three hundred, pounds downwards. This sacrilegious robbery was\nrepeated throughout the country--a dangerous example to the poor,\nwhom they had indoctrinated with the pernicious ideas so prevalent\nin these times, the climax of which we saw the other day in Paris.\n\nThere was to be no state religion, and the clergy no longer to be\nsalaried by the government. We must observe how all these movements\nstrike at the church first; as is right they should do, for, that\npower destroyed, there is an end to morality, and the rest is easy.\nAfter a fierce and prolonged debate, in which the republicans came\nout in their true colors, and gave utterance, not the greater\nnumber happily, to open-mouthed blasphemy not simply against the\nchurch, but against the God whom Protestant and Catholic adore in\ncommon, the motion was not carried. The Catholic Church continues\nthe church of the state, as it is the church of the whole nation.\n\n\u201cThere are three things I hate intensely (_que me odian_): God,\nthe monarchy, and phthisis,\u201d said an alcalde in the north. It is a\ncomfort to know that the wretch who said this craved a priest on\nhis dying bed when attacked by the last object of his hatred, and\nGod, ever merciful, allowed him one.\n\nEmilio Castelar, the prime mover in the motion, spoke differently.\nHe is the leader of the republicans: young, gifted beyond measure\nin all that can give a man influence among his fellows, a\nmarvellous orator, whom the whole cortes, from the prelate to the\nred-hot republican, listens to spell-bound when he speaks. His\nattacks on Prim were terrible, unceasing, unsparing; he lashed the\ncortes into foam; but Prim, conscious of his power, had a dry,\nsarcastic manner of meeting them that took a good deal of the\neloquent edge off. On the religious question Castelar said, \u201cFor\nmy own part, if I chose any religion, it would be the Catholic, in\nwhich I was born and in which my mother died. A Protestant I could\nnever be: it is too frigid for me.\u201d\n\nLiberty of the press, in these days the bulwark of our rights,\nliberty of public discussion, were proclaimed. The press was free\nto attack everything and every institution we consider holy. The\nrepublican papers poured forth floods of blasphemy unchecked. The\nCarlist, the Catholic organs alone were suppressed. Villaslada,\nthe editor of the _Pensamiento Espa\u00f1ol_, the leading Carlist and\nCatholic newspaper, which bears the Holy Father\u2019s blessing on its\npage, was forced to fly the country, and his papers seized. He has\nsince returned, and has now a seat in the cortes. His offence was\nattacking the government and advocating the cause of Don Carlos at\na time when Prim professed to await the expression of the will of\nthe people to declare the king. So much for free discussion.\n\nIt would be tedious as well as profitless to take every item in the\ncatalogue of a nation, and contrast them now with what they were\nbefore the overthrow of the Bourbon line. Certain it is that, bad\nas things were in Spain under Isabella, they are worse at present.\nHer commerce has deteriorated wofully. \u201cWe know not what to expect\nin Spain at any moment. The men we employ have been so preached to\nby the apostles of the revolution that they are ready to turn on us\nwe know not when. We dare not keep a large stock on hand. We are\ntrying to sell things off even at a sacrifice, we get our money\nsafe banked in England, and, if the revolution and ruin come, well,\nat least we shall have some provision for our wives and children.\u201d\nThat is how any merchant will speak to-day on Spanish affairs.\n\n\u201cThe shortest road to peace is through the revolution,\u201d said\nVillaslada, and that is the opinion of all the thoughtful men the\nwriter has met. They look upon a revolution as inevitable, the\npassions of the people have been so tampered with. It is hoped for\nthat the people may sicken of their illusions; that the fury may\nwaste itself; that the blood-letting which must follow may allay\nthe fever, may open their eyes to the Utopia which their frenzy\npictures.\n\nIt is a sad state for such a nation. It makes us anxious about the\nquestion we asked at the beginning, What is its destiny? Its debt\nis increasing as its credit declines. And yet the nation might be a\ngreat nation still.\n\nIts foreign possessions it can do without. To get rid of Cuba\nwould really be a relief. The advantages which the island\naffords for commerce by no means compensate for the continual\nanxiety it causes--the support of an army and a fleet. Spain is\nself-sufficient. With an area similar to that of France, her\npopulation is only one-third as large. The country if worked could\nproduce corn enough to feed more than half Europe. Magnificent\nforests of chestnut and mahogany, soft groves of orange and olive\ntrees, clothe and beautify the soil. Splendid rivers roll through\nthe land, while bays and safe harbors indent the coast. In a little\ndistrict perhaps not more than ten miles square grows the wine\nthat supplies the whole world with sherry. Spanish wool holds its\nown in the mart. The people are intelligent, peaceful, and moral\nby nature. In no country can an inferior talk to a superior as\nfreely without passing beyond the bounds as in Spain. Beautiful,\nhistoric cities are scattered through the land. Treasures of art\nare in their churches and galleries, refining the feelings and\nquickening the intellect. Their language is music; their climate\ndelicious; their soil fruitful; land and living cheap. Their fleet\nis a formidable one; the Biscayan mariners for boldness and skill\nare unsurpassed, tossed as they are from infancy in the cradle\nof their bay, where the wide-spreading Atlantic is for ever wroth\nthat it can go no further. The bravery and discipline of their\narmy is within our recollection. That the energy of the race has\nnot died out is proved by the war in Morocco, the speedy quelling\nof the revolution, the readiness of the nation to engage in war\nwith such a power as ourselves, where the final issue could not\nbe for a moment doubtful; but that much derided phrase \u201cnational\nhonor\u201d kept them true to themselves and their traditions, and we\nwere wise enough not to provoke a contest with a people ready to\nsell their lives so dear. Yet with all these advantages, their\ncourse to-day is a downward one, and will continue so until one of\ntwo governments comes--either a man like the First Napoleon or a\nBismarck, who to the iron will of Prim shall add a genius which the\nlatter neither possessed nor pretended to possess; strong enough to\ngrind down if necessary, but great enough to lift up. To such a man\nboth Spain and France to-day present fields ripe with opportunity.\n\nOr, for Spain at least, where there is still great faith and\nreverence for what is great and true, where happily materialism has\nnot yet seized upon the hearts and the intellect of the people,\na government that, instead of striking at the church which still\nis the church of the nation, and sapping the roots of Catholic,\nthat is, of all morality, should call that church to its aid, and\nsay to the people, \u201cYour God shall be my God\u201d--such a government\nwould have from the start the greatest ally it could hope for in a\nreligious people. Let it tell the people boldly that it shall have\nliberty, but not license, that it shall march with the age, that\nits great possessions are gone, never to return; but that at home\nit has resources that cannot fail, which only require the working\nto make them produce a hundredfold; a government which shall\neducate the children in religion, and from their infancy pour into\ntheir souls lessons of truth. Such a government might regenerate\nSpain. Such is partly the programme of Don Carlos. But he is the\ndisciple of another school. Could he unlearn a little the doctrines\nof his school, Don Carlos holds the best chance to-day not only of\noccupying the throne, but of occupying the hearts and hopes of the\nnation.\n\nAnd here we close with a remark on the failure of revolutions to\nwork their purpose.\n\n\u201cThe driving out of one unclean spirit to make room for seven more\nunclean,\u201d is the history of all movements that have ever upset a\nthrone which tradition has set in the intellect of the people,\nwhich custom has rooted in the soil, which has literally \u201cgrown\nwith their growth and strengthened with their strength,\u201d and even\ndeclined with their decline or caused it, which is _of_ them. It\nis a strange fact, but history bears it out. As we have shown,\nthe Spaniards drove out their queen, and for a moment held their\ndestiny in their own hands. The French drove out the Emperor, and\nheld their destiny in their hands. Is either country the better for\ntheir action? In great contrast to these stands out Germany, before\nthe war composed of a number of independent or semi-independent\npeoples. They united and placed themselves under the yoke, and\npresent to the world a combination so great, so powerful, so\nirresistible by any single state save Russia or our own, that the\nworld was convulsed by it, and the face of Europe changed in a day.\nWhether it will last or not is foreign to our present purpose. Men\nshould \u201ccount the costs\u201d before they overturn any government.\nIt is a hard thing to change a nation. Even though you present\nsomething better, you must combat rooted prejudice, immemorial\ntradition, every spontaneous feeling that rises, before your idea\ncan hold the popular mind. Look at the slow spread of Christianity.\nPeople would not give up their gods of wood and stone. Our Lord\ncast out devils before their eyes. \u201cIt is by Beelzebub you cast\nthem out,\u201d they cried. But the agents of revolution generally begin\non the other side. They cast in devils. They uproot everything\nthat is stable; they undermine morality; they teach men to scoff\nat everything; to obey no law. Man is free, and this world is his\nto do as he likes with. Who says no? The priest? The priest and\nthe monarchy go hand-in-hand to bind free-born nations down in\nsuperstition and slavery. So they work, and, when their harvest is\nripe, they reap their reward. They hack at everything right and\nleft. But demons are powerful only to destroy, and they have raised\nthose that they cannot lay, save by blood and iron, as Prim did, as\nTrochu and the rest were compelled to do. \u201cAnd the last state of\nthese nations is worse than the first.\u201d\n\nWe were saved from a like fate because the monarchy was never\nknown here; our constitution was not a new one, it was in the\nintelligence of the people from the first, and its exponent was\nGeorge Washington.\n\nPeople with their own destiny thrust upon them can do nothing with\nit. Men have brooded for years under evil government, and when that\nfalls a thousand quacks are ready, each with his panacea for the\ncure of the nation\u2019s woes, and one is as likely as another. As for\nthe nation at large, it wants to be governed. It cannot sit down\nand think, the matter out, rejecting this and choosing that. The\nfirst that is ready, if it happens to be good, good; if not, so\nmuch the worse. They have already knocked one government on the\nhead; why should they stop at a second, or a third, or any number?\nAnd so step in cruelty and oppression on the one side, lawlessness\nin every form on the other. It is better to cure than to kill;\nbetter to reform than to overthrow; and if we must overthrow, let\nus do it like men and not like fiends. If the joint is rotten ere\nyou displace it, see that you can replace it. The monarch is the\nkey-stone of the constitution in lands where monarchy prevails.\nRemove that, and the whole fabric is shattered. You must build\nanew. You may build better; at all events, time is lost; most\nlikely you will build worse; strengthen, reform the old--beware how\nyou destroy it.\n\n\n\n\nOFFICIAL CHARITY.\n\nFROM REVUE DU MONDE CATHOLIQUE.\n\n\nIn these times, all is laical--that is to say, in accordance with\nmodern language, everything is bound to bear the stamp of the\nstate. No contract is possible without the intervention of the\nstate; no marriage exists without the ratification of the state; no\nschool can be opened without the sanction of the state. In short,\nthe state puts its iron clasp on all that man possesses, even his\npersonal liberty and right. Henceforth, then, in the name of those\nimmortal principles which consecrated the absolute and illimitable\nliberty of the human family, are abolished the most sacred rights\nof man--liberty in the bosom of the family and individual rights.\nIn the name of liberty, the state confiscates all; it proclaims\nitself, without ceremony, the original author of all its laws. It\nis the god-state.\n\nIt is astonishing that, following a parallel exaggeration, the\nstate has come to proclaim itself alone capable of exercising\ncharity, as it is alone capable of teaching it! Logic ought to\nforcibly bring about this result. The state which adjudicates to\nitself the monopoly of direction, can it not also adjudge to\nitself the monopoly of the charity?\n\nYes, charity has become a monopoly of the state. What is it, then,\nother than _official_ charity? Give alms if so be, but do not\nforget to pass them through the hands of the state. It is it alone\nthat can distribute your generous gifts. Found hospitals if you\nwill, but on the express condition that you are to abandon them to\nthe hands of the state, who will administer them as masters. Such\nis in substance the idea of official charity, centralizing in the\nhands of the state, and administering through its functionaries,\nthe benefits and alms given in a spirit of self-sacrifice.\n\nVery well! The church has never exercised a similar tyranny. She\nhas crushed the heathenish proposition of the _Syllabus_, \u201c39. The\nstate, from being the source of all good, enjoys a right which is\nnot circumscribed by any limits,\u201d and, always free from the errors\nwhich she points out, the church has never imposed any act that\neven appeared as a simple pretext to accuse her of inconsistency.\nThough divinely commissioned to guide men, enlighten and direct\ntheir intelligence, their will, and all their steps, the church\nhas never believed it her right to say to her faithful: \u201cPut your\nalms into my hands; I alone know how to properly distribute them.\u201d\nNo! assiduous in stimulating charity, active in giving it birth,\nthe church contents herself with encouraging the sacrifices that\nholy love inspires, and to show herself happy in having children\nwho evince in so tender a manner the sentiment of Christian\nbrotherhood. An exquisite sense reveals to her that charity\ndelights in secret and mystery; a marvellous delicacy teaches her\nthat the poor and the unfortunate neither consent to pour out their\ngriefs indiscriminately, nor to have their wants relieved by every\nhand.\n\nThus, in reference to works of charity, the supremacy of the church\nconsists in helping to accomplish that which the spontaneous\npiety of her faithful confides to her, and to exercise an exact\nsurveillance over the faithful accomplishment of the charitable\ndispositions shown by her children who are numbered among the\ndead. Inviting, encouraging, thanking, and supervising--such is\nthe _r\u00f4le_ of the church. If she welcomes with gratitude the\nfaithful who select their pastors to dispense their bounty or for\na go-between in their good works, she does not impose it upon them\nas a duty to confide alms to the care of bishops or of priests. And\nall doctrine tending to create a similar obligation is rejected by\ncanon law as tainted with an odious exaggeration. Now, then, we\nhave a right to reject the pretensions of the state over charity.\nUnder what title does it place itself between the man who gives\nthe alms and he who receives it? Is the sanctuary of charity less\nsacred than the domestic hearth? And if the home is inviolable,\nshould not the secrets of charity be equally so?\n\nWe protest against official charity with all the energy of\nindignation. We proclaim it as an injury alike to the rich who give\nand to the poor who receive. The demonstration does not appear\ndifficult.\n\nNevertheless, before undertaking it, we hope to interest our\nreader in placing before his eyes the sentiments of a judge whose\nviews modern politicians do not ordinarily challenge. Portalis,\nevery one knows, elevated the rights and prerogatives of the state\nhigh enough. \u201cThe state is nothing if it is not all,\u201d said he,\none day, before the legislative body. Here is certainly a witness\nunsuspected of partiality for the theory we are about to defend.\nListen, then, to what he said himself to the proposition of\nofficial charity.\n\n\nI.\n\nLet it be remembered here, that one of the most constant\npreoccupations of Napoleon I. was to centralize everything into\nhis own hands. The emperor wished to the letter to know all and to\ngovern all. Not content with having created the formidable monopoly\nof the universities, he had even dared to try his hand at flattery\nin pretending to treat religious affairs as a simple department of\nhis vast administration. Could it, then, be hoped that his ambition\nrespected the liberty of charity? Napoleon, then, dreamed very\nseriously of controlling its exercise. Portalis hindered him.\n\nThe good sense of this celebrated counsellor of the emperor\nrefused on this occasion to consent to the caprices of his\nmaster. Portalis declared fearlessly that official charity was the\nproduct of a hollow, weak brain, altogether an Utopia of one\u2019s own\ncreation to amuse the leisure hours of some philosopher seeking a\ndistraction.\n\n\u201cCertain men,\u201d wrote he to the emperor, \u201cmore jealous of their own\nattributes than of the public good, believe in finding abuses in\nall establishments that are not of their own creation. They scorn\nthe good in the hope of finding the better; they imagine that all\nis resolved by calculation, and that, with two or three general\nmaxims, they could reconstruct the world. With such ideas, states\nare disorganized. Such minds exhibit a greater power to destroy\nthan an ability to construct.\n\n\u201cIt is said with truth that the laws would be nothing without\nmorals. It is, then, in the morals that the power of the laws\nwill be sustained, that is to say, it is necessary to study the\ndirection of the minds of men; that they should know the common\naffections of the human heart, and not govern by metaphysical\nabstractions and submit to cold calculation those things which\ncannot be other than the result of zeal, devotion, and of\nvirtue.\u201d[89] This was adroitly cautioning the emperor against\nthe deleterious influences of that sad philosophy which sought\nto control him. Applying these principles to those hospitable\ncommunities that irreligious passions wished to banish, Portalis\nsubjoined:\n\n\u201cThe associations with which are connected so many touching\nmemories were recommended to the considerate attention of your\nmajesty by the gratitude of the people. Experience speaks loudly\nin favor of the imperial decrees which have authorized these\nassociations. It is not, then, to balance between the vain theories\nof an infatuated sophist and the real assistance that charity\nadministers to suffering humanity.\u201d[90]\n\n\u201cThese miserable objections derive their source ... in the vain\ntheories of which experience has demonstrated the illusion.\u201d[91]\nIt is, then, clear that official charity found no advocate in\nPortalis. It presented to him the too evident imprints of a lying\nand anti-Christian philosophy. We will continue our citations.\n\n\nII.\n\nPortalis was convinced that religion only could induce charity. He\nbelieved that in this case religion only is capable of receiving\nand executing the mandates of charitable bequests.\n\n\u201cYour majesty,\u201d wrote he again, \u201cin your great wisdom has desired\nto leave the care of the poor under the guard of religion. She has\nundertaken the service that is accompanied with so many sacrifices\nand discouragements, which could not be guaranteed but by the most\nelevated and the most generous sentiments. She has dispersed the\nfalse systems of men who would wish to enjoy the benefits of the\ngreat work we see in operation under our eyes, in draining with\nas much imprudence as ingratitude the source from which they are\nfurnished.\u201d[92]\n\nThe experience he had besides superabundantly apprised him of what\nreason made him sensible. He had seen the works of the state and\nthat of the religious bodies. Doubt, then, was no longer possible.\nIt became manifest to him that, generally speaking, charity could\nonly be duly administered through consecrated hands. Listen to his\ngrave remarks:\n\n\u201cHis majesty, in his travels, has convinced himself that all the\nhospitals confided to simple civil administration languish; that\nthe poor there are often treated with negligence, and even with\ncruelty, by mercenary agents. In consequence of this, he has\ndirected me to send the Sisters of Charity to all the departments\nbeyond the Alps, and in all other places where they have not\nbeen.\u201d[93]\n\nIs it properly to Napoleon that the honor of such an initiative\nreverts? Was it not Portalis who inspired him? He sent very few.\nIt is always the imperial counsellor giving, under his report,\nabsolutely all the confidence to the clergy and to the church.\n\n\u201cIt is constantly urged that the ecclesiastics and the bishops\nhave appropriated to their own benefit; but are laic functionaries\nimpeccable? Men, wherever they may be, commit abuses because they\nare men; but it is clear that there will be less abuse in all\nthings when each kind of administration shall be left to men who\nby their office and their position have the largest means and the\ngreatest interests for right administration.\u201d[94]\n\n\u201cIt is argued that the needs of the poor are sufficiently\nguaranteed by the civil administrators of the hospitals. I am not\nonly surprised, but also grieved at this assertion. They overlook,\nthen, all the great good for which humanity is indebted to the\nSisters of Charity, to the hospital nurses, and also to many\nsocieties of estimable women who, by their tender piety, have\nconsecrated themselves to the service of the poor. The public\nadministrators are forced to depend upon the care of agents, to\nthose mercenaries whose frauds are beyond scrutiny, and who possess\nno virtues. The spirit of charity cannot be supplied by the spirit\nof administration. Other management must disburse the revenues,\nother means must console or help the sick.... One must be possessed\nof very little philosophy to believe that the cold solicitude of an\nadministrator can replace the generous care of ardent charity....\nThe service of the poor, as they are attended to in the hospitals\nand outside of them by religious associations, is not a simple\nadministration or the effect of a simple management. It requires a\ncontinual succession of night-watching, privation, danger, nausea,\npainful and disinterested fatigue. This service demands a great\nabnegation of self, which could not be sustained save by motives\nsuperior to all human considerations. In an association, forces\nare combined to multiply resources; they encourage each other by\nexample, and are enlightened by counsel; they are directed by rules\nwhich call them to duty and guarantee its observance. They receive\nnovices whose health, character, and disposition are tested,\nand to whom they transmit with the knowledge of the subject the\ndaily lessons of experience. All these means of recruiting and\nencouraging, of direction and perpetuity, are wanting when the\nservice of the poor rests upon passing administrations, or with\nsalaried agents who can be arbitrarily replaced at any moment\nby others. To achieve a permanent good we must have permanent\ninstitutions.\u201d[95]\n\nThis is certainly a complete and beautiful explanation of religious\nassociations. The experience of more than half a century has\nnot lessened the value of these reflections of Portalis; on\nthe contrary, it would be easy to enumerate the frauds, the\nmisrepresentations, and the wastefulness which too often occur in\nadministering to the wants of the poor, but we forbear the recital\nof the afflicting details. Portalis had but too much reason to\ncondemn.\n\n\nIII.\n\nIn another point of view, Portalis reproved official charity. It\nseemed to him irreconcilable with the rights of donors to the poor,\nwho wish to feel free in the distribution of their alms, and also\nwith the rights of the poor, who do not consent at first sight to\nmake acknowledgment of their misery.\n\n\u201cThis would be,\u201d said he, \u201cdestroying the character of charitable\ncommissions, and perhaps even destroying their usefulness, in\ntransforming them into exclusive institutions. Benevolence breathes\nas it wishes and where it wishes. If you do not let it respire\nfreely, it stifles or becomes weakened in the midst of those who\nare disposed to its exercise. I argue that it would show a false\nestimate of the interests of the poor to isolate them in any way\nfrom the religious souls who would protect and assist them. Such\npeople desire to place their alms in a religious organization,\nwhich will not dispose of them in any other establishment. Far\nfrom prescribing limits and imprudent conditions to benevolence,\nI would, on the contrary, open all avenues that benevolence might\nselect for itself, and through which it shall choose to extend\nitself.\u201d[96]\n\n\u201cThe administration of alms is not and cannot be the exclusive\nprivilege of any establishment whatever. Alms are free and\nvoluntary gifts. He who gives can do no more. He is the one to\ncharge the dispenser of his own liberality. The man who is able\nto give alms, and has shown his willingness to do so, can ask\nhimself the simple question, To whom belongs their administration?\nTo him or to them whom the donor will have charged to make the\ndistribution? There is not and there cannot be any other rule in a\nsimilar matter. To do away with this rule would be to dry up the\nsource of the charity.\n\n\u201cHow is it possible to think that religious organizations should\nbe excluded from the right of administering the alms which they\nreceive? Under such a system, they might as well assert that they\nare not allowed to receive alms, that is to say, they would have to\ndestroy the natural liberty of those men who lay aside a portion\nof their income to devote to charity, from charging the agents of\ntheir own alms and their liberality.\u201d[97]\n\nAs for the poor themselves, Portalis thought, with reason,\nthat many among them refused to receive assistance from any\nadministration whatever, and this is why he wished that a portion\nof the accumulated alms might be left to the disposition of the\ncurates of the parishes:\n\n\u201cBecause these alms could be profitably disposed of to those poor\nwho from circumstances and misfortunes have met with reverses and\nchange of position, and who, not wishing to acknowledge their\nmisery to the administrators of benevolent institutions, their\nequals and sometimes their enemies or rivals, go to seek from their\npastors the consolations that sustain their courage, and obtain\nassistance that does not humiliate them. It is to this interesting\nuse that the alms are generally consecrated by the religious\norganizations and the priests.\u201d[98] Thus Portalis reasoned that,\neven for the interests of the poor, official charity should be\nenergetically repulsed.\n\nIV.\n\nMeanwhile, if the objection should arise that, after all, these are\nbut opinions, and that simple opinions are not sufficient always\nto impede the action of the state in what it believes to be its\nrights, Portalis meets this objection, and in a decided tone he\nasserts clearly that the state enjoys no right over the exercise of\ncharity. Here are his own words, which we recommend to the minds of\nmodern statesmen:\n\n\u201cThe principal office of authority is to dispose of to advantage\nthe gifts that are offered to it, to cause them to prosper in\nprotecting them. It rarely originates them. We have not yet\nreplaced among a multitude of reforms the institutions that have\nbeen overturned. Experience brings us back every day to the\nprinciples that we have too easily abandoned.\u201d[99]\n\n\u201cThis would be but imperfectly to understand the human heart, and\nhinder its free respiration in the things that law can protect\nindeed, but which sentiment alone commands. The office of a\nmagistrate is to watch over the essential duties of a citizen,\nbut, in works of supererogation, he must allow great latitude to a\nliberal arbitration.\u201d[100]\n\nA remarkable avowal, above all, from a lawyer of the temper of\nPortalis, who willingly elevated into a dogma the omnipotence of\nthe state. He has, however, said: \u201cNo, the omnipotence of the\nstate does not go so far as that; and that for the very simple\nreason that the state could exact from its citizens only the\nobservance of precepts imposed by the natural and divine laws. It\ncan never compel them to submit to obligations that nature has\nnever created.\u201d\n\nIs it to say that we refuse to the state the right of showing\nitself benevolent and charitable? God forbid! If the state would\npractise boundless liberality, we would bless it. If it would\nbe the protector of all the works destined for the relief of\nunfortunate humanity, we would exalt it with transport. But never\nto make this protection a monopoly, otherwise the benefaction would\nchange to tyranny.\n\nListen to M. Charles P\u00e9rin, who has treated with as much depth as\nsincerity the difficult problems of political economy:\n\n\u201cThe action of the state in giving assistance will not be free from\ndanger, inasmuch as it would have a purely preventive character....\nThat the state intervenes to assure by its civil existence the\nduration of those institutions founded by the free inspirations\nof private charity; that it assures itself that the conditions of\nthe foundations for which it calls its meetings contain nothing\nwhich repudiates the rules of public order; that it exercises\nover the administrations of those foundations a watchfulness that\nprevents abuses and which secures the observation of the essential\nrules of the institution, without annulling the free action of\nthose who have received the mission of donators to represent\nthem among the poor, and continue the work of charity which has\ninspired them--under these conditions, the intervention of the\nstate will become a benefit, because then she does no more than aid\nliberty.\u201d[101]\n\nHere is also the doctrine of the great Bishop of Arras, Mgr.\nParisis:\n\n\u201cThat which governments can and ought to do to aid charity is not\nto disfigure, to dry up, and to destroy it in making it entirely\nlegal, but to reanimate it by all possible means in maintaining it\nChristian, in preserving the sentiment, and everywhere encouraging\nefforts in its regard, to make not rulers, but auxiliaries, not\noppressors, but friends.\u201d[102]\n\nAdmirable formula, that the politicians of the present day should\nstudy a little more!\n\nWe have placed before the reader the sentiments and doctrines of\nPortalis touching official charity. We do not think that we could\ngive higher authority. We have found in the alleged proofs good and\nsolid reasoning. We record a true demonstration.\n\nWe have been reluctant heretofore to discharge this great duty. Why\nwe take up the subject at this late period is to expose the vices\nand the dangers of official charity.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[89] _Travaux sur le Concordat, etc., Rapport du 24 Mars, 1807._\n\n[90] _Ibid._\n\n[91] _Ibid._\n\n[92] _Ibid._\n\n[93] _Rapport sur les Fabriques d\u2019Eglise, Juillet, 1806._\n\n[94] _Ibid._\n\n[95] _Rapport du 24 Mars, 1807._\n\n[96] _Rapport du 16 Avril, 1806._\n\n[97] _Ibid._\n\n[98] _Rapport du 16 Avril, 1806._\n\n[99] _Ibid._ _Rapport du 24, Fructidor an XIII._, 11 Sept., 1805.\n\n[100] _Ibid._\n\n[101] _De la Richesse dans les Soci\u00e9t\u00e9s chr\u00e9tienne_, t. i. p. 498.\n\n[102] _La Democratie devant l\u2019Enseignement catholique_, p. 107.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHURCH AND THE PRESS.\n\n\nThe following item of news is clipped from a recent number of a\nleading New York publication:\n\n  \u201cThe proposition is under discussion to establish in this city a\n  new anti-Catholic paper, partly devoted to opposing the religious\n  tenets of the Romanists, but still more their supposed attempts\n  to secure political control in the country. It will support the\n  ultra-Protestant position of the Bible in the public schools, and\n  will be backed, it is expected, by a large subscription among the\n  three or four secret anti-Roman Catholic societies that exist in\n  this country.\u201d\n\nWe do not know what truth there may be in this report. It is\nintrinsically probable that the establishment of an \u201canti-Romanist\u201d\nperiodical is in contemplation, because there is always a large\npolitico-religious party in the United States whose chief principle\nis bitterness against the Catholic Church, and there are certain\nreasons why such a party just now should be especially active.\nThe Catholic element in our population is rapidly increasing, and\nmany circumstances have recently combined to bring its numerical\nstrength into prominence. A moderate estimate makes it not less\nthan six or seven millions. The published returns of the census\nof 1870 have not thus far furnished any statistics of religious\nbelief, but they give some facts from which we can get at least an\nidea of the rate at which the church in America is growing. There\nwere, for example, in 1870, no fewer than 1,855,779 persons of\nIrish birth in the United States, and of these the preponderance of\nCatholics over Protestants was so large that the Protestant element\nmay as well be disregarded. In Ireland, the ratio of Catholics\nto Protestants is at least as high as four to one, and here the\nproportion is still greater, because emigration is largely from\nthe Catholic counties; probably the whole number of Irish-born\nProtestants in the United States does not equal 200,000. The\nGerman-born population, according to the same census, is 1,690,533.\nIn Germany, about three-fifths of the inhabitants are Catholics,\nbut emigration takes place rather more from the Protestant than\nfrom the Catholic districts, so that competent judges estimate\nthat the Catholic Germans in this country are only two-fifths of\nthe entire number. That would give us, for Catholics of German\nbirth, 676,213. Then there are 193,504 natives of other Catholic\ncountries, including 116,402 Frenchmen, but not counting Swiss,\nPoles, Canadians, and others of whose religious belief we have\nno means of making an estimate. A great many of the French and\nItalian immigrants are either Protestants or people of no religious\nprofession at all; and, upon the whole, we prefer to leave out\nof consideration these 193,000 settlers of the Latin race,\nbalancing with them the Protestant Irish. Now, the census shows\nthat for every foreigner in the country there are two native-born\ninhabitants of foreign parentage. According to this rule, we ought\nto have 3,711,558 descendants in the first generation of Irish\nimmigrants, and 1,352,426 descendants of Germans. Supposing,\ntherefore, that the children are brought up in the faith of their\nparents, there ought to be the following numbers of foreign-born\nCatholics and Catholics born in this country of foreign fathers and\nmothers:\n\n        Irish birth           1,855,779\n        Irish parentage       3,711,558\n                              ---------\n            Total Irish                  5,567,337\n        German birth            676,213\n        German parentage      1,352,426\n                              ---------\n            Total German                 2,028,639\n                                         ---------\n            Grand total                  7,595,976\n\nThis, of course, is too high an estimate. Unfortunately, a great\nmany of the descendants of Catholic immigrants are not brought up\nin the faith. Protestant associations, mixed marriages, the want of\npriests and churches in a large part of our territory, the general\ndeficiency of schools, the influence of an overpowering Protestant\ntone in society, politics, and literature, and the inadequacy of\nthe Catholic press thus far to meet the intellectual needs of the\nday, have robbed us of many of the descendants of the Catholic\nsettlers--how many it is impossible to say. On the other hand, it\nmust be remembered that the figures we have given refer only to\nimmigrants and a single generation of their descendants. Irish and\nGerman Catholics, however, have been pouring into the country ever\nsince the Revolution, and their descendants in the second, third,\nand later generations must be counted by hundreds of thousands.\nThen we have the offspring of the original Catholic settlers of\nMaryland and of the French posts along the Mississippi Valley from\nthe Lakes to the Gulf of Mexico, and the Spanish Catholics along\nthe Pacific coast; and, finally, we have thousands of converts,\nwhose number is increasing in a constantly growing ratio. All these\nelements must far outweigh the loss by neglect and perversion.\n\nThen, the movement to extend Catholicism among the colored people\nof the South has occasioned no little alarm in the Protestant\nsects. It was thoroughly discussed at the General Council of\nBaltimore six years ago, and especially attracted, as our readers\nknow, the Christian zeal of the late Archbishop Spalding. The\nEnglish Church has come to our aid by sending us missionaries\nfor this special work, and there is every reason to believe that\nin this long-neglected field, now open to us by the abolition of\nslavery, we shall reap an abundant harvest. Everybody perceives\nthat for a long time to come, if not permanently, the colored\npeople will hold a preponderance of power in several of the\nSouthern States. As they advance in education and material\nwelfare, their influence will enormously increase. In many\ndistricts, they are evidently destined to be the ruling race, for\nthey are improving in culture, and can no longer be overlooked by\nthe social or religious philosopher. Whether they shall be Catholic\nor Protestant is a momentous question, not only to their own souls,\nbut to the country.\n\nBut not only is the formidable number of the Catholics of the\nUnited States a subject of increasing anxiety to the sects, their\nattitude towards political parties presents some new and perplexing\nproblems. Heretofore they have exerted no special influence as\nCatholics upon political affairs. As a general rule, at least in\nlarge cities, an immense majority of them have adhered to the\nDemocratic organization, but without giving the slightest Catholic\ntendency to Democratic principles and objects. They have been\nswallowed up and lost in the party rather than incorporated with\nit; they have given it votes, and got little or nothing in return.\nWhy this has been so we need not now inquire; for it has become\nevident that a general reconstruction of parties is close at hand.\n\nThe next Presidential election will not be so much a contest of\nprinciples as a trial of strength between the personal adherents\nof the rival nominees; and before the end of another four years we\nmay expect on both sides a new declaration of political faith, a\nnew setting up of standards, a new mustering of opposing camps, so\nthat the fight hereafter shall be not for a candidate, but a cause.\nRepublicans and democrats alike are looking for a new departure,\nand we cannot help being interested in what the new symbols of\nparty orthodoxy are to be.\n\nOf course, as a religious body our duty is now, as it always has\nbeen, to keep aloof from partisanship. We have observed this duty\nreligiously in the past; we shall observe it no less strictly\nhereafter. But Protestants do not comprehend our position in the\nmatter, and they are watching eagerly for indications of the new\nalliance which they take it for granted we must contemplate. More\nthan this, certain sections of them are acting upon the assumption\nthat we must naturally rank ourselves as their political enemies,\nand are striving to give a distinctly anti-Catholic tendency to\nstate and national legislation. What are we to do if they succeed?\nWhat must be our attitude if the school question, for example,\nbecome a leading topic in state politics, or if the broad question\nof national education be incorporated with the dogmas of the coming\npolitical parties? Leaders on the Republican side have already been\ntrying the temper of the people on this point, and it is not at\nall impossible that organizations may be made so uncompromisingly\nhostile to us that we shall have to raise our own standard and\ndefine our lines. Protestants see all this more clearly than\nCatholics, and hence the instinctive gathering together of the\nsects, the renewed bitterness of some of their leading journals,\nsuch as the New York _Times_ and _Harper\u2019s Weekly_, the attempt\nto exclude our charities from the state aid to which they are\nfairly entitled, the attacks upon our schools, and the plans for\nan anti-Catholic crusade by the establishment of no-Popery organs.\nA paper of the class indicated in the extract at the head of this\narticle would not, indeed, be a formidable enemy. The people\nat least have no taste for the violent, old-fashioned style of\ncontroversy; but, as one indication among many of the drift of\nProtestant sentiment, the establishment of a professedly and\ndistinctively anti-Catholic paper as a political engine would be\nsignificant.\n\nIf evil times are coming, how are we prepared to meet them? If\nour schools are to be attacked, our asylums and hospitals starved\nout, our children led away from the church and the parish school\nby the strong arm of the government, our young men and young\nwomen corrupted by hostile literature, the newspapers given up to\nfalsehood and misrepresentation about our faith and practices, we\nwho are seven millions strong are surely not to sit idle and strike\nno blow in our own defence. The pulpit cannot be our only guardian.\nBefore the altar we listen to instruction in our religious duties,\nwe learn of the mysteries of our creed, we are roused to penitence,\nto charity, to the love of God and man; we do not look there for\nguidance in our duty as citizens, or for the answer to the slanders\nof our enemies. Our priests have a more sacred function to perform;\nthere is still a work which, from the nature of the case, they\ncannot do. The Catholic cause must be upheld not only in the shadow\nof the sanctuary, but in the very midst of the hostile camp. The\nmost eloquent sermon cannot reach a man who will not go to church.\nThe most complete refutation of a slander will do no good if the\nslanderer and those who believe in him never hear the answer. But\nnewspapers go everywhere. Their readers are not confined to any\none sect or any one party; and when disputes arise which affect\nthe relations of Catholics to the secular government and to their\nProtestant brethren, the heaviest of the fighting must always be\ndone by the daily, weekly, and monthly press.\n\nIn an article published over a year ago, we touched upon this\nsubject in connection with the duty of American Catholics\ntowards Catholic literature. Our remarks were generally approved,\nwe believe, but they called forth some little criticism of an\nunfavorable character which, upon the whole, we were not sorry to\nsee. It is an encouraging sign of development when the religious\npress shows vitality enough to discuss something else than the\ncommonplaces of controversy which have formed the staple of\nCatholic and Protestant polemics for generations. It is high time\nfor us to apply to our own publications a little of that free\nexamination which we have bestowed upon others, and to let argument\namong Catholic writers be something more than the foolish wrangling\nof ambitious rivals. In the article to which we have alluded, we\nsaid that few of the Catholic papers had a circulation of more\nthan 10,000; and some people found fault with us for that. We wish\nwe could give them 25,000 or 50,000 apiece; but it will not mend\nmatters to say that all Catholic papers are powerful organs of\npublic opinion, when we know that they are nothing of the sort.\nMost of them are doing excellent service within their own sphere;\nbut why affect to deny that their sphere is a narrow one and\ntheir means are small? We have tried to impress upon the Catholic\npublic the duty of supporting the Catholic press to the utmost of\ntheir ability. We have shown that where Protestants attack us in\na million printed sheets, we give a feeble answer in perhaps ten\nthousand. We number 8,000,000 souls, yet our newspapers with very\nfew exceptions languish for want of readers, and our colleges are\nnot creating a literary class among the laity. This is one side of\nthe picture, but there is another. If the public is doing little\nfor the papers, are the papers doing much more for the public? We\ndare say they are doing what they can; but how much is that? What\nCatholic journal have we capable of meeting _Harper\u2019s Weekly_,\nfor instance--we do not mean in argument, but in influence? As\nwe write, the current number of that periodical is laid upon our\ntable. It contains a long article on \u201cRomish Cruelty,\u201d telling\nhow in a Pennsylvania town \u201cthe Roman Catholics formed a plot to\nmurder\u201d a school-teacher. \u201cThe priest aided in encouraging the\ndangerous spirit of the people, and the assassins seem to have\nbeen urged on to their dreadful deed by the open countenance of\nthe Romish Church.\u201d The writer comes to the conclusion that \u201cno\none\u2019s life is any longer safe who ventures to doubt the divinity\nof Mary or the supreme prerogatives of the Pope.\u201d This is only a\nsample of many similar slanders which the unprincipled publishing\nfirm of the Harpers are spreading all over the country. What are\nwe doing to counteract them? Surely, we cannot afford to let them\ngo unanswered, and we leave it to any Catholic to say whether\nthere is a single publication of our creed in the United States\nwhich we can depend upon for a prompt and thorough reply to such\nfalsehoods, in such form and manner as to convince not merely\nthe Catholic, but the Protestant public. We must confront our\nassailants on their own ground. If they tell us that a priest and\nhis parishioners in an obscure Pennsylvania town have conspired to\nmurder Protestant school-teachers, we must be able to show, and\nto show at once, that the incidents never occurred, or that the\ninterpretation placed upon them is unwarranted. We ought to have\nour sources of information as well as our enemies. We need our\nnews-gatherers and investigators, who shall answer falsehood not\nwith indignant invective, but with fact. This is not the work for\na monthly magazine, but for a much prompter sort of publication.\nLong before the true story of such an affair could be told in THE\nCATHOLIC WORLD, it would have been succeeded by a new slander. The\npoison would have run through the public veins, and it would be\ntoo late for the antidote to overtake it. Newspapers ought to do\nthis work, and we suppose they would do it if they had the money;\nbut investigations are expensive, and when the force of a Catholic\norgan consists of nobody but the editor, who writes all the fourth\npage, and the assistant, who makes up the rest of the forms with\na paste-pot and a pair of shears, there is of course no reporter\nwho can be sent away on excursions. The New York _Times_, which\nhas long rivalled _Harper\u2019s Weekly_ in bigotry and anti-Catholic\nmalice, allows a correspondent to take up this story, repeat it as\na well-ascertained truth, and enforce the lesson that \u201ca faithful\nson of the Romish Church cannot be a law-abiding citizen of this\nfree Republic.\u201d We dare say scores of Union newspapers will follow\nthe example of the _Times_; and, meanwhile, if a few weekly\nCatholic papers succeed in getting at the truth of the incident,\nwe may depend upon it their refutation of the falsehood will never\nreach Protestant ears. It is time for us to understand that calumny\ncannot be conquered by such means as we now employ, and that\npractically our enemies are having everything their own way.\n\nCatholic questions of the most momentous character are now\nagitating the whole continent of Europe. Germany is shaken by\nthe problems of education; Italy, by the contest between the\nrights of the Vicar of Christ and the usurpations of the godless\nSardinian monarchy. The D\u00f6llinger party are encouraged by some\nof the secular powers to attempt a new heresy. France and Spain\nare both vexed by infidel and persecuting political factions.\nEngland even and Ireland have their Catholic difficulties arising\nout of the relations between the state and the schools. All the\nintelligence which reaches us on these important topics comes\nfrom the worst sources. The cable reporters who collect European\nnews for transmission through the telegraph are usually not well\ninformed on Catholic subjects, and not always honest. When they\ntouch upon religious matters, they are habitually, even though\nnot intentionally, untruthful. The impression conveyed by their\nmeagre and blundering dispatches is almost always the direct\nreverse of the right one, and the press telegrams from Rome\nespecially are marvels of ingenious and bold falsification. All\nthe European dispatches printed in American newspapers are sent\nfrom London. They are dated at various cities on the Continent, but\nthey all come from one central office in the English metropolis,\nand they are obtained there from a Jewish news-agency which has\nrelations with the Continental press. Thus, they really give merely\nthe statements of a few French, Italian, Spanish, and German\njournalists, and these are almost invariably journalists of the\nanti-Catholic party. In Italy, the mendacity of the anti-Papal\npress is almost beyond belief; and probably there is no class of\npersons anywhere so utterly unscrupulous, so wedded to lying, as\nthe radicals of Italy when they speak of the Pope or the Papal\nGovernment. The German Liberal and Protestant press is only a\nlittle better. It has magnified and misrepresented the D\u00f6llinger\nmovement, and distorted, in the grossest manner, the story of\nthe school question in Prussia. Elsewhere, on the Continent, the\ndifficulty is the same. A vigorous press is constantly battling\nagainst us, and it is from this press and this press alone that\nwe get our European news. The mail correspondence of American\nsecular newspapers is colored by the same influences which deform\nthe telegraphic summaries. The lie which is insinuated to-day by\na cable dispatch will be rubbed in by a letter in due course of\nthe post. Here, again, our enemies have things all their own way.\nThe best of our weekly papers, indeed, do something to correct\nthe falsehoods of the daily journals, but the great difficulty\nstill remains; they cannot reach the general public. Fisher Ames\nsaid that \u201ca lie will travel from Maine to Georgia while the truth\nis putting on its boots.\u201d But, if the lie has the advantage of a\ndaily newspaper and a telegraph under the Atlantic Ocean, whilst\nthe truth must trust to steamships, and post-offices, and a small\nweekly paper or a monthly magazine, what hope is there that the lie\ncan ever be overtaken?\n\nSecular literature is almost entirely in Protestant hands, and in\na thousand unsuspected ways it is infusing into our intellectual\nsystem the poison of indifferentism, or infidelity, or miscalled\nliberalism, and teaching our young people to divide themselves\nbetween two incompatible lives--an active Protestant life, which\nabsorbs all their busy and productive hours, and a sluggish\nCatholic life, which is confined to Sunday mornings and a few\ngreat festivals. What is the Catholic press doing to correct\nthese literary influences? What is it doing to cultivate the art\nof criticism? If we want to know the characters or the literary\nmerits of a new book, shall we turn to the journals of our own\nfaith, or to the _Tribune_ and the _World_? Our periodicals (with\na few honorable exceptions) rarely give any notice at all to the\nproductions of secular book-houses, while magazines and books\nbearing the imprint of a Catholic publisher are generally reviewed\nin some such style as the following:\n\n  \u201cThis sterling periodical has now reached its eleven thousandth\n  number, and has improved with every issue since it was started.\n  The present number alone is worth a year\u2019s subscription. No\n  Catholic family can afford to be without it. Price 25 cents.\n\n  \u201cThe enterprising publishers, Messrs. Jones & Robinson, have just\n  got out in the elegant style for which they are celebrated a new\n  edition of _Barney O\u2019Toole: a Tale of \u201998_. This is a work of\n  great learning, and no Catholic library is complete without it.\n  We are deeply indebted to the liberal publishers for sending us\n  a copy. It is elegantly gotten up. For sale, in this city, by\n  Michael Smith. Price 50 cents.\u201d\n\nThis sort of journalism is worse than a waste of ink and paper.\nIt is a direct injury to the cause it is intended to serve. There\nis no reason why a book that is badly printed and shabbily bound\nshould be described as \u201celegantly gotten up\u201d; nor why every\nnumber of a magazine should be called the best ever printed; nor\nwhy everything published at a Catholic house should be declared\nessential to the spiritual welfare of every Catholic family. But\nthere is a reason why Catholic journalists should tell the plain\ntruth, and sometimes the whole truth, if they expect to obtain\ninfluence in an intelligent community.\n\nThe time has come when a vigorous, enterprising, well-conducted\npress is essential to every community in the United States. No\nman in this country can do without his newspaper. He must keep\nabreast of the age; he must know what happens in politics, finance,\ntrade, literature, art, and society, and he must know it promptly;\notherwise the current of the world flows past him, and he is left\nidly floating in the pools by the shore. We cannot afford to ignore\nthis imperative want; it is a necessity created by conditions of\nsociety far beyond our control; and it is by no means a necessity\nwhich we ought to regret. Our task should be not to oppose this\ndemand for newspapers, but to satisfy it more thoroughly than\nit has ever been satisfied yet. We are numerous and rich enough\nto create a Catholic periodical literature which shall be the\nglory of America, and, next to the church and school, the noblest\ndefence of Catholic principles. We are numerous and rich enough to\nmake newspapers which shall meet every demand of the most active\nand intelligent and best educated citizen; which shall give our\nown people the most palatable as well as the most nourishing\nintellectual food, and enforce from our adversaries a respect which\nis not now paid us. In the providence of God, we believe such a\npress will some day be built up in America, and then we shall\nwonder how we lived and kept our faith so long without it.\n\n\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\n  THE HOUSE OF YORKE. By M. A. T. 1 vol. 8vo, pp. 261. New York:\n      The Catholic Publication Society. 1872.\n\nA thoroughly good American novel was, we suppose, a literary\nevent which was looked for by nobody who had much knowledge of\nwhat had been done in that direction, or who had thought much\nabout the causes which produce the painful thinness of most of\nour native literature. It is true enough, as Dr. Holmes says,\nthat Protestantism in its last analysis means \u201cnone of your\nbusiness,\u201d and what it means at the root it means more or less\nin every branch and stem, every leaf and flower. And in America\nespecially, which has, so to say, no history and no traditions,\nand whose vast material resources tempt its children to believe\nthat the world has been started afresh for them on a different\nbasis from that which underlies older civilizations, one of the\nmost patent and most unpleasant results of the theories on which\nthe new civilization was founded has been the barrenness, the\nhopeless mediocrity, of the literature which it has produced.\nHow was it possible that a people who, as a people, recognized\nno absolute authority in any matter whatsoever, even in those of\nfundamental importance, and who had engrained in their minds the\nconviction that everybody\u2019s opinion, especially in matters of\ntaste and of religion, was as likely to be true as his neighbor\u2019s,\nshould produce a characteristic and thrifty national art and\nliterature? Lawlessness, a lack of respect for authority, and, in\nmost instances, a provincial ignorance that in these matters there\nwas any recognized authority, were what made the weakness of our\nefforts in this direction. There were a few writers and a few works\nof acknowledged ability. In fiction we have had Cooper, and we\nhad also an _Uncle Tom\u2019s Cabin_, but that the latter owed much of\nits success to the local evil with which it dealt was evidenced by\nthe inferior merit of the works from the same hand which preceded\nand which followed it. In the limits of a book-notice it is, of\ncourse, not possible to do more than to intimate a conviction\nthat literature and art, like civilization and public morality,\nrest securely only when they are built upon Catholic truth. Here\nin America there was ample room and opportunity to prove the\nopposite proposition if it could be proved, and to show that on a\nfoundation of criticism and negation a strong and sightly structure\ncould be reared. There was no lack of ability in our writers,\nand there was occasional genius; but, when what they did was not\nan evident imitation of some foreign model, it generally showed\nincompleteness, a lack of definite conceptions, and an unpleasant\nawkwardness and indecision of purpose. We are speaking now only\nof what is known as light literature--essay-writing, fiction, and\npoetry.\n\nTo find, therefore, a distinctively American novel which one can\nhonestly praise as a work of art, is something at which one may be\nlegitimately surprised as well as pleased; and that we have, at\nlast, in _The House of Yorke_, such a novel, is what nobody who\nhas read it attentively will be at all likely to deny. The true\nstory intertwined with the fictitious one is, as it should be in\na work of fiction, so skilfully subordinated to the main current\nof the novel that it in no way mars the catholicity which is the\nfirst element in all genuine art. Pettiness and provinciality\nare the two rocks on which novels \u201cfounded on fact\u201d are most apt\nto strike; particular facts get such a prominence in them that\nthe larger truth which art demands is lost sight of. Our author\nshows, however, a thorough mastery of her materials and an accurate\nperception of what are the proper means to an end. She shows, too,\nan unusual degree of insight into character and a trained skill\nin delineating it. All her personages live: not one of them is an\nimitation of some other novelist\u2019s creation. Their individuality\nis preserved, too, without recourse to tricks of speech and\ngesture--they are always themselves, because in the mind of their\ncreator there existed a clear and definite image of each of them.\nThat she has studied herself and other people very closely is\nevident as well when she brings her characters into action as when\nshe analyzes their motives. The book is full of bits of delicate\ninsight, as, for instance, where she says of the impetuous Dick\nRowan that \u201chis soul had, indeed, always been more tranquil than\nhis manner.\u201d The whole of this character, though, and especially\nthe story of his vocation, may well enough be given as an instance.\n\nShe knows, too, how to be dramatic without becoming sensational,\nand how to be thoroughly delicate and reserved and yet make an\ninteresting love story. Her style is easy and unembarrassed, and\nalways level with the occasion, whether in dialogue, description,\nor moralizing, and her book is one to be as well liked by the\nordinary novel-reader, purely for the interest of the story, as by\nthose who are more attracted by its lofty purpose and by the skill\nwith which that purpose is carried out.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  DISCUSSIONS AND ARGUMENTS ON VARIOUS SUBJECTS. By John Henry\n      Newman, sometime Fellow of Oriel College. London: Basil\n      Montagu Pickering, 196 Piccadilly. 1872. (New York: Sold by\n      The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\nThis is another volume of the uniform series of Dr. Newman\u2019s\nworks. It contains an essay on the manner of catholicizing the\nChurch of England, one on Anti-Christ, one on the analogy of\nCreed and Scripture in respect to the difficulties of each, one\non Secular Knowledge as a means of moral improvement, one on the\nDefects and Excellences of the British Constitution, and one on the\nargument of the _Ecce Homo_--the last two essays only having been\nwritten since the conversion of the illustrious author.\n\nThe republication of Dr. Newman\u2019s Catholic writings is only\nsomething which might have been expected, and which would be\nconsidered by all as desirable. The same might be said of his\nprevious works, so far as these contained no heretical or\nuncatholic statements and opinions. But the entire republication of\nhis Anglican writings was something novel in its way, and rather\ncalculated to startle the mind of one who had not considered the\nvery weighty motives which have induced the author to make this\nbold stroke. These writings could not have been suppressed. To\na very great extent, they are substantially sound, as well as\nmasterly in thought and style, with only an accidental mixture of\nerror. Even those which are in their substance and scope directly\nanti-Catholic are important documents in the history of polemics.\nBy their incorporation with a complete series of the doctor\u2019s\nworks, they are reduced to the category of those arguments and\nobjections against the faith which are incorporated into systems\nof theology for the purpose of exhibiting both sides of the\ncontroversy, and bringing out the truth in its contra-position to\nerror. The work of Dr. Newman\u2019s life has been a most remarkable and\nprovidential one. He has reasoned himself up from Protestantism,\nthrough Anglicanism, to the Catholic Church, speaking aloud, and\nin tones to command attention, during the whole process. It is\nimpossible to estimate the influence for good which he has exerted\nas an instrument in the hand of God in bringing back Protestants to\nthe fold of the church. The preservation of the complete history\nof his intellectual progress is therefore something which tends\nentirely to advance the cause of truth, and to illustrate the\nglorious conclusion which he finally drew from his premises and\nproved with such power of reasoning and charm of rhetoric. The\npresent volume contains many things of the greatest intrinsic\nvalue, besides what is valuable for the reasons above given,\nespecially the essay on Creed and Scripture, in which the present\ndownward slide of the English toward infidelity is distinctly\npredicted.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  CONSTANCE SHERWOOD. An Autobiography of the Sixteenth Century. By\n      Lady Georgiana Fullerton. 1 vol. 8vo, pp. 284. New York: The\n      Catholic Publication Society.\n\nOur first feeling on reading this book was regret that we have so\nfew similar publications in this country, where the subjects so\nadmirably discussed in it are of such deep and lasting interest.\nTo English-speaking people at least, no matter in what land,\nthe persecution of Catholics during the reign of Elizabeth, the\nmalignant attempts of her able courtiers to destroy utterly the old\nfaith among her subjects, and the heroic struggles and sufferings\nof the people, particularly of those of the better class, form one\nof the most interesting, if painful, chapters in the entire modern\nhistory of the church. The rebellious and anti-christian spirit of\nthe Eighth Henry descended with fourfold malice on his not unworthy\ndaughter, and a host of recreant prelates and rapacious nobles had\nsprung up around the throne whose abject subserviency to royal\nauthority was in proportion as they possessed or expected lucrative\nchurch livings and the spoils of dismantled schools, convents,\nand almshouses. Her penal laws made even the secret observance of\nthe forms of worship an offence punishable by torture, death, and\nconfiscation, while the minister of God was legally proclaimed a\ntraitor, hunted down by professional informers, and, when caught,\nsummarily executed with all the cruelties of the most barbarous\nages. But while the fagot and the gallows had no terrors for the\ndevoted priest, the loss of court favor, beggary, imprisonment, and\nthe rack were as persistently disregarded by a large number of the\nnobility and commoners with a steadfastness and resignation which\nremind us of the days of the early martyrs.\n\nIt is to illustrate this period in English history, this contest\nbetween ill-gotten and despotic power on one side, and constancy,\nzeal, and piety on the other, that _Constance Sherwood_ has been\nwritten by one who has already done good service in the cause of\nour holy religion, to the great credit of her sex and country.\nAs a work of art, the book does not exhibit that strong dramatic\npower or depth of coloring which characterized the efforts of Sir\nWalter Scott when treating of the same epoch in _Kenilworth_; but\nit more than compensates us for these deficiencies in the greater\ntruthfulness of its portraiture of historical personages, and its\nexquisite delineation of those purely fictitious, who, with all\ntheir human weaknesses and spiritual strength, are fittingly held\nup to us as types of Christian excellence. So delicately, indeed,\nand so nicely defined are some of Lady Fullerton\u2019s touches that we\nhave sometimes found ourselves going back over the pages of her\ntale to be assured that we had caught aright the gentle allusion or\nimplied meaning in all its significance. Constance Sherwood, who is\nsupposed to relate the story of her life and times, appears to us a\nmost attractive creation of the author, but the character of Ann,\nCountess of Arundel and Surry, we venture to say could only have\nbeen drawn by a highly gifted, sympathetic, and virtuous woman, so\nconformable is it in its leading features to well-authenticated\nfacts and so delicately finished in its imaginary details.\n\nThough an historical novel, necessarily devoted to grave and often\npainful matters, and plentifully strewn with moral and theological\nreflections, there is just enough of romance and feminine gossip\nin its pages to enlist the attention and excite the sympathies of\nthe more sentimental and less seriously inclined readers. Human\npassions, hatred, jealousy, and remorse, friendship, love, and all\nthe other concomitants of everyday life, are neither ignored nor\nobtruded, but are made subservient to the main design of the work,\nwhich is to teach us true Christian principles by exhibiting to\nour view the virtues and constancy of our co-religionists of other\ntimes. The style of the autobiography, as the design of the book\nrequired, is slightly tinged with the quaint phraseology of the\nperiod, which, however, does not lessen, but rather adds to, its\nattractions, and the illustrations which accompany this edition are\nexcellently designed and executed. As a well-written book, uniting\namusement with sound instruction and pure morality, we consider it\nevery way worthy to be placed in the hands of Catholic readers.\nParticularly feminine in its tone and healthful in its tendency, it\nis in every way vastly superior to even the best works of fiction\nof which the secular press has become so prolific.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF ST. FRANCIS XAVIER. By Henry James\n      Coleridge, S.J. Vol. I. Burns, Oates & Co. 1872. (New York:\n      Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\nFather Coleridge has a happy talent for biographical composition\nand historical sketching. The letters of St. Francis give to this\nbiography a most decided advantage over all others with which we\nare acquainted, and the original portion of the _Life_ is equal in\nmerit and interest to the best specimens of biography which the\nEnglish language possesses. We would be greatly obliged to the\nauthor if he would collect and publish in a volume the various\nsketches of distinguished persons, such as Suarez, De Ranc\u00e9, etc.,\nwhich he has from time to time printed in _The Month_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE WORKS OF AURELIUS AUGUSTINE, BISHOP OF HIPPO. A New\n      Translation, edited by the Rev. Marcus Dods, M.A. Vol.\n      III.--Writings in Connection with the Donatist Controversy;\n      Vol. IV.--The Anti-Pelagian Works of St. Augustine. Vol.\n      I. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark. 1872. (New York: Sold by The\n      Catholic Publication Society.)\n\nThe first two volumes of this series containing _The City of God_,\nreceived a favorable notice in a former number of this magazine,\nin so far as an examination which was distinctly said to be only\n\u201ccursory\u201d warranted us in expressing an opinion. A very opposite\ncriticism, accompanied with some strictures upon THE CATHOLIC WORLD\nfor its favorable notice, from the pen of a learned and acute\nwriter in the _Boston Pilot_, occasioned a considerable stir for\nthe time, and we were requested by several persons to re-examine\nthe work more carefully, and express a more matured and decisive\njudgment. We took the trouble to make the examination, and take\nthis occasion to reiterate the opinion we at first expressed. A\nsimilar judgment was expressed by the _Dublin Review_, and, as\nthere seems to be a general consent among critics on the subject,\nwe think that all those who wish for a good translation of _The\nCity of God_ may consider it certain that the one edited by Mr.\nDods is not only an elegant but an accurate version of this\nsplendid work. There are one or two mistakes in the translation,\nand we remember noticing one decidedly anti-Catholic note, but\nthese slight faults may be pardoned in a work of such great\nexcellence and value. We have had no time as yet to collate any\nportion of the translation of the two new volumes before us with\nthe original text. The quality of the translation of the preceding\nvolumes, however, is a fair guarantee for the fidelity and elegance\nof the present one. The scholarship and reputation of the editors\nare a sufficient security that they will spare no pains to do\ntheir work well, and the works of St. Augustine afford very little\nroom for any serious mistakes in regard to his real meaning. It\nis in the interpretation of his meaning and deduction from his\nprinciples that there is room for error, and that the grossest\nheresies have been manufactured by Lutherans, Calvinists, and\nJansenists from a perversion of his doctrines on original sin,\ngrace, and free-will. These heresies are now very unpopular and\nnot at all dangerous. In respect to the constitutive principles of\nthe Catholic Church, as opposed to every species of Protestantism,\nthere is no room for mistaking or perverting the doctrine of St.\nAugustine. We cannot think of any way of convincing educated\npersons in England and the United States of the identity of the\nmodern with the ancient Catholic Church more efficaciously than\nthat of giving them the chance to read extensively in the works of\nthe great Doctor through the medium of a good translation. We are\nrejoiced, therefore, that English scholars should engage in this\nwork and in those of a similar kind. The quantity of pure Catholic\nliterature thus disseminated by Protestants and among Protestants\nin England, and to some extent in America also, is truly inspiring.\nThe republication of choice specimens of old English literature by\nan antiquarian society in London, the translation of the Venerable\nBede\u2019s _History_, the abbreviated _Lives of the Saints_ from\nthe Bollandists, and other books of the same character which are\nmultiplying with an inconceivable rapidity, show what an avidity\nthe English palate is acquiring for this most wholesome and\npleasant medicine. The editors frequently seek to counteract the\neffect which their inward misgiving warns them these books must\nproduce, by remarks of their own in notes and prefaces, for which\ntheir readers will care but little. Sometimes they avoid almost or\naltogether this futile procedure, and provide the Catholic reader\nwith a valuable book in English which is a considerable accession\nto his library, and is free from anything which can offend his\neyes--a service for which they have our sincere thanks. The volumes\nwhich are at present under notice are not, we regret to say,\nunexceptionable in this respect. The Preface to the anti-Pelagian\nworks speaks in a very inexact and misleading manner upon the\nsupposed differences of the Eastern and Western theology, upon the\njudgments of the Pope in the case of Pelagius, and the relation\nof the teaching of St. Augustine to Protestant doctrine. The very\nmeagre sketch of the Donatist schism prefixed to Vol. III. is long\nenough, nevertheless, to permit the author to indulge in the only\namusement which can make an English Protestant perfectly happy,\nand to get off the little squib he always carries in his pocket,\n\u201cthe despotic intolerance of the Papacy, and the horrors of the\nInquisition.\u201d A Catholic scholar cares nothing for the flippant and\nsuperficial cavils and sneers of theological amateurs who venture\nto criticise and judge the Fathers, the Popes, and the church of\nGod. But he does not like to have a book in his library which has\nsuch blots on it. The editors may say that they consult the tastes\nand convenience of Protestants and not of Catholics. Very well.\nIt is convenient, however for Catholics to have certain works of\nstandard value in an English translation, and it is the interest\nof _publishers_ to provide them with the same. If the publishers\ncould furnish an edition in which the text alone was given, without\nthe disfiguring incumbrance of prefaces and advertisements, for\nthe convenience of Catholic purchasers, their splendid series\nof patristic works would undoubtedly find a much more ready and\nextensive sale than it is now likely to have among the clergy and\nstudious laity of the Catholic Church in Great Britain and the\nUnited States.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE BETROTHED. By Alessandro Manzoni. 1 vol. 12mo. New York: The\n      Catholic Publication Society. 1872.\n\n\u201cThe Catholic Publication Society\u201d has done a good work in\npublishing a new edition of Alessandro Manzoni\u2019s world-renowned _I\nPromessi Sposi_, which has been for many years before the public.\nIt was first published in 1827. Since then the author has increased\nthe size and interest of the volume by a thrilling description of\nthe devastations of the plague in Milan in 1630.\n\nWhile the author charms by the ease and simplicity of his style,\nthe story is no less remarkable for originality and vigor.\n\nAbove all, the purity of the pages and the religious tone that\npervades the narrative give an additional interest to the story of\nthe rustic life of the hero and heroine.\n\nThis is the best known of the author\u2019s works, and deservedly\npopular.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  FRENCH EGGS, IN AN ENGLISH BASKET. Translated from Souvestre by\n      Miss Emily Bowles. London: Burns, Oates & Co. (New York: Sold\n      by The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\nThis book comprises some fifteen short, readable, and well-varied\nstories, illustrating life and manners among the humbler classes\nin France, originally written by a very successful _litt\u00e9rateur_\nof that country, and accurately translated by the English editor.\nThey are not moral tales in the usual acceptation of that much\nmisused term, for the writer neither puts prosy sermons in the\nmouths of babes nor interlards the discourse of simple peasants\nwith profound theological reflections, but they are natural and\nhealthful in their tone, humorous as well as pathetic in design,\nand the reader will be dull indeed who is not able to draw his\nown moral from them. As a gift to young people, this volume\nwould be very appropriate, and, if not exactly suited to the\nbreakfast-table, will no doubt be found worthy a place in the\nboudoir or drawing-room.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  SERMONS BY FATHERS OF THE SOCIETY OF JESUS (in England). Vol. II.\n      By the Rev. Thomas Harper. London: Burns, Oates & Co. (New\n      York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.) 1872.\n\nThese sermons are very peculiar and original, and are\nspecially adapted for the perusal of the most intelligent and\neducated persons. The first series, composed of discourses for\nChristmas-tide, is on \u201cModern Principles,\u201d as contrasted with truly\nChristian principles deduced from the great fact and doctrine\nof the Incarnation. The one on \u201cThe Last Winter of the World\u201d\nhas especially attracted our attention. The second series is a\ncondensed and yet eloquent _r\u00e9sum\u00e9_ of a great part of Catholic\nphilosophy and theology respecting the great first truth of the\nbeing of God. The volume is a remarkable and an admirable one, most\nsuitable for the times, and we earnestly recommend it to those\nwho desire to find religious reading of the highest intellectual\nquality, which is at the same time really profitable for the\nspiritual good.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  MAGGIE\u2019S ROSARY, AND OTHER TALES. 1 vol. 12mo, pp. 208. New York:\n      The Catholic Publication Society. 1872.\n\nWe know of no book of this class recently issued from the press\nwhich contains more pleasing and useful reading than this.\nEqually instructive and entertaining, its perusal cannot prove\notherwise than acceptable to those for whose especial benefit it is\npublished. It is admirably adapted for a premium, and we hope that\nin the coming distributions it will occupy that prominent place\nwhich its intrinsic merits deserve. It is a handsome volume of over\n200 pages, got up in that style which \u201cThe Publication Society\u201d was\nthe first to introduce--a style of mechanical excellence and simple\nelegance.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  VIA CRUCIS; or, The Way of the Cross. Translated from the German\n      of the Rev. Dr. Veith, Preacher of St. Stephen\u2019s Cathedral,\n      Vienna. By the Very Rev. Theodore Noethen. Boston: Patrick\n      Donahoe. 1872.\n\nDid any one ever see a book on the Passion of Christ and not wish\nto buy it? The very title appeals to the heart. It is because we\nwould go on for ever trying--but in vain--to sound the depths of\nthat fathomless ocean of divine love and mercy.\n\nWe cannot have too many books on this great theme, that there\nmay be some adapted to every cast of mind: now emotional, again\nembodying every tender legend and the pious imaginings of saintly\nhearts, or full of profound reflections on the great scheme of\nsalvation through the sufferings of our Lord. Every person should\nhave at least one such book in which to bathe his world-weary\nsoul from time to time. In these days, when ease, luxury, and\nself-indulgence of every kind seem to be the great aim of life, the\nimage of the Divine Sufferer cannot be too constantly presented to\nthe mind, with its lesson of mortification and self-crucifixion.\n\nProtestants often say the Blessed Virgin has been made by Catholics\nto supersede our Lord in the economy of grace. Let such read this\nbook, and see on whom we rely for salvation, and how Christ and\nhim crucified is preached in all the purity of the Gospel in the\ngreat Catholic centre of Vienna.\n\nThis book is the last of a series of works on the Passion which\nhave already been noticed in our columns. The author being now\nblind, it was dictated to his amanuensis. Under such circumstances,\nhis great familiarity with the Holy Scriptures is the more\nstriking, showing that a knowledge of the sacred volume is not\nquite a Protestant monopoly.\n\nA calm, dignified, thoughtful tone pervades the whole volume. The\npiety is not strained; it is elevated, but not _exalt\u00e9e_; there is\nno false sentiment, nothing to offend the most fastidious taste.\nA few quotations will give an idea of the author\u2019s style and\nsuggestiveness:\n\n  \u201cHe who lives within and for himself, who only makes use of\n  others for the sake of adding to his own pleasure, is ignorant\n  of the first principle of charity or of true life, which cannot\n  be obtained without sacrifice and without entering morally into\n  communion with thee.\n\n  \u201cIt is by no means necessary that true humility must spring forth\n  from the consciousness of guilt, like a flower whose root grows\n  only in the mire; its true foundation is the acknowledgment of\n  the relation in which spiritual beings find themselves to their\n  Creator, Lord, and gracious Ruler.\n\n  \u201cWhether or not my bodily life shall one day bloom again in\n  the transfigured state of happiness, will depend upon my moral\n  fidelity, which keeps my spirit, while on earth, in thy holy\n  grace.\n\n  \u201cFall not into the common error of imagining that a negative\n  state of existence is compatible with the duties of a Christian.\u201d\n\n  \u201cThis narrow gate, which alone leads to true life, but which many\n  do not wish to enter because they shun the work of self-denial\n  and privation, what is it but the entrance into the communion of\n  thy death and life--into thy grave!\u201d\n\nThis work was intended particularly for Lent, but is suited to\nany season. As the church, on the most joyful of festivals, never\nfails to show forth the Lord\u2019s death at the altar, so the thought\nof the Passion should never be absent from the soul. The heroine\nof _The House of Yorke_, alluding to a picture of St. Ignatius of\nLoyola, says: \u201cHe looks as though he were present when our Lord was\ncrucified, and could not forget the sight.\u201d \u201cWe were all present,\u201d\nexclaimed Rowan. \u201cHow can we forget it?\u201d\n\nSo, too, when three old men came to the Abbot Stephen to ask what\nwould be useful to their souls, he was silent awhile, and then\nreplied: \u201cI will show you all I have: day and night, I behold\nnothing but our Lord Jesus Christ hanging from the wood.\u201d\n\nThis ably translated work, with its excellent binding, its soft\npaper so grateful to the eye, and its clear print, is a credit to\nour enterprising New England publisher.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE POPE OF ROME AND THE POPES OF THE ORIENTAL ORTHODOX CHURCH.\n      An Essay on Monarchy in the Church, with special reference to\n      Russia. From original documents, Russian and Greek. By the\n      Rev. C\u00e6sarius Tondini, Barnabite. London: Longmans & Co. (New\n      York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\nThe conversion of Count Schouvaloff, a Russian nobleman, and his\nprofession in the Barnabite order, was the occasion of awakening\na great interest in the conversion of Russia among his religious\nbrethren. The most conspicuous among them for his zeal and efforts\nin this direction is F. Tondini. In the present volume he has given\na full and accurate account of the organization of the Russian\nChurch, supported by numerous citations, and evincing the thorough\nknowledge of the author on the subject. The utterly secular\ncharacter of the Russian state church and the degrading enslavement\nof its hierarchy under imperial authority are clearly shown. The\nefforts which have been made to throw dust in the eyes of the\nAmerican public on this subject make this book quite seasonable,\nand we recommend it to the attention both of our Catholic readers\nand of the amateurs of Russo-Greek Christianity.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE PASSION PLAY. By the Rev. Gerald Molloy, D.D. Boston: Patrick\n      Donahoe.\n\nDr. Molloy, of Maynooth, has described the Ammergau Passion Play\nwith great skill, accuracy, and beauty of language, and has\nenriched his work with a number of very good photographs, which\nadd much to its interest. The republication has been executed in\nvery pretty style, and the volume is in every sense attractive\nand interesting, worthy of a place on every table, and most\nappropriate as a premium or gift book. We trust it may have the\nwide circulation it deserves.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE DIVINE TRAGEDY. By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Boston: J. R.\n      Osgood & Co.\n\nA most reverently, carefully, and skilfully executed reduction of\nthe evangelical narrative within a small poetical picture. The\ngreater portion is an almost literal translation of the sacred\ntext, and there are also a few passages of exquisite original\npoetry. Mr. Longfellow has in no way tampered with or marred\nthe beauty of the divine original, and his copy is itself a\nmasterpiece. All Catholics may read this poem without fear of\nfinding anything which is not in perfect consonance with their\nfaith. It is a beautiful offering to Christ from a place where he\nhas received many insults, and we trust that he may give the best\nof all rewards to the one who has made it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  A MANUAL OF ENGLISH LITERATURE: A Text-book for Schools and\n      Colleges. By John S. Hart, LL.D., Professor of Rhetoric and\n      of the English Language and Literature in the College of New\n      Jersey.\n\nThe arrangement of this work is simple and adapted to practical\nuse, and one may see at a glance the whole history of the English\ntongue. The different authors are well grouped in connection with\nconspicuous public events, which show at once the time in which\nthey flourished, and the influences, political or educational, with\nwhich they were surrounded. Living writers have also received their\nshare of attention, and are appropriately classified according to\nthe subjects they have treated. There are a few authors omitted\n(among others Gerald Griffin, the most _characteristic_ of Irish\nnovelists) who deserve mention, and who will no doubt receive\nattention in another edition. We think that Dr. Hart deserves\nthe thanks of the community for his valuable labors. Among many\nstudies, surely there is none more important than that of our own\nlanguage. There are many of our public men who would do well to\nlearn better the genius of their mother tongue. It is certainly\ndesirable to know and speak foreign languages, but far more\nnecessary is it to understand the wealth and beauty of our own--so\nlittle known and so poorly appreciated by many of our speakers or\nwriters. We are glad to learn also that Dr. Hart has in preparation\na book upon American literature.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  HISTORY OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH IN CALIFORNIA. By W. Gleeson,\n      M.A., Professor in St. Mary\u2019s College, San Francisco, Cal. In\n      two volumes. Illustrated. San Francisco: A. L. Bancroft & Co.\n      1872. pp. 446, 351.\n\nA work of this size on the church in California excites\nastonishment, so recent does the growth of that State seem; but the\nhistory of the church in California dates far back, and is full of\ninterest and edification.\n\nThe discovery of the country, the strange journey of Cabeza de\nVaca, the adventurous exploration of the Italian Franciscan,\nMark, of Nice, and of those who followed him, and an account of\nthe Indians, form the opening chapters of Mr. Gleeson\u2019s work. He\nthen devotes some space to the question whether St. Thomas ever\nvisited America, a point discussed some years since by the Count\nJoannes when simple George Jones. Another chapter is devoted to\nthe examination of early Irish missions on the northwest coast of\nAmerica, the object of the author being to show the possible source\nof certain Christian traditions found among the California Indians.\nGarcia in his _Origen de los Indios_, Lafitau in his _M\u0153urs et\nCoutumes_, Boudinot in his _Star in the West_, and many other\nwriters, have traced these analogies, but it seems to us were often\nmisled by taking as primitive Indian traditions ideas acquired\nafter missions were established.\n\nThe remainder of the first volume is devoted to the great Jesuit\nmission in Lower California, founded by the German Father K\u00fchn or\nKino and the Italian Father Salvatierra, a mission which excited so\nmuch interest that a special fund was gradually formed by devoted\nCatholics for its support, and which, under the title of the Pious\nFund of California, long maintained religion there, and will\nstill do its part if a sense of justice prevails with the Mexican\nGovernment. Of this mission, which lasted to the suppression of the\norder, Mr. Gleeson gives a valuable account. Three works exist on\nit, that of Fr. Venegas in Spanish, of Fr. Begert in German, and of\nFr. Clavigero in Italian, and there are also some communications on\nthe _Lettres Edipantes_ and other collections.\n\nThe second volume is devoted to Upper California, or what is now\nthe State of California. After the fall of the Society of Jesus,\nthe Spanish government sent the Dominicans and Franciscans to\ncontinue its labors in California. The Dominicans took Lower\nCalifornia, but our author does not dwell on their labors,\napparently not having met the _Tres Cartas_ giving an account of\nthem.\n\nThe labors of the Franciscans, who, under Father Juniper Serra,\npeopled Upper California with missions that were the wonder of that\nage of unbelief, for they began and rose during the latter part\nof the last century, is given in a most interesting manner. No\nmissions ever rose with greater celerity, and, though missionaries\nlaid down their lives in the struggle, the land was christianized\nand the wild savages became thriving Christian communities,\nself-supporting and gradually advancing in civilization.\n\nIf their rise is one to cheer the heart of the believer, there is\nnothing in history so sad as the utter destruction of missions and\npeople in a few short years. The happy Indians who by thousands\nfilled the missions in peace and plenty are represented by a\nhandful of debased and fast vanishing outcasts. The civilization\nof the nineteenth century may be a very fine thing, but it is only\nnecessary to read the history of the California mission to accept\nthe Syllabus heartily.\n\nIf we find any fault with this portion of Mr. Gleeson\u2019s work, it\nis that he has not given place enough to the linguistic labors of\nthe missionaries amid the perfect Babel of languages in California.\nSeveral of their grammars and dictionaries have been printed by\none of the first Catholic writers who treated in English of this\nmission, and it cannot be that the great California libraries\ndo not contain the works of Father Sitjar, Cuesta, and others,\nor of the distinguished living missionary of California, Father\nMengarini, whose philosophical study of the Selish language makes\nhim the highest authority with American and European scholars.\n\nThe sad state of the church both as to its white and red children\nduring the Mexican rule, and the erection of the See of California,\nare next treated of by our author.\n\nThe annexation to the United States and the discovery of gold\nbrought in an entirely new element. The Mexicans were but few;\nthe incoming tide of emigration was both Protestant and Catholic,\nthe new government Protestant. Of this, the actual church of\nCalifornia, the reverend author gives an account full of edifying\ndetails, although he has allowed himself too little space to give\nsuch sketches of some of the various institutions as we should\ndesire.\n\nThe Appendix is a partial review of the accounts of the\nAmerican mounds and an attempt to show a similarity between the\nmound-builders and the _Tuatha d\u00e8 Danaans_ in Ireland; but such\ntheories have been too often raised and fallen to accept this. Our\nIndian is the type of primitive man; as he was found by our first\nexplorers, he used stone arrow and spear heads and knives; made\nhis shell-beads; boiled and cooked by heated stones, just as the\nearlier races on the Eastern continent did, if we are to believe\nthe lessons from the tombs of that part of the world. Side by\nside, you cannot distinguish the stone arrowheads and implements\nof America, Ireland, France, Denmark, and Germany, and we can only\nconclude that all men were of one family, and ascended the scale of\ncivilization by similar steps.\n\nThis work is enriched with many illustrations, a portrait of Father\nSalvatierra, many views of the missions as Duflot de Mofras found\nthem, the quasi-portrait of the venerable Father Juniper Serra in\nPalou\u2019s life of that great missionary, and diagrams of some Western\nmounds.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  HISTORY OF THE KINGDOM OF GOD UNDER THE OLD TESTAMENT. Translated\n      from the German of E. W. Hengstenberg. Edinburgh: T. &\n      T. Clark. (For sale in New York by Scribner & Co., 664\n      Broadway.) Vol. I.\n\nThe highest encomium we can pass upon the works of Hengstenberg\nis to mention the fact that they are several times referred to in\nterms of great praise in the _Theology_ of the illustrious Jesuit,\nF. Perrone. He is certainly equal to any Protestant theologian\nof this century in learning and critical ability. In regard to\nsoundness of doctrine and the actual value of the results of study\ncontained in his works, we consider him to be far superior to any\nof those Protestant authors with whose writings we are acquainted.\nIndeed, we may say that his works are almost indispensable to\nthe student of those departments of theology concerning which\nthey treat. The great and praiseworthy end of Hengstenberg was to\ndestroy German neology with its own weapons, and he has effectually\naccomplished the task.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  LECTURES ON THE CHURCH. Delivered in St. Francis Xavier\u2019s Church,\n      New York. By Rev. D. A. Merrick, S.J. New York: P. O\u2019Shea.\n\nFr. Merrick\u2019s _Lectures_ are logical, solid, and, at the same\ntime, easy to be understood. He refutes the Protestant doctrine on\nthe Rule of Faith, and establishes the Catholic rule, ending with\nthe culminating point of the supremacy of the Pope in government\nand doctrine. The proofs of the latter from English history are\nremarkably appropriate and well put. The style of the reverend\nauthor is pure and pleasing, and the book, which is of very\nmoderate size, is tastefully printed. It is therefore admirably\nsuited for general use, and we bespeak for it a wide circulation.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE RELATION AND DUTY OF THE LAWYER TO THE STATE: A Lecture\n      delivered before the Law School of the University of the City\n      of New York, February 9, 1872, by Henry D. Sedgwick.\n\nThis is an eloquent and philosophical contribution to the question\nof questions in this city: Are we advancing or retrograding in\nlegal and judicial probity and learning? The author speaks like an\nhonest lawyer jealous for the high name of his profession; but\nproclaiming the follies of men or corporations in the lecture-room\nnever has nor ever will put an end to them. The lawyers on and\noff the bench are no more corrupt than other classes of the\ncommunity, but they are more conspicuous, and more reprehensible\nin consequence. Corruption, like all _catching_ diseases, when it\nfinds shelter among legislators, will soon find its way to the\nlawyer\u2019s library and to the bench of the judge.\n\nWe cordially endorse the admonition and compliment contained in the\nfollowing:\n\n\u201cSet before you, rather, if you need an example, those who, with\nan earnestness and a determination never surpassed, have grappled\nwith and overthrown the band of thieves who had seized the public\ncoffers. No future enemy of the commonwealth can be more wily, nor\ncan be entrenched in his lair with greater cunning, than the men\nwho lately possessed our municipal government. Whoever that future\nenemy shall be, however warily he spring, however secretly he\nstrike or stab, O\u2019Conor can exclaim, \u2018Contempsi gladios Catilin\u00e6,\nnon pertimescam tuos.\u2019\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  PHYSIOLOGY OF THE SOUL, etc. By Martyn Paine, A.M., M.D., LL.D.,\n      etc. New York: Harper & Brothers.\n\nDr. Paine is a very venerable gentleman who is a remarkable\ninstance of intellectual activity and industry continued into a\nvery advanced age. We sincerely admire the boldness with which\nhe denounces materialism and professes his belief in the Bible.\nWe do not agree with him in his opinion that the Holy Scripture\nrequires us to reject the common theories of modern geologists, and\ntherefore regard his attempt at a scientific refutation of those\ntheories as something which we may leave to the consideration of\nexperts in geological science. That part of his work which has\nmost value in our eyes is the one which treats of the distinct\nexistence and spiritual nature of the soul, a subject which is\nhandled in an able and ingenious manner.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  SPECTRUM ANALYSIS. Three Lectures by Profs. Roscoe, Huggins, and\n      Lockyer. New Haven, Conn.: Charles C. Chatfield & Co. 1872.\n\nThese lectures are very interesting, and give an excellent account\nof what is perhaps the greatest real discovery of modern science;\nalso of its application to the determination of the chemical and\nphysical constitution of the sun and other celestial bodies. Their\nauthors are men eminent in the scientific world, who have specially\ndistinguished themselves by their researches in this particular\ndepartment of investigation.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  REPORTS ON OBSERVATIONS OF THE TOTAL SOLAR ECLIPSE OF DECEMBER\n      22, 1870. Conducted under the Direction of Rear-Admiral B. F.\n      Sands, U.S.N., Superintendent of the U. S. Naval Observatory,\n      Washington, D. C. Washington: Government Printing Office.\n      1871.\n\nThese reports, like those on the eclipse of the preceding year in\nthe United States, noticed in THE CATHOLIC WORLD of April, 1870,\nform a valuable contribution to the literature of solar science.\nThey are by Profs. Newcomb, Hall, Harkness, and Eastman, the first\nof whom was stationed at Gibraltar, the rest at Syracuse. The\nobservations were in all cases somewhat interfered with by clouds,\nwhich, however, broke away sufficiently at the moment of totality\nto allow the skilful and practised observers to obtain many\ninteresting results. It is on such occasions that the qualities\nrequired for a good practical astronomer are put to the most severe\ntest; a moment of nervousness may lose that for which he has spent\nmonths in preparing. It hardly needs to be said that, in this\ninstance, the test was well sustained. Prof. Harkness considers\nhis conclusions as to the composition of the corona, spoken of in\nour previous notice, to be borne out by his observations on this\noccasion. The sun really seems to be the wearer of an iron crown.\nThe descriptions of the general appearance and effects of the\neclipse are of course the most interesting to unscientific readers.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  HALF-HOUR RECREATIONS IN POPULAR SCIENCE. No. 1. Strange\n      Discoveries Respecting the Aurora, and Recent Solar\n      Researches. By Richard A. Proctor, B.A., F.R.A.S., author\n      of _The Sun_, _Other Worlds than Ours_, etc. Boston: Lee &\n      Shepard. New York: Lee, Shepard & Dillingham.\n\nThis, as implied in the title, is the first of a series of papers\non subjects of modern science by various well-known writers in\nthat department. It is expected to publish one such \u201crecreation\u201d\nevery month, at the price of twenty-five cents, which would seem\nto be enough, or $2 50 a year. Enough, at least, it will be for\nthe speculations of such men as Mill, Spencer, Huxley, and Darwin,\nwho are promised among the \u201ceminent European scientists\u201d in the\nprospectus. The present number, however, is a very good one, having\nin it a great deal of information, some valuable suggestions, and\nno humbug; and the next will be, perhaps, even better, as it will\ncontain an explanation of the wonderful modern discovery known as\n\u201cSpectrum Analysis.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  HALF-HOURS WITH MODERN SCIENTISTS--Huxley, Barker, Stirling,\n      Cope, Tyndall. New Haven, Conn.: Charles C. Chatfield & Co.\n      1871.\n\nWe have in this a publication somewhat similar to the _Half-Hour\nRecreations_ noticed above; there are, however, five numbers\ninstead of one bound up together. It might be said of them, as\nof other such, that their facts and strictly physical theories\nare interesting, and their philosophical ones rather otherwise.\nProfessors Barker and Tyndall furnish the best papers of the five,\nparticularly the latter, who is a thoroughly scientific man,\nhaving, besides his talent, the great advantage of prudence.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  LEGENDS OF THE PATRIARCHS AND PROPHETS. By the Rev. S.\n      Baring-Gould, M.A. New York: Holt & Williams.\n\nThis collation of Rabbinical and Mohammedan legends has been made\nwith great judgment and taste. The legends are very curious and\ninteresting, some of them very poetic and beautiful. The book is\none of very great value to the scholar, and most entertaining and\namusing for the general reader.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  CHRISTIAN FREE SCHOOLS. The Subject Discussed by the Rt. Rev.\n      Bernard J. McQuaid, D.D., Bishop of Rochester. At Rochester,\n      N. Y. (New York: For sale by the Catholic Publication\n      Society.)\n\nWe can only call attention to this important pamphlet at present,\nhoping to take up the subject in earnest at a future time. The\npamphlet is replete with important testimonies of statesmen and\nProtestant ministers, which make it very serviceable to those who\nwish to write or speak on the same subject.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  WALKS IN ROME. By Augustus J. C. Hare. New York: George Routledge\n      & Sons, 416 Broome Street. 1871.\n\nThis, in a qualified sense, is a readable and valuable guide to\nthe Eternal City. It contains a great deal of information about\nthe historic sites of old Rome, a good deal about the galleries\nin which the intelligent Protestant visitor is supposed to be\ninterested, and something also about the restaurants, livery\nstables, etc., to which it would be rash to assume that he is\nindifferent. It likewise contains a good deal about the churches\nand holy places, giving some interesting facts, together with\nvarious remarks and stories characterized by the usual dense\nignorance and stupidity as to the dogmas and practices of the\nCatholic Church which may be said to be the special glory of the\n\u201creformed\u201d Anglo-Saxon. The principal value of such commonplace\nproductions is that they suggest the necessity of having a good\nmanual on a somewhat similar plan for the use of people who really\nwant to see and understand Rome when they visit it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  TRAVELS IN ARABIA. Compiled and arranged by Bayard Taylor. New\n      York: Scribner, Armstrong & Co. 1872.\n\nThis is another volume of the _Illustrated Library of Travel and\nExploration_ series, and is nearly all taken up with Palgrave\u2019s\nnarrative of his travels in Arabia. It is well illustrated.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  LITTLE JAKEY. By Mrs. S. H. De Kroyft. New York: Hurd & Houghton.\n\nA simple story and a sad one of the short yet not uneventful life\nof a little German, an inmate of the New York Institution for the\nBlind. It is written in a pleasing and unaffected style.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  AUNT FANNY\u2019S PRESENT; or, The Book of Fairy Tales.\n\n  WOODLAND COTTAGE, and Other Tales. Philadelphia: Peter F.\n      Cunningham.\n\nWe recommend these neat little volumes with pleasure to those about\nto select books for their children.\n\n\nP. F. CUNNINGHAM announces as in press: _Marian Howard; or, Trials\nand Triumphs_. _The Divine Life of the Blessed Virgin Mary_: Being\nan Abridgment of the _Mystical City of God_. _Life of St. Augustin,\nDoctor of the Universal Church._\n\n\n\n\n                        THE CATHOLIC WORLD.\n\n                  VOL. XV., No. 88.--JULY, 1872.\n\n  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by Rev.\n   I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at\n                         Washington, D. C.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PROGRESSIONISTS.\n\nFROM THE GERMAN OF CONRAD VON BOLANDEN.\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nTHE WAGER\n\nThe balcony of the _palais_ Greifmann contains three persons who\ntogether represent four million florins. It is not often that\none sees a group of this kind. The youthful landholder, Seraphin\nGerlach, is possessor of two millions. His is a quiet disposition;\nvery calm, and habitually thoughtful; innocence looks from his\nclear eye upon the world; physically, he is a man of twenty-three;\nmorally, he is a child in purity; a profusion of rich brown hair\nclusters about his head; his cheeks are ruddy, and an attractive\nsweetness plays round his mouth.\n\nThe third million belongs to Carl Greifmann, the oldest member of\nthe group, head _pro tem._ of the banking-house of the same name.\nThis gentlemen is tall, slender, animated; his cheeks wear no\nbloom; they are pale. His carriage is easy and smooth. Some levity\nis visible in his features, which are delicate, but his keen,\nglancing eye is disagreeable beside Seraphin\u2019s pure soul-mirror.\nGreifmann\u2019s sister Louise, not an ordinary beauty, owns the fourth\nmillion. She is seated between the young gentlemen; the folds of\nher costly dress lie heaped around her; her hands are engaged with\na fan, and her eyes are sending electric glances into Gerlach\u2019s\nquick depths. But these flashing beams fail to kindle; they expire\nbefore they penetrate far into those depths. His eyes are bright,\nbut they refuse to gleam with intenser fire. Strange, too, for a\ntwofold reason; first, because glances from the eyes of beautiful\nwomen seldom suffer young men to remain cool; secondly, because a\npaternal scheme designs that Louise shall be engaged and married to\nthe fire-proof hero.\n\nMillions of money are rare; and should millions strive to form\nan alliance, it is in conformity with the genius of every solid\nbanking establishment to view this as quite a natural tendency.\n\nFor eight days Mr. Seraphin has been on a visit at the _palais_\nGreifmann, but as yet he has yielded no positive evidence of\nintending to join his own couple of millions with the million of\nMiss Louise.\n\nWhilst Seraphin converses with the beautiful young lady, Carl\nGreifmann cursorily examines a newspaper which a servant has just\nbrought him on a silver salver.\n\n\u201cEvery age has its folly,\u201d suddenly exclaims the banker. \u201cIn the\nseventeenth century people were busy during thirty years cutting\none another\u2019s throats for religion\u2019s sake--or rather, in deference\nto the pious hero of the faith from Sweden and his fugleman\nOxenstiern. In the eighteenth century, they decorated their heads\nwith periwigs and pigtails, making it a matter of conjecture\nwhether both ladies and gentlemen were not in the act of developing\nthemselves from monkeydom into manhood.\n\n\u201cElections are the folly of our century. See here, my good fellow,\nlook what is written here: In three days the municipal elections\nwill come off throughout the country--in eighteen days the election\nof delegates. For eighteen days the whole country is to labor in\nelection throes. Every man twenty-one years of age, having a wife\nand a homestead, is to be employed in rooting from out the soil of\nparty councilmen, mayors, and deputies.\n\n\u201cAnd during the period these rooters not unfrequently get at\nloggerheads. Some are in favor of Streichein the miller, because\nStreichein has lavishly greased their palms; others insist upon\nre-electing Leimer the manufacturer, because Leimer threatens a\nreduction of wages if they refuse to keep him in the honorable\nposition. In the heat of dispute, quite a storm of oaths and ugly\nepithets, yes, and of blows too, rages, and many is the voter who\nretires from the scene of action with a bloody head. The beer-shops\nare the chief battle-fields for this sort of skirmishing. Here,\nzealous voters swill down hogsheads of beer: brewers drive a brisk\ntrade during elections. But you must not think, Seraphin, that\nthese absurd election scenes are confined to cities. In rural\ndistricts the game is conducted with no less interest and fury.\nThere is a village not far away, where a corpulent ploughman set\nhis mind on becoming mayor. What does he, to get the reins of\nvillage government into his great fat fist? Two days previous to\nthe election he butchers three fatted hogs, has several hundred\nringlets of sausage made, gets ready his pots and pans for cooking\nand roasting, and then advertises: eating and drinking _ad libitum_\nand _gratis_ for every voter wiping to aid him to ascend the\nmayor\u2019s throne. He obtained his object.\n\n\u201cNow, I put the question to you Seraphin, is not this sort of\nelection jugglery far more ridiculous and disgusting than the most\npreposterous periwigs of the last century?\u201d\n\n\u201cIgnorance and passion may occasion the abuse of the best\ninstitutions,\u201d answered the double millionaire. \u201cHowever, if beer\nand pork determine the choice of councilmen and mayors, voters have\nno right to complain of misrule. It would be most disastrous to the\nstate, I should think, were such corrupt means to decide also the\nelection of the deputies of our legislative assembly.\u201d\n\nThe banker smiled.\n\n\u201cThe self-same man\u0153uvring, only on a larger scale,\u201d replied\nhe. \u201cOf course, in this instance, petty jealousies disappear.\nStreichein the miller and Leimer the manufacturer make concessions\nin the interest of the common party. All stand shoulder to shoulder\nin the cause of _progress_ against Ultramontanes and democrats, who\nin these days have begun to be troublesome.\n\n\u201cWhilst at municipal elections office-seekers employed money and\nposition for furthering their personal aims, at deputy elections\n_progress_ men cast their means into a common cauldron, from which\nthe mob are fed and made to drink in order to stimulate them with\nthe spirit of _progress_ for the coming election. At bottom it\namounts to the same--the stupefaction of the multitude, the rule of\na minority, in which, however, all consider themselves as having\npart, the folly of the nineteenth century.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis is an unhealthy condition of things, which gives reason\nto fear the corruption of the whole body politic,\u201d remarked the\nlandholder with seriousness. \u201cThe seats of the legislative chamber\nshould be filled not through bribery and deception of the masses,\nnor through party passion, but through a right appreciation of the\nqualifications that fit a man for the office of deputy.\u201d\n\n\u201cI ask your pardon, my dear friend,\u201d interposed the banker with\na laugh. \u201cBeing reared by a mother having a rigorous faith has\nprompted you to speak thus, not acquaintance with the spirit of\nthe age. Right appreciation! Heavens, what _na\u00efvet\u00e9_! Are you not\naware that _progress_, the autocrat of our times, follows a fixed,\nunchanging programme? It matters not whether Tom or Dick occupies\nthe cushions of the legislative hall; the main point is to wear\nthe color of _progress_, and for this no special qualifications\nare needed. I will give you an illustration of the way in which\nthese things work. Let us suppose that every member is provided\nwith a trumpet which he takes with him to the assembly. To blow\nthis trumpet neither skill, nor quick perception, nor experience,\nnor knowledge--neither of these qualifications is necessary. Now,\nwe will suppose these gentlemen assembled in the great hall where\nthe destinies of the country are decided; should abuses need\ncorrection, should legislation for church or state be required,\nthey have only to blow the trumpet of _progress_. The trumpet\u2019s\ntone invariably accords with the spirit of progress, for it has\nbeen attuned to it. Should it happen that at a final vote upon a\nmeasure the trumpets bray loudly enough to drown the opposition\nof democrats and Ultramontanes, the matter is settled, the law is\npassed, the question is decided.\u201d\n\n\u201cEvidently you exaggerate!\u201d said Seraphin with a shake of the head.\n\u201cYour illustration beats the enchanted horn of the fable. Do not\nyou think so, Miss Louise?\u201d\n\n\u201cBrother\u2019s trumpet story is rather odd, \u2019tis true, yet I believe\nthat at bottom such is really the state of things.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe instrument in question is objectionable in your opinion, my\nfriend, only because you still bear about you the narrow conscience\nof an age long since buried. As you never spend more than two\nshort winter months in the city, where alone the life-pulse of\nour century can be felt beating, you remain unacquainted with the\npresent and its spirit. The rest of the year you pass in riding\nabout on your lands, suffering yourself to be impressed by the\nstern rigor of nature\u2019s laws, and concluding that human society\nharmonizes in the same manner with the behests of fixed principles.\nI shall have to brush you up a little. I shall have to let you into\nthe mysteries of _progress_, so that you may cease groping like a\nblind man in the noonday of enlightenment. Above all, let us have\nno narrow-mindedness, no scrupulosity, I beg of you. Whosoever\nnowadays walks the grass-grown paths of rigorism is a doomed man.\u201d\n\nWhilst he was saying this, a smile was on the banker\u2019s countenance.\nSeraphin mused in silence on the meaning and purpose of his\nextraordinary language.\n\n\u201cLook down the street, if you please,\u201d continued Carl Greifmann.\n\u201cDo you observe yon dark mass just passing under the gas-lamp?\u201d\n\n\u201cI notice a pretty corpulent gentleman,\u201d answered Seraphin.\n\n\u201cThe corpulent gentleman is Mr. Hans Shund, formerly treasurer\nof this city,\u201d explained Greifmann. \u201cMany years ago, Mr. Shund\nput his hand into the public treasury, was detected, removed for\ndishonesty, and imprisoned for five years. When set at liberty,\nthe ex-treasurer made the loaning of money on interest a source\nof revenue. He conducted this business with shrewdness, ruined\nmany a family that needed money and in its necessity applied to\nhim, and became rich. Shund the usurer is known to all the town,\ndespised and hated by everybody. Even the dogs cannot endure the\nodor of usury that hangs about him; just see--all the dogs bark at\nhim. Shund is moreover an extravagant admirer of the gentler sex.\nAll the town is aware that this Jack Falstaff contributes largely\nto the scandal that is afloat. The pious go so far as to declare\nthat the gallant Shund will be burned and roasted in hell for all\neternity for not respecting the sixth commandment. Considered in\nthe light of the time honored morality of Old Franconia, Shund,\nthe thief, the usurer and adulterer, is a low, good-for-nothing\nscoundrel, no question about it. But in the light of the indulgent\nspirit of the times, no more can be said than that he has his\nfoibles. He is about to pass by on the other side, and, as a\nwell-bred man, will salute us.\u201d\n\nSeraphin had attentively observed the man thus characterized, but\nwith the feelings with which one views an ugly blotch, a dirty page\nin the record of humanity.\n\nMr. Shund lowered his hat, his neck and back, with oriental\nceremoniousness in presence of the millions on the balcony. Carl\nacknowledged the salute, and even Louise returned it with a\nfriendly inclination of the head.\n\nThe landholder, on the contrary, was cold, and felt hurt at\nGreifmann\u2019s bowing to a fellow whom he had just described as a\nscoundrel. That Louise, too, should condescend to smile to a thief,\nswindler, usurer, and immoral wretch! In his opinion, Louise should\nhave followed the dictates of a noble womanhood, and have looked\nwith honest pity on the scapegrace. She, on the contrary, greeted\nthe bad man as though he were respectable, and this conduct wounded\nthe young man\u2019s feelings.\n\n\u201cApropos of Hans Shund, I will take occasion to convince you of\nthe correctness of my statements,\u201d said Carl Greifmann. \u201cThree\ndays hence, the municipal election is to come off. Mr. Shund is to\nbe elected mayor. And when the election of deputies takes place,\nthis same Shund will command enough of the confidence and esteem\nof his fellow-citizens to be elected to the legislative assembly,\nthief and usurer though he be. You will then, I trust, learn to\nunderstand that the might of progress is far removed from the\nbigotry that would subject a man\u2019s qualifications to a microscopic\nexamination. The enlarged and liberal principles prevailing in\nsecular concerns are opposed to the intolerance that would insist\non knowing something of an able man\u2019s antecedents before consenting\nto make use of him. All that Shund will have to do will be to\nfall in under the glorious banner of the spirit of the age; his\nvoting trumpet will be given him; and forthwith he will turn out a\nfinished mayor and deputy. Do you not admire the power and stretch\nof _liberalism_?\u201d\n\n\u201cI certainly do admire your faculty for making up plausible\nstories,\u201d answered Seraphin.\n\n\u201cPlausible stories? Not at all! Downright earnest, every word of\nit. Hans Shund, take my word for it, will be elected mayor and\nmember of the assembly.\u201d\n\n\u201cIn that event,\u201d replied the landholder, \u201cShund\u2019s disreputable\nantecedents and disgusting conduct at present must be altogether a\nsecret to his constituents.\u201d\n\n\u201cAgain you are mistaken, my dear friend. This remark proceeds from\nyour want of acquaintance with the genius of our times. This city\nhas thirty thousand inhabitants. Every adult among them has heard\nof Hans Shund the thief, usurer, and companion of harlots. And\nI assure you that not a voter, not a progressive member of our\ncommunity, thinks himself doing what is at all reprehensible by\nconferring dignity and trust on Hans Shund. You have no idea how\ncomprehensive is the soul of liberalism.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet us quit a subject that appears to me impossible, nay, even\nunnatural,\u201d said Gerlach.\n\n\u201cNo, no; for this very reason you need to be convinced,\u201d insisted\nthe banker with earnestness. \u201cMy prospective--but hold--I was\nalmost guilty of a want of delicacy. No matter, my _actual_ friend,\nlandholder and millionaire, must be made see with his eyes and\ntouch with his fingers what marvels _progress_ can effect. Let us\nmake a bet: Eighteen days from now Hans Shund will be mayor and\nmember for this city. I shall stake ten thousand florins. You may\nput in the pair of bays that won the best prizes at the last races.\u201d\n\nSeraphin hesitated.\n\n\u201cCome on!\u201d urged the banker. \u201cSince you refuse to believe my\nassertions, let us make a bet. May be you consider my stakes too\nsmall against yours? Very well, I will say twenty thousand florins.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will be the loser, Greifmann! Your statements are too\nunreasonable.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind; if I lose, you will be the winner. Do you take me up?\u201d\n\n\u201cPshaw, Carl! you are too sure,\u201d said Louise reproachfully.\n\n\u201cMy feeling so sure is what makes me eager to win the finest pair\nof horses I ever saw. Is it possible that you are a coward?\u201d\n\nThe landholder\u2019s face reddened. He put his right hand in the\nbanker\u2019s. \u201cMy dear fellow,\u201d exclaimed he jubilantly, \u201cI have just\ndriven a splendid bargain. To convince you of the entire fairness\nof the transaction, you are to be present at the manipulation\nthat is to decide. Even though you lose the horses, your gain is\nincalculable, for it consists in nothing less than being convinced\nof the wonderful nature and of the omnipotence of progress. I\nrepeat, then, that, wherever progress reigns, the elections are the\nsupreme folly of the nineteenth century; for in reality there is no\nelecting; but what progress decrees, that is fulfilled.\u201d\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nTHE LEADERS.\n\nThe banker was seated at his office table working for his chance\nin the wager with the industry of a thorough business man. Whilst\nhe was engaged in writing notes, a smile indicative of certainty\nof success lit up his countenance; for he was thoroughly familiar\nwith the figures that entered into his calculations, and, withal,\nHans Shund invested with offices and dignity could not but strike\nhim as a comical anomaly. \u201cHappy thought! My father travels half\nof the globe; many wonderful things come under his observation,\nno doubt, but the greatest of all prodigies is to be witnessed\nright here: Hans Shund, the thief, swindler, usurer, wanton--mayor\nand law-maker! And it is the venerable sire _Progress_ that alone\ncould have begotten the prodigy of a Hans Shund invested with\nhonors. My Lord Progress is therefore himself a prodigy--a very\nextraordinary offspring of the human mind, the culminating point\nof enlightenment. Admitting humanity to be ten thousand million\nyears old, or even more, as the most learned of scientific men have\naccurately calculated it, during this rather long series of years\nnature never produced a marvel that might presume to claim rank\nwith progress. Progress is the acme of human culture--about this\nthere can be no question. Yes, indeed, _the acme_.\u201d And he finished\nthe last word in the last note. \u201cHumanity will therefore have to\nface about and begin again at the beginning; for after progress\nnothing else is possible.\u201d He rang his bell.\n\n\u201cTake these three notes to their respective addresses immediately,\u201d\nsaid he to the servant who had answered the ring. Greifmann\nstepped into the front office, and gave an order to the cashier.\nReturning to his own cabinet, he locked the door that opened into\nthe front office. He then examined several iron safes, the modest\nand smooth polish of which suggested neither the hardness of their\niron nature nor the splendor of their treasures.\n\n\u201cGold or paper?\u201d said the banker to himself. After some indecision,\nhe opened the second of the safes. This he effected by touching\nseveral concealed springs, using various keys, and finally shoving\nback a huge bolt by means of a very small blade. He drew out twenty\npackages of paper, and laid them in two rows on the table. He undid\nthe tape encircling the packages, and then it appeared that every\nleaf of both rows was a five-hundred florin banknote. The banker\nhad exposed a considerable sum on the table. A sudden thought\ncaused him to smile, and he shoved the banknotes where they came\nmore prominently into view.\n\nThe blooming double millionaire entered.\n\n\u201cSit down a moment, friend Seraphin, and listen to a short account\nof my scheme. I have said before that our city is prospering and\ngrowing under the benign sceptre of progress. The powers and honors\nof the sceptre are portioned among three leaders. Everything is\ndirected and conducted by them--of course, in harmony with the\nspirit of the times. I have summoned the aforesaid magnates to\nappear. That the business may be despatched with a comfortable\ndegree of expedition, the time when the visit is expected has\nbeen designated in each note; and those gentlemen are punctual in\nall matters connected with money and the bank. You can enter this\nlittle apartment next to us, and by leaving the door open hear the\nconversation. The mightiest of the corypheuses is Schwefel, the\nstraw-hat manufacturer. This potentate resides at a three-minutes\nwalk from here, and can put in an appearance at any time.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am on tiptoe!\u201d said Gerlach. \u201cYou promise what is so utterly\nincredible, that the things you are preparing to reveal appear to\nme like adventures belonging to another world.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo another world!--quite right, my dear fellow! I am indeed about\nto display to your astounded eyes some wonders of the world of\nprogress that hitherto have been entirely unknown to you. Within\neighteen days you shall, under my tutorship, receive useful and\nthorough instruction. This promise I can make you, as we are\njust in face of the elections, a time when minds put aside their\ndisguises, when they not unfrequently shock one another, and when\nmany secrets come to light!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou put me under many obligations!\u201d\n\n\u201cOnly doing my duty, my most esteemed! We are both aware that,\naccording to the wishes of parents and the desired inclinations\nof parties known, our respective millions are to approach each\nother in closer relationship. To do a relative of mine _in spe_ a\nfavor, gives me unspeakable satisfaction. I shall proceed with my\ncourse of instruction. See here! Every one of these twenty packages\ncontains twenty five-hundred florin banknotes. Consequently, both\nrows contain just two hundred thousand florins--an imposing sum\nassuredly, and, for the purpose of being imposing, the two hundred\nthousand have been laid upon this table. Explanation: the mightiest\nof the spirits of progress is--Money.\n\n\u201cAll forces, all sympathies, revolve about money as the heavenly\nbodies revolve about the sun. For this reason the mere proximity\nof a considerable sum of money acts upon every man of progress\nlike a current of electricity: it carries him away, it intoxicates\nhis senses. The leaders whom I have invited will at once notice\nthe collection of five-hundred florin notes: in the rapidity\nof calculating, they will overestimate the amount, and obtain\nimpressions in proportion, somewhat like the Jews that prostrated\nthemselves in the dust in adoration of the golden calf. As for me,\nmy dear fellow, I shall carry on my operations in the auspicious\npresence of this power of two hundred thousands. Such a display\nof power will produce in the leaders a frame of mind made up of\nveneration, worship, and unconditional submissiveness. Every word\nof mine will proceed authoritatively from the golden mouth of the\ntwo hundred thousands, and my proposals it will be impossible for\nthem to reject. But listen! The door of the ante-room is being\nopened. The mightiest is approaching. Go in quick.\u201d He pressed the\nspring of a concealed door, and Seraphin disappeared.\n\nWhen the straw-hat manufacturer entered, the banker was sitting\nbefore the banknotes apparently absorbed in intricate calculations.\n\n\u201cAh Mr. Schwefel! pardon the liberty I have taken of sending for\nyou. The pressure of business,\u201d motioning significantly towards the\nbanknotes, \u201chas made it impossible for me to call upon you.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo trouble, Mr. Greifmann, no trouble whatever!\u201d rejoined the\nmanufacturer with profound bows.\n\n\u201cHave the goodness to take a seat!\u201d And he drew an arm-chair quite\nnear to where the money lay displayed. Schwefel perceived they were\nfive-hundreds, estimated the amount of the pile in a few rapid\nglances, and felt secret shudderings of awe passing through his\nperson.\n\n\u201cThe cause of my asking you in is a business matter of some\nmagnitude,\u201d began the banker. \u201cThere is a house in Vienna with\nwhich we stand in friendly relations, and which has very extensive\nconnections in Hungary. The gentlemen of this house have contracts\nfor furnishing large orders of straw hats destined mostly for\nHungary, and they wish to know whether they can obtain favorable\nterms of purchase at the manufactories of this country. It is a\nbusiness matter involving a great deal of money. Their confidence\nin the friendly interest of our firm, and in our thorough\nacquaintance with local circumstances, has encouraged them to apply\nto us for an accurate report upon this subject. They intimate,\nmoreover, that they desire to enter into negotiations with none but\nsolid establishments, and for this reason are supposed to be guided\nby our judgment. As you are aware, this country has a goodly number\nof straw-hat manufactories. I would feel inclined, however, as far\nas it may be in my power, to give your establishment the advantage\nof our recommendation, and would therefore like to get from you a\nwritten list of fixed prices of all the various sorts.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am, indeed, under many obligations to you, Mr. Greifmann,\nfor your kind consideration,\u201d said the manufacturer, nodding\nrepeatedly. \u201cYour own experience can testify to the durability of\nmy work, and I shall give the most favorable rates possible.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo doubt,\u201d rejoined the banker with haughty reserve. \u201cYou must\nnot forget that the straw-hat business is out of our line. It is\nincumbent on us, however, to oblige a friendly house. I shall\ntherefore make a similar proposal to two other large manufactories,\nand, after consulting with men of experience in this branch,\nshall give the house in Vienna the advice we consider most to its\ninterest, that is, shall recommend the establishment most worthy of\nrecommendation.\u201d\n\nMr. Schwefel\u2019s excited countenance became somewhat lengthy.\n\n\u201cYou should not fail of an acceptable acknowledgment from me, were\nyou to do me the favor of recommending my goods,\u201d explained the\nmanufacturer.\n\nThe banker\u2019s coldness was not in the slightest degree altered by\nthe implied bribe. He appeared not even to have noticed it. \u201cIt\nis also my desire to be able to recommend you,\u201d said he curtly,\ncarelessly taking up a package of the banknotes and playing with\nten thousand florins as if they were so many valueless scraps of\npaper. \u201cWell, we are on the eve of the election,\u201d remarked he\ningenuously. \u201cHave you fixed upon a magistrate and mayor?\u201d\n\n\u201cAll in order, thank you, Mr. Greifmann!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd are you quite sure of the order?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; for we are well organized, Mr. Greifmann. If it interests\nyou, I will consider it as an honor to be allowed to send you a\nlist of the candidates.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hope you have not passed over ex-treasurer Shund?\u201d\n\nThis question took Mr. Schwefel by surprise, and a peculiar smile\nplayed on his features.\n\n\u201cThe world is and ever will be ungrateful,\u201d continued the banker,\nas though he did not notice the astonishment of the manufacturer.\n\u201cI could hardly think of an abler and more sterling character for\nthe office of mayor of the city than Mr. Shund. Our corporation\nis considerably in debt. Mr. Shund is known to be an accurate\nfinancier, and an economical householder. We just now need for\nthe administration of our city household a mayor that understands\nreckoning closely, and that will curtail unnecessary expenses, so\nas to do away with the yearly increasing deficit in the budget.\nMoreover, Mr. Shund is a noble character; for he is always ready to\naid those who are in want of money--on interest, of course. Then,\nagain, he knows law, and we very much want a lawyer at the head of\nour city government. In short, the interests of this corporation\nrequire that Mr. Shund be chosen chief magistrate. It is a\nsubject of wonder to me that progress, usually so clear-sighted,\nhas heretofore passed Mr. Shund by, despite his numerous\nqualifications. Abilities should be called into requisition for\nthe public weal. To be candid, Mr. Schwefel, nothing disgusts me\nso much as the slighting of great ability,\u201d concluded the banker\ncontemptuously.\n\n\u201cAre you acquainted with Shund\u2019s past career?\u201d asked the leader\ndiffidently.\n\n\u201cWhy, yes! Mr. Shund once put his hand in the wrong drawer, but\nthat was a long time ago. Whosoever amongst you is innocent, let\nhim cast the first stone at him. Besides, Shund has made good his\nfault by restoring what he filched. He has even atoned for the\nmomentary weakness by five years of imprisonment.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis true; but Shund\u2019s theft and imprisonment are still very fresh\nin people\u2019s memory,\u201d said Schwefel. \u201cShund is notorious, moreover,\nas a hard-hearted usurer. He has gotten rich through shrewd money\nspeculations, but he has also brought several families to utter\nruin. The indignation of the whole city is excited against the\nusurer; and, finally, Shund indulges a certain filthy passion with\nsuch effrontery and barefacedness that every respectable female\ncannot but blush at being near him. These characteristics were\nunknown to you, Mr. Greifmann; for you too will not hesitate an\ninstant to admit that a man of such low practices must never fill a\npublic office.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not understand you, and I am surprised!\u201d said the\nmillionaire. \u201cYou call Shund a usurer, and you say that the\nindignation of the whole town is upon him. Might I request from you\nthe definition of a usurer?\u201d\n\n\u201cThey are commonly called usurers who put out money at exorbitant,\nillegal interest.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou forget, my dear Mr. Schwefel, that speculation is no longer\nconfined to the five per cent. rate. A correct insight into the\ncircumstances of the times has induced our legislature to leave the\nrate of interest altogether free. Consequently, a usurer has gotten\nto be an impossibility. Were Shund to ask fifty per cent. and more,\nhe would be entitled to it.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is so; for the moment I had overlooked the existence of\nthe law,\u201d said the manufacturer, somewhat humiliated. \u201cYet I\nhave not told you all concerning the usurer. Beasts of prey and\nvampires inspire an involuntary disgust or fear. Nobody could find\npleasure in meeting a hungry wolf, or in having his blood sucked\nby a vampire. The usurer is both vampire and wolf. He hankers to\nsuck the very marrow from the bones of those who in financial\nstraits have recourse to him. When an embarrassed person borrows\nfrom him, that person is obliged to mortgage twice the amount that\nhe actually receives. The usurer is a heartless strangler, an\ninsatiable glutton. He is perpetually goaded on by covetousness\nto work the material ruin of others, only so that the ruin of his\nneighbor may benefit himself. In short, the usurer is a monster so\nfrightful, a brute so devoid of conscience, that the very sight of\nhim excites horror and disgust. Just such a monster is Shund in the\neyes of all who know him--and the whole city knows him. Hence the\nman is the object of general aversion.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, this is still worse, still more astonishing!\u201d rejoined the\nmillionaire with animation. \u201cI thought our city enlightened. I\nshould have expected from the intelligence and judgment of our\ncitizens that they would have deferred neither to the sickly\nsentimentalism of a bigoted morality nor to the absurdity of\nobsolete dogmas. If your description of the usurer, which might\nat least be styled poetico-religious, is an expression of the\nprevailing spirit of this city, I shall certainly have to lower my\nestimate of its intelligence and culture.\u201d\n\nThe leader hastened to correct the misunderstanding.\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon, Mr. Greifmann! You may rest assured that we\ncan boast all the various conquests made by modern advancement.\nReligious enthusiasm and foolish credulity are poisonous plants\nthat superannuated devotees are perhaps still continuing to\ncultivate here and there in pots, but which the soil will no\nlonger produce in the open air. The sort of education prevailing\nhereabout is that which has freed itself from hereditary religious\nprejudices. Our town is blessed with all the benefits of progress,\nwith liberty of thought, and freedom from the thraldom of a dark,\ndesigning priesthood.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow comes it, then, that a man is an object of contempt for acting\nin accordance with the principles of this much lauded progress?\u201d\nasked the millionaire, with unexpected sarcasm. \u201cWe are indebted to\nprogress for the abolition of a legal rate of interest. Shund takes\nadvantage of this conquest, and for doing so citizens who boast of\nbeing progressive look upon him with aversion. A further triumph\nsecured by progress is freedom from the tyranny of dogmas and the\ntortures of a conscience created by a contracted morality. This\nbeautiful fruit of the tree of enlightened knowledge Shund partakes\nof and enjoys; and for this he has the distinction of passing for\na vampire. And because he displays the spirit of an energetic\nbusiness man, because his capacity for speculating occasionally\noverwhelms blockheads and dunces, he is decried as a ravenous\nwolf. It is sad! If your statements are correct, Mr. Schwefel, our\ncity ought not to boast of being progressive. Its citizens are\nstill groping in the midnight darkness of religious superstition,\nscarcely even united with modern intellectual advancement. And\nto me the consciousness is most uncomfortable of breathing an\natmosphere poisoned by the decaying remnants of an age long since\nburied.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy own personal views accord with yours,\u201d protested Schwefel\ncandidly. \u201cThe subversion of the antiquated, absurd articles of\nfaith and moral precept necessarily entails the abrogation of the\nconsequences that flow from them for public life. For centuries the\ncross was a symbol of dignity, and the doctrine of the Crucified\nresulted in holiness. Paganism, on the contrary, looked upon the\ngospel as foolishness, as a hallucination, and upon the cross as a\nsign of shame. I belong to the classic ranks, and so do millions\nlike myself--among them Mr. Shund. Viewed in the light of progress,\nShund is neither a vampire nor a wolf; at the worst, he is merely\nan ill-used business man. They who suffer themselves to be\nhumbugged and fleeced by him have their own stupidity to thank for\nit. This exposition will convince you that I stand on a level with\nyourself in the matter of advanced enlightenment. Nevertheless,\nyou overlook, Mr. Greifmann, that, so far as the masses of the\npeople are concerned, reverence for the cross and the holiness of\nits doctrines continue to prevail. The acquisitions of progress\nare not yet generally diffused. The mines of modern intellectual\nculture are being provisionally worked by a select number of\nindependent, bold natures. The multitude, on the other hand, still\ncontinue folding about them the winding-sheet of Christianity.\nThe views, customs, principles, and judgments of men are as yet\nwidely controlled by Christian elements. Our city does homage to\nprogress, pretty nearly, however, in the manner of a blind man that\ndiscourses of colors.\u201d\n\n                         TO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n\n\nA HISTORY OF THE GOTHIC REVIVAL IN ENGLAND.[103]\n\n\nWe purpose giving in this article a sketch, as far as our limited\nspace will allow, of a costly and beautiful work published in\nLondon under the above title. Many of our readers will perhaps\nturn willingly to the history of a movement which is not without\nits echo in America, and which the future bids fair to foster\nand popularize wherever the Anglo-Saxon tongue and spirit have\nsway. A work treating of such very modern and recent events in\nthe history of art is not easily reducible to salient divisions;\nyet, having to be brief, we must necessarily endeavor to be clear,\nand we will, therefore, pick out a few prominent ideas, which, we\nhope, will be more interesting to the general reader than the mass\nof technical detail in which Eastlake\u2019s book naturally (and very\nproperly) abounds. We have also to promise that we wish only to\nstate and quote facts, or such anecdotes and professional opinions\nas give our history an individual interest, not to drag up the\nvexed questions which have made the venerable words \u201cGothic\u201d and\n\u201cmedi\u00e6val\u201d signs of warfare and contradiction. This is a pure\nchronicle of accomplished facts, and addresses itself only to such\nas already lean to the \u00e6sthetic principles of those \u201cdark ages\u201d\nof spiritual light which gave us along with Monasticism the great\nconservative power. Feudalism--the progressive power, the check\non royal autocracy, the guardian of Magna Charta, the parent of\nconstitutional liberty.\n\nPassing by the history and literature of Gothic art since its decay\nin the sixteenth to its full revival in the nineteenth century,\nwe are attracted by the subject of its symbolism, over which such\nfierce and sometimes ludicrous battles have been fought; but,\neven before the symbolism of the art, its very origin was made a\nsubject of curious dispute. For instance, the author of this work\nsays: \u201cIn the beginning of this century, various arguments were\nrife. The style was Gothic; it was Saracenic; it had been brought\nto England by the crusaders; it had been invented by the Moors in\nSpain; it might be traced to the pyramids of Egypt. One ingenious\ntheorist endeavored to reconcile all opinions in his comprehensive\nhypothesis that the style of architecture which we call cathedral\nor monastic Gothic was manifestly a corruption of the sacred\narchitecture of the Greeks and Romans, by a mixture of the Moorish\nor Saracenesque, which is formed out of a combination of Egyptian,\nPersian, and Hindoo!\u201d\n\nOf symbolism, and the intimate union of the religious and artistic\nspirit, Eastlake says: \u201cIn modern days, we have unconsciously drawn\na distinction between religious art and popular art. In the middle\nages, they were thoroughly blended;\u201d but he goes on to infer from\nthis blending that, according to the old adage, \u201cFamiliarity breeds\ncontempt,\u201d there was no reverential and spiritual idea whatever\nembodied in the work of the medi\u00e6val carvers and architects. We,\nby the light of our faith, the heirloom of the very times we\nspeak of, believe him to be either unconsciously prejudiced or\nmistaken. He seems to scout the idea of the deviation of the line\nof the chancel from the line of the nave, an occasional feature\nin some old churches (for instance, the Abbey of St. Denys, near\nParis), being a symbol of the inclination of Our Lord\u2019s head upon\nthe cross. It is but a tradition, a pious belief, it is true; but\nwhy throw doubt upon it? If it really was meant as a symbol, he\nasks why was it not so in all churches? And if the triplet window\ntypified the Trinity, why were two or five light windows used?\nSimply because the symbol was optional, yet none the less a symbol.\nFrom the old symbolism of the forgotten artists of past days,\nwe come to the miscalled \u201cPre-Raphaelite\u201d naturalism of modern\narchitects. Ruskin with all his merits, of which we will speak more\nfully further on, had an exaggerated tendency to find in carving an\nexact copy from nature, and to condemn anything in that line that\ndid not absolutely reproduce some organic form. Eastlake himself\nexpresses his own views on the subject in the following words: \u201cIn\nthe gable [of St. Finbar\u2019s, Cork], ... a seated figure of Christ\nis to occupy a vesica-shaped panel, with angels censing on each\nside. Of these works, executed by Mr. Thomas Nicholls from Mr.\nBurges\u2019 design, it is not too much to say that no finer examples of\ndecorative sculpture have been produced during the Revival. They\nexactly represent that intermediate condition between natural form\nand abstract idealism which is the essence of medi\u00e6val, and indeed\nof all noble art.\u201d From this subject we are led to the kindred one\nof the contrast between old work and new. Our author repeatedly\nreturns to this point. Here are some amusing sayings about the\ndeplorable \u2018tameness\u2019 of modern sculpture: \u201cThe Roman Catholic\nchurches erected at this period (1850) had one decided advantage\nover those designed for the Establishment, viz., the richness of\ntheir interiors.... A tamely carved reredos, generally arranged\nin panels to hold the Ten Commandments (!), a group of sedilia\nand a piscina, with perhaps a few empty inches in the clerestory,\nwere, as a rule, all the internal features which distinguished an\nAnglican church from a meeting-house.\u201d So that wherever art is\nconcerned, an unconscious tribute is naturally offered to the\nchurch! Again and again, our author vigorously denounces the dead\nimitation of living and forcible models, which is in the spirit\nof a \u201cChinese engraver who should undertake to imitate, line for\nline and spot for spot, a damaged print.\u201d \u201cEvery one,\u201d he says,\n\u201cwho has studied the principles of medi\u00e6val art, knows how much\nits character and _vitality_ depend upon the essential element\nof decorative sculpture, of the spirit of what Ruskin has called\n\u2018noble grotesque,\u2019 in its nervous types of animal life and vigorous\nconventionalism of vegetable form.... To copy line for line, even\nwhen sound and fresh from the chisel, and yet preserve the spirit\nof the original, would have been difficult in the best ages of art.\nThe medi\u00e6val sculptors never--to use an artistic phrase--repeated\nthemselves. If the conditions of their work required a certain\ndegree of uniformity in design, they took care to aim at the\nspirit, but not the letter, of symmetry.... They took the birds of\nthe air and the flowers of the field for their study, but seemed\nto know instinctively the true secret of all decorative art, which\nlies in the suggestion and symbolism, rather than the presumptuous\nillustration of natural form.\u201d \u201cSince,\u201d continues Eastlake, \u201cwe\ncannot \u2018restore\u2019 the thoughts and stamp of the artists of old, we\nshould the more sedulously watch what we have left of such traces,\nand prop up and secure that which a little common care might\nlong preserve to us.\u201d Of an unfortunate modern carver, he says:\n\u201cImpartial critics who compare the medi\u00e6val carving with its modern\nsubstitute will probably consider the neat finish and anatomical\ncorrectness of Westmacott\u2019s groups a poor exchange for the earnest\nand vigorous, though somewhat rude, treatment of the old design.\nKing George\u2019s loyal subjects thought they knew better than those of\nKing Edward; ... their work was not clever; it was not interesting;\nit was not lifelike; it was not humorous; it was not even ugly\nafter a good honest fashion--it was deplorably and hopelessly\n_mean_.... All these accidents combine not only to deprive the\nbuilding of scale, but to give it a cold and _machine-made_ look.\nIn a far different spirit the medi\u00e6val designers worked.... Fifty\nyears ago, ... there was naturalistic carving and there was\nornamental carving, but the noble _abstractive_ treatment which\nshould find a middle place between them, and which was one of the\nglories of ancient art, had still to be revived.\u201d In whimsical\npursuance of his subject, he says elsewhere that before Pugin\u2019s\ndays \u201can architect would no more have thought of introducing a\nporch on the south aisle which had not its counterpart on the\nnorth, than he would have dared to wear a coat of which the right\nsleeve was longer than the left.\u201d Ruskin, too, seems to have\nthought a _coat_ a very effective instrument of illustration: here\nis his version of the likeness between the tailor\u2019s and the modern\narchitect\u2019s occupations. \u201cA day never passes,\u201d he says in his\n_Seven Lamps of Architecture_, \u201cwithout our hearing our English\narchitects called upon to be original, and to invent a new style;\nabout as sensible and necessary an exhortation as to ask of a man\nwho has never had rags enough on his back to keep out the cold\nto invent a new mode of cutting a coat. Give him a whole coat\nfirst, and let him concern himself about the fashion afterwards.\nWe want no new style of architecture. Who wants a new style of\npainting or of sculpture? But we want _some_ style.\u201d To return to\nEastlake\u2019s strongly accentuated views of medi\u00e6val carving: he has\nsummed them up in one sentence, as terse and vigorous as the old\nsculptural handiwork itself. \u201cDuring the Revival,\u201d he says, \u201cit\ntook a decade of years to teach workmen to carve carefully. It\ntook another to get them to carve simply. We may expect more than\na third to elapse before they have learnt to carve nobly.\u201d With\none more quotation which is too humorous to miss, we will close\nthis part of the history of the Revival: \u201cThere is no want of\nmanipulative skill or of imitative ability, but from some cause or\nanother there is a great want of spirit in the present carver\u2019s\nwork. The medi\u00e6val sculptor, with half the care and less than half\nthe finish now bestowed on such details, managed to throw life and\nvigor into the capitals and panel subjects that grew beneath his\nchisel. The \u2018angel choir\u2019 at Lincoln is rudely executed compared\nwith many a modern bas-relief, but the features of the winged\nminstrels are radiant with celestial happiness. There are figures\nof kings crumbling into dust in the niches of Exeter Cathedral\nwhich retain even now a dignity of attitude and lordly grace which\nno \u2018restoration\u2019 is likely to revive. Our nineteenth century angels\nlook like _demure Bible-readers, somewhat too conscious of their\npiety to be interesting_. Our nineteenth century monarchs seem (in\nstone, at least) _very well-to-do pleasant gentlemen_, but are\nscarcely of a heroic type. The roses and lilies, the maple foliage\nand forked spleenwort, with which we crown our pillars or deck\nour cornices, are cut with wonderful precision and neatness, but\nsomehow they miss the charm of old-world handicraft.... The truth\nis, that in the apparent imperfections of some arts lies the real\nsecret of their excellence. For instance, the superior _quality_ of\ncolor which long distinguished old (stained) glass from new was due\nin a great measure to its streakiness and irregularity of tint.\u201d\nWe would here submit to the talented and enthusiastic author that\nthe _spirit_ of ancient art, the loss of which he so vehemently\ndeplores, is intimately connected with that Catholic symbolism he\nso cavalierly dismisses. The Reformation took away the reality\nof faith from the souls of modern Christians; it could not but\nweaken likewise the realization of faith which for so many ages had\ninspired the hands of Christian artists. A noble orator, who is\nas much an artist in soul as he is a priest in fact, and in whom\nIreland and Irish America claim equal pride, said from the pulpit\nvery recently, and in a church of New York, that animal painting,\nthe lowest of the products of brush or pencil, was hardly known in\nits present development before the famous Reformation. The first\npainter who took to this earthy style was a German Lutheran in\nNaples, an emissary of the growing intellectual \u201cdisfranchisement\u201d\nof the sixteenth century; and his fellow-artists, who hitherto had\nnever looked lower than heaven itself for their models, would not\nspeak to him, nor recognize him as one of themselves, saying in a\ntone of contempt, \u201cThere goes the man who paints cows and horses!\u201d\nAs the old spirit died away, the forms of art grew downwards\nmore and more till we were reduced to roots and herbs, onions\nand cabbages, and foaming tankards of beer, and were expected to\nfind for these some words of praise on account of their fidelity\n(shall we not rather say _servility_?) to nature. Even now, the\ncorrect texture and pattern of a bed-quilt or a woman\u2019s dress is\na thing strained after by modern painters of supposed merit. In\nthe face of this three hundred years old debasement of art, who\ncould expect to revive the spirit of medi\u00e6val carving without first\nreviving that of medi\u00e6val faith? And here we are naturally led to\nspeak of Pugin, the great apostle of the Gothic Revival, the most\nmedi\u00e6val-spirited of all its known leaders; the man whose art, in\nfact, was the instrument of his conversion. Although Eastlake tends\ntowards depreciating the part and influence of our religion in this\nartistic crisis, and although, as he most truly and fairly says,\nour ceremonial, like our faith, can associate itself indifferently\nto any style, and therefore is sovereignly independent of any, yet\nit remains no less true that the Catholic Church is so exclusively\nthe real patroness of art that no artist-soul can fail to be\nattracted and won by her. Overbeck, the great German painter, who\nestablished in Rome a school that revives and rivals the glories of\nPerugino, Giotto, Mantegna, and Fra Angelico, was an artist before\nhe became a Catholic, but he found himself unable to teach his\nart-ideal without the spirit which of old had created that ideal.\nSo it was with Pugin.\n\nFrance and England have an equal claim to the honor of being the\nmother of the noblest, most earnest, truest artist, who has shared\nthe vicissitudes and anxieties of our modern (and more beneficial)\nRenaissance. His father was a French refugee, an architect of\ngreat merit, who had been associated in the early part of this\ncentury with Nash, the reigning architect of that time. Pugin\u2019s\nyouth seems to have been very adventurous; at all events, it shows\nthe irrepressible energy of his nature. He was an enthusiast of\nthe noblest type; his life was influenced by the purest motives.\nSo, with all his genius and, as far as the educated public was\nconcerned, his popularity, he was not overburdened with this\nworld\u2019s goods. His work on _Contrasts_ (of which we have had the\nprivilege of seeing some of the original illustrations in etching)\nis thus noticed by Eastlake:\n\n  \u201cIn 1836, Pugin published his celebrated _Contrasts_--a pungent\n  satire on modern architecture as compared with that of the middle\n  ages. The illustrations by himself afford evidence not only\n  of great artistic power, but of a keen sense of humor. To the\n  circulation of this work, we may attribute the care and jealousy\n  with which our ancient churches and cathedrals have since been\n  protected and kept in repair. In estimating the effect which\n  Pugin\u2019s efforts, both as an artist and as an author, produced\n  on the Gothic Revival, the only danger lies in the possibility\n  of overrating their worth. The man whose name was for at least\n  a quarter of a century a household word in every house where\n  ancient art was loved and appreciated--who fanned into a flame\n  the smouldering fire of ecclesiastical sentiment--whose very\n  faith was pledged to medi\u00e6val tradition--such a writer and such\n  an architect will not easily be forgotten so long as the \u00e6sthetic\n  principles which he advocated are recognized and maintained....\n  Notwithstanding the size and importance of some of his buildings,\n  it must be confessed that in his house and the church at Ramsgate\n  one recognizes more thorough and genuine examples of Pugin\u2019s\n  genius ... than elsewhere.\u201d\n\nThe list of his works is really so extensive that we must confine\nourselves by preference to one or two whose beauties we have had\npersonal opportunities of admiring.\n\nOf these, happily, that of Ramsgate is one. \u201cThe whole church,\u201d\nsays our author, \u201cis lined with stone of a warm color, the\nwoodwork of the screens, stalls, etc., being of dark oak. The\ngeneral _tone_ of the interior, lighted as it is by stained glass,\nis most agreeable, and wonderfully suggestive of old work....\nThe church of St. Augustine may be regarded as one of Pugin\u2019s\nmost successful achievements. Its plan is singularly ingenious\nand unconventional in arrangement. The exterior is simple but\npicturesque in outline. No student of old English architecture\ncan examine this interesting little church without perceiving\nthe thoughtful, earnest care with which it has been designed and\nexecuted down to the minutest detail.\u201d\n\nOmitting the technical description, which would be unintelligible\nto the non-professional reader, we will merely remark upon one\nor two interesting circumstances which combine to make St.\nAugustine\u2019s Priory doubly dear to the Catholic and artist heart.\nThe founder lies buried in one of its side chapels, beneath a\nlovely medi\u00e6val tomb, his figure carved in the monumental repose\nwhich characterizes the shrines of former days. And truly before\nthese calm effigies of death, which modern taste calls _stiff_,\nand for which it has substituted the nude and affected statues of\nweeping nymphs and cupids, no Christian can fail to be reminded of\nthe solemnly triumphant question, \u201cO grave, where is thy victory?\nO death, where is thy sting?\u201d The church that Pugin loved is now\nserved by the old monastic order, whose history is identified\nin England with most of the wonderful productions of the art\nhe followed--the Benedictines. The plain chant, so intimately\nassociated with that ancient art, is alone used at all the services\nof the church; and near the Pugin Chantry is an image of Our Lady,\nbefore which, on an iron stand of exquisite design, are constantly\nburned the tapers of the faithful. Were it not for the modern\ndress of the worshippers, nothing in the church would indicate\nthe change between the fourteenth and the nineteenth century.\nClose to it stands the architect\u2019s own house, a gem of domestic\nGothic architecture, now occupied by Pugin\u2019s widow and son, himself\nan enthusiastic artist. It is impossible to describe the house,\nsave by a comprehensive expression. It has a _sympathetic_ and\n_Catholic_ air: one is reminded of the days when artists loved\ntheir faith and their art in themselves, without after-thoughts\nand without interest; when they saw God in their work instead\nof a patron or a human encourager; when they would no more sell\ntheir principles and compromise their \u00e6sthetic beliefs, than they\nwould sell their soul to the Evil One. We have had the pleasure\nof experiencing familiar intercourse with this truly Christian\nhousehold, and of partaking of its graceful hospitality. We have\nseen the very dining-room etherealized into a fane of art, as\nthe table appeared laden with silver flagons of antique design,\nand decked in the centre with the virginal blossoms of lily and\njessamine. This purity of taste and absence of vulgar redundancy\nor vanity in ornament produced upon us a most indelible and quaint\nimpression. If it be true that the surroundings of home refine\nthe mind and open it to the most perfect sense of the beautiful,\nthese neighbors of St. Augustine\u2019s Priory should consider\nthemselves among the most favored in this age of almost hopeless\nutilitarianism.\n\nSt. George\u2019s Catholic Cathedral at Southwark, London, is also one\nof Pugin\u2019s great works. The ceremonies of the church are performed\nwith more precision in this cathedral than in almost any modern\none in England, and the building wonderfully lends itself to their\nperformance. During Holy Week, all the Protestant world of art and\nfashion crowd its aisles, and admire equally its architectural\nsolemnity and suggestiveness, and the impressive ritual to which\nit forms so noble a frame. The Church of St. Michael\u2019s Priory,\nnear Hereford, also a Benedictine foundation, is most beautiful\nand most \u201cPuginesque\u201d (to quote the appropriate word-coin of our\nauthor, Eastlake). The simplicity of its nave and aisles contrasts\nwell with the richness of its choir; the stone reredos, a true\n\u201ccarven dream of angels,\u201d represents the adoration of the Divine\nHost by the winged inhabitants of heaven; the altar is rich with\nmarble columns and small sculptured capitals of most ingenious\nworkmanship; the stalls rival those in the old Flemish churches\n(and Flanders was the birthland of perfect carving); and the\npeculiar arrangement which leaves a free space between choir and\nnave, separated from each by a vaulted arch, has a very happy\neffect. There are fully thirty monks in the monastery, and the\nplain chant is heard in all its glory at the prescribed hours of\nthe divine office.\n\nWe have lingered too long over these reminiscences, and will now\nhasten on to the few other points of interest, which our limited\nspace has allowed us to make note of, in Mr. Eastlake\u2019s book.\n\nA few quotations that carry one from the consideration of the dry,\ntechnical aspect of the Revival to that of its spirit and vitality\nwill not be unacceptable, we believe, to the general reader. Here\nare two contrasting portraits of modern and medi\u00e6val life: \u201cSeen\nin their present state, some half-modernized, some damaged by time\nand wilful neglect, others spoilt by injudicious restoration, many\nof these ancient mansions are but dimly suggestive of their former\nmagnificence. It was Nash\u2019s aim to represent them as they were in\nthe days when country life was enjoyed by their owners, not for a\nbrief interval in the year, but all the year round; in days when\nthere were feasting in the hall and tilting in the court-yard;\nwhen the yule-log cracked on the hearth, and mummers beguiled the\ndulness of a winter\u2019s evening; when the bowling-green was filled\nby lusty youths, and gentle dames sat spinning in their boudoirs;\nwhen the deep window recesses were filled with family groups, and\ngallant cavaliers rode a-hawking; when, in short, all the adjuncts\nand incidents of social life, dress, pastimes, manners, and whatnot\nformed part of a picturesque whole, of which we, in these prosaic\nand lack-lustre days, except by the artist\u2019s aid, can form no\nconception.\u201d On the other hand, here is what the shocked vision\nof a modern artist has suggested to the author of the _Gothic\nRevival_:\n\n\u201cMr. Ruskin looked around him at the modern architecture of England\n... and saw public buildings copied from those of a nobler age,\nbut starved and vulgarized in the copying. He saw private houses,\nsome modelled on what was supposed to be an Italian pattern, and\nothers modelled on what was supposed to be a medi\u00e6val pattern,\nand he found too often neither grandeur in the one nor grace in\nthe other. He saw palaces which looked mean, and cottages which\nlooked tawdry. He saw masonry without interest, ornament without\nbeauty, and sculpture without life. He walked through the streets\nof London, and found that they consisted for the most part of\nflaunting shop-fronts, stuccoed porticoes, and plaster cornices. It\nis true there were fine clubs and theatres and public institutions\nscattered here and there; but, after making due allowance for their\nsize, for the beauty of materials used, and for the neatness (!) of\nthe workmanship, how far could they be considered as genuine works\nof art?\u201d\n\nAnd here let us stop to point out how it has been invariably the\naim of the Revival to banish the false and the meretricious from\nart; how it has waged relentless war against shams, against the\naping in perishable clay of that which the ancients, Greek as well\nas medi\u00e6val, always carved in indestructible stone or marble.\nUnfortunately, the only residue of medi\u00e6valism that has as yet\nfiltered its way down to the masses of the population is strongly\ntinged with a taste for showiness at the expense of intrinsic\nworth, and the flimsiness of \u201cGothic\u201d sea-side lodges and Cockney\nvillas has become a by-word. Eastlake deplores the rigid adoption\nin such hybrid edifices of the bands of colored brick (chiefly\nred and yellow), which should be used with great discretion, but\nwhich obtained a too quick popularity when Ruskin first pointed out\ntheir prominent part in Italian decorative Gothic. In a foot-note,\nhe says: \u201cIn the suburbs this mode of decoration rose rapidly\ninto favor for Cockney villas and _public taverns_, and laid the\nfoundation of that peculiar order of Victorian architecture which\nhas since been distinguished by the familiar but not altogether\ninappropriate name of the Streaky Bacon Style.\u201d\n\nWith how many such buildings are we unhappily acquainted! In this\ncity, we have seen counterparts to the villas here mentioned--nay,\nchurches and public halls, with iron-work that calls itself Gothic,\nand does not know that it is but modern \u201cFranco-Assyrian!\u201d But let\nus not do injustice to the more enlightened disciples of Pugin and\nof Ruskin, who are covering this new land with buildings which, if\nthey last two or three hundred years, will rival those of the lands\nfrom whose cathedrals they were copied. A sister to the marble\ncathedral of Milan will soon be finished for the Catholics of New\nYork, not so elaborate, perhaps, but purer in style and spirit.\nOthers are eagerly competing in this new race of art, and the city\nof the Dutch emigrants will one day hold fanes that will remind\ntheir children of Flanders and of Holland.\n\nAlthough the Catholic Church can afford to dispense with outward\nceremonial, or adapt herself to a different arrangement of church\narchitecture, and yet remain, in custom, in doctrine, essentially\nimmutable, such is not the privilege of the dominant church in\nEngland. Therefore it will not be surprising to any one to know\nhow much the revived taste for art contributed some time ago to\nthe revived sense of decorum in the services of the Episcopalian\ndenomination. Eastlake gives us a graphic description of spiritual\ndesolation in the ante-Gothic days in the country parishes of\nEngland:\n\n  \u201cIn country districts, a bad road or a rainy day sufficed to\n  keep half the congregation away even from Sunday services. Of\n  those who attended, two-thirds left the responses to the parish\n  clerk.... Cracked fiddles and grunting violoncellos frequently\n  supplied the place of the church organ. The village choir--of\n  male and female performers--assembled in the western _gallery_\n  (!). When they began to sing, the whole congregation faced\n  about to look at them; but to turn towards the east during the\n  recitation of the creed, or to rise when the clergy entered\n  the church, would have been considered an instance of abject\n  superstition. No one thought of kneeling during the longer\n  prayers. Sometimes the Litany was interrupted by thwacks from\n  the beadle\u2019s cane as it descended on the shoulders of parish\n  schoolboys, who devoted themselves to clandestine amusement\n  during that portion of the service. When the sermon began, all,\n  except the very devout, settled themselves comfortably to sleep.\n  The parson preached in a black gown, and not unfrequently read\n  the communion service from his pulpit.\u201d\n\nWe have seen in a country church in Rutland--one of the midland\ncounties of England--some lingering tokens of this curious state\nof things. Most of the other churches of that neighborhood have\nbeen magnificently restored, and very much Catholicized, at least\nin externals. This exception to the rule is in a small parish, and\nis noticeable for a very curious ancient monument, half sunk in\nthe earth, and covered by a recess of the church wall itself. It\nis supposed to be that of the founder, who chose this position as\ntypical of his having been a _support_ to the building: at least\nthis was the suggestion of a friend of ours, an architect of the\ntype of Pugin--a Christian artist in the true sense of the word.\nThe interior of the church was a sad contrast to its beautiful\noutward proportions: high whitewashed pews filled it, hiding the\nbase of the columns, thrusting their wooden cornices into and\nover the _piscin\u00e6_, and covering from view the old brasses and\nmonumental slabs on the stone floor. A row of hat-pegs (will it be\nbelieved?) ran round the whole church at a convenient height, and\nrare must have been the decoration appended to them on a Sunday.\nThe \u201caltar plate\u201d--pewter pots hardly a stage better, and certainly\na degree duller, than those highly-polished vessels which were no\ndoubt in more constant use in the neighboring tavern--was kept in a\nworm-eaten old oak chest at the bottom of the church. The communion\ntable _was_ a table; and indeed Cromwell himself might have walked\nin and felt satisfied that there lurked no \u201cPopery\u201d there. By the\nbye, why does ignorance always call beautiful art \u201cPopery\u201d? Is it\nnot through some higher and unconscious knowledge which forces\nitself into expression, like the sibyl\u2019s prophecies, upon reluctant\nand unbelieving lips?\n\nEastlake speaks of Westminster Abbey as liable to many of the\nabuses which he deplores in country churches. \u201cWestminster,\u201d he\nsays, \u201cwas not then (1826) as now guarded by circumspect vergers,\nwho are stimulated to additional vigilance by the sixpences of\nthe faithful. There was scarce a monument in the place which had\nnot suffered from ruthless violence, for at that time or not long\nbefore, the choristers made a playground of the venerable abbey,\nand the Westminster scholars played at hockey in the cloisters.\u201d\n\nIt is time to mention a few of the architects of the more modern\nphase of the Revival, and of some of their works, those especially\nwhich find a place among the fine engravings of Eastlake\u2019s valuable\nbook. Butterfield is selected as one of the foremost, and as the\nonly leader after Pugin whose influence is yet appreciably felt. He\nis thus eulogized by our author. \u201cIt is especially characteristic\nof Mr. Butterfield\u2019s design that he aims at originality, not only\nin form, but in the relative proportion of parts.... This indeed\nis the secret of the striking and picturesque character which\ndistinguishes his works from others which are less daring in\nconception and therefore less liable to mistakes. Mr. Butterfield\nhas been the leader of a school, and it is necessary for a leader\nto be bold.\u201d Of the church of All Saints, in London, built by the\nsame architect, Eastlake says: \u201cThe truth is that the design\nwas a bold and magnificent endeavor to shake off the trammels of\nantiquarian precedent, which had long fettered the progress of the\nRevival, to create not a new style, but a development of previous\nstyles; to carry the enrichment of ecclesiastical Gothic to an\nextent which even in the middle ages had been rare in England;\nto adorn the walls with surface ornament of a durable kind; to\nspare, in short, neither skill, nor pains, nor cost in making this\nchurch the model church of its day--such a building as should\ntake a notable position in the history of modern architecture.\u201d\nFurther on he says of him that there is \u201ca sober earnestness in his\nwork widely different from that of some designers, who seem to be\ntossed about on the sea of popular taste.... He does not care to\nproduce showy buildings at a sacrifice of constructive strength.\nTo a pretty, superficial school of Gothic and fussy carving, he\nnever condescended.... His work gives one the idea of a man who\nhas designed it not so much to please his clients as to please\nhimself. In estimating the value of his skill, posterity may find\nsomething to smile at as eccentric and much that will astonish as\ndaring, but they will find nothing to despise as commonplace or\nmean.\u201d Several engravings are given of details of his work on the\nchurch of St. Alban\u2019s (a high ritualistic stronghold in London)\nand at All Saints\u2019 and Balliol Chapel (Oxford). Of Carpenter, an\narchitect who died in his prime, we find the following flattering\nnotice: \u201cNo practitioner of his day (1840-50) understood so\nthoroughly the _grammar_ of his art.... As a pupil he appears to\nhave given remarkable attention to the character and application\nof mouldings.... A knowledge of the laws of proportion, of the\nconditions of light and shade, and the effective employment of\ndecorative features are arrived at by most architects gradually\nand after a series of tentative experiments. Carpenter seems to\nhave acquired this knowledge very early in his career, so that\neven his first works possess an artistic quality far in advance of\ntheir state, while those he executed in later years are regarded\neven now with admiration by all who have endeavored to maintain\nthe integrity of our old national styles.\u201d Mr. Beresford Hope was\na true and enthusiastic patron of Carpenter\u2019s artistic career. Of\nthe many works of this talented man, whose life was unfortunately\nso short, our author chooses a large college in Sussex as the\none most worthy of an engraving. Its proportions truly denote a\nmedi\u00e6val spirit. Eastlake places Goldie among the later revivalists\nof note, and gives a fine engraving of his Abbey of St. Scholastica\nat Teignmouth. The building certainly looks massive and extensive\nenough for an ancient monastic structure, though the use of the\nbefore-mentioned bands of colored brick seems too profuse for that\nchasteness of design which is surely the highest standard of taste.\nGoldie is the architect of St. Mary\u2019s Cathedral at Kensington,\nLondon, the Pro-Cathedral of the Archiepiscopal See of Westminster.\nAlthough we have heard many criticisms passed upon this specimen\nof his skill, we are by no means capable of giving any opinion,\nespecially as we have not had the opportunity of seeing it.\nEastlake gives a view of its western doorway, and goes on to say\nthat the \u201cinterior is remarkable for the height of its nave,\u201d a\ndetail which receives but too little attention in many modern\nbuildings. \u201cThe roof,\u201d he says, \u201cis ceiled, and follows the outline\nof a trefoil-headed arch--a form not often adopted, but here\npeculiarly effective. There are many incidents in the design of\nthis church which are very ingenious and original.... Every detail\nthroughout the work, even to the novel gas-standard, bears evidence\nof artistic care.\u201d\n\nWe fear that, beyond naming these few artists, the richness of\nour remaining material will not allow us to go deeper into their\nmerits. Yet there are many others, as well or less known, whose\nconscientious, enthusiastic carrying out of their beautiful\nprinciples lends powerful aid to their theory. Hanson and Hadfield,\namong Catholic architects, and Street and Scott among Anglicans,\nare well worthy of mention, and since Barry was the ostensible\nrestorer of the Houses of Parliament, we must of course give him\na place in this short review. But there is one name which from\nintimate and pleasant acquaintance we would fain single out, and\nwhich is honorably mentioned by Eastlake as belonging to one who\nwith several of his Catholic brethren \u201chave done their best, each\nin their several ways, to secure honest and substantial work, and\nto keep clear of that tawdry, superficial style of design which\nbrings discredit on the Gothic cause.\u201d\n\nThis is Charles Buckler, the son and successor of John Chessel\nBuckler, a most finished artist and wonderful draughtsman, who, it\nmay be said with peculiar significance, has let his mantle fall on\nthe heir to his name and art. If any one would see in modern days\nthat oneness of being between faith and art, let him look for it\nin the life and works of this gifted architect. The most rigorous\npurist could find no fault in a man who takes for his model the\nsimplicity of the thirteenth century, and in whose manner and\naddress a corresponding simplicity and sweetness are ever manifest.\nA priest by the vocation of art, as his two brothers are by the\nvocation of faith and by union with one of the most art-loving\norders in the church, he works more willingly for churches and\nother ecclesiastical buildings than for the houses of the great,\nand finds his highest gratification in offering to each church\nhe designs some spontaneous gift of his genius, the carving of\na _piscina_ or the pedestal of a font. His little church of St.\nThomas \u00e0 Becket, at Exton in the county of Rutland, is a specimen\nof his design which we believe he himself would not be unwilling\nto call a representative one. It is the only Catholic Church in\nthe county, and so may claim to interest those who otherwise\nmight not care to examine it. The foundress, as devoted a lover\nand patroness of art as she was a holy and noble-minded Christian\nmatron, lies buried near the high altar. The church is built in the\ntraditional cross-shape, and has an absidal end pierced by several\nbeautiful windows, the stone tracery of which is in the style of\nthe thirteenth century. The rose-window at the west end is copied\nfrom one in the (now Protestant) cathedral of Lausanne, where the\nwriter saw the sketch of it made at the foundress\u2019 desire, by\nthe architect to whom the future building of the church was to\nbe entrusted. The beautiful and simple porch to the north of the\nchurch, the little belfry where an old bell found among the ruins\nof the old manor-house of Exton rings the daily Angelus of restored\nCatholic belief, the spacious and massive vault, where a plain\nstone altar is erected for Masses for the dead; the side chapel\nof St. Ida, the patron saint of the foundress; the Lady chapel,\nwith its more elaborate yet chastely traceried window; the soft\nsurroundings of garden, plantation, and terrace, with the view on\nthe opposite hill of the old church, once Catholic, which three\nhundred years of false belief have only surrounded with a more\ntouching pathos, as of a noble captive chained to a meaner rival\u2019s\ncar--all this, and the knowledge that within the Tudor mansion\nwhich has replaced the ruined manor dwell the family of the\nfoundress, and especially the one destined to finish her church and\nenshrine her memory therein, makes this personal recollection of\nSt. Thomas\u2019 fane and its charming architect very hallowed and sweet\nto think on. Many pray in this church, of which the stone interior\nwith its carven and arched tribune, and its broad oak-panelled\nwestern recess, is as lovely as its exterior with its high roof and\nbroken outline--many pray there to whom this recollection is as\ndear and as holy. May those who have prayed with us remember us in\ntheir prayers, both he who has borne the burden of the day and its\nheat, and they to whom he has taught the way of taking up the same\ncross and bearing it to the same fruitful and happy end!\n\nJohn Chessel Buckler, the father of our friend, was the second of\nthe three designers chosen out of the hosts of competitors on the\noccasion of the rebuilding of the Houses of Parliament. Eastlake\nsays of him: \u201cThe especial merit of Buckler\u2019s design--second\nonly to that of Barry _in the opinion of the judges_--was that\nit avoided the multiplication of detail.... The plan in general\narrangement was considered picturesque.... Mr. Buckler obtained\ncredit for the purity of his ornamental details.\u201d He also built\nCossey Hall for Lord Stafford, and his son is now continuing his\nwork. No wonder that the spirit of medi\u00e6val days should have\ndescended on this favored family, since their dwelling-place for a\nlong time was the matchless old city of Oxford. There is a magic in\nthat name that has a creative artistic suggestion in its very sound.\n\nThe late controversy as to Pugin\u2019s part in the Houses of Parliament\nmust be too well known to be revived here. Suffice it to say\nthat the volume published by Barry\u2019s sons as a vindication of\ntheir father\u2019s genius was of itself conclusive, and proved too\nmuch for his reputation. Hardly a single engraving illustrative\nof his unassisted efforts was such as could commend itself to\na purist in Gothic art, while the one part of the Houses of\nParliament which was entirely his own (the unbroken front on the\nThames River), though imposing at first sight, was the weakest\npoint of the work as regards the true principles of art. Still,\nas Eastlake observes, it was a great victory for the Revivalists,\nand an important fact in the history of the Revival, that such\na characteristically national work should have been confided to\nGothic architects. It gave the cause both weight and popularity,\nand threw more in the way of the masses what before had been too\nmuch of a luxury and fancy of privileged intellectual orders. And\nyet, before the old style could be really popularized, it was\nnecessary that the taste for it should be carefully educated by\nthe firm hand of uncompromising art. Eastlake descants thus on\nthe liberty left in the architect\u2019s hands: \u201cHe may make an art of\nhis calling, or he may make it a mere business; and in proportion\nas he inclines to one or the other of these two extremes, he will\ngenerally achieve present profit or posthumous renown.\u201d Further\non he stigmatizes one of the earlier Gothic Revivalists in these\nterms: \u201cIn instances where he ought to have led, or at least to\nhave tempered and corrected the vitiated taste of his day, he\nsimply pandered to it.\u201d Let the reader pause to apply this to the\ngreat majority of modern artists, and to deplore the interested\nand debased motives which have robbed God of so much glory and the\nmoral world of so much support. And without travelling into the\nregion of other arts, we find among the adjuncts of architecture\nsufficient proof of degeneracy. Eastlake very justly remarks that\nthe interior of houses is given up to upholsterers and decorators\nwho too frequently are allowed to execute their work independently\nof the architect\u2019s control. \u201cWe enter,\u201d he says, \u201ca Renaissance\npalace or a Gothic mansion, and find them respectively fitted\nup in the style of the nineteenth century, which is in point of\nfact no style at all, but the embodiment of a taste as empirical,\nas empty, and as fleeting as that which finds expression in a\nmilliner\u2019s fashion-book.\u201d And again: \u201cThere is perhaps no feature\nin the interior of even an ordinary dwelling which is capable of\nmore artistic treatment than the fire-place of its most frequented\nsitting-room, and yet how long it was neglected! The Englishman\u2019s\nsacred \u2018hearth,\u2019 the Scotchman\u2019s \u2018ain fireside,\u2019 the grandsire\u2019s\n\u2018chimney-corner,\u2019 have become mere verbal expressions, of which\nit is difficult to recall the original significance as we stand\nbefore those cold, formal slabs of gray or white marble enclosing\nthe sprucely polished but utterly heartless grate of a modern\ndrawing-room.\u201d\n\nOf course, like all arts, especially those of a more directly\nspiritual tendency, architecture has suffered from caricatures,\nsometimes hostile, sometimes blunderingly friendly. The ancient\nGregorian chant and the real \u201cPre-Raphaelite\u201d school of Christian\npainting have likewise suffered in this way. One might quote the\nwell-known saying, \u201cDefend me from my friends!\u201d Eastlake puts the\nsame thought into these words: \u201cThe barbarous and absurd specimens\nof modern architecture which have been erected in this generation\nunder the general name of Gothic, have done more to damage the\ncause of the Revival than all that has been said or written in\ndisparagement of the style.\u201d\n\nOf the many buildings of merit hidden away in poor and remote\nlocalities, Eastlake makes cheering mention. He says:\n\n  \u201cThere are, perhaps, few professions, and certainly none within\n  the realm of art, exposed to such unequal chances of that\n  notoriety which should attend success, as the profession of\n  architecture.... One man\u2019s practice may take him for years of\n  his life into remote rural parishes where, except by the squire\n  or parson, his work may long remain unappreciated.... There are\n  districts in London in which, if a new building is raised, it\n  stands no more chance of being visited by people of taste than\n  if it had been erected in Kamschatka. Yet those outlying regions\n  ... contain some of the most remarkable and largest churches\n  which have been built during the Revival.... It was required to\n  make those structures the headquarters of mission-work in poor\n  and populous localities. Mr. James Brooks had no easy task before\n  him; there was but little money to spend on them, yet they were\n  to be of ample size, and, for obvious reasons, dignified and\n  impressive in their general effect.... It must be admitted that\n  the effect in each case is extremely fine. There is much in the\n  character of Mr. Brooks\u2019 work which reminds one of Butterfield.\n  An utter absence of conventionality, ... a studied simplicity\n  of details, ... a tendency to quaint outlines and unusual\n  subdivisions of parts--such are the chief characteristics which\n  distinguish the design of both these architects, who manage to\n  attain originality without condescending to extravagance, and to\n  secure for their works a quiet grace, in which there is less of\n  elegance than of dignity.\u201d\n\nA view of the interior of St. Chad\u2019s, in one of the London suburbs,\nis given, in which one can trace even a certain richness of altar\ndecoration allied to the noble proportions of the massive pillars\nand tall arches. This church seems to bear a monastic look about\nit.\n\nThe church of St. Columba, in the same neighborhood, presents many\nof the same characteristics, and Eastlake says of it that the\n\u201creal excellence of this work consists in grand masses of roof and\nwall, planned and proportioned with true artistic ability.\u201d It is\ncurious--and ridiculously realistic--to see in the engraving given\nof this church the contrast of the grand abbey-like pile with the\nwooden walls of an enclosed but unoccupied piece of ground, covered\nwith the obstreperous advertisements of popular London papers, of\nHorniman\u2019s \u201cbest black tea,\u201d of theatres and bill-posters, and\ncontemplated by a few shabbily-dressed women, a mason carrying a\nhod of mortar, and a very old cart-horse standing with his ungainly\nvehicle at the door of the vestry.\n\nThese hidden churches have their touching meaning for Christian\nminds--a twofold meaning indeed--and one which is often overlooked\nin this utilitarian age. There they stand, beautiful and unvisited,\nbuilt for the glory of God more than for the admiration of men, and\nno less solid, no less symbolical, no less perfect in proportion\nand distribution because the silent God is their only visitor. How\nmuch does this all-absorbing reference to the great Master of all\nart govern the work of the success-hunting generations of our day?\nAgain, these beautiful churches stand as representatives of God\u2019s\nsacraments, God\u2019s graces, God\u2019s invitations, unheeded by those\nto whom they are offered, unfelt even by many who live in their\nvery shadow, and coldly received at best by those who grudgingly\ntake advantage of them. Or, again, they are the symbol of the\nhidden soul, beauties scattered in seemingly desert places in the\nspiritual world, of the hearts that watch with God in the midst of\nthe turmoil of earth, of hearts whose unbroken hymn of love is\nnever silent, because of the babel of tongues that, to all but the\near of God, seems so resolutely to drown it.\n\nThere are two more remarks to be made, with which we will close\nthis sketch, which we have perhaps prolonged beyond the bounds of\nthe kind reader\u2019s patience. It has been said--we know not with what\ntechnical truth, but certainly with a beautiful suggestiveness of\ntruth--that one of the great principles in Gothic architecture is\nthat every curve should be the perfect segment of a circle--that\nis, that every curve, if continued, should inevitably describe a\nperfect circle. If this be so--and we have always assumed that it\nis--is not this meaning deducible from it, that it is the mission\nof art to tend to the highest perfection, and the mission of\ngrace--the heavenly art--to fashion every single insignificant\naction in such a mould that it should visibly be but a part in one\ngrand perfect whole of heroic sanctity?\n\nAnd the second remark is this:\n\nThe Gothic revivalists have been accused of retrogression towards\nso-called barbaric forms of art. Exactly the same reproach was\nonce made to an eminent convert--we believe a German. \u201cMy dear\nfriend,\u201d said an anxious companion to him, \u201chow could you abandon\nthe religion of your fathers?\u201d \u201cSimply, my dear fellow,\u201d was the\nquick and humorous response, \u201cthat I might embrace that of my\ngrandfathers.\u201d\n\nWe leave the application to the public, pointing out to them\nat the same time that to denounce the civil and ecclesiastical\narchitecture handed down to them by the founders of civic liberty\nin Flanders and Germany, and the founders of Christian morality in\nFrance and England, Spain and Lombardy, would be to lay themselves\nopen to the reproach of another witty convert, who said to his\nfather, when the latter was lamenting his son\u2019s change of faith:\n\u201cTake care, or you will make out that three hundred years ago our\nancestors were nobodies.\u201d The reply silenced the proud bearer of a\nproud--and Catholic--name.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[103] _A History of the Gothic Revival in England._ By Charles L.\nEastlake, F.R.I.B.A., Architect. London: Longman & Green.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LAST DAYS BEFORE THE SIEGE.\n\n\nPART I.\n\nAWAKENING.\n\nBerthe was holding a council about bonnets with her maid and Mme.\nAugustine when I went in. The complexion of the sky, it would seem,\nwas a grave complication of the question at issue; it was of a\ndull leaden color, for, though the heat was intense, the sun was\nnot shining outright, but sulking under a heavy veil of cloud that\nlooked as if it might explode in a thunder-storm before the day was\nover.\n\n\u201cWhat a blunderer you are, Antoinette!\u201d exclaimed Berthe\nimpatiently. \u201cThe idea of putting me into pearl-color under a sky\nlike that! Where are your eyes?\u201d\n\nAntoinette looked out of the window, saw the folly of her conduct,\nand proposed a pink bonnet to relieve the unbecoming sky and the\ngray costume. The amendment was approved of; so she left the room\nto fetch the bonnet.\n\n\u201cShe is a good creature, Antoinette; but she is wonderfully\nabsent-minded,\u201d remarked Berthe.\n\nMme. Augustine sighed, smiled, and shrugged her shoulders.\n\n\u201cWhat will you, Madame la Comtesse? Every one is not born an\nartist.\u201d\n\n\u201cEvery one who is born with eyes in their head can use them if they\nhave any sense,\u201d said Berthe; and she took up the ivory puff on her\ndressing-table, and began very deliberately shaking out delicate\nwhite clouds of _poudre \u00e0 la violette_ over her forehead and cheeks.\n\nWe were going together to a marriage at St. Roch, and we were to be\nthere at _midi pr\u00e9cis_, the _faire-part_ said, so I had to remind\nBerthe that, if the business of powdering and puffing proceeded at\nthis rate, we might save ourselves the trouble of the drive. With\nthe sudden impulse that carried her so swiftly from one object\nto another, she dropped the puff, snatched her pink bonnet from\nAntoinette, put it on, fastened it herself, seized her gloves and\nprayer-book, and we hurried down-stairs and were off.\n\nOn turning into the Faubourg St. Honor\u00e9, we found a crowd collected\nin front of the _mairie_. Berthe pulled the check-string.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s news from the _fronti\u00e8re_!\u201d she exclaimed eagerly. \u201cIf we\nwere to miss the wedding, we must know what it is!\u201d\n\nShe sprang out of the brougham, and I after her. The crowd was so\ndeep that we could not get near enough to read the placards; but,\njudging by the exclamations and commentaries that accompanied the\nperusal by the foremost readers, the news was both exciting and\nagreeable.\n\n\u201c_Fallait pas nous effrayer, mes petites dames_,\u201d said a _blouse_,\nwho had seen us alight, and saw by our faces that we were alarmed.\n\u201cWe\u2019ve beaten one-half of the Prussians to a jelly, and driven the\nrest across the Rhine.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe _canaille_! I always said they would run like rabbits the\nfirst taste they got of our chassepots,\u201d exclaimed a lad of\nfourteen, who halted with arms akimbo and a basket of vegetables on\nhis head to hear the news.\n\n\u201cAnd these are the chaps that marched out of Berlin to the cry of\n_Nach Paris! nach Paris!_ The beggars! They were glad enough to\nclean our streets--aye, and would have cleaned our boots in their\nmoustachios, and thankful, just to turn a penny that they couldn\u2019t\nmake at home,\u201d cried the first speaker.\n\n\u201c_Nach Paris_ indeed!\u201d cried the lad with the vegetables. \u201cLet them\ncome; let them try it!\u201d\n\n\u201cLet them!\u201d echoed several voices. \u201cWe\u2019ll give them a warm welcome.\u201d\n\n\u201cAye, that we will,\u201d declared a pastry-cook from the other end of\nthe _trottoir_; \u201cand we\u2019ll treat them well; we\u2019ll serve them up\n_aspic \u00e0 la bayonette et petits-pois \u00e0 la mitrailleuse_.\u201d\n\nThis keen joke was received with hilarity and immense applause, and\nthe pastry-cook, with his _bonnet de coton_ perched on one side,\nstrode off with an air of commanding insolence, like a man who has\ndone his duty and knows it.\n\nThe remarks of the crowd, if not very lucid, were sufficiently\nconclusive as to the character of the placard that held them gaping\nbefore the _mairie_. The news was clearly good news: so, satisfied\nwith this broad fact, Berthe and I jumped into the brougham and\ncontinued our way to St. Roch.\n\nBut it seemed as if there was a conspiracy against our getting\nthere. Before we came to the Rue Royale, we were blocked in front\nby a troop of recruits, marching down from the boulevards to the\nRue de Rivoli. Flags, and banners, and bunches of tricolored\nribbons hoisted on sticks floated at intervals above the moving\nmass, and the stirring chant of the \u201cMarseillaise\u201d kept time to the\nroll of drums and the broken tramp of undrilled feet. The shops\nemptied themselves into the street; buyers and sellers rushed\nout to see the recruits and greet them with cheers and embraces,\nwhile many joined in the chorus, and shouted enthusiastically,\n\u201c_Marchons, marchons, pour la patrie!_\u201d the recruits every now\nand then, with an utter neglect of all choral harmony, relieving\ntheir pent-up patriotism by hurrahing and _Vive-la-France_-ing with\nfrantic energy.\n\n\u201cPoor devils!\u201d exclaimed a tradesman, who stood near us watching\nthe stream flow past. \u201cHow many among them will ever set eyes on\nParis again, I wonder!\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, indeed,\u201d said his wife; \u201cbut, all the same, it\u2019s a proud day\nfor them this, whatever may come of it. If our _gamin_ were but a\nfew years older, he would be stepping out with the best of them,\nand, who knows? he might come home with a pair of gold epaulets to\nhis coat.\u201d\n\n\u201cTut, woman,\u201d retorted the man sharply; \u201cthere is plenty of food\nfor powder without him.\u201d And he went back to his shop.\n\n\u201cWhat a horrible thing war is when one comes to think of it!\u201d said\nBerthe, turning suddenly round with a flushed face. \u201cEvery man\ngoing by there is the centre of another life--some, perhaps, of\nmany lives--that will never know happiness again if he is killed.\nIt is a dreadful scourge. Thank God, I have no brothers!\u201d\n\nThe way was cleared at last, and the carriages were able to move\non. The noise and clamor that rose on all sides of us grew louder\nand wilder as we proceeded. One would have fancied the entire\npopulation had been seized with _delirium tremens_. The news of\na victory coming unexpectedly after the first disasters of the\ncampaign had elated the popular depression to frenzy, and, as usual\nwith Paris, there was but one bound from the depths of despair\nto the wildest heights of exultation. Flags were thrust out of\nwindows and chimney-pots, an eruption of tricolor broke out on the\nfronts of the houses, and the blank walls were variegated with\nred, white, and blue, as if by magic. Innumerable _gamins_ cropped\nup from those mysterious regions where _gamins_ dwell, and whence\nthey are ready to emerge and improve the opportunity at a moment\u2019s\nnotice; the bright-faced ragged young vagabonds mustered in force\non the pavement, formed themselves into an impromptu procession,\nand marched along the middle of the street, bawling out the\n\u201cMarseillaise\u201d at the top of their voice; older _gamins_ caught\nthe infection, and bawled in response, and turned and marched\nwith them. At the corner of the Place Vend\u00f4me, a citizen, unable\nto restrain the ardor of his patriotism, stopped a _fiacre_, and\njumped up beside the driver, and bade him stand while he poured\nout his soul to the _patrie_. The cabman reined in his steed, and\nstood while the patriot spouted his improvisation, stretching out\nhis arms to the column--the \u201cimmortal column\u201d--and pointing his\nperiods with the talismanic words, \u201c_Invincible! Enfans de la\nFrance! Terreur de l\u2019ennemi!_\u201d and so forth. No speaker in the\nforum of old Rome ever elicited more inspiriting response from his\nhearers than the citizen patriot from the motley audience round his\ncab. Again and again his voice was drowned in vociferous cheers and\nbravos, and when he was done and about to descend from the rostrum,\nthe cabman, altogether carried away by the emotions of the hour,\nflung his arms round the orator, and pressed him to his heart,\nand then, addressing himself to the assembled citizens, defiantly\ndemanded if their fellow-citizen had not deserved well of them; if\nthere was any danger for the _patrie_ while she could boast such\nsons as that! The appeal was rapturously responded to by all, but\nmost notably by a native of the Vosges, who tossed his cap into the\nair, and caught it again, and cried vehemently: \u201c_Prafo! prafo!\nFife le pourgeois! fife la padrie!_\u201d\n\nIf the words had been a shell scattering death among the listeners,\ntheir effect could not have been more startling. Like lightning the\nspirit of the crowd was changed; its joy went out like the snuff of\na candle; for one second it swayed to and fro, hesitating, then a\nyell, a hiss, and a scream shot up in quick succession.\n\n\u201cA spy! a traitor! a Prussian! _A l\u2019eau! \u00e0 la lanterne!_\u201d And away\nthey flew in hot pursuit of the luckless Alsatian, whose German\naccent had raised the devil in them. The orator stood by the column\nalone in his glory, pelted by the jargon of cries that shot across\nhim on every side from the boulevards and the many streets running\nout of the Place. \u201c_Marchons! \u00e0 l\u2019eau! \u00e0 Berlin! un espion!_\u201d It\nwas like the clash of contending tongues from Babel.\n\nThis was our last adventure till we reached St. Roch. As might have\nbeen expected, we were late. The wedding was over, and the bride\nwas undergoing the ceremony of congratulations in the sacristy.\nWe elbowed our way through the throng of guests, and were in due\ntime admitted to embrace the Marquise de Chassedot, _n\u00e9e_ H\u00e9l\u00e8ne de\nKarodel, and to shake hands with the bridegroom, and sprinkle our\ncompliments in proper proportion over the friends and relatives on\nboth sides.\n\nAt the wedding breakfast, the conversation naturally turned, to the\nexclusion of all other topics, on the happy event which had brought\nus all together; but as soon as the bride left the table, to change\nher bridal dress for a travelling one, everybody, as if by common\nconsent, burst out into talk about the war and the news that had\nthrown the city into such commotion. The cautious incredulity with\nwhich the bulletin was discussed contrasted strangely with the\ntumult of enthusiasm which we had just witnessed outside. It was\nquite clear no one believed in the \u201cfamous victory.\u201d Some went\nso far as to declare that it was only a blind to hide some more\nshameful disaster that had yet befallen us; others, less perverse,\nthought it might be only a highly colored statement of a slight\nsuccess. As to the authorities, it was who would throw most stones\nat them. The government was a rotten machine that ought to have\nbeen broken up long ago; it was like a ship that was no longer\nseaworthy, and just held together while she lay at anchor in the\nport, but must inevitably fall to pieces the first time she put\nout to sea, and go down before the wind with all her crew. The\nonly exceptions to the rule were those government officials who\nhappened to be present, and these were, of course, the life-boats\nthat had been left behind by the stupidity of the captain. But this\nhad always been the way. In the downfall of every government,\nwe see the same short-sighted jealousy--the men who might have\nsaved it shoved aside by the selfish intriguers who sacrifice the\ncountry to their own aims and interests. Some allusion was made\nto the threatened siege of Paris; but it was cut short by the\nirrepressible merriment of the company. The most sober among them\ncould not speak of such an absurdity without losing their gravity.\nIt was, in fact, a heavy joke worthy of those beer-drinking, German\nbraggarts, and no sane Frenchman could speak of it as anything else\nwithout being laughed at. As a joke, however, it was discussed, and\ngave rise to many minor pleasantries that provoked a good deal of\nfun. An interesting young mother wished the city might be invested\nand starved, because it would be so delightful to starve one\u2019s\nself to death for one\u2019s baby; to store up one\u2019s scanty food for\nthe innocent little darling, and see it grow fat on its mother\u2019s\n_d\u00e9nouement_. A young girl declared she quite longed for the\nopportunity of proving her love to her father. The Grecian daughter\nwould be a pale myth compared to her, and the daughter of Paris\nwould go down to posterity as a type of filial duty such as the\nworld had never seen before. The kind and quantity of provisions\nto be laid in for the contingency gave rise to a vast deal of fun.\nOne young _cr\u00e9v\u00e9_ hoped his steward would provide a good stock\nof cigars; he could live on smoke by itself, rather than without\nsmoke and with every other sort of nourishment; but it should\nbe unlimited smoke, and of the best quality. His sister thought\nof buying a monster box of chocolate bonbons, and contemplated\nherself, with great satisfaction, arrived at her last _praline_,\nwhich she heroically insisted on her brother\u2019s accepting, while\nshe embraced him and expired of inanition at his feet.\n\n\u201cDo you intend to stay for the tragedy, madame?\u201d said the gentleman\nwho was to live on smoke, addressing himself to Berthe.\n\n\u201cIf I believed in the tragedy, certainly not,\u201d she replied; \u201cbut I\ndon\u2019t. Paris is not going to be so obliging as to furnish us with\nan opportunity for displaying our heroism.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot of the melodramatic sort,\u201d observed her Austrian friend, with\na touch of sarcasm in his habitually serene manner; \u201cbut those\nwho have any prosaic heroism to dispose of can take it to the\nambulances, and it will be accepted and gratefully acknowledged. I\nwent yesterday to see a poor fellow who is lying in great agony at\nBeayon. His mother and sisters are watching him day and night. They\ndare not move him to their own home, lest he should die on the way.\nHe lost both arms at Gravelotte.\u201d\n\nBerthe shuddered.\n\n\u201cThank God, I have no brothers!\u201d she murmured, under her breath.\n\n\u201cWhat is to be the end of it all?\u201d I said. \u201cAdmitting that the\nsiege of Paris is an utter impossibility, half Europe must be\noverhauled before peace is definitely re-established.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo it will be,\u201d asserted the Austrian, coolly. \u201cWait a little, and\nyou will see all the powers trotted out. First, Russia will put her\nfinger in the _m\u00eal\u00e9e_, and then England\u2019s turn will come.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hope England will have the sense to keep out of it,\u201d said\nBerthe; \u201cshe would be sure to get the worst of it, fighting\nsingle-handed, as she would do now.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s precisely why Russia will take care that she does not keep\nout of it,\u201d remarked the Austrian.\n\n\u201cAnd what would Russia gain by England\u2019s being worsted?\u201d\n\n\u201cShe would gain the satisfaction of paying off old scores that have\nrankled in her side these fifteen years. Do you fancy that she\nhas forgotten that little episode in the Crimea, or that she is\nless bent on revenge because she doesn\u2019t blast and blow and wake\nher enemy\u2019s suspicions by threatening to annihilate her and so\nforth? Not a bit of it! Russia doesn\u2019t boast and brag and put her\nvictim on the _qui vive_; but quietly holds her tongue, and keeps\nher temper, and bides her time. When she is ready--and the day is\nnot, perhaps, very remote--she will pick a fight with England;\nand the day the war is proclaimed, every pope and peasant in Holy\nRussia will light a candle to his holy images; and when the news\ncomes in that England is thrashed, they will light as many as will\nilluminate the whole of Europe.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Apr\u00e8s?_\u201d I said.\n\n\u201c_Apr\u00e8s_ what, madame?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen they have thrashed her, as you say, what will they do with\nher?\u201d\n\n\u201cDo with her? Annex her.\u201d\n\nHe looked me straight in the face without a smile on his; but\nI could not believe he was speaking seriously, and I burst out\nlaughing.\n\n\u201cThe position of the conquered territory might offer some\ndifficulties in the way of annexation,\u201d I said, presently; \u201cbut\nwe will assume that the obliging Providence of pious King William\ninterferes in behalf of his Muscovite brother, and overcomes all\nobstacles by land or by sea, and that the doughty little island is\nconstituted a colony of the czar\u2019s dominion: what would he do with\nit? What earthly use would it be to him?\u201d\n\n\u201cUse!\u201d echoed the Austrian, elevating his eyebrows with a\nsupercilious smile. \u201cIn the first place, he might make it a little\n_succursale_ of Siberia. There is a whole generation of those\nunmanageable, half-mad Poles safely walking about this side of\nEurope, plotting and dreaming and rhapsodizing. Only think what\na convenience it would be to their father, the czar, if he had a\ncentre of action so near to them! He could catch them like rabbits;\nand then, instead of hawking them over the world to Nerchintz\nand Irkoutsk, he could sentence them to perpetual sciatica, or\nchronic lumbago, or a mild term of ten years\u2019 rheumatism, in the\nisle of fogs, _versus_ the mines, and the knout, and all the rest\nof the paternal chastisements administered in Siberia. Then, over\nand above this immense accommodation, he might have his docks in\nEngland; he might make the naughty Poles learn of his English\nsubjects how to build ships, till by-and-by the navy of Holy Russia\nwould be the finest in the world, and big, top-heavy Prussia would\nshake in her shoes, and hot-headed France would keep still on her\nknees, and all Europe would bow down before the empire of Peter\nthe Great. Use, indeed! Let Russia catch England, and she\u2019ll find\nplenty of use for her.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d I said; \u201cjust so; let her catch her.\u201d\n\nIt was near three when the wedding-party broke up and Berthe and\nI drove away. We found the excitement abroad still unabated. At\nmany street corners, patriots were perorating to animated crowds;\ntongues innumerable were running up and down the gamut of noise\nwith the most extraordinary variations. There is always something\nstirring in the sight of great popular emotion; but this present\ninstance of it was more threatening than exhilarating. You felt\nthat it was dangerous, that there were terrible elements of\ndestruction boiling up under the surface-foam, and that the\nchattering and shouting and good fellowship might, in a flash\nof lightning, be changed to murderous hate and a madness beyond\ncontrol. It was madness already; but it was a harmless madness so\nfar. Was it nothing more? was there no method in it? I wondered,\nas we beheld the people haranguing or being harangued, rushing and\ngesticulating, and all showing, in their faces and gestures, the\nsame feverish excitement. Were they all no better than a cityful\nof apes, chattering and screaming from mere impulse? Was it all\nquackery and cant, without any redeeming note of sacrifice and\ntruth and valor; and would all this fiery twaddle die out presently\nin smoke and dumbness?\n\nWe had turned down to the Rue de Richelieu, and were coming back,\nwhen our attention was arrested by a body of volunteers marching\npast the Place de la Bourse. They were in spruce new uniforms, and\nthey were singing something that was not the \u201cMarseillaise,\u201d or \u201cLa\nCasquette au P\u00e8re Bugeaud,\u201d or any other of the many chants we had\nbeen listening to; altogether, their appearance and voices roused\nour curiosity, and Berthe desired the man to follow in their wake,\nthat we might find out what kind of troops they were, and what they\nwere singing. They turned up the Rue de la Baupe to the Place des\nPetits P\u00e8res, and there they entered the church of Notre Dame des\nVictoires, as many of them as could find room, for they numbered\nseveral thousand, and nearly half had to remain outside. The great\nfront doors were thrown up, and remained open, so that those who\nwere in the Place could see all that went on within. The soldiers\nwere upon their knees, bare-headed, and a venerable old priest\nwas speaking to them; but his voice was so feeble that what he\nsaid was only audible to those close to the altar-steps where he\nstood. There was no need to ask now who these men were, or whence\nthey came. None but the men of Brittany, the sons of the men who\nwent out to death against the ruthless soldiers of Robespierre,\nto the cry of _Dieu et le Roi!_ were likely to traverse Paris,\nbearing the cross at their head, and make the ex-votos of Notre\nDame des Victoires shake on the walls to the stirring old Vendean\nhymns. None but the descendants of the men \u201cwhose strength was as\nthe strength of ten, because their hearts were pure,\u201d would dare\nin these days of sneaking, shamefaced Christianity to commit such\na brazen act of faith. The volunteers were accompanied by a great\nconcourse of people, mostly relatives and friends, but they all\nremained outside, leaving the church quite to the soldiers. It was\na strange and beautiful sight to see all these brave, proud Bretons\nkneeling down with the simplicity of little children before the\nshrine of the Virgin Mother, and singing their hymns to the God of\nHosts, and asking his blessing on themselves and their arms before\nthey went out to battle. When they came out of the church, with the\ncur\u00e9 at their head, all the people of a common impulse fell upon\ntheir knees in the Place to get his blessing; the men received it\nwith bare heads and in silence; the women weeping, most of them,\nwhile some lifted up their hands with the old priest and prayed out\nloud a blessing on the soldiers. Then he spoke a few words to them,\nnot to the soldiers only or chiefly, but to all, and especially\nto the women. He bade them remember that they too had their part\nin the national struggle, and that they might be a noble help or\na guilty hindrance, as they chose. Those who had husbands, or\nsons, or brothers in the ranks would understand this without any\nexplanation from him. But there were very many amongst them who\nhad no near relatives in danger, and who fancied that this would\nexempt them from sharing the common burthen, and that they could\nstand aloof from the general anxiety and pain. It was a selfish,\npagan feeling, unworthy of a daughter of France, and still more\nof a Christian. There could be no isolation at a time like this.\nAll should suffer, and all should serve. Those who happily had no\nkindred of their own at the frontier should adopt in spirit the\nbrave fellows who had left none behind. They should care for them\nfrom a distance like true sisters, helping them in the battle-field\nwith their prayers, and in the camp and the hospital by their\nactive and loving ministration; let such among them as were fit and\nfree to do it, go and learn of that other sisterhood of the diviner\nsort how to serve as they do who serve with the strong, pure\nlove of charity; let those who could not do this give abundantly\nwherewith the stricken soldier might be healed and comforted on\nhis bed of pain; if they could not give their hands, let them give\ntheir hearts and their money; let them help by sacrifice--sacrifice\nof some sort was within the reach of all. He blessed them again at\nthe close of his little exhortation, and then every one got up. The\nBretons fell into rank, and, rending the welkin with one loud cry\nof _Dieu et la France!_ set out to the Northern Railway. Berthe and\nI had been kneeling with the crowd.\n\n\u201cLet us follow and see the last of them,\u201d she said, and we got into\nthe brougham and went on at a foot-pace.\n\nThe scene at the station was one that will never be forgotten by\nthose who witnessed it. The pathos of those rough farewells, the\nlamentations of some of the women, the Machabean courage of others,\nthe shrill crying of little children, the tears of strong men, who\ntore out their hearts, feeling it like men, but bearing it with\nthe courage of soldiers and the exulting hope of Christians: it\nwas a sight to make one\u2019s heart glad to rapture or sad to despair.\nSome of the volunteers were of the noblest families in Brittany,\nothers were workingmen, farmers, and peasants; there was the same\nmixture of classes in the throng of people that accompanied them;\nthe pure accent of the most cultivated French, crossed here and\nthere with the coarser tones of the Vendean patois; side by side\nwith the suppressed agony of the chatelaine, who strove to hide\nher tenderness and tears from the gaze of bystanders, you saw the\nwretched sorrow of the peasant wife, who sobbed on her husband\u2019s\nneck and clung to him in a last embrace. There was something more\nheart-rending in these humbler farewells, because one felt the\nsacrifice was more complete. If this was a last parting, there was\nnothing for either to fall back upon.\n\nI lost sight of Berthe as soon as we alighted, and indeed I forgot\nher. My whole thoughts were absorbed in the scene going on around\nme. It was only when the bell rang, and the soldiers passed out\nto the platform, leaving the space comparatively empty, that I\nlooked about for her, and saw her in the middle of the sidewalk\nwith her arms round a young girl, who was sobbing as if her heart\nwould break. It appeared that she was just a fortnight married to\na Breton lad of her own age, nineteen; they had worked hard and\nsaved all their little earnings these five years past in order to\nget married; and now, just as they were so happy, he had gone away\nfrom her, and she would never see him again; he was certain to\nbe killed, because he was so good and loving and clever. Berthe\npressed the poor child to her heart, and committed herself to the\nwildest pledges for the safe return of the young hero, and finally,\nafter evoking a burst of passionate gratitude from the girl, who\nhalf-believed her to be a beneficial fairy sent to comfort her,\nBerthe exacted a promise that she was to come and see her the next\nday, and we set our faces towards home.\n\nWe drove on for a little while in silence, looking each out of our\nseparate window, our hearts too full for conversation. I saw by\nBerthe\u2019s eyes that she had been crying. I felt instinctively that\nthere was a great struggle going on within her, but, though my\nwhole heart was vibrating in sympathy with it, I could not say so.\nPresently she turned towards me, and exclaimed:\n\n\u201cAnd I was thanking God that I had no brothers! Blind, selfish fool\nthat I was!\u201d\n\nShe burst into tears, sobbing passionately, and hid her face in\nher hands. The change in her bright and volatile spirit seemed to\nmake a change in all the world. I could not accuse the people, as I\nhad done an hour ago, of being mere puppets, dancing to a tune and\nthrowing themselves into attitudes that meant no more than a sick\nman\u2019s raving. It seemed to me as if the aspect of the city and the\nsound of its voice had quite altered, and I all at once began to\nhope wonders of and for the Parisians. One could not but believe\nthat they were striving to be in earnest, that the mother-pulse\nof patriotism, so long gagged and still, was now waking up, and\nbeating with strong, hot throbs in the hearts of the people, and\nthat, once alive and working, it would break out like a fire\nand burn away the unreality and the false glitter and the tragic\ncomedy of their lives, and serve to purify them for a free and\nnoble future. No; it was not all cant and tinkle and false echo.\nThere was substance under the symbolizing. There were men amongst\nthem who worshipped God, and were proud to proclaim it. There were\nhearts that seemed dead, but were only sleeping. Paris was dancing\nin mad mirth like a harlequin to-day, but to-morrow it would be\ndifferent--the smoke and the flame would go out, leaving behind\nthem the elements of a great nation burnt pure of the corroding\ndross that had choked and held them captive so long.\n\nOn arriving at home, Berthe found a costume which had just come\nfrom M. Grandhomme\u2019s laid out on her bed. At any other moment, the\nsight would have claimed her delighted attention, but she turned\nfrom it with a feeling of indifference now, almost of disgust.\nAntoinette, who had been puzzling over some new trick in the tunic,\ntook it up in a flurry and was for trying it on at once, to see\nhow it fitted and whether the novelty became her mistress, but\nBerthe, with a movement of impatience, told her to put it away,\nthat she was in no mood for attending to _b\u00e9tises_ just then. The\ngirl opened her eyes in astonishment. A costume of Grandhomme\u2019s,\nthat cost eleven hundred francs, to be called a _b\u00e9tise_! It was\nflat profanity. She left the room with a painful presentiment that\nsomething very serious was amiss with Madame la Comtesse.\n\nA soon as Berthe was alone, she began to think. It was a new\nexperience in her life, this process of thinking, and she was\nhard pressed by it, for it was no vacant reverie that she was\nindulging in, but a sharp, compulsory review of her past and\npresent existence--and the result was anything but soothing. Her\nlife up to this day had been the life of a human butterfly, gay,\nairy, amusing, very enjoyable as regarded herself, and harmless\nenough as regarded her fellow-creatures. She had drunk her fill\nof the good things of life, enjoying herself in every possible\nway, but legitimately; she was incapable of wronging or hurting\nany one; she was extravagant in her dress and other luxuries, but\nher fortune allowed this, and she made no debts. So far, her life\nwas blameless, and indeed, if she compared it with that of many\nof those around her, it was a very respectable one. But suddenly\nall her theories had collapsed, and her comfortable standard\nbeen upset. It turned out that she had a soul somewhere, though\nshe had forgotten all about it, and been living, as if happily\nfree from that incumbrance, in selfishness and folly, that were\ncounted by this newly revealed standard little short of guilt.\nIt was an unexpected discovery, and a most unpleasant one. That\nexclamation which had escaped her twice, and the thought of the\ngreat general sorrow, kept ringing in her ears like a warning and\na reproach--\u201cThank God, I have no brother!\u201d Who, then, were these\nmen that she had just seen going forth in voluntary self-devotion\nto fight for her, and those who, like her, could not depend on\nthemselves? Was there such a thing in Christendom as a woman or a\nman who had no brothers? Yet Berthe had believed herself to be this\nimpossibility; she had been living up to it in utter forgetfulness\nof her brethren, ignoring them as a heathen might, or using them\ncoldly for her own selfish purposes, to work for her and minister\nto her interests or her pleasures. There were some people whom\nshe loved, but it was a love that narrowed to self; those who\nwere disagreeable, or stupid, or bad she disliked, and, unknown\nto herself perhaps, despised. There were no wide sympathies in\nthis discarded soul of hers for the great family of mankind; for\nthe publicans and sinners and the lepers and the blind and the\nlame; she was kind-hearted, but suffering, to touch her, must be\nseen through some \u00e6sthetic coloring; the miseries and follies and\ninfirmities of a prosaic kind that abounded on all sides of her\nshe turned from in disgust, she avoided them like noisome things\nthat belonged to creatures of an inferior clay and had no kinship\nwith her more refined and privileged individuality. \u201cSacrifice is\nwithin the reach of all of you; you must help by sacrifice,\u201d that\nold man had said. What a strange sound the words had! What did he\nmean? Sacrifice! Was there any place in her life for such a thing?\nShe looked round at the azure hangings of her room, at the bright\nmirrors that reflected her figure in a dozen varying aspects, at\nthe costly goods and trinkets that littered her dressing-table,\nat the couches and chairs of every modern contrivance inviting\nthe body to luxurious repose, and she saw that her nest was fair\nto look at, but too full for this unbidden guest called sacrifice\nto find a place in it. Her eye wandered absently from one object\nto another till it fell upon a pale ivory figure on a velvet\nbackground, fastened to the wall, and half-shrouded by the curtains\nof the bed.\n\n\u201cI am young; it is not too late; I will begin life afresh,\u201d said\nBerthe, rising and moving restlessly across the room; \u201cI will begin\nto-morrow, no, to-day--now.\u201d\n\nShe went close up to the bed, and stood for a moment with clasped\nhands, her lips moving in quick, low utterances, and then fell upon\nher knees before the pale, thorn-crowned head looking down upon her.\n\nThey never knew it, but this conquest of a noble woman\u2019s life was\nperhaps the first victory won by the Breton soldiers who set out to\nbattle that day!\n\n                         TO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n\n\nAFTER READING MR. TUPPER\u2019S PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY.\n\n\n    On wisdom\u2019s steed sit Solomon and Tupper,\n    The saddle one bestrides, and one the crupper.\n\n\n\n\nAN ESSAY ON EPIGRAMS.\n\n\nWho nowadays writes epigrams? The species _epigrammatist_ seems\nto be well-nigh extinct. Now and then some Herr Professor, whose\nlearning is less ponderous than common, after due incubation\nhatches what he calls a _Sinngedicht_. But his achievement is too\noften a paraphrase, if not a literal translation, of some Latin\noriginal. At intervals, too, Thorold Rogers, clergyman and social\nreformer, flings into London journals some explosive squib couched\nin verse, but the missile is tolerably harmless, and draws far\nless attention than a telegram. No doubt before the invention of\nthe newspaper the epigram, so easy to remember and so incisive in\nits effect, was no mean engine of cajolery, or calumny. But the\ndays are gone when such weapons were effective in the political\narena, and either conquered a pension or provoked a _lettre de\ncachet_. Byron, who worshipped Pope, and deemed everything his\nmaster had done worth doing, sometimes ventured into Martial\u2019s\nprovince, but rarely successfully, except in _Don Juan_. A score\nof epigrams might be culled from that poem which would answer all\nthe conditions of a rigorous definition. Since Byron, no poet of\neminence has condescended to this form of art. Tennyson indeed is\nterse and telling, as is proved by the facility with which we quote\nhim; yet he seems as incapable of epigrams as Morris, of whom most\nof us, much as we like him, can with difficulty remember a line.\nBrowning might write them if he chose, but he does not choose, and\nso it is that the old epigrammatist lingers only in some isolated\nrepresentative, as the dodo did in Madagascar, or like that\nTasmanian survivor whose present existence is clouded with a doubt.\n\nEpigrammatists may perish from the face of the earth, but the\nepigram is immortal. It well deserves to be so. What form of wit\nimparts so much pleasure to so many persons? If the world could be\nfairly polled, it might be found that some tiny epigram has yielded\nmore genuine delight than the most ambitious works of genius, as,\nfor instance, the _Paradise Lost_. If there is one Latin author who\nis still read for hearty amusement, it is Martial, and even the\ncandid schoolboy who declines to be charmed by the _Iliad_ can see\nsome fun in the _Anthology_.\n\nIt would probably pose most persons to be suddenly called on to\ndefine an epigram. And no wonder, for every great scholar since the\nmanuscripts of Martial were recovered in Western Europe has tried\nhis hand at a definition, and none except Lessing has grasped it.\nThe literal meaning is, of course, _inscription_, and the word\nwas originally applied to the writing on a monument or tomb. But\nin later times the word obtained in Greek rhetoric and poetry the\npeculiar significance which in English distinguishes the epigram\nfrom an epitaph, and in German the _Sinngedicht_ from a mere\n_Aufschrift_ or _Ueberschrift_. We shall at once lay our finger\non this peculiar significance by answering the question, why the\nGreeks had but one word where the Germans have two?\n\nWe need hardly say that it could be neither a poverty of language\nnor a contempt for precision which led the former to content\nthemselves with the original term. If there is anything notorious,\nit is that the Athenian never suffered a new idea, or the finest\nshade of deviation from an old idea, to shiver in the cold of\nparaphrase, but straightway clothed it with a snug, warm word, cut\nand fitted to the shape. We may be sure that a sense of some nice\npropriety, the recognition, perhaps, of some just and suggestive\nmetaphor, induced him to attach the name of _epigram_ to a\nparticular class of little poems, without any direct reference to\ntheir fitness for inscription on memorial stones.\n\nThe fact is, that every genuine epigram is divisible into two\ndistinct parts, of which the first answers precisely to the\nmonument or tomb on which the primitive _epigram_ was written,\nand the second to the inscription proper which the monument bore.\nTo _surprise_, and thereupon to _explain_, to secure the twofold\ndelight which springs in curiosity and ripens in gratification, was\nthe purpose of the inscribed monument, and is still the aim of the\ntrue epigram. Let us apply this to some faultless type, like that\nstanza by Sir William Jones:\n\n    On parent knees, a naked new-born child,\n    Weeping thou sat\u2019st, while all around thee smiled;\n    So live that, sinking to thy last long sleep,\n    Thou then may\u2019st smile when all around thee weep.\n\nIt is plain that the first two lines awaken _curiosity_, excite\n_interest_. They answer to the graceful shaft which arrests the\neye and allures the step. They win us to approach and investigate,\nto look for some further revelation, to ponder on the lesson\nwhich the last two lines convey. In a word, attention is first\nsecured, and then rewarded. Let the reader test this analysis in\nother instances, and he will find it essential to the epigram\nthat both these feelings, the _longing_ of expectation and the\n_satisfaction_ of it, should be evoked, and in this order. All\nthe other qualities which have been supposed to be peculiar to\nthe epigram, but are really common to many sorts of short and\nwitty poems, may be easily deduced from this definition. Thus,\nthe more terse and vigorous are the lines which introduce the\nsubject, the more potent will be their appeal to curiosity, and\nthe more tenacious their hold upon our interest. Architecturally,\nthe monument will be more impressive. On the other hand, the\nmore novel and delightful is the concluding thought, or the more\nfelicitous and pointed the expression of it, the more complete\nis our satisfaction, the more amply do we feel repaid for our\npains in deciphering the inscription. It follows likewise that\nthe second half, or _thought_, of the epigram must interpret the\n_fact_ embodied in the first, otherwise the inscription, instead of\nexplaining the particular monument which bears it, serves merely to\npoint us to another. So much for the veritable _Sinngedicht_. Of\nthe pseudo-epigram there are many varieties, but the two commonest\nare those which awaken curiosity without appeasing it, or else\ninstruct without enlisting attention. Without stopping to point\nout the flaws in many little poems, more or less witty, more or\nless compact, which are falsely called epigrams, we shall perceive\nthe accuracy and value of the above definition by glancing at some\nfamous models of the true form. In all the examples we may cite, we\nwill give the originals, that they who do not like our version may\nmake a better for themselves.\n\nLet us begin with a couplet from Wenicke, who has written so much\nand so well in this way as to merit the name of the German Martial:\n\n    Du liebest Geld und Gut, noch so, dass dein Erbarmen\n    Der Armen f\u00fchlt. Du fliehst die Armuth, nicht die Armen.\n\nWe have not been able in this instance to preserve both the rhyme\nand the metre, and prefer to keep the latter. The lines convey a\nnoble eulogy.\n\n    Thou lovest gold and goods, yet so that thy compassion\n    Feels for the needy still, shunning need, and not the needy.\n\nHere are two more from German sources. We have forgotten who wrote\nthem, but our readers may remember. The turn of the thought in the\nsecond is novel and rather pretty:\n\n    Ihr sagt, die Zeit vergeht!\n    Weil Ihr das falsch versteht.\n    Die Zeit ist ewig: Ihr vergeht!\n\n    We say. Time passes! Is it so?\n    Time waits! \u2019Tis only we who go.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Schon vier Mal kam ich, deine Diener sprachen\n    Du seist nicht da, man liess mich nicht herein.\n    Mein Kind! um eine G\u00f6ttin mir zu sein\n    Brauchst du dich ja nicht unsichtbar zu machen.\n\n    Four times I called, the servant said,\n    \u201cShe\u2019s out!\u201d--I might not see my maid.\n    To seem a goddess, dear, to me,\n    Invisible thou needst not be!\n\nThe greatest of German poets are not ashamed to stoop to epigram,\nand sometimes aim to reproduce the metre which Martial preferred.\nOf the following essays in elegiacs the first three are by\nSchiller, the others by Emanuel Geibel:\n\n    Glaubt mir, es ist kein M\u00e4rchen, die Quelle von Jugend sie rinnet\n    Wirklich und immer! Ihr fragt, wo? In der dichtenden Kunst!\n\n    Trust me,\u2019tis more than a fable; the Fountain of Youth springeth ever\n    Jocund and fresh as of old! Where? In the art of the bard!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Gl\u00fccklicher S\u00e4uglung! Dir ist ein unendlicher Raum noch die Wiege!\n    Werde Mann, und dir wird eng die unendliche Welt.\n\n    Happy the soul of a babe, finding infinite room in the cradle!\n    Grown to be man, he will find narrow the infinite world.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Willst du dich selber erkennen, so sieh wie die Ander\u2019n es treiben!\n    Willst du die Ander\u2019n versteh\u2019n, blick\u2019 in dein eigenes Herz!\n\n    Man, wilt thou study thyself, scan keenly the conduct of others!\n    Aiming to know other men, turn the eye in on thy heart!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Doppelte Schwing hat die Zeit. Mit der Einen entf\u00fchrt sie die Freuden,\n    Doch mit der Anderen sanft k\u00fchite den thr\u00e4nenden Blick.\n\n    Time in a dream I beheld twi-winged, with one silently stealing\n    Joy, with the other he fanned kindly the tear-swollen eye.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Darin gleichet der Dichter dem Kind. Es erscheint das Bekannte\n    Ihm wie ein Wunder: Bekannt\u2019 blickt das Geheimniss ihn an!\n\n    Dwells in a poet the child, who still with a feeling of wonder\n    Eyes the familiar; to him still looks familiar the strange.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe grand-master of epigrammatists, Martial, with the proud\nhumility of conscious power, confessed himself a pupil of Catullus.\nBut it was rather his purity of diction and na\u00efve simplicity which\nMartial borrowed from the elder poet, not the point and sparkle\nof his epigrams, which are of right his own. The minor poems of\nCatullus include few which are strictly epigrams, and of these only\ntwo or three admit of distillation into a modern language. We give\none which is addressed, like most of his amatory verse, to Lesbia.\nIn this instance we abandon the attempt to reproduce the Latin\nelegiacs.\n\n    Lesbia mi dicit semper male, nec tacet unquam\n    De me. Lesbia me, dispeream, nisi amat!\n    Quo signo? Quasi non totidem mox deprecor illi\n    Assidu\u0113, verum dispeream, nisi amo.\n\n    Always my Lesbia treats me ill,\n    By this I\u2019ll swear she loves me well!\n    How so? I\u2019m rude to her, but still\n    I\u2019ll swear I love my Lesbia well!\n\nWhile we are on the subject of lover\u2019s whims and inconsistencies,\nwe venture to give an experiment of our own. At least we may claim\nthe expression, although the thought, if we remember rightly,\nbelongs to Moore:\n\n    Love halts, you said, but will not stay,\n    And soon fares on his pilgrim\u2019s way.\n    A pilgrim, yes! O\u2019er wave and sand,\n    His eye still sought the Holy Land,\n    Welcomed each altar, as he passed,\n    Until he found the Shrine at last.\n\nBefore we come to Martial, let us pause a moment over the Greek\n_Anthology_, of which some parts, no doubt, were written later\nthan his day, but others must share with Catullus the honor of\nsuggesting to the brilliant Spaniard the right conception of the\nepigram, as well as the appropriate treatment. Unlike Horace,\nhowever, Martial rarely condescended to borrow either thought or\nexpression from a foreign source. We may say of him, and more\ntruthfully, what Denham said of Cowley, that he \u201cmelted not the\nancient gold.\u201d Perhaps the most famous epigram in the _Anthology_\nis that on a picture of Pythagoras. It has been a dozen times\ntranslated into Latin or expanded in Greek, but generally with\nindifferent success:\n\n    \u0391\u1f50\u03c4\u1f78\u03bd \u03a0\u03c5\u03b8\u03b1\u03b3\u03cc\u03c1\u03b7\u03bd \u1f41 \u03b6\u03c9\u03b3\u03c1\u03ac\u03c6\u03bf\u03c2 \u1f43\u03bd \u03bc\u03b5\u03c4\u1f70 \u03c6\u03c9\u03bd\u1fc6\u03c2\n    \u0395\u1f36\u03b4\u03b5\u03c2 \u1f02\u03bd \u03b5\u1f34\u03b3\u03b5 \u03bb\u03b1\u03bb\u03b5\u1fd6\u03bd \u1f24\u03b8\u03b5\u03bb\u03b5 \u03a0\u03c5\u03b8\u03b1\u03b3\u03cc\u03c1\u03b7\u03c2.\n\nMost of the versions require four lines, and some eight, to project\nthe idea, and only two that we have seen matches the original in\ncompression; here is one of them, by Hugo Grotius:\n\n    Ipsum Pythagoram dat cernere pictor et ipsum\n    Audires sed enim non cupit ipse loqui.\n\nThe objection to this is--and it lies to the Greek as well--we are\nasked to imagine that Pythagoras expressly desired to be depicted\nsilent, in other words, requested the painter _not_ to perform an\nimpossibility--which is very like an absurdity. The true idea, and\none that gives point and beauty to the compliment, is rather this,\nthat since a prime tenet of the Pythagoreans was the maintenance of\na thoughtful silence and a wise reserve, it would have been false\nto the mental posture of the man, and therefore bad art (supposing\nit to have been possible) to have represented him otherwise than in\nspeechless meditation. We have attempted to give some such turn to\nthe thought in English elegiacs.\n\n    There Pythagoras stands to the life! Be sure we should hear him\n    Speak--but Pythagoras taught wisdom in silence to muse.\n\nIt is no mean honor to be indisputably the first in any line of\nart, and certainly within the field of the epigram Martial is\nprince of poets. He conceived the form of poetry to which he\ndevoted his life to possess much more of dignity and importance\nthan we incline to allow it, and he did much to make good his\nclaim. He held towards previous epigrammatists the same commanding\nposition which Dante holds towards Sicilian and Proven\u00e7al poets,\nor Marot towards the Trouv\u00e8res, and he wrought the epigram to that\nclimax of perfection from which progress means nothing but decline.\nHe filed and fitted his lines with a punctilious care which we\nshould expect to betray itself, yet his verse flows with a limpid\nease through which the eye seeks in vain the labor that smoothed\nthe channel. We may call him in simple justice what Bulwer called\nAddison:\n\n    Exquisite genius, to whose chiselled line\n    The ivory\u2019s polish lends the ivory\u2019s shine!\n\nTo hope to reflect in a translation the gleam and edge of Martial\nwould be absurd. We shall merely aim in a general way, while\npreserving the metre, to sketch the outlines of the central\nthought. If our readers miss the bloom on the rose, we at least\ncannot help them. They must seek the garden where it grew, and\npluck it for themselves.\n\nIn the course of a long residence in Rome, Martial seems to have\nsuffered the usual vicissitudes of authors, and sometimes in\nmoments of eclipse found his friends more willing to reproach than\nto relieve him. He fancies he detects a reason for it:\n\n    Genus, Aucte, lucri divites habent iram.\n    Odisse quam donasse vilius constat.\n\n    Auctus, the rich count wrath a gain:\n    That to hate costs less than to give is plain.\n\nIn the time of Domitian a round portion was as essential to the\nmarriage of a Roman virgin as it is now with French ladies of\ncondition, who must either endow or derogate. The Latin prototype\nof the Belgravian mother must have had grievous cause of complaint\nwhen the state bestowed prizes on such as were at once husbands\nand fathers. The following epigram, however, takes a more elevated\nview, and strikes the key-note of Tennyson\u2019s rhapsody in the\nwell-known lines of _The Princess_:\n\n    Uxorem quare locupletem ducere nolim\n    Qu\u00e6ritis. Uxori nubere nolo me\u00e6!\n    Inferior matrona suo sit, Prisce, marito!\n    Non aliter fuerint femina virque pares.\n\n    Why so reluctant, you ask, to wed with a woman of fortune?\n    Friend, I would marry a wife, not have a wife marry me!\n    Trust me, the rule is sound, let the woman owe all to her husband,\n    Thus shall they, man and wife, each owe the other nothing.\n\nHere is a playful innuendo which has often been copied. Marot\u2019s\nversion is exceedingly neat, but somewhat coarse, so our readers\nmust take ours in place of it:\n\n    Nubere vis Prisco, non miror, Paula, sapisti!\n    Ducere te non vult Priscus, et ille sapit!\n\n    Jill fancies Jack for a husband--truly a sensible woman!\n    Jack has no fancy for Jill--truly a sensible man!\n\nNo epigram of Martial\u2019s is more admired, and none seems to us\nmore admirable, than that which chronicles the magnanimous act of\nArria, who showed her husband the way to death. She lived in the\ntime of Messalina, but the deed was worthy of Lucrece. Perhaps the\ntraditional fortitude and fashionable stoicism of Rome might have\npaused contented with the historical fact, but modern sentiment\ncannot fail to welcome the touch of tenderness in the concluding\nline. We place beside it _The Death of Portia_ because the two\npoems are pitched in the same key. The latter, however, is a mere\n_historiette_, told with rare force and fervor, but without the\npoint and turn which distinguish a true epigram. To recur to our\nmetaphor, the monument is a noble one, but the superscription is\nwanting. Our readers will observe that Martial\u2019s Portia follows her\nhusband to the grave, while she precedes him in Shakespeare\u2019s play.\n\n    Casta suo gladium cum traderet Arria Paeto,\n    Quem de visceribus traxerat ipsa suis;\n    Si qua fides, vulnus quod feci non dolet, inquit.\n    Sed quod tu facies hoc mihi, Paete, dolet!\n\n    Paetus reluctant to die wavered; him Arria marking\n    Brued in her bosom the sword, which to her husband she gave;\n    Think not, she cried, that my wound bears with it aught that\n      is painful!\n    That which thou dealest thyself, _that_ will be painful to me!\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Conjugis audisset fatum cum Porcia Bruti,\n    Et subtracta sibi qu\u00e6reret arma dolor,\n    Nondum scitis, ait, mortem non posse negari\n    Credideram satis hoc vos docuisse patrem\n    Dixit et ardentes avido bibit ore favillas,\n    I nunc, et ferrum, turba molesta, nega!\n\n    Portia, thy Brutus is dead! they told her. She in her anguish\n    Silently sought for a sword--kindness had hid it from her.\n    Dream ye, officious, she cried, that death will admit of denial!\n    Truly I trusted my sire, Cato, had taught ye better!\n    Pausing she thrust in her mouth live coals, and eagerly swallowed;\n    Go, ye officious, refuse Portia a useless weapon!\n\nIn so far as the modern epigram is modelled upon Martial, we\nshould expect it to flourish with especial luxuriance in the\nclassic literature of France. Modern French, of all the daughters\nof Latin, inherits the most terseness and precision, and adapts\nherself with peculiar ease to a compact and pregnant style. The\nburst of admiration for the ancients which deserved the name\nof Renaissance, and rose in Ronsard and Du Bellay to a fervent\nand na\u00efve enthusiasm, was tempered by Malherbe and Boileau to\na cautious study of principles and the elaborate finish of\nexpression. It is a significant fact that Malherbe during the most\nfruitful period of his life, from twenty to forty-five, composed on\nthe average but thirty-three lines a year. Waller had such examples\nin his mind when he urged his countrymen to prune their style:\n\n    Our lines reformed and not composed in haste,\n    Like marble polished, would like marble last.\n\nMalherbe himself made but few epigrams, and none comparable to the\nfamiliar stanza in the elegy which he wrote to console a friend.\nTranslating it is like handling a butterfly:\n\n    She bloomed in a world where the sweetest that blows\n            Is the first to decay;\n    And rosebud, her life was the life of a rose,\n            The space of a day.\n\nOf French epigrammatists, the most voluminous are Clement Marot and\nJean Baptiste Rousseau. The latter has left four books of epigrams\nwhich are rarely deficient in point, but often diffuse and cold.\nHere is one:\n\n    They burn my books, you say, they give\n    Death to the child who only asked to live:\n    Your own in peace will draw their breath,\n    They\u2019re sure to die a natural death.\n\nWe have seen that French and German are rich in epigrams, but we\nincline to think our own literature richer still. From Sir John\nHarrington downwards the line of epigrammatists was unbroken, until\nit succumbed to the contempt with which the Lake poets regarded a\nstyle so repugnant to their own. It might be not uninteresting to\ntrace the growth of this modest flower in our English soil, but\nwe have already overrun the limit we had set ourselves, and the\nEnglish epigram must wait another opportunity. But one word more.\nThe initial lines of an epigram, which are addressed to curiosity,\nwhether from ignorance or a mistaken love of conciseness, are often\nomitted, and a clumsy substitute is provided in the _lemma_, or\nexplanatory title. Should this happen to be changed or lost, the\npoem becomes absurd or unintelligible. Take, for instance, this\nfrom the German:\n\n    Prythee lend, little Lycon, thine eye to Agath\u0113!\n    Blind, shalt thou then be Cupid, thy sister Venus be!\n\nThis would seem sheer nonsense if we did not know that it was\nwritten on two children, who, otherwise lovely, had but one eye\napiece. The Greek quatrain from which this couplet was extracted is\na perfect epigram, and, needing no introduction, contains in itself\nboth the fact and the thought. Even in the case of an epitaph,\nhonestly designed to be graven on a tomb, the best models require\nno lemma. It is so, for instance, with Ben Jonson\u2019s lines on the\nCountess of Pembroke:\n\n    Underneath this marble hearse\n    Lies the subject of all verse,\n    Sidney\u2019s sister, Pembroke\u2019s mother:\n    Death, ere thou hast slain another\n    Half so good and fair as she,\n    Time will fling a dart at thee.\n\n\n\n\nFLEURANGE.\n\nBY MRS. CRAVEN, AUTHOR OF \u201cA SISTER\u2019S STORY.\u201d\n\nTRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH, WITH PERMISSION.\n\n\nPART SECOND.\n\nTHE TRIAL.\n\n\nXX.\n\nNotwithstanding the princess\u2019 apparent indifference, she was not\nso inexperienced as to imagine that Fleurange\u2019s presence in the\nsame house could be wholly exempt from danger to her son at his\nage and with his temperament. At the same time, anything that\nwould change the actual current of her life would have annoyed\nher, and what was opposed to her wishes was seldom looked upon as\npossible. Nevertheless, she carefully watched George for two or\nthree days, and soon felt reassured, and the more so because he was\nseldom disposed to secrecy with her. Without allowing himself to be\ndirected by his mother, he did not try to conceal his opinions from\nher, and, even at the risk of sometimes greatly displeasing her, he\nsuffered her to read the depths of his heart without any special\neffort to baffle her penetration. But this time the result of the\nprincess\u2019 observation was of a nature to reassure her completely.\n\nGeorge spoke to Fleurange without affectation, and with no\nappearance of eagerness. He never showed her any attentions\nexcepting acts of politeness he would have shown any one else. He\nnever sought her society, and, if he looked at her and sometimes\nspoke of her beauty, as every one else did, it was with more\nreserve and coldness than others. Hence the princess concluded with\ndouble satisfaction that George\u2019s thoughts were otherwise absorbed,\nand, as this accorded with her wishes, she allowed herself the\ncomfort of not doubting it, and returned to the repose of her\nindolent life.\n\nAs to Fleurange, the effect of Count George\u2019s manner was singular.\nNaturally frank, honest, and courageous, she had an invincible\nrepugnance for all kinds of dissimulation, and for some days, by\nthe very fact of his manifesting two different aspects, he lost\nin her eyes a part of his dangerous prestige. Which of these two\naspects was genuine? Was he acting a part now, or was he acting\non the day of his arrival? This very doubt brought pride to the\naid of reason, and helped her regain her customary self-control.\nBy degrees the impression of the first day grew fainter, and she\nalmost succeeded in effacing from her memory the scene Count George\nhimself seemed to have so completely forgotten.\n\nWhether it was so or not, the princess, as we have said, ceased\nfollowing her with anxious eyes, and the young girl, freed from the\nrestraint she felt at first, ventured by degrees to take some part\nin the general conversation, even when he was present. She soon\nabandoned herself to the pleasure of intercourse with a mind which\ninspired her with fresh interest on every subject--to which nothing\nseemed indifferent or unknown. In this respect he resembled the\nMarquis Adelardi, but he was more ardent and less sarcastic, and\ncould not, like him, leave an interesting subject to dwell on the\nbackbitings of a clique or the gossip of a salon. They were very\nintimate, nevertheless, and, without actual similarity, they were\nsufficiently in harmony to enjoy being always together and never to\nclash.\n\nThey were, however, equally enthusiastic on one subject--that\nof politics. Elsewhere this would probably have greatly wearied\nFleurange, but here it interested her in spite of herself. Count\nGeorge expressed his sentiments with a certain elevation of tone,\nand, without always perfectly understanding all that was discussed,\nshe felt excited by the lofty independence of his opinions, his\nlove of liberty, and his tendency to take, everywhere and always,\nthe part of the weak and the oppressed. These are prominent\npolitical features which women at once catch without difficulty,\nand which win their sympathy in every cause or discussion into\nwhich they enter. Therefore Fleurange, while listening with silent\ninterest, sometimes felt carried away by ardent sympathy with the\ncharm of his captivating eloquence, the effect of which was as\npowerful as it was new.\n\nThe marquis was no less interested in contemporary history than\nhis friend, and discussed it quite as willingly, unless it was a\nquestion concerning his own country. In that case he became silent,\nand it was almost impossible to sustain the conversation.\n\nFleurange seldom took any part in the conversation, which in fact\nwas not often directed to her. From the time of Count George\u2019s\narrival she had never found herself alone with him. But one evening\nthe princess\u2019 salon was as usual filled with company. Fleurange,\nseated at a table, was pouring out the tea. This was one of her\ncustomary duties. Each one came to ask for a cup, and but few\noccupied the seats around the table. Among these was the Marquis\nAdelardi, who, on this occasion, began discoursing with the young\nartist Livio and Dom Pomponio on ancient and modern art in Italy.\nCount George drew near and listened for some time in silence, then\njoined in the conversation. A chair near Fleurange was vacant.\nHe took it, and for some time the discussion was carried on with\nanimation. Fleurange was listening with her elbow on the table\nand her eyes cast down. She did not say a word, nor did she lose\none that was uttered beside her. The conversation passed from\nItaly to Germany, and they spoke of the school of art there, now\nbeginning to produce some great paintings. Count George suddenly\npronounced the name of Julian Steinberg, saying that this artist\u2019s\nmost remarkable production was to be found in Professor Ludwig\nDornthal\u2019s gallery at Frankfort.\n\nFleurange, of course, was aware he knew her friends, but there\nhad never been any occasion for speaking of them, and these names\nsuddenly mentioned before her gave her a thrill. She hastily looked\nup, and with difficulty repressed the exclamation already on her\nlips. This movement did not escape the notice of him who caused it.\nHe allowed the conversation to die away. After some moments the\nothers left the table. He alone remained an instant.\n\n\u201cMademoiselle Gabrielle,\u201d said he, \u201ctell me if I involuntarily\nvexed you or wounded your feelings just now.--It was by no means\nintentional--\u201d\n\nFleurange eagerly interrupted him: \u201cOh! no, assuredly not\u201d; and\nthese words were followed by an explanation which the young girl\ngave as fully as she did frankly. Count George thus learned for\nthe first time her relationship to the Dornthals. The subject once\ncommenced soon led to a new and more important revelation. Since\nthe first day, for more than one reason easy to understand, the\npicture of Cordelia had not been recalled by either. Now, becoming\nmore confidential and rendered more expansive by the charm of\nawakened remembrances, Fleurange ventured to tell him what an\ninfluence on her life his becoming the owner of her father\u2019s last\npainting had had, and in a tone of emotion she thanked him for the\nhappiness of which he had been the involuntary cause.--\n\nBut she soon stopped suddenly: her heart, as on that first\nday, beat with agitation mingled with alarm; for, while she\nwas speaking, Count George\u2019s eyes, fixed on hers, resumed the\nexpression she had not seen since that day, and once more, as then,\nshe heard him pronounce her name in a tone she had striven to\nforget.\n\n\u201cFleurange!--Oh! is not what you have told me wonderful? What! this\nCordelia has transformed your life as it has mine? Tell me if this\nis not a proof of the destiny we should not seek to avoid?\u201d\n\nSuch were the words he articulated in a low tone; but he stopped in\nhis turn. Fleurange\u2019s deep blush changed into a frightful paleness.\n\nWe have remarked that the word duty resounded in this young girl\u2019s\nsoul in a tone singularly correct and powerful. The words she had\njust heard caused rather the striking of a signal of alarm than the\ndangerous emotion they were calculated to produce. She remained\nsilent an instant, during which George gazed at her motionless and\nincapable of uttering a word.--At length she succeeded in calming\nthe involuntary agitation of her heart, and, raising her beautiful\neyes, calm and grave, she looked at him with an air of proud\ndignity which would have suited a queen had the most obscure of her\nsubjects forgotten the distance that separated them.\n\n\u201cMonsieur le Comte,\u201d said she, \u201cI appeal to your better self: is\nthis the language you should address a poor orphan who is under\nyour mother\u2019s protection and in her _service_?\u201d\n\nThe profound respect in the eyes that lowered before hers was a\nsufficient reparation for Fleurange. But the tenderness and sorrow\nmingled with this respect made his mute response perhaps more\ndangerous for her to whom it was addressed than the ardent words\nthat preceded it. She rose immediately, nevertheless, without\nadding another word, and left the salon to appear no more that\nevening.\n\n\nXXI.\n\nCount George remained longer than he was aware of in the place\nwhere Fleurange left him. At last he felt a light touch on his\nshoulder. It was Adelardi who thus disturbed his reverie.\n\n\u201cWhat are you thinking about, George?\u201d said he. \u201cYou could not\nbe more absorbed in contemplating that tea-cup, if it were one of\nthe magic vases you told us about, the other day, from which your\ncountrymen turn out prophetic symbols.\u201d[104]\n\nThe count looked up, smiling: \u201cYour comparison is not\ninapplicable,\u201d said he, \u201cfor it was precisely of the future I was\nthinking. Yes, I would like to know my fortune, and, if I had any\nfaith in the charm to which you allude, I would immediately have\nrecourse to it.\u201d\n\nHe rose as he spoke and glanced around the room. The salon was\nbrilliant and full of company. His mother, even more elegantly\nattired than usual, seemed to be regarding with satisfaction\nthe numerous groups of stylish ladies, men of all ages, and\nnotabilities from all lands gathered around her. Nothing justified\nthe wearied look of him who should have aided in doing the honors\nof the evening, still less the following words:\n\n\u201cWhat an insupportable crowd! If you have had enough of it,\nAdelardi, as I have, let us go to my room and smoke a cigar in\npeace.\u201d\n\n\u201cAgreed on the last point. As to the other, it is your humor for\ndivination that makes you regard things in such a light.--Come,\u201d he\ncontinued when they were established, one in an arm-chair and the\nother on a _dormeuse_, in the apartment where we once accompanied\nFleurange--\u201ccome, George, without being a fortune-teller, shall I\ntry to predict the future you are seeking to know?\u201d\n\nGeorge lighted his cigar, and, after smoking a few moments in\nsilence, he said: \u201cYou are no fortune-teller, Adelardi, I am\naware, but you would not be an Italian without a certain talent for\ndivination. Come, I am willing: try your skill. You know you have\nlong had the right of saying anything to me.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, to begin--but first allow me to ask why you have kept a\ncurtain over that picture since your return?\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you remember what that painting represents?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly, it represents Cordelia at the feet of King Lear, who is\nasleep.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you ever examine it carefully?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, George, very carefully, so that--here, I can spare you the\ntrouble of answering the question I just asked. I know now why you\nconceal it.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet us hear.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou cover it for fear people will be struck with the resemblance\nof Cordelia to the original.\u201d\n\nGeorge did not immediately reply. \u201cIf you have guessed aright,\u201d\nsaid he at length, \u201cshould I be obliged to acknowledge it?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, in the game we are playing. There must be mutual frankness,\nor we must give it up.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, Adelardi, let us go on, since we have commenced.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am willing and, even at the risk of offending you, I shall now\ngo to the bottom of the subject. I acknowledge that till now you\nhave succeeded in concealing the feelings that for the time control\nyou. I think I am the only one who has discovered them, unless\nperhaps the one who has inspired them.--But I am not certain on\nthis point. I cannot fully read that young girl\u2019s character.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is, in fact, a character which men like us, Adelardi, seldom\nhave an opportunity of studying.\u201d\n\n\u201cI acknowledge it, and that is why your impressible nature has been\ntaken by surprise and received a lasting impression. Moreover, in\nspite of the conclusions that might be drawn from that painting,\nyour meeting here was accidental. You had not the least idea in the\nworld of finding your Cordelia under your roof otherwise than on\ncanvas.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow you are no longer divining, for you learned that from me.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, but I believed you, which another of less experience perhaps\nwould not have done. And then, this unforeseen and surprising\nmeeting lent to your previous fascination somewhat of an aspect of\nfatality.\u201d\n\nGeorge blushed a little as he recalled what he had said to\nFleurange some minutes before, but did not interrupt him.\n\n\u201cFatality,\u201d pursued Adelardi, \u201csignifies something irresistible;\nirresistible means that, without hesitation, without scruple,\nwithout remorse, you are going to abuse the ascendency you only\nknow too well how to exercise.\u201d\n\n\u201cGo on,\u201d said Count George.\n\n\u201cWell, George, sermons from me would be quite out of place, and I\nwould not venture on one to you; but, at the risk of your finding\nit strange from my lips, I must tell you that, to ensnare a noble\ncreature like her, or even blemish by a word the halo of goodness\nand purity that surrounds her, would be infamy in my eyes.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you think me capable of such infamy, Adelardi? I have reason\nto thank you.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, George, swear that you are not thinking of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf what?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf her.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf her? I cannot swear that. But I am astonished that the\nrespect you feel for her in spite of yourself--an unusual thing,\nindeed--you think me incapable of.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen what are you thinking of, George?\u201d\n\nGeorge made no reply, and, after a moment\u2019s silence, the marquis\nresumed in a graver tone:\n\n\u201cMy dear friend, being forty years old--that is, nearly fifteen\nyears older than you--I think I may be allowed to say that, if in a\nchoice between infamy and folly, folly is preferable, it would be\nwell to reflect that the least follies are the shortest, and the\nworst of all are those which are irreparable.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe are forgetting our _r\u00f4les_, Adelardi. I have no avowals or\nrevelations to make you. You undertook not to tell me what I ought\nto do, but to predict what I shall do.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, here is my horoscope, dictated, I acknowledge, as much by\nwhat I desire as by my penetration. You will escape from this\nfolly, and keep the promise you have made.\u201d\n\nGeorge\u2019s brow grew dark. \u201cA promise my mother doubtless\ncommissioned you to remind me of?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; I speak to you as a friend, and quite spontaneously. If\nit were at your mother\u2019s request, I should certainly have no\nhesitation about acknowledging it.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe certainly reminds me often enough of it herself. This supposed\npromise has long been a settled fact with her.\u201d\n\n\u201cSupposed?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, supposed, for it is a subject on which I never said anything\npositive.\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing? Come, George, be honest, or let us stop.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, let us go on. I sometimes feel the need of opening my heart.\nWell, I acknowledge that, when I met Vera de Liningen for the first\ntime two years ago, I was struck with her beauty and still more\ncharmed with her wit, and had I then remained in her neighborhood\nI might have found it difficult to give her up. In that case my\nfate would doubtless have been decided by this time. I should\nhave submitted to the yoke, and not only be married, but perhaps\nhave the honor of a position at court, clothed in some of those\ndignities to which the husband of a favorite maid of honor might\naspire.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, my dear friend, considering that this maid of honor is rich,\nnoble, and one of the fairest ladies at court, and that you were\nthen somewhat dazzled, and she made no secret of her preference for\nyou, I do not see that this result would have been a very fearful\none.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I acknowledge it. If I had never left St. Petersburg, perhaps\nI should have found happiness there on these terms. Now, whether\nfortunate or unfortunate, I do not know, but, having breathed a\ndifferent atmosphere, I could no longer live in that. A thousand\nfeelings, a thousand sympathies, a thousand opinions, which I\nhave insensibly acquired would make me regard the gilded chain\nof a court life as the worst of slaveries. This alone would have\nsufficed to check the words on my lips which Vera perhaps expected\nto hear, but which she knows well I never uttered. As to the\nconjectures of the world, what do I care for them?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou acknowledge, however, that that is not the only cause of the\nrupture?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, if there has been a rupture: that motive was not indeed, or is\nnot, the only one.\u201d\n\n\u201cI really suspected it, and I could not tell you which of the two\nmotives I deplore the most.\u201d\n\n\u201cTruly, Adelardi,\u201d said George impatiently, \u201cI cannot help\nthinking your great solicitude very singular. You once told me the\nmanner of contracting marriage in Italy made you decide to remain\na bachelor, and now you are as scandalized at seeing me choose the\nlady of my taste with some disregard of received notions, as the\nMarquis Trombelli himself could be!\u201d\n\nAdelardi smiled.\n\n\u201cThat is not all, and what I have to say is still stronger. I am\nneither pleased nor satisfied with the political _r\u00e9gime_ under\nwhich it has pleased Providence to give me birth, and it is you,\nAdelardi, you! who are astonished at this and annoyed!--I might\nask you, in my turn, why you do not return to Milan, like a loyal\nsubject, to enjoy the paternal government under which you would be\npermitted to live?\u201d\n\nThe expression of sprightly good-humor that characterized the\nmarquis\u2019 physiognomy suddenly changed to one grave and almost\nsombre.\n\n\u201cStop, George,\u201d said he in an agitated voice.\n\n\u201cPardon me, Adelardi, but truly there are subjects on which I\ncannot conceive why we should not agree.\u201d\n\nAdelardi remained some minutes without speaking, then with an\napparent effort resumed:\n\n\u201cListen, George. I have a most sincere friendship for you, and you\nwould not doubt it if you knew what it costs me to prolong the\nsubject to which our conversation has led, but perhaps it will not\nbe unprofitable for you to listen to me. Allow me to say a few\nwords on a subject you know I generally avoid, having sufficient\ncontrol over myself to be silent on certain points, but not enough\nto speak of them with coolness. When I was young, younger than you\nnow are, I was carried away with an enthusiasm only known to those\nwhose country is enslaved. Yes,\u201d he continued with an emotion quite\nunusual with him, \u201ca country, prosperous, glorious, honored, and\npowerful, doubtless merits a devotion no noble heart can refuse;\nbut to feel this devotion transformed into a wild and painful\npassion, one must see his country crushed and humiliated. It must\nbe trodden under foot in the dust, and its name effaced from every\nmemory--refused the very right of bearing a name, and even of\nexistence!\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! I easily comprehend such a sorrow, Adelardi,\u201d cried George\nwith an accent of earnest sympathy.--\u201cI understand it but too well.\nBut Italy is not the only down-trodden country in Europe, and\nthe chance which binds a man to such a land does not oblige him\nto participate in its excesses, nor forbid him, I imagine, from\ndeploring them!\u201d\n\n\u201cI will reply to that presently, George. But let me finish what\nI was saying, for this conversation will never be renewed. Under\nthe influence of this passion, as well as others, alas! of my age,\nrank, and country, I yielded to the folly of a culpable course, or\nat least I gave reason for suspicion, and, like many others of more\nworth than I, and a great many whom I surpass, I suffered, as you\nknow, imprisonment, confiscation, and exile, one after the other.\nI do not regret these trials, for when we cannot serve our country\nthere is a certain pleasure in suffering for it, but what I regret\nis having merited them.\u201d\n\n\u201cMerited?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, certainly, for I belonged for a time to one of those secret\nsocieties which are our ruin. Like many others, I naturally\nthought myself excusable--the impulse to which I yielded seemed\nso powerful! the aim proposed, so noble! Well, George--\u201d The\nmarquis stopped a moment, and then continued with evident pain, but\nearnestly: \u201cWell, I tell you there is neither courage, nor honor,\nnor virtue, nor loyalty, nor probity, nor anything that can render\na man worthy of respect, or even of esteem--nothing, I say, that\ncan resist the empoisoned atmosphere of those accursed places. My\npunishment was tardy, for my denunciation only took place after I\nleft, but I was justly punished for entering them!\u201d\n\nGeorge, affected and surprised, made no attempt to interrupt him.\n\n\u201cThe most satisfactory act of my life,\u201d pursued Adelardi, \u201can act\nthat required more courage than to confront death in any other way,\nwas to leave openly, with contempt and horror, those with whom I\nfound myself for a moment thus connected!\u201d\n\nWhile he was talking, he traversed the room in an agitated manner.\n\n\u201cSince that time,\u201d he continued more calmly, \u201cI have incurred\nseveral dangers unnecessary to mention, and suffered in various\nways you are aware of. Now, I live here away from my native city,\nseparated from my relatives, and convinced that the day which\nwill change the fate of Italy will never dawn in my time, though\nI am certain the day will come, and especially certain its most\ndangerous enemies are not its rulers--not even its most rigid\nrulers--but those false and perfidious men who are called its\nfriends, its heroes, and sometimes its martyrs!\u201d\n\nThe marquis now took his seat beside George, and, pressing his\nhand, said: \u201cThis is quite enough concerning myself. Let us come\nback to you, whose position, you will acknowledge, it would be\nabsurd to compare with mine.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do acknowledge it; and yet, Adelardi, you would regenerate your\ncountry, and I would transform mine.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; but in spite of all the defects you say tarnish his reign,\nhistory will represent your sovereign, you may be sure, as one of\nthe most noble and most sympathetic representatives of that supreme\npower so difficult to wield.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, that is precisely what discourages me. To realize my dreams,\nthe successor of Alexander I. must have all his virtues and not one\nof his defects. You will acknowledge this is not what the future\nseems to promise.\u201d\n\n\u201cLet us not begin to draw up his horoscope, but rather listen to\nmy final counsel. In spite of your dreams, your aspirations, your\nopinions, and your lofty sympathies, I am persuaded nothing will\never induce you to take part in any culpable enterprise in your\ncountry. Yes, George, believe a reformed conspirator: avoid all\ncontact with those who, less scrupulous than you in their deeds,\nmake use of nearly the same language, and be sure that, when we\ncome to suffer condemnation, it is infinitely disagreeable to feel\nit is merrited by foolish imprudence, and that we are the victims\nof no one but ourselves.\u201d\n\nTheir long conversation had widely digressed from the point they\nstarted from. It was now too late to resume it. But the Marquis\nAdelardi resolved to return to it another time, and obtain George\u2019s\nentire confidence. He fully comprehended his present danger, and\nregarded it as a duty imposed by friendship to aid him in resisting\nit. But, in spite of the acuteness of his discernment, he did not\nforesee that she who was the source of this danger would know\nbetter than any one else how to dispel it.\n\n\nXXII.\n\nWhile this conversation was taking place, Fleurange was in her\nwell-known seat at the top of the stone steps, looking out on\nthe moonlit court and the long shadows of the pillars under the\nportico, listening to the murmur of the fountain, the only noise\nthat disturbed the silence of the night, and breathing the vague\nodor of orange blossoms that embalmed the air.\n\nSeveral months had elapsed since the day of George\u2019s arrival--the\nday when the vague dreams in the depths of her soul seemed for a\nmoment transformed into reality, but only to vanish, however, as\nquickly as they appeared. Now she was agitated and troubled anew,\nbut differently and more profoundly than the first time.\n\nWhat was she thinking of under the influence of this agitation and\ntrouble?--Why did her eyes wander so pensively around when the\nnight was so brilliant, and in her ears still vibrated the words\nwhich, in spite of herself, made her heart beat with triumphant\njoy?--Shall we tell what she was thinking of? And the place to\nwhich, by one of the inexplicable caprices of the imagination not\nunder the control of the will, her thoughts had now flown? Was it\nto the Cascine where, the evening before, Count George on horseback\nlingered so long beside his mother\u2019s _cal\u00e8che_? Was it to one of\nthe galleries where more than once he had pointed out beauties\nconcealed from superficial observers, but so well understood by her\nto whom they were revealed? Or was it to the very salon they had\njust left, and was she now thinking of that last glance from which\nshe turned away her own? No; the place to which her memory now\nreverted was the garden of the Old Mansion--the hour she recalled\nwas the last she passed there! The moonlight was as brilliant that\nnight, the air as mild, and the flowers as odorous, but the word\n\u2018farewell\u2019 seemed everywhere, written and changed the beauty of\nthe evening into sadness. Farewell, without hope and for ever!\nechoed the transcendent splendor of this night in Italy in sadder\naccents--Farewell!--once more, farewell! yes, farewell!\n\nShe must tear herself away from this spot only too dear! and break\nthe charm only too dangerous! This was clearly evident.\n\nAn instant, only an instant, she allowed her thoughts to dwell\non the happiness she must for ever renounce. She allowed her\nimagination to depict it--such as it might be were it not\nforbidden--and then, with a clearness and sincerity in which no\nexultation mingled, she acknowledged she would purchase it at\nthe price of every sacrifice except that which her conscience\nforbade her make. Yes, to live near George without remorse to\nbecome his wife with the consent of his mother, seemingly so\nimpossible--to purchase such a destiny, she felt nothing would seem\nformidable--she would joyfully welcome poverty, the severest labor,\neven death itself!\n\nMany people of experience will smile at such language, and declare\nthese are imaginary sacrifices that, under the influence of\npassion, the young are very willing to make, but which, luckily,\nare but rarely put to the test. We admit it, and, without stopping\nany longer to consider the improbable future which Fleurange thus\ninvoked, we can also bear witness that in view of these imaginary\ntrials she bravely prepared herself to make the sacrifice actually\nbefore her. And these same people of experience will acknowledge\nthis was the most difficult of all. First, because it was real and\nnot imaginary, and also because it is always easier to make great\nsacrifices for the sake of love than to renounce love itself,\nwhich renders them so light and sometimes so sweet!\n\nYes, she must no longer hesitate; she must once more break the\nrejoined thread of her life--and what a painful rending of the\nheartstrings this time! She must go away, and never to return.\nAfter what had just occurred, there was no longer any possible\nillusion or security. By remaining, she would be false to\nevery obligation, gratitude, and her position with regard to\nthe princess, imposed upon her. Yes, she must go, but how--on\nwhat pretext? Alas! and her _brothers_--must she renounce the\nsweet satisfaction of aiding them, a joy the generosity of the\nprincess had so kindly promoted? This last remembrance confirmed\nher resolution. Certainly, after so many benefits, she must\nnot in return cause her any mortification and grief, no, not\neven displeasure and anxiety. She must leave at whatever cost,\nand without allowing the princess to suspect the motive of her\ndeparture; and yet she must obtain her consent. This was the great\ndifficulty, for she foresaw a lively resistance.\n\n\u201cWhat shall I do?--what shall I do?\u201d repeated poor Fleurange with\nperplexity. \u201cO my God, my God! thou wilt aid me, for what I seek is\nthe means of accomplishing thy will: what I desire is to know it.\u201d\n\nWhile the young girl was thus thinking, struggling, and praying,\nthe hours flew. Once she left her seat in the window, but, feeling\nunable to sleep, only exchanged her evening dress for a morning\none, then, without observing the lateness of the hour, returned to\nher seat, and again took up the thread of her reflections. Suddenly\nshe heard steps in the corridor leading to the private staircase,\nand in a moment there was a sharp knock at her door. It instantly\nopened. It was Barbara.\n\n\u201cWhat!\u201d she said with an air of surprise. \u201cYou still up at this\nlate hour?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Fleurange, \u201cI was not sleepy, and--\u201d\n\nBarbara interrupted her:\n\n\u201cSo much the better, for the princess is ill and wants you\nimmediately. Come, quick, quick, mademoiselle, for you know I am so\nfrightened when she has these attacks that I lose my wits.\u201d\n\nFleurange was at the head of the stairs before Barbara finished\nspeaking, and, in a minute more, at the princess\u2019 bedside. It\nwas evidently one of the severe and painful attacks to which she\nwas subject--and the first since her return. Fleurange at once\nbethought herself of Dr. Leblanc\u2019s minute directions, and her whole\nmanner was transformed. Instead of waiting and obeying, she at once\nresumed the direction: every one obeyed her, and her quiet firmness\nsoon calmed the fright which prevailed among all the servants of\nthe house when illness, and illness under so frightful a form,\ninvaded the luxurious rooms to which they were accustomed. George\nhimself was not exempt. He was the first to hasten to his mother\u2019s\nbedside, and now he was supporting her head, which was thrown back,\nand endeavoring to hold her hands, which quivered convulsively,\nbut, unaccustomed to such a spectacle, he was trembling in spite of\nhimself. His habitual courage seemed here of no avail.\n\nFleurange perceived it, and motioned for him to give her his place,\nor rather, she took it without his being able to prevent her. He\nremained motionless beside her, while with wonderful courage and\nskill she was mastering the fearful paroxysm.\n\n\u201cSpeak to her again,\u201d said George. \u201cWhen she hears your voice, or\nyou place your hand on hers, she grows calmer at once.\u201d\n\n\u201cBe quiet,\u201d replied Fleurange, \u201cand leave her to me. Do not remain\nhere, I beg of you.\u201d\n\nAt this injunction, George left the bedside, but not the chamber.\nHe remained in an obscure corner, leaning against the wall,\nwatching his mother\u2019s altered face by the light of the shaded lamp.\nAll traces of remaining beauty, preserved by the most skilful arts\nof the toilet, had suddenly disappeared. In an hour she had grown\nten years older. Frightful convulsions contracted her features, and\nher eyes, staring wildly around, seemed to be regarding with an air\nof reproach all the objects accumulated for her comfort, but now so\npowerless to aid her.\n\nThis spectacle made George shudder. He was regarded not only as a\nman of acknowledged bravery, but as one whose courage was almost\nrash. He had braved death a thousand times without sufficient\nmotive, and confronted perils from the very love of danger itself.\nBut this kind of courage has nothing in common with that which\nenables the eye to look calmly on suffering and death--not of an\nheroic kind which rouses our enthusiasm, but such as we witness on\nall beds of sickness, and which awaits us!\n\nThus beheld, the spectacle excited George\u2019s horror. He turned away\nwith the repugnance of a nature delicate and noble, but perverted\nby selfish indulgence, and which at all times was more capable\nof brilliant proofs of devotedness than of obscure sacrifices.\nNotwithstanding his tender affection for his mother, it is very\nprobable he would not long have endured the painful impression\nhe received, if the dim light which obscured everything had not\nenabled him to discern the movements and features of her who so\nefficaciously replaced him at the bedside. He therefore remained\nwhere he was, contemplating Fleurange\u2019s calm and simple attitude\nwith admiration. She had already dismissed several women whose\nservices were superfluous, and by degrees re-established order\nand tranquillity around her. Barbara was still going to and fro,\nbustling about and giving proofs of her good-will, but unable to\ndisguise the terror she could never overcome when she saw her\nmistress a prey to these severe attacks. On this account, she did\nnot feel in the least displeased at Fleurange\u2019s intervention, and\nit was with secret joy she now heard the order for her to retire.\n\n\u201cIt is nearly four o\u2019clock,\u201d said Fleurange, looking at the\nmagnificent clock opposite. \u201cShe is a little calmer: go and lie\ndown, Barbara.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you, mademoiselle?\u201d\n\n\u201cI? I shall remain here. I shall not stir till seven o\u2019clock. Then\nthe physician will return. After his visit I shall go to bed, and\nyou can take my place.\u201d\n\nThis calm and precise order was not one which Barbara wished to\nhear the second time. She hastened to place an arm-chair near the\nyoung girl, and a table with the remedies she might need, and went\nout without suspecting Fleurange was not entirely alone with her\nsick mistress.\n\nGeorge hesitated for an instant: to leave Fleurange to watch\nalone seemed almost cruel; to remain unbeknown to her, almost\ntreacherous. He therefore decided to leave the obscure corner he\noccupied, and softly approached the bed.\n\nFleurange, hearing his footsteps, turned quickly around, and began\nto tremble. The slight noise he made was sufficient to awaken the\npatient, which caused a renewal of her sufferings, and the spasm\nfrom which she had but just rallied became more violent than ever.\nFor some moments George\u2019s presence and aid were not useless, but\nwhile she preserved her coolness he lost his, and seemed unable to\nendure the sight of the suffering he could not lessen.\n\n\u201cMother! my poor mother!\u201d he cried with anguish, \u201clook at me! give\nme one look!\u201d\n\n\u201cTry to be calm,\u201d whispered Fleurange, and she added, almost in\nhis ear: \u201cDo not say a word, not one--there must be calmness, and\nabsolute silence.\u201d\n\n\u201cGabrielle! Gabrielle!\u201d murmured the sick woman with agitation.\n\nFleurange put her arm under her mistress\u2019 head, and supported it\nwith one hand, while she pressed her icy hands with the other.\n\n\u201cO Gabrielle! do not leave me! never leave me,\u201d continued the\nprincess in an unnatural tone.\n\nFleurange buried her face in the pillow against which she was\nleaning, while another voice whispered beside her: \u201cOh! no, never.\u201d\n\nAfter a moment she raised her head. \u201cLeave us now, Monsieur le\nComte. I beg you to go.\u201d\n\nThere was an irresistible authority in her tone, but George\nhesitated an instant. She repeated, \u201cI beg you to go,\u201d and he\nobeyed without reply as if she had uttered a command.\n\nWhen he left the sick-room, he felt relieved like one to whom\nrestraint--even the most trifling--is insupportable. Feeling the\nneed of fresh air, he passed through the salon and went out on the\nterrace.\n\nIt was already daylight. He walked a few steps, inhaling the\nperfume of the flowers with which the terrace was filled, then\nstopped a long time, leaning on the balustrade with his arms\nfolded, looking at the clear sky growing radiant under the first\ntouches of Aurora. Without asking himself the reason, he was eager\nto shake off the effects of the spectacle he had just witnessed.\n\nAnd yet George had a great deal of heart, whether this word\nsignifies tenderness or courage. It would have been extremely\nunjust to doubt it, but he felt a constant need of finding\nin exterior objects the gratification of his faculty of\nenjoyment--developed to the utmost degree of delicacy, which made\nhim equally susceptible of contrary impressions. This faculty was\nneither low nor vulgar in its tendency. What attracted George was\ngenuine beauty, which alone gave a charm to the interests of the\nworld. Vice under an ignoble aspect was as repugnant to him as\nugliness. In his eyes, the aspect, the only aspect, of sickness,\npain, and death was repulsive. He was absolutely ignorant of the\nmysterious and divine power which sometimes transforms them to the\nspiritual eye and makes it look beyond the exterior circumstances\nof life. Such freedom, such independence of external influences,\nwere unknown to him who attached so much importance to liberty and\nindependence! And when it is thus, there is in the soul, however\ngenerous, a hidden germ of weakness and egoism which we are\nsurprised to see suddenly manifested at a later period, even in\nthose who display the most lofty sentiments and give proofs of the\nmost impetuous courage.\n\n\nXXIII.\n\nThe following days were marked by the progress, the crisis, and\nfinally by the decline of the princess\u2019 malady. The effect of\ncare and suitable remedies was soon manifest and convalescence\nestablished. But this was the most trying time for those in\nattendance, and a time when Fleurange\u2019s presence was more\nnecessary than ever. She had directed everything from the first\nwith intelligent devotedness. They had all yielded without any\ndifficulty to her authority--even the invalid herself, incapable\nof resisting her. But the latter now resumed, with her strength,\nthe exercise of an obstinate and whimsical disposition. It was\nprecisely during a similar phase of her previous illness that\nher young companion acquired the favor she enjoyed. Fleurange\nfelt it would have been a thousand times easier to have left her\nwhen she was nearly unconscious, than at a time when she was so\nindispensable that her services were in constant requisition. She\nalone could relieve her from the exertion of writing a letter or\nreceiving a visit. She alone knew how to arrange her books and\nflowers, and the thousand trifles that surrounded her, in a way\nto please her critical eye and capricious taste. And, above all,\nit was owing to her that the evenings passed away without _ennui_\nwhile the princess was forbidden by the physician to receive\nany company except her most intimate friends. This was the time\nFleurange was called upon to read. There was a charm in her voice\nand accent which the cultivated taste of the princess never wearied\nof.\n\n\u201cReally, Gabrielle,\u201d said she, one evening, after the young girl\nhad ended one of the passages she had selected--\u201creally, it is an\nexquisite pleasure to hear you read. Come, George, attend to what\nwe are doing, if you please. Lay aside that review in which you are\nso absorbed, and come nearer. She has just read me Dante\u2019s sonnet,\n\n    \u2018Tanto gentile e tanto onesta pare\n    La Donna mia,\u2019[105]\n\nin a way really worth listening to.\u201d\n\nThere was a moment\u2019s silence. A large screen veiled the light from\nthe princess\u2019 eyes, which were still weak. Fleurange was seated on\nthe other side of this rampart. She blushed, for she was quite well\naware it was not on the book, in which he pretended to be absorbed,\nthe young man\u2019s eyes were fastened while she was reading the sonnet\nshe had just finished.\n\n\u201cI have not been as inattentive as you suppose, mother,\u201d said\nGeorge at length. \u201cBesides, these lines would attract my attention\nunder any circumstances:\n\n    \u2018E da per gli occhi una dolcezza al core\n    Ch\u2019 intender non la puo chi non la prova.\u2019\u201d[106]\n\nGeorge had approached the table, and the expression of his eyes did\nnot allow Fleurange to mistake the application of these lines.\n\nAlas! for a month she had been forced to accept--let us use the\nright word--to enjoy the presence of him whom she had resolved\nto fly from, and been obliged for the time to lay aside all\nconsideration of her own position in view of the duties which had\ndevolved on her towards the princess. But her resolution had not\nfor an instant faltered. Every day the sacrifice would doubtless\nbe more painful, but consequently the more necessary. What she\nonly waited for now was the propitious moment, and the means of\naccomplishing it.\n\nThe Princess Catherine was now really convalescent, and able\nto bear the displeasure Fleurange felt obliged to cause her.\nTherefore, the same evening the little scene we have just\nrelated took place, she resolved not to yield another day to the\nconsiderations that had hitherto restrained her. To remain any\nlonger where she was would henceforth be deliberate treachery.\n\nWhat she had nearly decided upon was to confide everything to Dr.\nLeblanc, who was now fulfilling a promise made the year before\nat the Old Mansion and visiting her friends at Heidelberg. He\nunderstood her position with respect to the princess better than\nany one else, and would know how to aid her in giving it up. He,\nbetter than any one, could arrange everything for her return among\nher relatives without betraying the motive she was so anxious to\nconceal. But it was painful to decide on speaking of George even to\nhim. The letter was commenced but not yet finished, and the hour of\ndelay was passing.\n\nShe laid the book on the table and was absorbed in silent\nreflection. The princess was dwelling on the thoughts suggested by\nthe reading, and her son, as he answered her at random, sought to\nread the expression of the downcast eyes that so carefully avoided\nhis.\n\nAt that moment an unexpected message surprised them all. The\nprincess\u2019 valet de chambre, who was the porter, wished to inform\nMademoiselle Gabrielle there was a young gentleman in the hall who\nrequested to see her.\n\n\u201cA young gentleman?\u201d exclaimed the princess and her son at the same\ntime, and with no less astonishment than Fleurange.\n\n\u201cA young gentleman?\u201d repeated she. \u201cDid you ask his name?\u201d Yes, the\nvalet de chambre had asked, but had forgotten, and stammered out\nsome name as unintelligible as unknown to Fleurange. She rose. \u201cI\nwill see who it can be,\u201d said she.\n\nGeorge had already arisen, and the princess exclaimed: \u201cGabrielle\nmust not go down alone at this hour. Rogues often find their way\nin, in this manner, at night.--Last evening, before dark, an\nunknown person entered a shop, and while the owner\u2019s back was\nturned--\u201d The princess became unnecessarily nervous over this\nslight incident.\n\n\u201cIf you will allow me,\u201d said George, \u201cI will ascertain who it is.\nTrust to me, and await here the information I will bring you.\u201d\n\nFleurange made no objection. She knew no one and expected no one,\nand was sure there was some mistake.\n\nGeorge was not gone more than ten minutes from the room. When he\nreappeared, his face was lit up with an expression of joy.\n\n\u201cIt is really a young gentleman,\u201d he said, \u201cand it was really you\nhe asked for, mademoiselle. And I, for my part, was also happy to\nshake hands with Julian Steinberg. It was he. He has just arrived\nat Florence with his wife.\u201d\n\n\u201cJulian!--Julian and Clara!\u201d cried Fleurange, overjoyed. She sprang\nup at once, forgetting the princess and George, and everything\nexcept the unexpected pleasure of seeing these beloved faces again.\n\nCount George stopped her: \u201cI beg your pardon, mademoiselle,\nSteinberg only wished to know when his wife could see you. I took\nthe liberty of telling him that my carriage, which is at the door,\nwould take you at once to the hotel where they are stopping, and he\nhas gone to tell her she will have the pleasure of seeing you this\nvery evening.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! how kind you are,\u201d cried Fleurange, beside herself. \u201cHow many\nthanks I owe you!\u201d\n\nBut she bethought herself that the princess did not like\nanything of which she did not take the initiative, and under\nno circumstances did she ever forget herself. Before the shade\nthat began to gather on her brow could be perceived, Fleurange\napproached her.\n\n\u201cMonsieur le Comte is very kind,\u201d said she; \u201cbut I should do better\nto wait till morning, should I not, princess? It is only nine\no\u2019clock, and you need me at least an hour longer.\u201d\n\nThe princess was already partly mollified by these words, and\ncompletely so by the grace with which her son protested he should\nbe angry if she did not clearly prove to him that she thought him\ncapable of replacing Mademoiselle Gabrielle at least for an hour.\n\n\u201cCome, mother, you can endure to hear me read in my turn, can you\nnot? I readily acknowledge my powers are not equal to what we have\njust had. But, if the contrast is disagreeable to you, it will not\nbe the first time we have passed an hour together to our mutual\nsatisfaction, and that I have been able to make my conversation\nacceptable to you.\u201d\n\nThese words, uttered with a caressing grace as he knelt at his\nmother\u2019s side, appealed directly to the weakest point in her\nmaternal heart. The princess idolized her son. He was the joy and\npride of her life. But though full of deference and affection,\nhe was constantly eluding her. This woman, so imperious towards\nall others, felt she had scarcely any authority over her son,\nand endeavored to acquire an ascendency over him by all the\npersuasiveness and skill she possessed, as if this ascendency were\nnot her natural right. Since George returned last he had been more\nreserved than usual. Hitherto he had been able to frustrate all\nher efforts to obtain his entire confidence, to which he sometimes\nyielded, and which amply atoned for the long intervals of reserve\nso painful to her.\n\nOn this occasion she caressingly passed her hand over her son\u2019s\nbeautiful hair, and smilingly replied: \u201cNaughty boy, you know\nwell what to depend upon.\u201d Then turning to Fleurange: \u201cGo. I am\nquite willing you should go and welcome your cousin. I can for\nthe present do without you. Go, but come back in an hour. I shall\nexpect you at ten,\u201d she added, looking at the clock.\n\nThe permission was not very graciously accorded, but Fleurange did\nnot profit by it the less eagerly. She did not leave the room,\nhowever, without an involuntary look of gratitude at him who had so\nwell divined her wish, and so successfully seconded it.\n\n                         TO BE CONTINUED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[104] This allusion refers to a playful superstition practised in\nRussia on New Year\u2019s Eve. It consists in pouring melted wax into a\nbasin of cold water, and drawing predictions from the figures thus\nproduced.\n\n[105]\n    \u201cSo gentle and so modest doth appear\n    My Lady.\u201d\n           --_Vita Nuova_, Charles Eliot Norton\u2019s Translation.\n\n[106]\n    \u201cShe gives the heart a sweetness through the eyes\n    Which none can understand who doth not prove.\u201d\n                                                    --_Ibid._\n\n\n\n\nHOW THE CHURCH UNDERSTANDS AND UPHOLDS THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN.\n\nFOURTH AND LAST ARTICLE.\n\nTHE MIDDLE AGES.\n\n\nIt has been asserted by women in the present day that the state\nneeds salvation and reform, and that through their use of the\npolitical franchise this end will be mainly accomplished. Perhaps\nthey think that no state was ever in such danger before, and that\nthey themselves are the pioneers of an order of things entirely\nnew, under unprecedented circumstances. They should study history\nto see whether they really are without predecessors. What would\nthey say to Genevieve, the shepherdess of Nanterre, the heroine\nof the sixth century, the woman of whom St. Germanus said,\nwhile giving her the veil of virginity and the honorary title\nof deaconess, \u201cThis woman will one day be a joy and an example\neven to men\u201d? What would they say to her bravery and daring when,\nduring the siege of Paris by the barbarian and heathen Franks\n(it was before their conversion by Queen Clotildis), Genevieve\nalone encouraged the affrighted peasantry, and promised relief\nto the threatened city? She had supplies transported by means\nof river-boats to the besieged, and for ten years, while the\never-renewed alarms of desultory attacks from the Franks continued,\nshe succeeded in sparing Paris the horrors of a famine. When the\nbarbarian chief, Childeric, at last entered the town, Genevieve\ninterceded so successfully in behalf of the inhabitants that none\nof them were molested.\n\nEvery one knows the history of Joan of Arc, over whom more\npassionate recriminations have been flung at each other by rival\nhistorians than any other woman, save Mary, Queen of Scots,\nhas provoked. The general and unbiassed verdict of the greater\nportion of the public in general has coincided with the national\ndecision of patriotic Frenchmen. As a heroine, her name will go\ndown to all ages, and she has earned her fame well, but how? Do\nany of her biographers say she was bold and unwomanly, a fast and\ndashing beauty, or a reckless adventuress? No; for they tell us\nshe was modest in her demeanor, fond of being with and talking to\nlittle children, very sparing of her own comfort, but lavish of\nher poor means for others, ready and willing to keep the flocks,\nand to help her family in tilling the soil. Divinely warned of her\ncoming mission, she was yet most reluctant to put herself forward,\nand required much pressing from her spiritual superiors to induce\nher to act upon the heaven-sent suggestions. It would take us too\nlong to follow her through her unparalleled career; but one thing\nstrikes us as foremost in all the vicissitudes of her successful\nmilitary life--her extreme gravity and majesty, shielding her\nlove of chastity. All the doctors of the University of Poitiers\nconcurred, at the express desire of King Charles VII. of France,\nin a strict examination of her previous life and character, and it\nwas chiefly her spotless reputation of virtue that inclined them to\nbelieve in her mission. During her camp life she never neglected\nher daily religious duties; the oldest and gravest veterans were\nher only companions and advisers, and after nightfall she never,\non any pretext, consented to converse with a man. Before she had\ntaken command of the army the French had been invariably beaten by\nthe English in every encounter; after her accession to the supreme\ncommand, her countrymen were as invariably victorious. Her enemies\nlaughed at the girl-general, but, strong in her faith, Joan of\nArc overcame the scoffers. When she had taken Orleans, her first\norder was that all immoral women who had surreptitiously followed\nin the ranks of her soldiers should be summarily dismissed, as it\nwas only to punish such licentiousness that God had allowed those\ngreat misfortunes to come upon France. Between Orleans and Rheims\nthere were several towns and forts to be wrested from the English;\nJoan intrepidly attacked and reduced them, while Rheims itself\nsurrendered without a blow. The young virgin follows the king to\nthe cathedral, where he is crowned and anointed, and in a few days,\nso great is the moral influence of her undaunted and triumphant\npatriotism, that many other towns, and Paris itself, submit to the\nlegitimate authority of Charles VII., and France is saved. On the\nprinciples of modern strategists, a patent of nobility, an alliance\nwith the crown, a grant of broad estates, would have been hardly\nsufficient for the ambitious saviour of her country; but Joan of\nArc, hardly was the king reinstated in his realm, begged leave to\nretire into her former solitude, insisting with mournful eagerness\nthat \u201cher mission was over.\u201d She neither coveted nor asked any\nreward; such as were offered she refused. Against her own better\njudgment, but according to the king\u2019s command, she continued to\nlead his armies, though she was no longer buoyed up by her former\njoyous confidence in the promises divinely made to her. God has\ntried her by the severe test of adversity, and she showed herself\nas eagle-spirited under her reverses as she had been in her\nprosperity. Betrayed by her own countrymen into the hands of her\nenemies, she suffered incredible indignities, but never raised\nher voice in self-defense, save when her honor was questioned or\nattacked. Solicitous only for her precious treasure of consecrated\nvirginity, she looked death fearlessly in the face, and mounted\nthe scaffold calling in a firm voice on God and his saints. She\nwould be called by no title save \u201cLa Pucelle,\u201d that is, \u201cJoan\nthe Virgin.\u201d An aide-de-camp, John of Aulon, who was constantly\nnear her during her campaigns, often said that he believed no\npurer woman breathed than Joan of Arc. Ventura draws attention to\nher extraordinary activity and bodily endurance, her long fasts\nand severe abnegation. He says that she was a phenomenon, but\nthat, although her rare combination of qualities seemed almost a\nmiracle in any single human being, yet such qualities are quite\nreconcilable in perfect womanhood. He says she was \u201cbrave as a\nwarrior, and tender as a mother; wise as an old man, learned as a\ndoctor, and simple as a child; pure as an angel, and redoubtable as\na great conqueror.\u201d[107]\n\nMany historians thought it worth their while to treat in\ndetail of her life and career: Fleury and Rohrbacher, in their\n_Ecclesiastical History_; Lebrun Charmette, in his _Life of Joan\nof Arc_; Jules Quicherat, in his work on her trial, condemnation,\nand rehabilitation; Guido G\u00f6rres, in his German life of her;\nVoltaire, in his cowardly _Maid of Orleans_. She has been made\ninto a representative character, and stood in Voltaire\u2019s eyes for\nthe Catholic Church and the Catholic tradition concerning woman.\nG\u00f6rres mentions the eulogium pronounced upon her by an envoy of the\nBishop of Spires, who plainly calls her the messenger of heaven and\nsaviour of France.\n\nIt has been noticed that France during the middle ages was the most\ncivilized of nations. It was because the spirit of chivalry had\nmade greater progress among the French, and the spirit of chivalry\nsprang from the deeper source of religious enthusiasm. The spirit\nthat dictated the crusades was the same that exalted woman; the\nrespect for woman and the duty of a knight to protect the sex, even\nthose of it who were unknown to him or those whom the fortune of\nwar had placed in his power, were lessons learned in childhood and\ninculcated at the same time as fidelity to his religion and loyalty\nto his sovereign. In every woman a knight recognized a queen: the\nelder were to him the image of his mother, the younger of his\nsister; in every female form he reverently saw the similitude of\nthe great Virgin, \u201cwhose Son shall be called Emanuel--God with us.\u201d\nAnd in order that such should be the attitude of man towards woman,\nwoman was educated in a manner that should make her _deserve_ such\nhomage.\n\nThink not, sisters of our utilitarian age, that our ancestresses\nwere ignorant and foolish women, swayed by the dictates of cunning\npriests, and kept as toys to beguile the idle hours of rough\nwarriors. Their education, unlike our modern uniform regulations,\nwas varied and suited to their talents; some cultivated learning,\nothers the arts, many were skilful in medicine, especially in the\nuse of herbs, and the treatment of wounds. The fairy embroidery\nthat we hear so much extolled was not their only accomplishment:\nthey could spin for all useful household purposes, and work for\nthe poor of their neighborhood, which home manufacture was a great\nsaving of both time and money. They were often elegant poets, and\nindeed frequently carried off prizes in rhyming contests. The \u201cJeux\nFloraux\u201d of Toulouse, one of the great medi\u00e6val institutions of\nProvence, were established by a learned and accomplished lady of\nnoble lineage, Cl\u00e9mence Isaure, herself a poetess of no little\nmerit. The prize, we believe, was generally a golden violet, and\nwas awarded every year to the successful competitor, whether man\nor woman. Tournaments owe all their romance to the presence and\ninfluence of woman, without which they would have fallen to the\nlevel of the brutal Roman games of old. The beneficial influence\nexerted by the women of the old feudal families, who always\nremained on their own estates and cultivated relations of mutual\nkindliness with their poorer neighbors and vassals, resulted\nin the unique spectacle of the Vendean insurrection, in which\npeasants and nobles were leagued together against the misguided\nsatellites of \u201cLiberty, Fraternity, and Equality.\u201d Elsewhere,\nthroughout France, women had become court puppets, and lived in\nParis as absentees from their property, where iniquitous agents\noppressed their tenants in their name; court favor and patronage,\na rivalry of frivolous gossip and scandalous adventures, had\ndisplaced in their imaginations the noble but obscure triumphs of\nthe Lady of the Manor surrounded by her \u201cchildren,\u201d as she terms\nher dependants; corruption, first sown by the influence of the\nGerman Reformation, then fostered by the growing infidelity of\nthe seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, had insinuated itself\ninto the world of women, and through them had spread to the whole\nsystem of society. The last spark of the spirit of chivalry shone\nout in the determined stand made by the Breton peasantry against\nthe invasion of principles that held nothing sacred and taught\nno authority save that of force. But what a grand testimony to\nthe influence of woman was the downfall and disorganization that\nfollowed the French Revolution, and under the ruins of which they\nare still half-buried! When woman wishes to take up again her\nancient crown, her true, \u201cdivine right,\u201d she has but to stretch her\nhand across the chasm of \u201989 and the great breach of the sixteenth\ncentury, and resume, with the sacred respect of home duties and\nthe reverence towards consecrated and voluntary chastity, the\nsceptre of undisputed sway so triumphantly wielded by Joan of Arc,\nCatharine of Sienna, Hedwige of Poland, and Mathilda of Tuscany.\n\nAmong the religious of various orders to whom the Christian world\nlooks up with well-merited veneration is the Blessed Juliana,\na Hospitaller nun of the diocese of Liege. It was through the\nrevelations made to her in prayer, and through her repeated\nentreaties, that the feast of Corpus Christi was first instituted,\none of the most essentially Catholic feasts of the calendar. In\n1266, it was first celebrated at Liege, but its observance was\ndiscontinued in consequence of the machinations of a hostile\nclique. In 1264, Pope Urban IV. solemnly approved and instituted\nit, and commanded the great doctor Thomas Aquinas to compose an\noffice for it. This office is the same used by the church to-day.\nJuliana herself was dead, but her friend and companion, Eva, had\nnot failed to continue her work, and the Pope himself did not\ndisdain to send her a special copy of the Bull of Institution,\nwith a letter in which he refers the accomplishment of the great\nwork to her and her deceased friend. Ventura gives us lists of\nholy prelates whose mothers formed and educated them to virtue\nand sanctity, but mentions especially the aid afforded Boniface,\nthe Apostle of Germany, by his female co-laborers. Lioba, the\nchief of these, was a noble Saxon lady, and was educated at\nWinburn, in England. Eadburge, an abbess, sent Boniface many\npresents of clothes and other necessaries for his expedition to\nGermany, and also, says Ventura, many manuscript copies of the\nBible to distribute them among his neophytes. Lioba was well\nversed in Latin, and could write verses in that language. Boniface\nbegged her superiors to let her go to Germany, to establish,\nsays Butler, \u201csanctuaries and nurseries of religion for persons\nof her sex in the infant Church of Germany.\u201d Prudent, zealous,\nand learned, she soon founded house after house of fervent\nnuns, and spread the blessings of education over the hitherto\nbarbarian lands she visited. \u201cKings and princes,\u201d continues\nButler, \u201crespected and honored her.... Charlemagne often sent for\nher to his court of Aix-la-Chapelle, and treated her with the\nhighest veneration. His queen, Hildegardis, took her advice in\nthe most weighty concerns.... St. Boniface, a little before his\nmission into Friesland and his martyrdom there, recommended her\nin the most earnest manner to St. Lullus and his monks at Fulda,\nentreating them to have care of her with respect and honor.\u201d She\ndied in extreme old age in the year 779. \u201cHer education,\u201d says\nVentura, \u201cembraced civil and canon law, theology and philosophy,\nnatural sciences and literature, and, in some measure, the art of\ngovernment.\u201d Rohrbacher says \u201cthat it would have been desirable\nhad all the clergy of Germany possessed the knowledge of St.\nLioba, for many of them were ignorant to the point of not knowing\nhow to administer the sacrament of baptism.\u201d Three centuries\nlater, Hildegardis, a noble German lady, vindicated the claims\nof her sex to the most sublime of gifts. Intellectually endowed\nand gifted with great firmness of character, she became the\nmother and foundress of the monastery of St. Rupert, in the Rhine\nprovinces, where kings and statesmen repaired to her for advice\nand instruction. The revelations received by her, after being most\nrigorously examined by a council assembled at Treves, were solemnly\napproved by Pope Eugene III., assisted by St. Bernard. Rohrbacher\ncalls her \u201cthe St. Bernard among women.\u201d Her correspondence was\nimmense, and her writings have been collected and published with\ncare. In the thirteenth century, Gertrude and Mechtildis, of noble\nSaxon descent, claim our attention. They were sisters, and both\ngoverned immense monasteries. Alban Butler says of the former: \u201cIn\nher youth she studied Latin, as it was then customary for all nuns\nto do; she wrote and conversed in that language, and was versed\nin sacred literature.... How much soever she gave herself up to\ncontemplation, she neglected not the duties of Martha, and was\nvery solicitous in attending to the necessities of every one....\nHer short book of _Divine Insinuations_ is perhaps the most useful\nproduction, next to the writings of St. Teresa, with which any\nfemale saint _ever enriched_ the church.\u201d Her prayers to the Sacred\nHeart show how this characteristic devotion, afterwards perfected\nand made public by another holy woman, Mary Margaret Alacocque,\nfirst presented itself to a woman\u2019s mind, and found a home in a\nwoman\u2019s heart.\n\nIt may be gratifying to many women to learn that the city and\nUniversity of Oxford have for patroness, and in medi\u00e6val times\nhonored as such, the Saxon maiden, Frideswide, whose church and\nmonastery, after having undergone many vicissitudes, are now known\nas Christ Church College. Ursula, the virgin martyr of Cologne, is,\naccording to Butler, \u201cpatroness of the famous College of Sorbonne,\nand titular saint of that church. Several religious establishments\nhave been erected, under her name and patronage, for the virtuous\neducation of young ladies. St. Ursula, who was the mistress and\nguide to heaven to many holy maidens whom she animated to the\nheroic practice of virtue, is regarded as a model and patroness\nby those who undertake to train up youth in the sentiments and\npractice of piety and religion.\u201d The Ursuline institutes for the\neducation of girls are renowned throughout Europe, and even to\nthis day are powerful auxiliaries of the church in the training of\nyouth. Later ages have not been behind in emulating the sixteenth\ncentury, which, seven hundred years after the death of Ursula, so\nnobly commemorated her triumphs in the institution of the Ursuline\nOrder. The Nuns of the Visitation, and still later those of the\nSacred Heart, have continued the work of Christian education up to\nthe present day.\n\nThe beginning of the twelfth century leads us to Delphina and her\nhusband Elzear, both of Proven\u00e7al descent, and holding high office\nat the court of Naples and Sicily. Butler says of them that \u201cno\ncoldness for so much as one moment ever interrupted the harmony or\ndamped the affections of this holy couple. The countess [Delphina]\nwas sensible that the devotions of a married woman ought to be\nordered in a different manner from those of a religious person....\nThe care with which she looked into the economy of her house was\na sensible proof of the interior order in which she kept her own\nsoul. Nothing was more admirable than her attention to all her\ndomestics, and her prudent application to the preservation of\ndomestic peace.\u201d[108] These two devoted followers of Christ were\nalways ready to assist and protect the poor; they lived together\nin perpetual virginity, and gave themselves up entirely to their\nself-imposed duties of charity. King Robert of Sicily showed his\nesteem of Elzear by making him his son\u2019s governor. In this office\nhe exercised his influence as irreproachably as he had done in\nother positions, and the counsels of his wife were ever at hand\nto assist and cheer him. At his death his widow retired into a\nmonastery.\n\nAnother remarkable woman of the middle ages was Catharine of\nGenoa, who towards the latter end of the fifteenth century became\na model for her sex in each of the states of life to which women\nare called. As a virgin, a wife, and a widow, her life was perfect\nin its sincere subordination to the will of God. Her marriage was\nunhappy, and she suffered much from her husband\u2019s brutality, his\nextravagance and licentiousness. She trusted to a higher power\nthan the civil courts for her vindication and reward, and after\nher husband\u2019s death gave herself up to active works of mercy. She\ndevoted herself to the care of the sick in the great hospital\nof Genoa. Of this house, says Butler, she lived many years the\nmother superior. Her charity could not be confined to the bounds\nof her own hospital; she extended her care and solicitude to\nall distressed sick persons over the whole city, and employed\nproper persons with indefatigable industry to discover, visit,\nand relieve such objects. Here we see a woman governing and\nmanaging a most important national institution, guarding its\ntemporal interests, and watching over its spiritual relations\nwith the utmost care and most delicate discrimination; showing a\ntalent for government which would do good credit to the best men,\nand preserving withal the greatest humility and modesty both of\nthought and demeanor. Does the church deny the sex any legitimate\nopening for its energies? Judge for yourselves, sisters, and answer\nimpartially. Does she not, on the contrary, enable it to do that\nwhich, outside her, is next to impossible? Cannot a woman wearing\nthe distinctive badge of one of her orders pass unmolested where\nno other woman however pure, however earnest, could go without at\nleast risk of insult; and does she not invest with the dignity\nof an organized association efforts which, made singly, would be\nbarely removed from Quixotism?\n\nWe have long delayed speaking of Catharine of Sienna, the St.\nTeresa of medi\u00e6val times, one of the most energetic and wonderful\nwomen the world ever produced. Ventura calls her a \u201cmissionary and\napostle,\u201d and Butler says that her influence was so great that no\none ever approached her who went not away better. She was only\neighteen, when, after suffering the hardships of her humble home\nduring her childhood, she took the veil in the Third Order of St.\nDominic. The most hardened sinners could not withstand the force of\nher exhortations; thousands flocked from distant places to hear or\nonly see her, and were converted by her words or example. At the\nearnest suit of the citizens of Pisa, she went to their town, and\nit is related that the confessions of those she reclaimed from evil\ncourses were so numerous that the priests of the town had much\ntrouble to attend to them. The Florentines and Perugians having,\nin 1375, leagued together against the Holy See, the Pope, Gregory\nXI., who at that time was living at Avignon, sent an army into\nItaly and interdicted the rebellious principalities. The country\nfell into such intolerable confusion that, to end the chaotic state\nof things, the Florentines submitted to the Pope. They first sent\nfor St. Catharine, who was met at the city gates by the chiefs of\nthe magistrates. The negotiations were entrusted to her, and the\nambassadors who followed her to Avignon received orders to sign and\nconfirm whatever decision she should make. The Pope and cardinals\nreceived her at Avignon with great marks of distinction; and the\nPontiff said after his conference with her: \u201cI put the affair\nentirely into your hands, only I recommend you the honor of the\nchurch.\u201d The heads of the church were seemingly not afraid to trust\nthe gravest issues in a _woman\u2019s_ hands!\n\nCatharine exerted all her powers of persuasion to induce Gregory\nXI. to return to Rome, and after her departure wrote urgent letters\nto him on this subject. Twice, both at Avignon and at Sienna,\nlearned prelates and doctors disputed with her, vainly trying to\nfind her wanting either in learning, in sincerity, or in humility.\nThey were obliged to confess themselves in the wrong. She had\nmany disciples, both men and women, one of whom, Stephen, the son\nof a senator of Sienna, became her secretary and afterwards a\nCarthusian monk. The Pope commissioned her to go to Florence, and\ntry once more to pacify the troubles which the insincerity of the\ngovernment of that state was always rekindling. \u201cShe lived some\ntime in that factious place,\u201d says Butler, \u201c... and showed herself\nalways most undaunted, even when swords were drawn against her.\u201d At\nlength she effected the long-wished-for reconciliation, though not\nunder Gregory, but his successor, Urban VI. Some of his discourses\nhave been collected, and compose the treatise _On Providence_.\nWhen Urban VI. had been elected, there followed a great schism,\nduring which anti-popes usurped the chair of Peter, and the whole\nItalian peninsula was violently distracted. She wrote to several\ncountries and princes in Urban\u2019s favor, and also to the Pope\nhimself, entreating him to restrain his somewhat hasty disposition\nfor the sake of the peace of the church. Many treatises and other\nwritings of hers are still extant. She died at the early age of\nthirty-three in 1380, in Rome, where Urban had called her to help\nand advise him. She predicted the schism and other calamities,\nand whether this gift be ascribed, as reverent believers would\nwish, to the favor of God who allowed her a prophetic vision of\nthe future, or, as the hard-headed philosophy of modern times\nwould dictate, to the superior discrimination of an extraordinary\nwoman, it is equally an honor to her and a title to especial and\nenthusiastic remembrance. Another woman concurred in the work of\nSt. Catharine of Sienna, Bridget of Sweden, to whom we have already\nreferred. She too prophesied the coming disasters of the church;\nshe too pressed Gregory XI. to go back to Rome. Catharine was once\ncommanded to harangue the Sacred College, in order to procure peace\nand unity among them. \u201cThis unique example,\u201d says Ventura, \u201cshowed\nthe powers of eloquence and the depth of the wisdom of this young\nChristian heroine.\u201d As a means to reunite Christendom and perhaps\navert what she prophetically foresaw, she urged upon Gregory XI.\nthe advisability of inaugurating a new crusade, and, when told\nin amazement that first the Christians themselves would have to\nbe reconciled, answered with consummate tact and prudence: \u201cHoly\nFather, the expedition will be so popular that in itself it will\nunite them. Few men are so depraved as to be unwilling to serve God\nby means to which they are passionately attached. To separate the\nburning brands is virtually to quench the fire.\u201d\n\nShe traced a plan of pacification as the basis of the policy she\nwished the Pope to adopt, urging the necessity of peace, and adds,\n\u201cLet it not be a supine, weakling peace, but, on the contrary, an\nactive, organizing state of things, in which bad and mercenary\npastors will be summarily punished and all scandals swept away.\u201d\nThe vigorous foresight of this woman is a greater marvel than\nher holiness. In her we have a noble example of the heights of\nintellect to which the grace of God can lead a woman\u2019s nature, and\nwe might almost close our argument with this crowning figure of the\nmoral Joan of Arc of Italy. Yet, lest we be met with the objection\nthat all this greatness is part of a lost system, and that a new\ndispensation has superseded the church\u2019s championship of the sex,\nwe must, in justice to our own times, recall a few of those facts\nwhich since the Renaissance have repeatedly testified to the\nrecognized influence of woman in political and social spheres.\n\nTake, for instance, Isabella of Castile, the protectress and friend\nof Christopher Columbus, the great queen to whom Spain first owed\nthe proud position of mistress of the seas and queen of the New\nWorld.\n\nColumbus had offered his services to several kings and governments;\nit was a _woman_ who alone treated his projects as sublime\nrealities and had faith in the future he prophesied. When he\nreturned from his first expedition, it was she who received\nhim with greater honors than those rendered to the old Spanish\nnobility; it was she who upheld him in his new speculations\nand furnished him the means to prosecute further discoveries.\nLong before he had gained her favor, it was again a woman whose\nintelligent appreciation had encouraged him in weary labors, his\nmother-in-law, Madame Peristiello, herself the widow of a famous\nnavigator, the discoverer of the Islands of Madeira and Porto Santo.\n\nIsabella governed her hereditary dominions of Castile herself,\nwhile her husband, Ferdinand of Aragon, administered his own; but\nnot long after their marriage, so persuaded was he of her superior\ntalents for government, that he gave up his kingdom to her care.\nThe final expulsion of the Moors from Catholic Spain was her\nconception, was carried out by her personal influence, and owed\nits success mainly to her inspiring presence among the Christian\nbesiegers of Granada. The great Captain Gonsalvus of Cordova,\nwho seconded her most admirably in her gigantic undertaking, was\nsought out and patronized by her on account of the genius she\ndiscovered in him; the great legislator, Cardinal Ximenes, owed\nhis elevation to her, and was forced by her to accept the great\ndignities which were to enable him to reform and aggrandize the\ncountry. Fernando Cortez, the conqueror of Mexico, was likewise\nher special _prot\u00e9g\u00e9_, and indeed no better proof could be had of\nthe omnipotence of her personal influence in Spain than the fact\nthat after her death these great men were either forgotten or,\nworse still, persecuted. Without the queen\u2019s knowledge, Ferdinand\nhad listened to the detractors of Columbus, and degraded him from\nhis post of viceroy over the newly discovered lands in America.\nIsabella indignantly interfered and had him reinstalled in his\ndignities, but when, shortly after, his protectress died, he was\nagain imprisoned, and fell the victim to Ferdinand\u2019s ingratitude.\nAs to Gonsalvus of Cordova, he then, after the queen\u2019s death, was\ndisgraced, and sent, under a pretext of hypocritical regard, to\noccupy the post of a viceroy at Naples.\n\nOne of Isabella\u2019s biographers, Desormeaux, says that \u201c_to_ the\ngraces of her sex the queen of Castile added the greatness of a\n_hero_, the profound and able policy of a _minister_, the views\nof a _legislator_, the brilliant qualities of a _conqueror_, the\nhonesty of a _good citizen_, and the uprightness of a perfect\n_magistrate_.\u201d Ventura quotes this with these italics. Rohrbacher\ncalls her a _true king_, drawing attention to her indefatigable\nzeal in seeing to all affairs herself, and in constantly\nencouraging her troops by her presence on horseback among them.\nHe repeats her praises in almost the same words as Desormeaux.\nInnocent VIII. granted her the formal title of \u201cMost Catholic\nMajesty\u201d; Cardinal Ximenes said that the world would never see\nagain a sovereign so inflexibly just; Peter of Anghiera, the\nprofessor of the palace-school for the youth of the nobility,\nlamented her as \u201cthe refuge of the good, the sword raised against\nthe guilty, the mirror of rigid virtue.\u201d\n\nPlaced at the beginning of modern times, on the threshold of the\nchurch\u2019s momentary eclipse, and of the decadence of public morality\nall over Europe, she stands out in bold relief a champion of the\nchurch, which, in proud gratitude to her sex, has been her champion\nin return.\n\nSt. Teresa, whom all ages and creeds agree in accepting as an\nextraordinarily gifted woman, was another of the shining lights of\nSpain at this time. She too was a Castilian; her influence was no\nless widely spread than that of Isabella, and, if anything, it has\nlasted longer and more visibly. One of the greatest orders of the\nchurch acknowledges her as its reformation, and, for all practical\npurposes, even as its foundress. The Carmelite Friars speak of\nher as \u201cour holy mother,\u201d as the ancient Benedictines speak of\nBenedict as \u201cour father.\u201d The writings of St. Teresa are among\nthe most important spiritual treasures of the church. Her health\nwas for many years a grievous trial to her, and her temptations,\nas recounted by herself, seem to have been neither light nor few.\nIn the reform so urgently needed among the lax followers of the\nOrder of Carmel, she was systematically opposed by many influential\npersons and superiors of her own as well as of the opposite sex.\nAfter a sort of novitiate of twenty years of unceasing efforts to\nattune her soul to the practice of mental prayer, she began her\nagitation in favor of reform under disappointing circumstances,\nbut, triumphing with time over many of her opponents, at last\nprocured the assistance of powerful colleagues. Many of these were\nwomen. In 1562, she was established in a convent where the reform\nwas first practised. Butler says, \u201cThe perfection and discretion of\nher rule eclipsed all former reformations of her order.\u201d She next\nfounded two monasteries for men according to the reform. At Medina\ndel Campo, at Pastrana, at Durveo, she founded communities of men;\nat Valladolid, Avila, Salamanca, Alva, of women. It is impossible\nto enumerate her many other foundations. When her co-laborers,\nthe priests Gratian, Marian, and others, gave up all for lost on\naccount of the ceaseless opposition they encountered, she alone\nremained firm and hopeful, saying, \u201cWe shall suffer, but the order\nwill stand.\u201d She also said that the cross was \u201cthe secure and\nbeaten road\u201d to lead their souls to God. Women are proverbially\ncalled weak, and said to be unwilling to forego luxuries or court\ntrials; yet how Teresa vindicated her sex in her heroic resolve to\n\u201clet justice be done, though the heavens fall\u201d! Her contemporary,\nBishop Yepez, tells us that her deportment was not less agreeable\nthan edifying, that her prudence and address were admirable, and\nspeaks no less of her gracefulness, dignity, and charms than of\nthe gravity, modesty, and discretion of her conversation and\ncarriage. Truly a most _womanly_ woman, who could take upon her\nman\u2019s responsibility without forfeiting the beautiful attributes of\nher sex. Like in this to the Catholic Church, Catholic womanhood\nhas _all_ that is claimed by women outside the church, and not only\nthat, but she adds far more, just as the church holds whatever\ntruth is held by the different sects, and infinitely more beside.\nTeresa died in 1582, having lived to see sixteen convents of\nCarmelite nuns, and fourteen of friars, founded and successfully\norganized. The impress of her noble work is undying; she had the\ntalents of the unhappy Luther, but dedicated them to a worthier\ncause, and, now that the same number of centuries have passed over\ntheir respective graves, the woman\u2019s name is universally honored\neven by her conscientious opponents, while the man\u2019s is execrated\nin many a community whose original constitution was derived from\nhis teachings.\n\nIn the same century as Teresa lived another great reformer and\nChristian agitator, St. Cajetan, of Thienna, who owed to his\nadmirable mother his enthusiasm and ardent zeal for holy things.\nHe showed by his foundations how highly he esteemed woman\u2019s virtue\nand integrity; one of his chief aims being to establish refuges\nfor fallen women, and asylums for those whose honor was endangered\nthrough poverty and destitution. But one of his greatest works\nwould never have been accomplished if a noble and wealthy woman had\nnot generously taken its fulfilment upon herself: namely, what is\ncalled in Catholic Europe the \u201c_Mont de Pi\u00e9t\u00e9_,\u201d an untranslatable\nand most touching synonym for our more repulsive pawn-shops. These\ninstitutions were established to counterbalance the shameful system\nof usury in vogue at the time, and were so controlled by the state\nthat the needy masses should be benefited by them instead of\nbeing duped. To the Countess of Porto is Italy indebted for these\nmuch-needed reforms. Mother Ursula Benincasa, the foundress of an\norder called the Theatine Hermits, was, according to Ventura, the\nbulwark of orthodoxy in the kingdom of Naples. She was the first to\nunmask the heresiarchs Bernardin Ochino and Peter Vermillo, who had\nbegun to preach Protestantism under the cloak of reform. St. Philip\nNeri examined her and encouraged her in her labors, and the city of\nNaples reveres her as its protectress.\n\nOne of the best known and best loved saints of modern times\nis St. Francis of Sales. One of his most popular works is his\n_Introduction to a Devout Life_--the most useful, readable, and\nintelligible manual of devotion ever written for persons living in\nthe world. Yet this would never have been written save for a woman,\nto whom were addressed the letters from which it was subsequently\ncompiled. He treats in this work almost exclusively of the duties\nof women, and chiefly of women of the higher classes--those of whom\nit is said by too many, in their excessive severity, that they are\ndebarred by the circumstances of their life from real Christian\nwork. St. Francis\u2019 _Treatise on Divine Love_, a longer work, is\nmodelled much on the same plan. The woman whose soul he thought\nworthy of inspiring these efforts was Madame Jeanne Fran\u00e7oise de\nChantal, the grandmother of another gifted and well-known woman,\nthe charming Madame de S\u00e9vign\u00e9. Her domestic life, during the\nyears of her happy and holy marriage, was a model of severity and\norder. Regular hours were assigned for everything in her household,\nevery duty and employment discharged with, great order, and the\nspiritual and moral welfare of her servants attended to with the\nminutest solicitude. Butler says that order is an indispensable\npart of virtue; and what is more worshipped (in theory!) among our\nmodern women-reformers than this very quality! But here we have it\nexhibited in a saint: is it the less attractive for that? When her\nhusband was absent, she refrained from visiting and entertainments,\nand was at all times conspicuous for shunning, as far as the\nduties of her position would allow, all useless and frivolous\noccupations. Again, we have Butler commending her for this, and\nadding that \u201cto make a round of amusements and idle visits the\nbusiness of life, is to degrade the dignity of a rational being\nand to sink beneath the very brutes.\u201d Is this not the language\nheld by the modern advocates of a reform among women? Thus we see\nthat, in everything to which reason points, the church not only\nstands up for the rights of woman, but also that her ministers and\nexponents have even forestalled the \u201cnewly discovered movement,\u201d\nboth by word and example, many centuries ago. Jeanne Fran\u00e7oise\nde Chantal lost her husband after several years of marriage, and\ngave herself up to the care and education of her children. To this\ntask, which she superintended with the gravest diligence, she\napplied herself for several years, until her eldest daughter\u2019s\nmarriage. Then she entered the religious life, leaving her son\nunder the guardianship of her father, but retaining herself the\nprivilege of still superintending his studies. Her Congregation of\nthe Visitation soon after became a regularly constituted order,\nand she and some companions, under the auspices of St. Francis of\nSales, took their solemn vows at Annecy, in 1610. In the same year,\nshe stayed for several months at Dijon, arranging family affairs\nand watching over her son\u2019s studies. She also founded convents in\nnine or ten prominent towns in France, and, between 1619 and 1622,\ngoverned the convent in Paris, where she at first met with and\novercame serious difficulties. Her son, whose marriage had been her\nspecial care and work, was killed in 1627, in the religious wars\nthen desolating France, and her daughter-in-law and son-in-law (the\nhusband of her eldest daughter) died not long after. Her fortitude\nunder these trials was worthy of the Roman and Spartan matrons of\nold, and her tenderness for those more bereaved than herself, a\nmodel of Christian grace. Her aptitude for directing souls was very\nremarkable, and her bravery in tending the body in sickness no less\nso. During the pestilence at Annecy her efforts were ceaseless,\nand her prayers for its cessation full of fervent belief. In 1638,\nthe Duchess of Savoy sent for her to Turin to found a Convent\nof the Visitation, and treated her (to her great mortification)\nwith the greatest honor. The same happened in Paris, where a royal\nmandate had also summoned her. It is impossible to calculate the\ninfluence this energetic woman has had upon the modern destinies\nof Catholic Europe, both during her busy and fruitful life and\nsince her death, when the houses of her order have multiplied to an\nenormous extent, and for some time monopolized almost entirely the\neducation of the upper classes of women. If they no longer hold the\nfirst place among such institutions, another order, no less useful\nand especially designed for this one end, has successfully taken up\ntheir work, the Congregation of the Sacred Heart.\n\nThe seventeenth century gave birth to another institution even\nmore perfect than that inaugurated by the Baroness de Chantal,\nthat of the Sisters of Charity. This is perhaps the only Catholic\nfoundation against which the malice of the church\u2019s opponents--of\nall shades of belief and unbelief--has never dared to raise its\nvoice. Not the most improbable tale of scandal has been hurled\nat these women; not the remotest trace of a sneer has ever been\npointed at them; infidels on their death-bed, philanthropists\nwho scouted the Catholic ideal, soldiers on the field of battle,\nphysicians whom they outdo in zeal in the worst hospitals--all are\nagreed on the unimaginable and gigantic heroism of the Sisters of\nCharity. They alone, of all nuns, are allowed to walk the streets\nof London without the least concealment of their distinctive\ndress, and all over the world there is not a queen whose royal\nrobes are more respected than the simple peasant-like costume of\nthe daughters of St. Vincent of Paul. Louise de Marillac was the\nsaint\u2019s first great helper in this noble work. Their rule is one\nthat might serve women of the world, so entirely spiritual and\ninterior is its nature. \u201cLet them have,\u201d it says, \u201cthe houses of\nthe sick for their monastery, the rooms of the poor for their cell,\nthe parish church for their conventual chapel, for grating the fear\nof God, and holy modesty for their veil.\u201d The Countess of Soigny,\nwho assisted St. Vincent in his missions among the agricultural\npoor in 1616; Madame de Goussault, who suggested to him the\nformation of an organized body of ladies to attend regularly on\nthe sick of the present hospital in Paris, the H\u00f4tel Dieu; Madame\nde Polaillon, who herself supplemented his labors by visiting\nthe sick, and teaching the ignorant country population herself,\nunder the disguise of a peasant woman, and who finally took upon\nherself to found, under his direction, the Institute of Mercy for\nthe reformation of abandoned women; the Queen-Regent, Anne of\nAustria, who nominated him to a post of great moral influence, and\nconsulted him in all ecclesiastical affairs; Mesdames de Marillac,\nde Traversai, and de Miramion, who were the life and soul of his\nimmortal Foundling Institution--these and many others, of all\nclasses and all ages, were the real and earnest fellow-laborers to\nwhose zeal, under God, he owed the success of his many admirable\nenterprises. Whatever amelioration the lot of man has undergone\nhas always been traceable either to a woman\u2019s suggestion or at\nleast her practical co-operation. One woman, whose name should\nnot be forgotten in the catalogue of Vincent of Paul\u2019s spiritual\nlieutenants, is that of Marie de Gournay, the wife of a small\nwine-seller, a most holy and discreet woman. M. Olier, a priest of\nthat age, has left us her panegyric in glowing terms: \u201cAll the\ngood which is done at this time passes, so to speak, through her\nhands; all the great undertakings of our day are somehow referable\nto her. Although her birth and position are obscure, yet she is\nthe counsel and the light of the most illustrious persons in\nParis.\u201d He then names the great ladies of the court who ask her\nadvice in spiritual matters, and adds: \u201cThere are no apostolic men,\nno missionaries, who fail to go to her for instruction. Father\nEudes, a famous preacher, consults her frequently. The General of\nthe Oratorians does the same. Mademoiselle Manse, whom God has\ninspired to go out to Canada to help in the propagation of the\nfaith there, undertook this work only after receiving Marie de\nGournay\u2019s approbation. She it is who directs M. de Coudray, who\nis working for the Levant missions and the defence of the church\nagainst the Turks.... A certain counsellor of state takes her\nadvice in all things, and has worked in consequence much to the\nbenefit of the church. The chancellor of the kingdom, according to\nher persuasions, is very zealous in the extirpation of heresy and\nthe defence of the church. I pass over many names as illustrious as\nthese, the position of their bearers precluding me from mentioning\nthem.\u201d M. Olier\u2019s own conversion was due to her predictions and\ntimely warnings, and through his vocation her influence was greatly\nspread in the work of reforming the ecclesiastical seminaries of\nFrance. The historian Rohrbacher only mentions her as a power\non the side of religious reform. The College of Vaugirard and\nthe Seminary of St. Sulpice, now the two foremost educational\ninstitutes of Paris, were the fruits of her prayers and counsels.\n\nThe end of the reign of Louis XIV. was remarkable for the happy\nand beneficial rule of a woman, his wife, Madame de Maintenon,\nwhose rigid virtue and wise influence were boons no less prized\nby the nation than by the sovereign. Before her marriage with the\nking, she was the queen\u2019s true and loyal friend, and exercised the\ninfluence she even then possessed over Louis XIV. wholly in his\nconsort\u2019s favor. She never would accept gifts from him, and indeed\ntold him plainly that he had not the right to give her anything.\nThe great institution in which she was interested, and which owed\nits foundation to her, was the Free School of St. Cyr, for the\ndaughters of poor gentlemen. It was in this school that many of the\nheroines of the French Revolution were educated. F\u00e9nelon avowed\nthat he looked to her as the king\u2019s conscience. Racine wrote at\nher suggestion his masterpiece, _Athalie_, and broke through the\nsenseless tradition which deified and consecrated in poetry crimes\nwhich, told in prose, would have made any modest _man_ or woman\nblush. F\u00e9nelon\u2019s determined stand against the king\u2019s encroachments\non religious liberties left him without a friend in the fickle\ncourt of Versailles; Madame de Maintenon boldly ranged herself on\nhis side and exerted all her influence in his favor.\n\nWe have come so near to the days of our fathers that we must stop,\nas on the confines of well-known and well-worn subjects. The heroic\nand _manly_ character of Maria Theresa, the fortitude of Louise de\nFrance, the Carmelite nun, the calm bravery of Marie Antoinette\nand Madame Elizabeth, are facts too well known to need repetition.\nPerhaps it may not be so with the origin of the Propagation of\nthe Faith, which was begun at Lyons in 1822 by a few humble\nworking-women, instinct with the spirit of Martha, and undeterred\nby the first obscurity of their good works. We might mention women\nwho have influenced literature and made a name that will never be\nforgotten--Eug\u00e9nie de Gu\u00e9rin, Lady Georgiana Fullerton, Countess\nIda Hahn-Hahn, and many others; especially of late the charming\nauthoress of the _R\u00e9cit d\u2019une S\u0153ur_. Is it necessary to speak of\nthe numberless convents where girls of all classes are thoroughly\neducated, and in which the teachers, were they men, would shine\nas college tutors and holders of professional chairs? In fact, if\nwe had time and space to go through the modern world, as we have\nexplored the ages of our ancestors, we should find no less vitality\namong women, no less determined championship of the sex on the part\nof the church. Let us end by a tribute to one of the noblest works\nof charity ever undertaken, that of the Little Sisters of the Poor,\nthe earthly guardian angels who live in such evangelical poverty\nthat, when they have _begged_ the _remains_ of rich men\u2019s tables to\nfeed their infirm and aged charges, they humbly and cheerfully make\ntheir own scanty meal from the _refuse_ of these very remains. In\ndays when luxury has _created_ wants destructive to human strength\nand health, let us honor above all these heroines of charity who\nlive as the angels, and almost make us forget that their bodies are\nstill under the law of the flesh and require fleshly sustenance.\n\nWith this picture of the very _ne plus ultra_ of charity, let us\nclose our catalogue of woman\u2019s perfections in the kingdom of grace,\nknowing well that we leave many an act of heroism unrecorded, many\na sacrifice \u201chidden with Christ in God.\u201d\n\nWe have seen what the church has done for woman: we have seen\nwhat woman has done for and in the church. It is at the sex\u2019s\noption to continue this mission. The cultivation of its highest\nfaculties is a duty it owes to the church and society. Mothers\nwill be doubly mothers if they develop their sons\u2019 moral nature,\nas they are bound to do, through the education of their own; the\nwife is solemnly bound to become truly her husband\u2019s \u201chelper, like\nunto himself\u201d; daughters and sisters have a work to do in their\nhomes far above the preparation of a meal or the smoothing over of\ndomestic troubles; all women, of whatever age, class, or mental\ncalibre, have their _vote_ to give in the great election that will\ndecide the victory of the church or the world. If women vote for\nvice, the world of men will be bad; if for virtue, society may be\nregenerated: theirs is the casting vote, the decisive move. Let it\nbe upward, sisters--let it be God-ward!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[107] _Donna Cattolica_, p. 295.\n\n[108] _Lives of the Saints._\n\n\n\n\nMISS ETHERIDGE.\n\n\nWhile I was spending a summer in a pleasant town in Connecticut,\nI became very much interested in an invalid lady, who used to be\ndrawn past my window in one of those small vehicles which seem both\nchair and carriage. The lady did not look ill by any means. She\nsat erect, and gazed about her with a lively air, betokening good\nhealth and spirits. She was always richly dressed, and wore her\nsilks, velvets, and laces with the air of one well used to such\nraiment. Many of those meeting her bowed with deference, which she\nreturned with courteous grace and a high-bred manner. Sometimes she\nwould stop her little carriage while a friend chatted with her, and\nseemed always to make herself very agreeable, as I judged from the\npleased faces of her listeners. Frequently I would see ladies and\ngentlemen walking by the side of her carriage as her maid slowly\npushed it along. I met her very often in my walks, and sometimes\nI strolled a little way behind, observing this stately dame, so\nafflicted and yet so favored apparently by fortune and misfortune.\n\nShe was a very handsome woman of about fifty years of age. Her\nsilver-gray hair was abundant and beautiful, crowning her with a\ndignity beyond the power of any artificial adornment to bestow. The\ncarriage of her head was proud and erect. Her features were clear\ncut and handsome, and the delicate tint of her complexion seemed\nalmost to belong to youth. She appeared to me like a fine picture\nof a court dame in some bygone time, because, with all the air of\nstyle investing her, she was not dressed in the fashion of the day.\nIn this was shown a fine, nice taste; whatever was her infirmity,\nit seemed to place her so removed from the frivolity of her sex\nthat an affectation of fashion in her attire would have been\nunbecoming.\n\nBeing so much interested in this lady, I made inquiries, and soon\nlearned much of her former history. She was a Miss Etheridge,\nafflicted with incurable rheumatism, of that kind which renders the\nvictim almost helpless. She could not stand on her feet or change\nher position without the help of others. She could only imperfectly\nuse her hands, and yet her health was good and her intellect\nvigorous. She had been, only a few years before, an active,\nenergetic woman, remarkably self-reliant and helpful to others. She\nhad been a beauty and belle in her girlhood, and always a woman\ncommanding the homage and respect of all who knew her.\n\nBut now, what a sad ending of a favored life! \u201cBound with chains,\u201d\nshe said to me, for, waving ceremony in view of her great\naffliction, I called upon her and cultivated an acquaintance which\nI never regretted. Debarred as she was from all occupation, she was\nvery fond of society. Her hands, once very beautiful, as former\nportraits showed, were now so distorted and weakened as to be\nunable to hold any but the lightest books or pamphlets for reading,\nand that not very long at a time. So, in her luxurious apartments,\nsurrounded by every alleviation that wealth could bestow, this lady\npassed many lonely hours and days--hours of intense weariness of\nboth body and mind. Sitting in her massive, high-backed chair, she\nlooked like a fine picture and showed no sign of her infirmity; yet\nhow her poor limbs ached from the mere lack of change of posture,\nonly those similarly affected can tell. An intimacy sprang up\nbetween us so easily that I was often present at times when her\nattendants moved and dressed her; and then it was that I became\naware of the extent of torture to which she was subjected by the\nmere moving of a limb. Much of her time she passed lying in her\nbed, from an intense dread of the severe ordeal of being moved. I\nhave passed hours sitting by her bedside, reading to her and in\nconversation with her, and by this means came to know much of her\nstate of mind and religious feeling.\n\nI admired the fortitude and patience with which she bore her\nburden, yet it did seem to me quite as much Spartan endurance as\nChristian meekness or acceptance of the will of God. Hers was\na heroic nature, with some pious yearnings uncultivated. She\nchafed like a caged lioness, but was too proud to whine or repine\nin any cowardly fashion. She was an Episcopalian of the firm,\nold-fashioned type that eschews both Ritualism and Evangelicalism.\nTo be as the bishops and clergymen of her family, who had supplied\nthe church of her affections for generations with clerical stock,\nseemed to her just the right medium, and in clinging to this\nstandard she simply starved her soul. She knew me to be a Catholic,\na \u201cRoman Catholic\u201d--for she also claimed to be a Catholic, an\n\u201cAnglican Catholic,\u201d as I also had once done. I, being a recent\nconvert, felt enthusiastic even while timid on this subject.\nI had passed through the ordeal of estrangement from friends,\nbeen exposed to misunderstanding of my motives and all the whips\nand stings to which those who take this step are subjected, too\nrecently not to be very sensitive about laying myself open to the\ncharge of endeavoring to proselyte another. I loved Miss Etheridge\nand her society too well to risk her displeasure, or by speaking\novermuch of my own faith to give any handle for her relatives\nto turn against us. She, on her part, was too truly polite to\never make any unpleasant allusions to the subject. And yet how\nmuch I longed for her to know what a sure trust and support she\n_could_ have if she only _would_! When I heard her involuntary\nmoans, my prayers went up for the intercession of the Mother of\nSorrows, again, and yet again. And I knew all the time that _that_\nintercession she rejected with scorn. Nothing I could have said\nto her would have been so unwelcome as a prayer to the Blessed\nVirgin in her behalf. Yet I did ask that tender intercession, and I\nbelieve the All-Pitying Woman above was touched with compassion for\nthe proud, suffering woman who would not ask her aid.\n\nOn one occasion, when our conversation had drifted along to the\nsubject of the next life, she remarked that to _her_ the bliss to\nbe desired was to be \u201cunchained--\u2018delivered from the body of this\ndeath.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear friend,\u201d said I, \u201cif you die before I do, my regrets will\nbe tempered by the thought that your \u2018earthly clogs\u2019 are cast off.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! if there is a purgatory,\u201d she often said, \u201cI am enduring mine\nhere. What has been my sin more than another\u2019s, that this should be\nthrust upon me!\u201d And at these times the tone of her voice and the\nexpression of her face showed the impatient, unchastened fire of\nthe haughty, rebellious spirit.\n\nBut had she none of the consolations of religion? Protestants are\nnot pagans. No, indeed. This lady had her books of devotion in\nprofusion. Her elegant Book of Common Prayer and her Bible lay\nalways at hand. Other books also were on her table--\u201cCounsel for\nthe Sick-Room,\u201d and kindred works, of which she contemptuously\nremarked that they were written by persons in good health, who\nfound it very easy to bear patiently the pains and crosses of\nother people, but who might possibly not be such fine Christian\nphilosophers if they had to endure all this themselves.\n\nIn her palmy days of health and strength she had been a communicant\nin the Episcopal Church, and now, when, according to the teaching\nof that church, she needed still more the nourishment for her\nsoul\u2019s health, she declined availing herself of the privilege.\nThis always seemed to me very strange, knowing full well as I\ndid what her church taught her, and what in all consistency she\nshould do. But on this topic my lips were closed. Her pastor was\na timid young man, who visited her at intervals, but who was\nafraid to urge anything upon her which she seemed not to wish. I\nfound from her own and others\u2019 conversation concerning him that he\nregarded his highest duty to his flock to be that of preaching to\nthem, and their highest duty to come to church and listen to him.\nTo give him as little trouble as possible, and leave him as much\ntime to himself as they could, was to make themselves agreeable\nparishioners. He delighted in having certain enthusiastic and\nwell-disposed ladies conduct Sunday-schools, societies, charities,\nvisiting of the sick, and all other troublesome matters; thereby\nrelieving him of all need to bother himself and take his thoughts\nfrom the fine sermons which he delighted to elaborate in his study.\nHis wife and children claimed much of his attention, and through\nthem society had its demands on him. In short, he liked to be very\ncomfortable, and much money \u201cdonated\u201d by good and kind people went\nto put him and his family in the enjoyment of ease and refinement,\nwhich money might, I often thought, have helped to build schools\nand charities. I, however, cared for the success of this reverend\ngentleman\u2019s ministrations only as they affected my friend Miss\nEtheridge. I think he regarded me with distrust and disfavor. He\nalways spoke of me as a _pervert_ and _Romanist_, but as he was a\nthorough gentleman, and as Miss Etheridge was a lady who always had\nher own way accorded her, no unpleasant collision ever occurred\nbetween us. I was one who never listened to his preaching, and\ntherefore was uninteresting to him, except as I might influence one\nof his fold. Seeing no signs of this dire result of my intimacy,\nhe accepted it passively as one of the circumstances which he must\nsubmit to, if not approve.\n\nOne day I was returning from Miss Etheridge\u2019s house, when I met two\nSisters of Charity, just about entering a poor, low dwelling not\nfar from the rich one I had just left. Having a slight acquaintance\nwith the sisters, I stopped to exchange a few words with them, and\nto ask what was their mission of mercy in this abode.\n\n\u201cOh! we are going in to see poor Mrs. McGowan,\u201d said one of them.\n\u201cHer time passes very tediously at the best, and she likes to have\nus come and read to her. Will you go in and see her?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is the matter with her, sister?\u201d I asked, as I turned in at\nthe gate, responding to the invitation.\n\n\u201cChronic rheumatism,\u201d said Sister Francina--\u201cthe saddest case!\nso helpless and so lonely as she is! She has had it five years,\ngrowing worse all the time.\u201d\n\nAnd now we were at the door of this victim of the terrible tyrant\nwhose power I had witnessed in the house of her rich neighbor. I\nneed not say how interested I was at once.\n\nPoor, ignorant, Irish, and childless was Mrs. McGowan--but a\nCatholic. Very mean were all her surroundings, but very decent and\ncleanly. She was a woman but little older than Miss Etheridge, and\nin some respects not unlike her. Education and high breeding and\npolish were lacking, but some look in her face and complexion, and\nespecially in the poor twisted hands, constantly reminded me of my\nfriend. Here the silver-gray hair was almost covered by the hideous\nwide-frilled cap which elderly Irish women consider so decorous.\nHer plain dark cotton gown presented a contrast to the rich massive\nfolds of Miss Etheridge\u2019s heavy silk robe. No high, carved,\ncushioned chair supported her, but she sat on the side of her bed,\nwith her hands patiently folded in her lap. Miss Etheridge always\nhad her maid within call.\n\nBright-eyed, rosy Maggie Maloney I see her now, tenderly brushing\na fly from her mistress\u2019 forehead, or fanning her, or handing\nher books, a handkerchief, glass of water, or whatever else was\nrequired. But here, from morning till night sat poor Mrs. McGowan,\ndepending for all such little offices on the kindness of her humble\nneighbors and their children. Her husband was a poor mechanic, who\nleft her every morning after assisting her to dress, and lifting\nher from her bed to the seat by the bedside. After this, a kind\nwoman, her nearest neighbor, performed all the services necessary\nfor her.\n\nAnd so her weary hours passed. Equally helpless with Miss\nEtheridge, how very different were her surroundings! No fine\npictures upon which to rest her weary eyes hung upon these walls.\nHere only a low ceiling and bare walls, with one small window from\nwhich she gazed, seeing what she might of the passers-by. No maid\nto obey her slightest demand; no exquisite music-boxes, to the low,\nsweet tinkling notes of which she might listen; no birds, pictures,\nbooks, flowers, fine furniture, hangings, and carpets contributed\nwhat they might to soften _her_ hard lot. Poor Mrs. McGowan had\nnone of these. Bare, cold, hard, and pitiless seemed her position,\nand yet she appeared to me the happier woman of the two. A serene\ncontentment and cheerful acceptance of God\u2019s will seemed to sustain\nher. Miss Etheridge was surrounded by relatives who vied with each\nother in their attentions to her, and were devoured by jealousy\nof each other as her favor inclined capriciously, sometimes to\none, sometimes to another. Indeed, I often thought this lady\ncould not really tell between them all what was done for love\nof her and what for interested motives, she having a fortune to\nbestow as she pleased. Mrs. McGowan also had her relatives, but\nthey were hard-working people, nieces and cousins who lived at\nservice, and who came to see her at intervals of time and stayed\nas long as they could be spared. Stout men would lend their strong\narms occasionally to carry her to some other part of her little\ndwelling. This was all the change of scene she had been able to\nobtain for years.\n\nThe similarity and dissimilarity in the lot of these two women\nchained my attention. My interest in the one increased my interest\nin the other, and I was thus led to compare their different ways of\nbearing their sufferings.\n\nI could not help seeing that Mrs. McGowan was the happier of\nthe two, despite her poverty. Why was this? I could not think\nit entirely proceeded from a more cheerful temperament, because\nMiss Etheridge was far from being a morose or despondent woman.\nBut Mrs. McGowan performed to the best of her ability all her\nreligious duties. Regularly her parish priest came to her to hear\nher confession and administer to her the Blessed Sacrament. To all\nof us comes a time in our lives when we feel the need of something\nmore than our own or any human support, and such aid from above\nthis humble sufferer accepted in simple, childlike faith and\ntrust, while her proud sister-in-need disdained to receive it. No\nwonder that one was stronger to bear her heavy affliction than the\nother. Of what avail was Miss Etheridge\u2019s superior education and\ncultivation to loosen or lighten her \u201cchains\u201d? They clasped her\nquite as closely and pitilessly as those of her ignorant neighbor.\nAnd while Christ himself was the soul\u2019s health of the one, only a\ncold, bare formula of religious observance was offered to the other.\n\nI longed to bring Miss Etheridge to the sense of this, so plain\nto myself. But hesitating always in my sensitiveness as to how\nmy motives might be construed, I mused long upon the best way of\nintroducing the subject. I at last concluded to get her to pass\nMrs. McGowan\u2019s door in my company. This was very naturally and\neasily accomplished, and I, walking by her side, told her of Mrs.\nMcGowan, and pointed out her little dwelling. Mrs. Etheridge was\ninterested at once, and, stopping her carriage by the gate, I\nwent in, and told Mrs. McGowan to look out of the window at her\nguest. She already knew of Miss Etheridge and her affliction,\nand, with the keen, quick sympathy of her race, responded at once\nto the demand upon her. I felt the tears come up to my eyes so\ninvoluntarily and uncontrollably, that I stepped back so that Miss\nEtheridge might not perceive my agitation. It was touching to see\nthese two, so far removed in social position, so near in a common\nsuffering, talking of their feelings to each other. Miss Etheridge\nnever forgot her dignity for an instant, and Mrs. McGowan, who had\nbeen a servant in her youth, did not presume, but acknowledged by\nher manner her appreciation of the superiority of her visitor, and\nyet with delicate tact tendered her pity and sympathy. Through the\nopen window her voice came kindly, and her face looked cheerfully\nto Miss Etheridge, who was able to perceive also how homely and\nmean were all the surroundings of her fellow-sufferer.\n\n\u201cYou are better cared for than I am, ma\u2019am, and likely you will\nlast longer; but sure, my pains would be as great in a palace as\nthey are here. It is the Lord\u2019s will, and I must be content.\u201d\n\n\u201cMay the good Lord help you, and me too,\u201d said Miss Etheridge.\nHer proud face softened with a tender pity, and her voice had\na tremulous vibration in it, as of some hidden chord in her\nheart stirred now, perhaps, for the first time. She seemed very\nthoughtful and silent on our way back, and I thought she was more\npatient with her attendants as she was lifted out of her carriage\nand placed in her usual chair.\n\nAfter this she sent or carried to Mrs. McGowan many presents of\nlittle delicacies and comforts, and the gratitude which the poor\nwoman freely expressed seemed to please Miss Etheridge more than\nanything else. It became a hobby with her to contrive some new\ncomfort and pleasure for Mrs. McGowan.\n\n\u201cAh! ma\u2019am,\u201d said the poor soul, \u201can\u2019 what can the likes of me do\nfor you? I have nothing to give you but my prayers,\u201d which I doubt\nnot she did give in no scant measure. I often thought that she\nenlisted powerful intercessions in behalf of Miss Etheridge which\nthat lady would not have secured for herself.\n\nOne day, as we stopped by the little window, the sweet face of\nSister Francina looked out at us. I glanced quickly at Miss\nEtheridge, but that high-bred lady showed no prejudice, whatever\nshe might feel. She was looking kindly and courteously, bowing\nher head to the sister, even before I could speak the words of\nintroduction. The sister, led on by Miss Etheridge\u2019s cordial\nmanner, and her sincere interest in one of whom she had heard so\nmuch, held quite a sprightly conversation with us. She spoke of\nthe frequency of her visits to Mrs. McGowan, and praised the poor\nwoman\u2019s uniform patience and cheerfulness and piety.\n\nA few days after this, I was astonished by Miss Etheridge asking\nme if it would be against rule for Sister Francina to visit her. I\nreplied, \u201cAs you are an invalid, I think not.\u201d Then Miss Etheridge\nasked me if I thought I could not induce her to come. \u201cI will try,\u201d\nI replied.\n\n\u201cI wish it,\u201d she said--\u201cI wish it very much. I think I may have the\nfew comforts I can enjoy, and I _will_.\u201d\n\nThis was uttered in a tone of such decision and defiance that\nI almost felt that I myself was supposed to oppose her in the\nmatter. But the tone was really against the bitter opposition\nshe knew she was courting, both for herself and me, from her\nanxious and affectionate relatives. The having of her own way\nand asserting herself on any subject, only added a spice to her\nenjoyment of what she attained, but it placed me in an awkward\nposition toward her family. I knew that it would seem to them that\nI had urged this visit of Sister Francina, or at least brought it\nabout by more direct means than was really the case. True, I was\nthe instrument, but Miss Etheridge used me more voluntarily than\nthey would believe. I did not like to be regarded in the light in\nwhich I was sure I would be viewed--as an undermining and scheming\nemissary of Rome. But, on the other hand, I did not like to be\ncowardly in refusing to procure for Miss Etheridge so very innocent\na pleasure. If she were merely whimsical in her wish to have the\nsister visit her, still, why not let her be indulged? It was the\nsister\u2019s mission to visit the afflicted, and here was an appeal to\nher charity, and to mine too. So I plucked up my courage, which was\nbacked up by my affection for Miss Etheridge, and soon brought\nSister Francina to her. It was as we anticipated. The family were\nup in arms about this visit. One would have supposed that I had\nbrought a wolf, or \u201croaring lion, seeking whom he might devour,\u201d to\nMiss Etheridge, instead of meek, gentle, innocent Sister Francina,\nstrong only in her holy faith. But if no one else was brave, Miss\nEtheridge certainly was. She expressed herself so pleased at the\nsister\u2019s visit, that she asked it as a personal favor and charity\nto herself that the sister would come often. With great delicacy,\nthe sister was urged to accept a generous gift for the mission\nin which she was engaged. And Sister Francina did come; not very\noften--Miss Etheridge and her family could not think she presumed\nupon the encouragement she received--but still often enough to\nendear herself to Miss Etheridge more and more. The family were\nrampant, but powerless. Still Miss Etheridge chose to have me walk\nby her carriage. Still she would go and talk to Mrs. McGowan, and,\ndoing so, she met at last Father B----. He was going in at the gate\njust as we, from an opposite direction, came around the corner of\nthe house. I knew him at once, and told Miss Etheridge, asking if\nwe should go on, which I supposed she would prefer. I was surprised\nat her expressing her intention to stop. She had in her lap a\nbasket of fruit which she wished to leave for Mrs. McGowan, and,\n\u201cif the priest would not object to her, she certainly would not\nshun him.\u201d\n\nFather B---- was a convert himself from the Anglican ranks. He bore\nabout him all the genial _bonhomie_, the polished bearing, and\ngentle dignity which is characteristic of that class of Protestant\nclergy. Miss Etheridge had never been personally acquainted with\nhim, but, having heard him preach in the bygone days when she\nwent to church and his eloquence charmed Protestant audiences,\nshe retained still a curiosity, if nothing more, concerning him.\nThis at least was no stern-browed ascetic with the odor of a\nsanctity she could not appreciate about him, but a kindly, social\ngentleman, with many little points of sympathy whereon to begin an\nacquaintance. Father B----, seeing no repulse, readily responded\nto Miss Etheridge\u2019s overtures of good-will. She certainly found\nher mind disabused of many previous notions of this priest at\nleast. On the whole, I felt glad of the meeting. It thawed some\nremaining reserve on our part in discussing the differences\nbetween us in faith. I told her frankly how I had been led, step\nby step, into the fold wherein I now rejoiced to be. How my first\ndissatisfaction in the Episcopal Church had arisen from witnessing\nthe utter inability of the pastor to withstand lay interference in\nmatters which belonged exclusively to the clergy. How two wardens\nin open enmity still partook of the sacrament, in defiance of the\nrubric which bears upon the case, and which the rector never dared\nto enforce. How I had heard such various teaching and explaining\nof the creed, services, articles of religion, and everything\nappertaining to the whole system, that it seemed to me like the\nconfusion of tongues \u201cworse confounded.\u201d That the desire to embrace\nin the Anglican fold such opposing elements as Calvinism on the\none hand, and pure, \u201cprimitive,\u201d and medi\u00e6val Christianity on the\nother--to be Ritualistic and Evangelical at the same time, worked\nsuch mischief and rebellion that I had longed for some authority,\nsome utterance which had the ring of the true metal, and some fold\nwherein I might be _at rest_.\n\nMiss Etheridge listened very patiently, very thoughtfully. I\nhardly expected so little opposition to all I said. She granted\nthe force of my objections, but wondered at my being able to\nacquiesce in all which I had now accepted. I replied that perhaps\nwhat I had accepted would not seem to her so very unreasonable\nif she came to examine and understand it as I did; that nothing\ndispelled prejudice like an acquaintance with and analysis of the\nobjectionable subjects; that the effect was frequently like that\nproduced by examining some supposed spectre which has frightened\nus in the dark, and which we find to be only an innocent optical\nillusion.\n\nAfter this, I refrained from obtruding any more of my religious\nviews upon Miss Etheridge, until one day when she asked me to read\n_Morte d\u2019Arthur_ to her, and I came upon the passage:\n\n    \u201cPray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer\n    Than this world dreams of. Wherefore let thy voice\n    Rise like a fountain for me night and day.\n    For what are men better than sheep or goats\n    That nourish a blind life within the brain,\n    If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer\n    Both for themselves and those who call them friend?\n    For so the whole round earth is every way\n    Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.\u201d\n\nI remarked that Tennyson had, with a poet\u2019s insight, spoken like\na true Catholic. Miss Etheridge denied that it was Tennyson\u2019s own\nbelief advanced, but only that of King Arthur, the words being put\ninto his mouth by the poet as fitting for him, the same as any\nwriter would make any Catholic speak, or as he might put very evil\nwords into the mouth of a blasphemer.\n\n\u201cTrue,\u201d I said; \u201cbut while an author must make his characters\nspeak according to their supposed faith, he is not obliged to\ngive such forcible words to them in opposition to his own private\nbelief. He is hardly likely to do so. He may screen himself behind\nhis characters, or he may betray himself through them. We may guess\nat his own leanings more or less accurately, and he may contradict\nhimself. Here certainly the poet seems in favor of prayers for the\ndead.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut is it prayer for the _dead_ Arthur, after all?\u201d said she. \u201cWas\nhe not only going away \u2018to the island-valley of Avilion?\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cTennyson has named the poem _Morte d\u2019Arthur_, and it is so\naccepted and understood,\u201d I replied.\n\nShe acquiesced in this, but still opposed with true Protestant\nunbelief and persistency the idea that any good could come from\nprayers for the dead.\n\nI told her that, even while I had been a Protestant, this had\nalways seemed to me a tender and affectionate practice of Catholics\nto try to reach and help those on the other side of the grave, and\nthat, even if it were unavailing, it was at least harmless, and I\ncould never understand why it should be denounced as wicked. That\nit benefited the souls of those who prayed, at least, if not those\nfor whom they prayed.\n\n\u201cMy dear Miss Etheridge,\u201d said I, \u201cis the thought that I might pray\nfor the repose of your soul after your death offensive to you now\nin life?\u201d\n\nShe was silent only a moment. That she could be the object of such\nprayer was probably then presented to her mind for the first time,\nand startled her somewhat. Then she said:\n\n\u201cWhy, no; certainly not. I cannot but regard it as a kind and\nloving thing to do, even if a useless one.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you would not do as much for me,\u201d I rejoined.\n\n\u201cAh,\u201d she said evasively, \u201cyou will not be neglected; be sure of\nthat.\u201d\n\nOnly about a week after this we heard that Mrs. McGowan was ill.\nThe blinds were closed at her window, and Father B---- and the\nsisters went oftener than usual to see her. I too went back and\nforth, and brought Miss Etheridge tidings of how Mrs. McGowan bore\nher sufferings; of all that was done for her spiritual and bodily\ncomfort, of all that was hoped and all that was feared, and at last\nof her death.\n\nThis affected Miss Etheridge more than one could have supposed\npossible. It was touching to witness her sadness. That this proud\nlady, so widely separated in everything but the same infirmity\nfrom this poor Irishwoman, should truly grieve for her awakened\nin me a greater admiration for Miss Etheridge\u2019s noble heart than\nI had before entertained. She seemed restless and anxious to be\ndoing something still for the poor woman. She asked me if I did not\nthink it could be managed that she could see Mrs. McGowan once more\nbefore her burial.\n\nI told her it could without difficulty, and so it was done.\nRespectfully the crowd parted for her little carriage as it made\nits way through the humble assemblage which is sure to be around\nthe house of death among the Irish. Willing arms carried her to the\nside of the coffin, whereon her own gifts--a cross and crown of\nbeautiful flowers--had been placed.\n\nIn silent dignity she gazed at the face and hands of the\ndead--curiously at the lighted candles and emblems of the faith\nof the departed, and at the habit which covered the body, now\nstraightened in the rigidity of death.\n\nShe was very composed, and soon signified her desire to be conveyed\nto her carriage, and in silence she returned to her home. I thought\nMiss Etheridge showed, in this act of going to pay the last mark\nof respect to her humble friend, true heroism and charity. She was\na mark of curious observation to a crowd of people with whom she\nhad no sympathy, and her helplessness and peculiar infirmity made\nher more sensitive to the notice and notoriety which she knew her\ngoing would bring upon her; and yet she had the courage to brave\nsuch results. Only a true lady, lifted above all vulgar fears and\nconsiderations, would have done this. No _mean_ soul would have\ndesired so to do.\n\n\u201cThe chains have fallen off her now,\u201d she said to me. \u201cI wonder\nif she remembers and thinks of me. You think of her as being in a\ndifferent state from that which I have been taught to believe as\nthat of the departed; but we will not argue about it now. I only\nwant to do for her yet--something which I do believe she would,\npoor soul, have done for me, had I gone first. It pleases me to do\nwhat she would in life have liked to think would be done for her,\nwhether availing or unavailing.\u201d\n\nAnd with this apologetic remark, Miss Etheridge actually placed in\nmy hand a large sum of money to convey to Father B---- for Masses\nto be said for the repose of the soul of Mrs. McGowan. I was truly\nastonished. Was this the fruit of our reading of _Morte d\u2019Arthur_?\nIf so, I blessed the day we did it. But I was afraid of being\nhopeful overmuch, Miss Etheridge might never advance beyond this\nliberal yielding of a stubborn prejudice. It was the last thing she\ncould do for her poor friend, and her generous soul took pleasure\nin doing it. I was afraid that this was all; and for a time it\nseemed to be all.\n\nThe summer passed into autumn, and I was recalled to my city home.\nI parted with Miss Etheridge with great regret, and the more so\nbecause she could not write to me, save by the hand of another. I\npromised to write to her, and she said that I should get tidings of\nher from time to time in some way. \u201cAccording to my message shall\nmy scribe be,\u201d she said, and so we parted.\n\nI did write from time to time, and I had a brief note now and\nthen, written by Miss Etheridge\u2019s business agent, telling me of\nher continued good health, but increasing infirmity. But during\nEaster-tide I received a longer missive, written in the delicate\npenmanship of Sister Francina. \u201cAccording to my message shall my\nscribe be,\u201d she had said to me, and now I knew her meaning, for the\nmessage was that she was a Catholic.\n\nAs I folded up the letter, the words came to my mind:\n\n              \u201cThese through great affliction came.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nDUTIES OF THE RICH IN CHRISTIAN SOCIETY.\n\nNO. VI.\n\nPRIVATE DUTIES--CONTINUED.\n\n\nThe life of that class which in fashionable parlance is called\n\u201csociety\u201d in the capitals and great towns of Europe, and especially\nin Paris, the capital of the _beau monde_, is the most opposite\nto the ideal of the Christian life that can exist without being\nessentially criminal. The same remark applies, of course, to the\nimitation of it among ourselves. We have implied that it is not\nessentially criminal. Not that it is possible to doubt the vast\namount of moral evil existing in its bosom, but that this evil\nis not in the very nature of the mode of life intended, in such\na way that all those who are engaged in it must necessarily live\nin sin. The nature or essence of this mode of life consists in\nmaking the pursuit of social and other pleasures, in themselves\ninnocent and lawful, a regular and habitual occupation, instead\nof an occasional relaxation. It is possible to do this, without\ngrievously neglecting those duties which are of positive obligation\nin one\u2019s state of life, and without neglecting the precepts of\nreligion. It is, nevertheless, difficult to do it for a long time.\nIt is a dangerous kind of life to lead. And precisely because it\nis dangerous, the church is indulgent to those who are involved\nin it, allows them to receive the sacraments with the greatest\nliberality, and encourages them to approach these sources of grace\nfrequently, in order that they may be preserved from sin. Some,\nespecially women under the authority of parents or husbands who are\nworldly minded and imperious, are involved in such a life against\ntheir own inclination, others are kept in it by their own levity\nand weakness of character and the force of habit and fashion. The\nformer ought to receive the sacraments as frequently as possible,\nin order that they may triumph over the obstacles in the way of\nattaining that degree of perfection to which they aspire. The\nlatter ought to do the same, in order that they may live in the\nstate of grace and save their souls. This is a doctrine which\ngives scandal to rigorists and Pharisees, and frequently the\npersons who are inwardly the most corrupt are the most rigoristic\nin their opinions. But the Catholic Church, which has cast out the\nJansenistic leaven as a detestable and deadly poison, cares not for\nPharisaic scandal, and does care for the soul of the imperfect and\nthe sinner, whom she acknowledges for her children.\n\nIndulgent as the church is to those who are weak and imperfect\nChristians, or who even fall often into sin, provided they are\nalways trying to rise out of it again, she never ceases to hold up\nher ideal of the Christian life in all its perfection before her\nchildren, and to admonish and persuade them by the most powerful\nmotives to copy it in their actions. All those who really aim at\nbeing good Christians are uneasy in a worldly life, and generally\nwithdraw from it, to a great extent, when they become sobered by\nage and experience. Those who are fervent have a great dislike for\nit, and have always done their utmost to emancipate themselves\nfrom its servitude and frivolity. It is a dangerous kind of life,\nand one which becomes wearisome and insipid after a time even\nto those who have no taste for anything better. To pass all the\nmonths which are spent in town, with the exception of a few weeks\nin Lent, in a round of balls, parties, visits, and theatre-going,\nand to dawdle away the summer in the inanities and _ennui_ of\na fashionable watering-place, is to make existence as flat and\nunprofitable as it can well be--to exhaust its flavor as well as\nwaste its substance. The satire of Thackeray is only simple truth,\nand it is enough to direct to the page of the novelist for a full\nillustration of the moral we wish to point, without referring\nthe jaded votaries of fashion to any more tedious species of\nliterature. It is necessary to distinguish among the fashions and\npleasures of the world those which are positively immoral from\nthose which are innocent in themselves, and only noxious when they\nare inordinate and excessive. It is a matter of strict obligation\nto shun the former altogether. Immodest dances and fashions of\ndress, licentious plays, excess in eating and drinking, are sinful\nin themselves, and lead to the grossest sins. It is a simple matter\nof fact that society among the higher classes, in the nations\nof Christendom, has been for a long time, and still is, deeply\naffected by the moral corruption into which the pursuit of pleasure\nas the occupation of life always tends to resolve itself. Paris,\nthe modern Babylon, has led the way, and the world has followed\nParis. This corruption is the chief cause of the miseries with\nwhich society has been scourged and is now threatened. From the\ncourt of Louis XV. the first step was to the Place de Gr\u00e8ve, the\nsecond to the burning Tuileries. Petroleum, which will one day burn\nup the world, is the oil which bubbles up in the bosom of a corrupt\nChristian aristocracy, the product of the wickedness of the higher\nclasses in Christian society, who have turned away from a true\nCatholic life to the life of pagans, or a life for this world only.\nA _beau monde_, indeed, it is! It is against such a _beau monde_ as\nthis, with its whole complex of heresy and immorality, infidelity\nand licentiousness, intellectual pride and low materialism,\noutward splendor and inward contempt of all dignity or authority,\nsuperficial gaiety and real, haggard misery, all closely affianced\nand affiliated together, that Pius IX. has been perpetually\nfulminating his condemnation. But we may go further back and\nhigher up than Pius IX. to St. Peter himself, and find the same\ndenunciation of heresy, revolt, and luxury, as allied vices,\nexpressed in much severer language than that of his successor. In\nhis second Encyclical Epistle, the Prince of the Apostles writes as\nfollows:\n\n  \u201cThe Lord knoweth how to deliver the godly out of temptation; but\n  to reserve the unjust unto the day of judgment to be tormented.\n  And especially those who _walk after the flesh_ in the lust of\n  uncleanness, and _despise governments_, audacious, pleasing\n  themselves, they _fear not to bring in sects_, blaspheming, ...\n  _as irrational beasts_, naturally tending to the snare, and\n  to destruction, blaspheming those things which they know not,\n  they shall perish in their corruption, receiving the reward of\n  injustice, _counting pleasure the delights of a day_, stains\n  and blemishes, _flowing in delicacies, rioting in their feasts\n  with you_, having eyes full of adultery, and of never-ceasing\n  sin: alluring unstable souls, having their heart exercised with\n  covetousness, sons of malediction; ... these are fountains\n  without water, and clouds tossed with whirlwinds, to whom the\n  mist of darkness is reserved. For, _speaking swelling words of\n  vanity_, they allure in desires of the flesh of riotousness\n  _those who had escaped a little from them who converse in error:\n  promising them liberty_, when they themselves are slaves of\n  corruption; for by whom a man is overcome, of the same also he is\n  the slave. For, if having fled from the pollution of the world\n  through the knowledge of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, being\n  again entangled in them, they are overcome; _their latter state\n  is become unto them worse than the former_.\u201d[109]\n\nWe may see this exemplified in Rome at the present moment, in\nVictor Emanuel, Hyacinthe, Gavazzi, the Jews Arbib and Jacob Dina,\nthe venders of infidel and licentious prints, sectarian preachers,\nchiefs of the Garibaldian faction, and courtesans, all knotted\ntogether like a pyramid of rattlesnakes, to hiss against the Holy\nFather, the representative on earth of Christ and God. And this is\nthe modern world, as opposed to the true Christian society, the\nchurch. It is an apostasy worse than heathenism; \u201cfor it had been\nbetter not to have known the way of justice, than, after having\nknown it, to have turned back from that holy commandment.\u201d This\napostasy shows itself more glaringly in the Rome of Victor Emanuel\nand his _buzzurri_ than elsewhere, but it is the same throughout\nthe modern world. And in this world Catholics must live, and live\neither superior to it, or its slaves. If they are contaminated by\nit, their moral corruption leads them directly to the loss of faith\nas well as the loss of grace. The infidelity into which numbers of\nthe higher classes on the Continent of Europe have fallen during\nthe past century is notorious. We have had some of these degenerate\nCatholics among ourselves, retaining the name of Catholic as a kind\nof national and family heirloom, but denying and mocking at all\nthe mysteries of faith, resisting and thwarting the bishops and\npriests who founded our American churches, and generally crying\nout for a priest in their last moments, while their relatives\nare chiefly anxious for the pomp of a requiem, a solemn funeral\nprocession, and a monument in consecrated ground. Love of the world\nhas made others, who have had a better education in their youth,\nbecome apathetic and alienated from their fellow-Catholics and the\nchurch, as they have grown rich. And some have openly apostatized,\nin order to profess a _more genteel religion_. The inordinate love\nof wealth, pleasure, and honor, brings the will into collision\nwith the practical, moral law of the church, and thus implants an\naversion to the Catholic religion and the spirit of revolt against\nit. These dispositions prepare the way for the revolt of the\nwill, and through the will of the mind, against the doctrine and\nauthority of the church, and eventually for a total abjuration\nof allegiance to God. The sinner is always called in the ancient\nScriptures _a fool_, because he prefers this world to the next,\ncreatures to the Creator; and \u201c_the fool hath said in his heart,\nthere is no God_.\u201d The only consistent alternative is, therefore,\nthe total abjuration of folly, complete subjection to the law of\nwisdom, and the regulation of the whole life in conformity to its\ndictates. The fashions and customs of the world, when they are\ncontrary to Catholic principles, must be wholly renounced and\ndespised. Nay, more. When they are absurd, ridiculous, contrary to\nreason and good sense, one who has a proper respect for himself and\na just independence of character ought to neglect and disregard\nthem, unless doing so involves a greater inconvenience than that\ncaused by conformity. Those who profess to be governed by the law\nof Christ ought to regulate their table, their household order,\ntheir dress, their social customs, their pleasures and amusements,\nand all the minor morals of life, by a Christian standard, and not\nby the standard of a corrupt world. To be ashamed and afraid to\ndo this is disgraceful cowardice. It is for Christians to subdue\nthe world and compel it to conform, at least outwardly, to their\nstandard; not to submit to its galling and degrading servitude. If\nthis cannot be done, let them cut the world, in so far as their\nrelative duties and necessary obligations towards it will permit,\nand form their own separate society; as they have frequently been\nforced to do since Christianity was founded. It is necessary to\nkeep the law of Christ, it is necessary to be wholly conformed in\nmind and conduct to the doctrine and spirit of the church, it is\nnecessary to merit the kingdom of heaven; but it is not necessary\nto be fashionable or to please the world. Moreover, to be truly\nhonorable, it is necessary that one should esteem his Catholic\nprofession as his greatest glory, and not tarnish it by sentiments\nor conduct unworthy of a Christian. Most of those Catholics in this\ncountry who are now living in ease and affluence are descended from\nancestors who sacrificed everything and suffered untold hardships\nfor their faith; and what do they deserve if they dishonor the\nblood of the martyrs by becoming the slaves of the wicked power\nwhich persecuted them?\n\nWe desire now to apply all that we have said in a special manner\nto the education of children--the most important of all the\nprivate duties of heads of families. What we have to say on this\nhead applies in general to all parents in comparatively easy\ncircumstances, but in some particulars to those only who are\nwealthy in the strict sense of the term. The weighty obligation\nrests on all Catholic parents of bringing up their children in the\nfaith and in virtue, in view of the great end of life, which is to\nglorify God here and to enjoy him hereafter in heaven. This is a\ndifficult task in itself, especially so in the present age and in\nthis country, and in some respects more difficult for those who\nare rich than for any others, excepting, perhaps, the very poor.\nThe children of the rich in this country are generally brought\nup in great self-indulgence, excessive liberty, and according to\na precocious method. They are prepared for a kind of life which\nrequires great wealth, and, at the same time, their prospects of\npossessing it with permanent security are very precarious. We\nmight adduce many considerations going to show that it is almost\nto be regarded as a calamity rather than an advantage to be born\nof rich parents in this country. If we had accurate statistics,\nthey would, in our opinion, show that very few of the children\nand descendants of wealthy families have remained in affluent or\neven easy circumstances. The majority of those who are rich are\nchildren of parents who were poor, or, at least, dependent on their\nown exertions for a living. A great number of the children who\nhave been brought up with the expectation of inheriting a fortune\nhave become poor, and far too many have gone altogether to ruin.\nThe sons of the rich are exposed to the danger of being ruined by\nthe vices into which they easily fall, and by the indolent and\ninefficient character they too frequently form, together with\nthe reverses of fortune which are not fatal to energetic men,\nyet are ordinarily fatal to those whose habits are effeminate.\nTheir daughters are exposed to the same reverses of fortune,\nto the miseries resulting from unhappy marriages, and to the\nconsequences which follow from personal habits of extravagance and\nself-indulgence. Most of these miseries flow from a bad education,\nand those which proceed from no such cause and are among the\ninevitable evils of this earthly life, are made unbearable and\ndesperate by the effects of a bad education.\n\nSo far as temporal well-being is concerned, parents ought to aim at\npreparing their children to take care of themselves after they are\ngrown up. All boys, no matter how rich their fathers may be, ought\nto be prepared for some profession or business in which they can\nmake their own fortune, or, at least, a living, and they should be\ncompelled to take care of themselves when they become men, without\nany more help from their fathers than is sufficient to place them\nin the way of doing so. This is the only way to perpetuate wealth\nin families, for, if children are trained up to live in leisure\non the fortunes which they are to inherit, the largest fortunes\nwill soon be lost by division and subdivision, even if they are\nnot scattered by dissipation or mismanagement. Daughters should be\neducated in such a way that they can be their own housekeepers,\nor even earn their living by their education and accomplishments,\nif the reverses of their parents or the disasters of married life\nbring them into straits and difficulties.\n\nThis result can only be secured by keeping children in the state\nand under the discipline of childhood so long as they are children\nin age. Obedience, industry, self-denial, simplicity of dress and\ndiet, moderation in amusements, and a strictly and purely Catholic\neducation--such are the only means of preparing children either for\na condition of wealth or for one of poverty. Our American children\nwho are reared in the families of the rich are generally brought\nout of the nursery and the school-room too young: they are too\nhighly fed, too much indulged, have too many amusements, and are\n_blas\u00e9_ before they are fully grown. Is it judicious for Christian\nmothers to dress their little daughters like ballet-dancers for\ntheir children\u2019s parties? To send their sons with billets of\nexcuse from their lessons to school after taking them overnight\nto the opera or theatre? What can be expected of children who are\nallowed to sleep late, to eat daintily and excessively, to read\nall kinds of trash, to dress extravagantly, spend money, go about\nwith liberty, and indulge in pleasures which keep them up late\nat night? Such a life has a worse effect than merely to make the\ncharacter effeminate. It directly fosters the most morbid and\ndestructive propensities of the weak and fragile human nature,\nand leads to vice and death. We do not speak of those cases where\nparents lead their children to ruin by the direct influence of\nimpious or immoral conversation, or an example which is flagrantly\nbad. There are some such who would seem to set to work with an\nexpress purpose of corrupting and ruining their children. But our\npresent purpose is with those who may be supposed to read our\narticles attentively and seriously, and who cannot, therefore, be\nsuspected of anything worse than weakness, or error of judgment. It\nis against this weak following of the common fashion, the common\nmaxims, the common current of the world, that we warn those parents\nwho wish to be good Christians and to bring up their children well.\n\nThe highest and ultimate end of education is the attainment of\nthe chief good to which the soul is destined, and to which it\nhas received the right in baptism. The principal obligation of\nCatholic parents is, therefore, the education of their children in\nthe principles and practices of the faith and law of the church.\nAnd this leads us to speak of the obligation of the rich, the\neducated, and all the influential laymen of the Catholic Church\nin this country, to bestir themselves in the work of Catholic\neducation. Schools and colleges, purely and thoroughly Catholic,\nand fully sufficient to give all the requisite kinds and degrees\nof instruction which are needed by our youth, must be multiplied\nand sustained. It is a fixed and settled doctrine of the church\nthat education is by divine right under the care and jurisdiction\nof the hierarchy. Those who teach the contrary are unsound in\ndoctrine, and good Catholics are bound in conscience to give no\nheed to their opinions on this point. It is, moreover, a point\nalso settled by the highest authority in the church, viz., that of\nthe bishops of those countries where mixed education is a subject\nof practical moment, and of the Holy See, that mixed education is\ndangerous. This is the judgment of the bishops of Germany, Ireland,\nEngland, and the United States. As an instance, we cite the\nlanguage of the Irish bishops in a resolution passed unanimously at\nMaynooth, August 18, 1869, in which they say:\n\n  \u201cThey reiterate their condemnation of the mixed system of\n  education, whether primary, intermediate, or university, as\n  grievously and intrinsically dangerous to the faith and morals\n  of Catholic youth; and they declare that to Catholics only,\n  and under the supreme control of the church in all things\n  appertaining to faith and morals, can the teaching of Catholics\n  be safely entrusted.\u201d\n\nThe decrees of the Councils of Baltimore are of the same tenor, as\nis likewise the official action of the bishops of England.\n\nPius IX., in his _Syllabus_ of Dec. 8, 1864, condemned the\nproposition (No. 48):\n\n  \u201cCatholics may approve that mode of education of youth which is\n  disjoined from the Catholic faith and the power of the church,\n  and which concerns itself exclusively, or at least primarily,\n  with the knowledge of natural things and the ends of earthly\n  social life.\u201d\n\nIn accordance with this decree, the Holy See has repeatedly sent\ninstructions to the Irish and English bishops, directing them to\noppose mixed education, and has prohibited ecclesiastics from\nholding any office in the Queen\u2019s colleges of Ireland. We are\nwarranted, therefore in reiterating the declaration made by F.\nO\u2019Reilly, of whom the _Dublin Review_ says, \u201chardly a theologian\ncan be named in these islands whose name carries with it so much\nweight\u201d--that the view which Catholics do take or ought to take\nof mixed schools is, that they are \u201cobjectionable, dangerous,\nineligible.\u201d[110] In fact, nearly all the Catholics of rank and\nwealth in England, the Duke of Norfolk included, have foregone the\nadvantages of the universities in obedience to this teaching. The\nsame is true in Ireland, and F. O\u2019Reilly says that \u201cthe Catholics\nof Ireland _as a body_ (including the upper and middle classes)\nrepudiate and condemn mixed education as at variance with their\nreligious principles, views, and opinions.\u201d\n\nWe cannot carry out any further, at present, the topic we have\nhere briefly introduced, but must confine our remarks to the duty\nwhich is devolved on the wealthy Catholics of the United States by\nthese decisions of the rulers of the church, which, we take for\ngranted, they most cordially desire to have fully carried out in\npractice. We said just now that they must bestir themselves in the\nwork of Catholic education. This applies to education in all its\nvarious degrees, but we wish to speak more especially of colleges\nfor the higher grades of instruction. It is not enough for the\nopulent parents whose sons are sent to college, to send them to a\nCatholic college and pay a high price for their instruction. There\nis a great difficulty in the way of maintaining and improving\nour colleges which cannot be met in this manner. If our colleges\nare to rely on a revenue derived from the pupils, the tuition\nfees must be placed so high that all but the sons of the wealthy\nare practically excluded from them. Officers of the army and\nnavy, lawyers, physicians, and others in similar positions, are\nfrequently embarrassed by the inadequacy of their incomes to meet\nthe expenses of a mode of life suited to their social rank. The\ngreat cost of education makes it very nearly impossible for them to\nsend even one boy, much more several, to the schools and colleges\nwhich are the most eligible. Besides, there are many other parents\nin still more moderate circumstances, who have sons desiring, and\nfitted for profiting by, the best education. The sons of the rich\nare not ordinarily the most eager and diligent students, and, if\na college is exclusively or chiefly composed of youths of this\nclass, they themselves will degenerate into the most superficial\nscholarship, and the college will fail of accomplishing the chief\npart of the end for which it is established. Education ought to\nbe made cheap and accessible to boys and youths of all classes.\nThis cannot be done without large endowments and revenues. If the\ntask of earning the money necessary for the vast outlay which must\nbe made, is left on the shoulders of the clergy and religious\norders, they must necessarily demand a very high price for their\ninstruction, and thus become the teachers of the sons of the\nrich almost exclusively. It follows from this, by strict logical\nsequence, that the laity must bestir themselves to active efforts,\nand take the burden off the shoulders of the clergy. It is unjust\nthat a body of men who have sacrificed their lives to the good of\nthe laity, and who give them the fruit of their talents, their\nlearning, and their labors, for no compensation beyond their modest\nand single livelihood, should be forced to furnish or to beg the\nmeans of buying the grounds, erecting the buildings, and carrying\non the operations of colleges and schools for the convenience of\nthe rich and leisured classes; and paying, besides, the expenses of\nthose youths who are without resources, that they may fill their\nown places when they are worn out by work. It is the interest of\nthe laity to provide education for their children, and to provide\nfor filling up the ranks of the priesthood. The opulent and\ninfluential laity are therefore bound to take an active part in the\nwork. And, as things are at present, we see no way of doing this\nafter an organized method, except by associations like that of the\n\u201cCatholic Union\u201d of New York. We trust that this respectable body\nwill take up this matter in earnest, and we urge upon all those who\ncare for their posterity, their country, and their religion, to\nco-operate generously and zealously with it in whatever enterprises\nit may undertake, which will certainly be under the highest\necclesiastical sanction, and managed by men of the greatest ability\nand worth.\n\nThe topics so briefly discussed in the series of short articles\nwhich we now bring to a close require, as we have already remarked,\nvolumes and not pages. We are glad to see that one volume, written\nwith the ability for which its author has already become renowned,\nhas already been published, which handles some of these topics\nand others kindred to them. We allude to the _Sermons_ of F.\nHarper, already briefly noticed in this magazine, and now strongly\nrecommended once more to all who have read our remarks on \u201cThe\nDuties of the Rich\u201d with interest. We trust that other writers will\nfollow F. Harper\u2019s example, and that some of the valuable books on\nthe same class of subjects which exist in other languages will\nbe translated. It is not, however, by books and essays alone that\nthe minds and hearts of Catholics of the educated and leisured\nclasses in society can be sufficiently imbued with Catholic\nprinciples and the Catholic spirit. It is by the living and\ndivinely commissioned teaching of the preachers of the Word of God,\nin their parochial instructions, in the addresses which they have\nthe opportunity of making on extraordinary occasions, and in the\nsermons and conferences of general missions and special retreats,\nthat the higher as well as the humbler members of the fold are most\nefficaciously taught. Pius IX. has given the example and the model\nof the preaching most necessary and useful for our times to all who\nbear his commission, thus fulfilling in a most extraordinary way\nthe divine commandment to St. Peter--_Pasce oves meas, pasce agnos\nmeos_. By his personal teaching he has formed the _\u00e9lite_ of the\nCatholic laity of Europe on the model of their glorious ancestors\nof the ages of faith, and not a few of our own countrymen have gone\nto drink the pure water of life at the same fountain-head. Imbibed\nat the fountain-head or at the rill, it is the only water that can\ngive health to nations or individuals. We can scarcely hope that F.\nBurke\u2019s fine apostrophe,[111] \u201cBe it thine, O Columbia! to place\nagain the golden circlet of his temporal royalty on the brow of the\nVicar of Christ!\u201d will be literally fulfilled. But we trust that\nthe spirit of it will not lack that accomplishment which will prove\nthat the eloquent son of St. Dominic has a sparkle of the prophetic\ngift. It requires no inspiration, but only ordinary foresight, to\nsee the prospect of a rapid and almost measureless increase of\nwealth, and of all that belongs to the splendor of a nation, in\nthe next half century of the United States. The Catholic Church\nwill largely share in it. And may those who enjoy this prosperity\nbe as true and loyal to the church and to God as their humble and\npersecuted ancestors!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[109] 2 St. Peter ii. 9-20.\n\n[110] _Dublin Review_, April, 1872, p. 413. _Month_, March-April,\n1872, p. 179. See the entire article of F. O\u2019Reilly, which is\nadmirable.\n\n[111] In his lecture on _The Prisoner of the Vatican_, at St.\nPaul\u2019s Church, New York.\n\n\n\n\nFAITH THE LIFE OF ART.\n\nFROM AN ADDRESS BY CESARE CANTU BEFORE \u201cTHE ARCADIA.\u201d\n\nTRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN.\n\n\nThere is in man the memory of a perfection with which he was sent\nforth from the hands of his Creator; and, sick of the tameness,\ncoarseness, and unseemliness which surround him, he feels a craving\nto fashion himself after a picture of his imagination conformable\nto the idea he possesses of the beautiful--a type which combines\nthe first and last excellence of being; which it is his to enjoy,\nsince he has a conception of it, and to which he ought to be able\nto arrive, since he aspires towards it. Thus from remembrance\nand the feeling of a hereafter is born poetry; is born art: the\nrealization of the ideal under sensible forms, wherein intellectual\nbeauty takes precedence over the physical beauty of nature. Both\nspeak a language which lifts us up to the absolute beauty--God;\nof whom creation is an image and symbol. And, moreover, religion\ndiscloses an ideal world which is not contained under external\nphenomena.\n\nMan in his fallen state built a wretched hut or scooped out a cave,\nwherein to shelter his wife and little ones; but, when he wished to\ngive worship to the Deity, he erected an altar and decked it with\nfestoons: he roofed it in, and strengthened it with beams, which\nhe hastened to adorn, forming cupola, shaft, and capital. History\nbears witness that the fine arts were born in the temple, not in\nthe hut of Vitruvius; that they owe their origin to the aspiration\nof a faith, not to the mere fulfilment of a want.\n\nThe temple wherein is offered the perpetual sacrifice of the\nvictim of expiation is a visible profession of faith. The most\ngrand and characteristic expression of the architecture is\ndisplayed in the imitation which man fabricates of that temple\nof the universe which was built by the hands of God. And as its\nsolidity typifies the duration which every one attributes to true\nreligion, so it outlives the hands which raised it up. How much\nof what antiquity has bequeathed us consists of temples, such as\nthe pile of Salsetta, the pagodas of Coromandel and Ellora, the\nPropyl\u00e6i, the colossi of granite and porphyry, the obelisks and\npyramids of Egypt--for sepulchres are religious--and the shrines\nwhich were discovered in the millennial forests of America. This\ngreat Rome, the capital of the universe, was a city of fanes and\naltars, when Horace reproached it, as a cause of its decay, with\nhaving neglected the worship of the gods. The more fully the idea\nof a religion is capable of adapting to itself the forms of the\norganic world, the more artistic will that religion become.[112]\nThe symbol, which is an outward and material exposition of an idea,\nand the mystic representation of the divine essence, by means of\nexternal objects to which it is linked by ties that are arbitrary\nand remote analogies, ill accords with the beauty which is the\nrepresentation of a specific idea to which it corresponds.\n\nAmong the Hindoos, the Egyptians, and the Hebrews, the beauty\nof form gave place to the requirements of the emblem. Thus art\nstood still, being forced to reproduce fixed types; its object\nwas not to copy nature, but to inscribe ideas. The three-eyed\nSiva, the four-headed Brama, the elephant-headed Ganesa, the\nhundred-armed giants and hundred-breasted goddesses, can scarcely\nbe called beautiful. In the religion of the Greeks, where the\nlife of the deity was confused with the natural, and found its\nperfection in man, art holds the first place. The symbol vanished\nbefore the beautiful ideal, which was wrought after a rational\nmeasurement. They cut down those colossi of other peoples to the\ndue proportions, and shaped their monstrous divinities into a human\nlikeness. Extricating themselves from hieroglyphics, the choice of\nexpression and attitude was left to the inspired imagination.\n\nCorruption, ever widening since sin first broke the harmony\nbetween the intellect, the will, and the power of action, created\na heaven of false gods, differing in form and in worship, and\nfilled the earth with their temples. This variety favored art,\nand to it we owe those wonders of the Parthenon, the temple of\nTheseus, Pallas Athene, Olympian Zeus, the Didimeon. And though\nantiquity has handed down to us very few paintings, the greatest\npart of the statues which enrich the museums are those of the\ngods. Surely Phidias much have believed in \u201cZeus thundering in\nheaven\u201d when he wrought that statue before which Greece was struck\nwith wonder.[113] Hence with reason did Emericus David say that\narch\u00e6ology might be defined as the recognition of religion in its\nconnection with art.\n\nThough the form grew more refined, the idea hidden beneath it grew\nmore and more corrupt, until it became a worship of force, animate\nand animating, which had turned its back upon the Author of being,\nand wasted that spiritual breath which is the soul of the statue.\nArt materialized, like science, like life itself, called down the\nmercy of an unknown God to appease offended justice.\n\nIn the fullness of time, humanity was lifted up from its lowliness\nby God taking it to himself. Faith grew clear; hope, strong;\ncharity lived again. Christendom became civilized even by means\nof its worship, when art and poetry united in rousing it to\nfaith and enthusiasm. No longer, as in a religion that allured\nthe senses, did art debase itself by flattering the passions and\nfanning the instincts; its aim now was to curb and purify them;\nnot to multiply the enjoyments of the fortunate, but to comfort\nthe unhappy; to lift up to heaven eyes weighed down by suffering,\nor dazzled by wealth, or wavering with doubt; to point out that\nsublime eternity which hides itself under seeming dissolution or\nwaning beauty; to turn mind and action to that after-life wherein\nalone the present finds its significance.\n\nThis regeneration of art began in the Catacombs, where the\npersecuted children of Christ expressed, somewhat rudely perhaps,\ntheir dogmas and their hopes; the exploits of the martyrs, whose\nagony of shame and death they prepared themselves to imitate. There\nthe vermilion with which they painted the throne of God triumphant\nsignified \u201cnew conquests, and glory won after still greater trials.\u201d\n\nWhen from darkness it was able to step forth into the light of\nday, art, restored to the temple of its birth, set the feeling\nwhich produced above the mere beauty of the production. It lost in\nharmony, but gained in expression, in lifting up human nature even\nto the type of moral perfection, to the supreme ideal--God made man.\n\nThen from every side, whatsoever had life came in answer to the\ncall to play its part in the grand drama of Christianity. And art,\naiming not merely at the beautiful, but at the true and the good,\nunited with the whole of civilization in expressing that aspiration\nafter perfection whose desire is never-failing but ever unfulfilled.\n\nIn the earliest artistic records which have reached us from the\nCatacombs, such as mosaics, miniature paintings, and certain pieces\nof sculpture, the idea is set above the form. There is a celestial\npurity in them, as though, producing the beautiful instinctively,\nthey cared not to portray an enticing elegance of the members, the\nforce and posture of outward life, but rather the expression of the\nsoul, holiness of thought and deed, and\n\n                      \u201cThat sweet light\n    Pointing the road which leads to heaven\u2019s height.\u201d[114]\n\nHence certain images of the saints and of Mary, rude in shape and\ncoloring, have won the veneration of the people, and inspired that\ncalm content which comes from God and lifts to God.\n\nA bolder fancy produced the edifices, constructed at first on\nthe style of the basilicas, and then modified into that order of\narchitecture which from its planes or arches was called Roman or\nLombard, and finally Gothic.\n\nHe who can only admire the Greek and the Roman styles finds in\nthe Gothic merely ignorance of caprice; with its shafts tapering\naloft in slender grace, or short and heavy, or in clusters; its\ncapitals where the crude cabbage-leaf creeps in side by side with\nthe graceful acanthus; its members incoherent, and made out of\nproportion; a crowd of small obelisks and tabernacles, buttresses\nand enormous water-spouts; bracketed statues and windows of a dizzy\nheight, sometimes parted into two, sometimes curved into a rose or\ntwisted into a trefoil; and its figures of uneducated fancy, an\neyesore to the lover of classic harmony.\n\nBut in its variety reigns a system far above the order of the\nGreeks; derived in part from the basilicas, in part from mystic\nallegory. Its ornaments are the productions of our climate, the\nstrawberry, the parsley, the fig, the oak-tree; as the Arab\nuses his palm, the Chinese his inverted coral. Its forms are\nsymbolic. The number three regulates even those portions of the\nstructure which are secondary. On the plan of a cross rises the\ntriangulation of the edifice; and a hundred obelisks, lifted up\nequally to heaven, express the concordant homage of love and of\nfaith. In its dedication everything was allegoric of the origin\nof true worship; of the mystic destiny of the church; of the fact\nthat it is not a building of stones but a living edifice, whose\ncorner-stone is Christ, whose members are the faithful, whose space\nis filled by God, like the universe of which it is an image.\n\nIn this association of the real with the symbolic world, of the\nfitness of parts in themselves foreign with the united expression\nof Christianity, the middle ages produced what those of Leo X., of\nLouis XIV., of Napoleon, could not produce: they created a novelty.\nArchitecture was sacred as in its opening, and those wonders of a\nbeauty most sublime and spiritual were not wrought at the decrees\nof princes, but at the inspiration of faith and charity.\n\nThe Gothic made its first grand essay in the holy time of St.\nFrancis of Assisi, and this became the chosen order of the\nFranciscans, as the Basilican was of the Benedictines, and the\nmixed architecture of a later date of the Jesuits. St. Francis and\nhis children, with that greatness which inheres in simplicity,\naccompanied by an ascetic spirit, came to imitate nature and true\nmen rather than to copy types or antique art. But in those days,\nthe whole of society was animated by faith, and built upon the\ndogma of the expiation. The laical body was in harmony with the\necclesiastical; prayer mingled with warlike exploits; the home\nwas at peace with the church; the banner bore the same device as\nthe altar. The plastic art, side by side with poetry, penetrated\nevery turn of life. Religion was the universal and, as it were,\nonly inspirer of the artist. Theophilus dedicated his \u201cLombard\nTract\u201d to holy pictures, missals, vases, the window-panes of the\nchurch, and, step by step, he elevated the mind of the artist\nto the God from whom _art emanates_. The artistic confraternity\nproposed in their constitutions the purity and independence of\nart. That of the Siennese painters, of 1355, said: \u201cBy the grace\nof God, we are to rude men, who know not letters, manifestors of\nthe miraculous things worked by the virtue and in the virtue of\nthe holy faith, and our faith is founded principally in adoring\nand believing one God in the Trinity, and in God infinite power\nand infinite wisdom, and infinite love and mercy.\u201d In a like sense\nsays Bufalmacca: \u201cWe aim at naught else than to make saints by our\nfrescoes and pictures, and by so doing, in spite of the devils,\nto make men more devout and better.\u201d Philarete designed a city on\nthe conception of the \u201cNisi Dominus \u00c6dificaverit,\u201d wherein the\nchurch founded on the cross should be superior to the palace of the\nprince, rich with pictures, religious, symbolic, allegorical, and\nhistoric. There was a portico devoted to sacred history; close by\nwere memorial monuments of heroic Christians, namely, the churches\nof St. Francis, St. Dominic, St. Augustine, St. Benedict. There\nwas a gymnasium wherein to educate the youth, chiefly with prayer,\nfasting, and the holy sacraments. Without the fortifications,\nthe city had an advanced guard, to wit, holy hermits, who should\nwatch it with the mightiest of arms--prayer. And Brunelleschi\nsaid of Santa Maria del Fiore: \u201cRecollecting that this temple\nis sacred to God and the Virgin, I trust that in erecting it in\nmemory of them it will not cease to infuse knowledge where there is\nneed of it, and to aid by power and wisdom and wit whoever shall\naccomplish such work.\u201d In like manner, Giovanni Villani inscribed\nhis _Chronicles_ \u201cto the reverence of God and of Blessed St.\nJohn, in commendation of our city of Florence.\u201d How often has the\npainter given us his own portrait on his knees, or with some verse\nrecommended himself to God and the saints! Beneath a picture in the\nVenetian gallery we read:\n\n  \u201cGentile Bellino, with filial love of the most holy cross,\n  painted this.\u201d\n\nAnd beneath another picture of Gian Bellino:\n\n    \u201cSure Gate of Heaven, lead my mind, guide my life:\n    All the works which I perform are committed to thy care.\u201d\n\nWe may perceive a like inspiration in Giotto, Mino da Fiesole,\nBenedetto da Majano, Boninsegna da Siena, Simon Memmi, L\u2019Orgagna,\nthe Pisani, Franco Bolognese, and other spiritual artists, who\nattained a perfection to which the moderns in vain aspire. On the\ntomb of Blessed Angelico was written:\n\n    \u201cLet me not be honored because I was a second Apelles,\n    But because I distributed all my gains among thy poor, O Christ!\u201d\n\nI leave it to others to decide with what justice that period\nstyled itself the Renaissance when men passed from originality to\nan imitation of the classic schools--not by divining and catching\ntheir inspiration, but by following in their footsteps. And so we\nfind in passing from Dante to Polizanio and Sannazzaro, from Giotto\nto Dello, the metamorphoses of Ovid accomplished! In this study of\nthe classics, what they gained in form they lost in conception. The\nMedici mixed up portraits with Venuses and Pallases, mythological\nsubjects with scenes drawn from nature. Lorenzo the Magnificent\ncaused Pollajolo to represent the strong limbs of Hercules,\nSignorelli to paint nude divinities, and public beauties were\ntaken as the models of saints. At such profanation, Fra Girolamo\nSavonarola was struck with grief and horror; and, as well to mend\nmanners as to disinfect literature, he sought to regenerate art by\nrestoring it to the bosom of God.\n\nThe spirit that he inspired outlived his funeral pyre: and Luca\ndella Robbia, Lorenzo di Credi, Verocchio, Cronaca, Baccio della\nPorta, painted from chaste images and devout subjects. Ghirlandajo,\nPinturicchio, the renowned Masaccio, held faith in the religious\nmission of art, as did that Umbrian school which spake to the heart\nrather than the senses, beneath the wing of the neighboring Assisi.\nFrom Gentile di Fabriano came Perugino and Raphael, and the first\nVenetians, among whom it is no longer a scandal to say that Gentile\nBellino was not inferior to Titian.\n\nRaphael has been called the most marvellous union of all the\nqualities which make the others severally great: design, color,\npower of chiaroscuro, perspective effect, imagination, style; above\nall, expression, and that grace which is the beautiful of beauties.\nNot only were his first essays, when still a faithful disciple\nof the Umbrian school, works of faith; but also those which he\nwrought in his zenith, such as the Attila, Heliodorus, and the\nmiracle of Bolsena. His delight was in symbolic subjects, theology,\njurisprudence, philosophy, poetry, representing ideas in his\nfigures. When he preferred to follow his imagination and models to\ntradition, he strayed away, as in the commissions of Chigi, and the\nbeautiful story of Psyche; but later on, when he fled from Rome,\nhe turned himself to the grand Transfiguration, from the midst of\nwhich he passed to behold it in heaven.\n\nAnd Michael Angelo? Others have been loud in their praises of the\nstrength of his joints, the relief and play of his muscles, the\nforeshortening, the anatomic fidelity, the expression diffused\nthrough the whole person; but I can never cease wondering how in\nthe Sistine Chapel he has portrayed the two extreme points of the\nlife of the human race--the creation and the last judgment; and\nthat indefinable of melancholy and veneration in the Moses which\nsought no model and has found no rival. It is natural; for, from\nthe Bible, the _Divine Comedy_, and ascetic meditation, he drank in\nthe inspiration wherewith to ennoble human nature.\n\nTheir school passed away in the conceits of the licentious age\nwhich came after--in the figures caught in the very act of standing\nto be copied; in flimsy drapery, substituted for the old garments\nmajestically simple; the infinity of shallow conceptions, frivolous\nallegories, and wanderings from the practical road of Vasari; in\nthe immense pictures of Cortona, Arpino, Lanfranco, the frenzies of\nLuca Giordano, and convulsed attitudes of Fiammingo, Spinazzi, and\nthe genius, erratically great, of Lorenzo Bernini--such things as\nthese they preferred, I will not say to nature, to which they shut\ntheir eyes, but to so many noble exemplars. They were seized with\nthe mania of novelty, of surprises, with the idolatry of the form\nat the cost of the conception. So they turned from poetic beauty to\nwhat is so inferior--the merely symmetrical.\n\nThe most renowned works of the great masters were inspired by\nreligion: the delicate cherubini of Angelico, the gates of\nGhiberti, the Moses and the Piet\u00e0 of Buonarotti, the Last Supper of\nLeonardo, the Assumption of Titian, the marvellous improvisations\nof Tintoretto. From religion Raphael drew those epics which compose\nthe Vatican galleries and the library at Sienna. To it Correggio\ndevoted his cupolas, with all their grace and force of chiaroscuro.\nTherein Annibale Caracci found his Communion of St. Jerome, and\nDomenichino his, which is one of the three great paintings in Rome,\nand that Madonna del Rosario where he more clearly displays his\nintention of contrasting the sorrows of earth with the joys of\nheaven. The Christ of Carlo Dolce and the Madonnas of Sassoferrato\nand Murillo are in every household. Maratta was called Carlo of the\nMadonnas. And in my own province[115] particularly, the paintings\nof Luino, Cesare da Sesto, Gaudenzio Ferrari, Andrea Solaro,\nSalaino, Marco d\u2019Oggiono Moretto, the Procaccini, the Campi, and\nthat Borgagnone, as great as he is little known, are marked by a\nreligious unction and devout simplicity.\n\nThe churches are indeed galleries, or rather harbors from the\nvandalism of would-be restorers and the robbery which is according\nto law. In them we find the best models of architecture; and since\nthe unknown authors of the greater cathedrals, and the whole\nfamilies of the Campiani at Milan, Bregno and Lombardi at Venice,\nPedoni at Cremona, Rodari at Coma, Pellegrini of Tibaldo, we have\nno design better than the sanctuaries of Rho and Caravaggio, the\nFontana in the chapel of the Presepio, the Sanmicheli in the\ncathedral of Montefiascone, the Palladio in the Church of the\nRedeemer at Venice.\n\nBut besides the finish of the sculpture, the glass was stained\nwith historic subjects, the pulpits and windows marvellously\nadorned, the goldsmith\u2019s art was displayed in the ornamentation of\ncandlesticks, lamps, busts, and canopies, which brought into play\nthe art of engraving.\n\nThe care of recording on tombs the nothingness of human\ngreatness makes them the truest portraits of the character of\neach age. In those of the middle ages the figures are austere,\nwith hands crossed on the breast, awaiting the trumpet-call of\nthe resurrection; in the sixteenth century they are pompous,\ninappropriate, even immodest.\n\nThe cloisters were built upon the most beautiful heights, where\nthe soul, absorbed in the admiration of nature, was of itself\nlifted up to chant the praises of the God who created it. The\nporticos were vast tableaux worked by the greatest artists. And\nhere, while you would suggest to me the John Baptists of the\nDiscalced Friars, and the Filippo Benizzi in the Annunciation at\nFlorence by Andrea the faultless, the Holy Solitude, the Camaldoli,\nCarthusian monasteries, Alvernia, Vallombrosa, and the sublimity\nof Grottaferrata, let me call to your minds our own Lombardy the\nsanctuaries of Saronno by Luini, of Varallo by Gaudenzio, the Holy\nMount by Mancalvo, the Carthusian monastery of Garignano by the\ngreat Daniel Crespi, before which Byron was struck with wonder and\nwith fear. In fine, even in the delirium of art in the sixteenth\ncentury, which are the greatest monuments of sculpture? The St.\nBibiana of Bernini, the St. Cecilia of Maderno, the Susanna of\nFiammingo, the St. Bruno of Houton, from which number we must not\nomit the Attila of Algardi. The Assumption of Forli by Cignani\nstill remains the noblest work of the past age. Since it is a\nfar easier thing to copy a form than to create a conception,\nmany have reduced art to imitation. And we see it said that the\ntype of the Eternal Father is taken from Jove, the Saviour from\nAntinous, from Niobe the Mother of Sorrows, and from the Farnese\nFlora and the terra cotta Faun, St. Cecilia and St. Joachim; and\nit appears equally ridiculous to call one of these imitators a new\nPhidias or new Apelles, as for Angelo Mazza to entitle himself\nHomer Redivivus. Winckelmann praised Raphael for a head of Christ\n\u201cwhich set forth the beauty of a heroic youth without beard,\u201d\nwhile he criticises Michael Angelo \u201cfor having taken his figures\nof the Saviour from the barbarous productions of the middle ages.\u201d\nWith equal discrimination Vasari, of all the wonders of Giotto\nat Assisi, can only admire \u201cthe very great and truly marvellous\neffect of one who drinks standing, but bent down to the earth,\nat a fountain.\u201d Very little have these advanced the theories of\nCicognara and Giuseppe Bossi, and the icy grandeur of David,\nGerard, Girodet, and the other imperialists, followed here by\nBenvenuti, Cammuccini, Bossi, Diotti, and their like. Fabre, the\nFrench painter, was discussing with Alfieri on a crucifixion which\nhe was about to paint. After speaking for some time on the type\nhe ought to choose, he concluded: \u201cDo you know what? I will paint\nthe head of the Belvedere Apollo, give him a beard, and behold it\ndone.\u201d Alfieri had the good sense to reply: \u201cIf you would succeed\nin that, paint a dying Apollo, but not a God who redeemed us.\u201d\n\nAfter Battoni, the last painter of note of the mixed school, Mengs,\nwent back to the antique with a mediocrity at once pedantic and\nfastidious. But Traballeschi and certain artists of second name,\nsuch as De Maria, Franchi, Ferrari, Torretti, and of higher mark,\nAndrea Appiani in the cupola of San Celso at Milan, were the men\nwho paved the way for the regeneration. Canova[116] undertook to\nregenerate art chiefly with classic models, but at least with\nenthusiasm. But how far do his Venus, Perseus, Theseus, and even\nPsyche, fall behind the Magdalen, and the mausoleums of Maria\nChristina, Ganganelli, Rezzonico, and Pius VI.?\n\nBartolini, a more careful observer of nature, gave an impulse\nto the new art, nor is the fault his if he plunged from the\nconventionalities of the academy into a prosaic realism. But,\nrestricting myself among a multitude of sculptors, to the notice\nof one or two, who has not admired the Dolorosa and Triumph of the\nCross of Dupr\u00e8, the Archangel of Finelli, the Deposition from the\nCross, and the tomb at Castelfidardo of Tenerani? These men opened\nup a new era, where the worship of ideas prevailed over that of\nmere form, combating the servility of the past and the materialism\nof the present, aiming at a beauty not at variance with morality--a\nbeauty perceptible to the reason. I confine myself to the Italians,\nbut what a pleasure it would be to me to touch upon Munich and the\nschool of D\u00fcsseldorf, and that of Berlin; and Cornelius, Schadow,\nthe Bohemian Fuhrich, and the Frenchmen Lehmann, Pradier, Flandrin,\nand a noble band of others like to them.\n\nSo likewise I confine myself to the plastic arts; but were we to\ntreat of poetry, we could say something of Tasso, crowned in\ndeath, of Perfetti, the laureate of Benedict XII., and Corilla of\nPius VI. Or of music, born also in the church and there perfected\nbefore it went to amuse the court and theatre, whence it returned\nwith profanity into the church; so that there was nothing left but\nto abandon it, if Palestrina had not shown how to wed reverence of\nspeech with harmony, and reconcile devotion with art. Do you know\nof aught more wonderful than the Moses and Stabat of Rossini, the\nCrucifixus of Bellini, or the Ave Maria of Donizetti?\n\nAnd hence you will conclude that where art has ever been welcomed\nand cherished, was under the care of the Popes, in this Rome of\nours, which, in the words of Petrarch, is\n\n    \u201cThe symbol of the heavens and the earth,\n    The Saviour\u2019s image, by all men revered.\u201d\n\nPerhaps there has not been a Pope who has not raised some edifice\nor given rise to some sculpture or painting.\n\nEugenius IV. wished to consecrate Fra Angelico bishop; Julius II.,\nwho secured his splendid dominions from the Po to the Garigliano,\nwas ever in the company of Bramante, Michael Angelo, Perugino,\nGiulio Romano, and commenced the Vatican Museum by placing there\nthe Apollo, the Laocoon, the Ariadne and the Torso. What shall I\nsay of Leo X., who seemed to wish by the triumph of art to \u201cgive\nthe lie\u201d to Germany, which accuses Catholics of ignorance and\ndearth of civilization? The German reformer on his arrival in\nthe midst of the artistic wealth of Rome, only perceived therein\nprofanity, idols, and as it were an absence of reason, and a Pope\nmaking an ostentatious pomp of religion and pretending to the\nausterity of Paul and Hilarion in the time of the Farnese and\nthe Medici. Adrian VI. seemed like a prodigy, a monstrosity, so\naccustomed were the minds of men to connect the idea of a pope with\nthat of a Mec\u00e6nas of the arts.\n\nThey have ever made their palaces a sanctuary of the arts, and\nas it were a harbor from the wrecks of time and the greed of\nspeculators and kings, who paused at the threshold of the Vatican,\nresounding with the prayers of all the ages and the blasphemy of\nthis.\n\nWith still greater intelligence, the pontiffs of the past age\ncollected together the masterpieces, and the Museo Pio Clementino,\nand the illustrations of it executed by Winckelmann and Ennius\nQuirinus Visconti, became the envy and the model of all foreigners.\n\nRome, relying on the veneration which the nations entertained\nfor her, and which kings felt they owed her as the fount of all\nauthority, set her face against a new age, wherein might alone is\nright, and reason speaks on the side of vast battalions and by the\nmouth of artillery. What was the outrage which most of all grieved\nthe Romans? The spoliation of the museums; for the people were\ndisgusted with kings, nobles, and prelates, but not with the arts.\n\nBut the end of injustice is never far removed, and, as victory\nhad borne them away, victory restored to Rome her popes and\nher monuments. Pius VII. who had filled the post left bare by\nspoliation, after his return, among other works, built the new wing\nacross the Belvedere gallery. He left to us the Museo Chiaramonti,\na gallery of paintings, few in number, but each a masterpiece,\nand the long gallery of antique inscriptions, arranged after the\nmanner of the great Morcelli. Gregory XVI. gave us the Christian,\nEgyptian, and Etruscan museums, filled with the contents of the\nmysterious vaults of Latium, and the numerous vases, so wondrous,\nof Etruria and the Campagna, which had just come to light. He\ncommenced the rebuilding of St. Paul\u2019s, restored the Coliseum,\nexcavated the Basilica Julia, refitted the Lateran Palace. Poletti\nthe architect assisted him, aided by Agricola, Paoletti, Finelli,\nTadolini, Botti, Tajetti, Sabatelli, Serani, Minardi, Coghetti,\nBengoni. And as at first, Poussin, Mignard, Ponget, Claude\nLorraine, Le Gros, Valedier, Quesnoy, Laboureur, Monot, Brill,\nAgincourt, etc., so afterward came the illustrious foreigners,\nIngres, Thorwaldsen, Gibson, Pettrich, Frederick Overbeck, Voigt\nthe engraver. From here were taken the statues of Hiram Powers\nfor the Capitol of Washington, not to mention the objects of art\ncarried away by the 80,000 foreigners who flock hither from all\nparts every year to gaze on the wonders of Rome. A Prussian society\ntook up its quarters here, to illustrate the new and antique\nrelics, in rivalry with our Arch\u00e6ological Academy. And the names of\nFea, Nibby, Canina, Bartolomeo Borghese, Visconti, win reverence\nfrom the whole scientific world.\n\nWhat can I say of Pius IX. that is not known to the whole world?\nLet me call to your minds what took place in the midst of the\nacclamations which greeted his accession. A deputation from the\nSociety for the Propagation of the Faith being presented to him,\nwhen among the deputies he found the name of Overbeck, the most\nfaithful representative of Christian art, he called him to himself,\nand gave him his special benediction, accompanied by words of\nholy affection. At his wish the court of the Quirinal, where Pius\nVII. was arrested, was painted; there is Overbeck\u2019s Christ at the\nmoment when the Jews thought to cast him from the mountain, and he\nescaped from their midst: thus representing at once the perils\nwhich are past and those which are to come.[117] Nor can I forget\nthe emotion with which the Holy Father lamented to me the deaths,\nso close upon each other, of Poletti, Tenerani, Overbeck, and\nMinardi; nor the pleasure with which I recall the rearrangement he\neffected in the entire museum of the Vatican, and the marvellous\nstatue of Augustus from the Villa of Livy with which he endowed it,\nand the metal colossus of Hercules, purchased with his own money,\nthe Claudius of Lanuvius, and the Apoxiomenos in Parian marble,\nrestored by Tenerani, and placed in the Vatican in 1851. There he\nplaced also the Pomponia Azzia, found in the Appian Way, and the\nCeres disinterred at Ostia, which he substituted for a poor Diana.\n\nIt was the time when at his simple summons all the bishops\nof the world hastened to the Vatican council. Magnificent\nspectacle!--which Rome alone can offer to the world, of all the\nrepresentatives of the church united to discuss freely the truth\nwhich the Pontiff should proclaim infallibly. Those prelates, in\nthe moments of their repose, were wont to admire on all sides the\ncare which Pius IX. had lavished upon art. Here the circus of\nCaracalla restored, and the portico of Octavia disinterred; there,\nin the Roman forum, the portico of the _Dii Majores_ and the apsis\nof the Basilica of Constantine. In another spot the Basilica of St.\nPaul is restored, the arena of the greatest artists in painting,\nsculpture, stained glass, and mosaics. He opened the confessions\nwith their wealth of marbles and metals, in the two patriarchal\nbasilicas, the Lateran and Liberian. He restored the mausoleums of\nSt. Constantia, St. Clement on the side of Celio, St. Agnes, St.\nCecilia, Santa Maria in Trastevere, St. Lorenzo without the walls,\nwith the paintings of Fracassini, Mariani, and Grandi. Mariani\npainted St. Lucy of the Banner and Santa Maria in Aquiro, and\nGugliari St. Augustine. Podesti and Consoni drew for the Vatican\nPalace the portraits of the most famous ecclesiastics of ancient or\nmodern times; among which stand out the Martyrs of Fracassini, who\nhas painted but too little. All these works gave rise not only to\nthe ancient use of medals, but also to public monuments, such as\nthe column of the Immacolata, the works of Poletti, and the statue\ncast from cannon by De Rossi.\n\nIn 1852 was formed a commission of arch\u00e6ology to chiefly examine\nthe Christian monuments,[118] and explore the Catacombs, the\ntheatre of those scenes of sacrifice, love, and resignation wherein\nsociety was regenerated, and where now De Rossi convinces us that\nscholarship and wit are not enough for speech, but that piety has\na secret of its own to touch on things which are better felt than\ndescribed.\n\nThe Egyptian Museum was increased by the monuments collected\nby Clot Bey. To the Etruscan were added statues, candelabra,\nsarcophagi from Bolsena, Tarquinia, and Viterbo. The Christian\nMuseum of the Lateran was founded, to which the reopened Ostia sent\nmosaics, sarcophagi, and epigraphs. The Nomentian and Appian Ways\nwere excavated still further, as far as Bovilla. And the emporium\nof marbles, the site of the seven cohorts of Virgil at Monte Fiore,\nand the ruins of the Palatine--which the Pontiff himself visited\nsuddenly, giving an unexpected joy to the workmen, in the month\nof the celebration of Rome\u2019s birth--attest how inexhaustible are\nthe riches of this city, which, not to mention the seven great\ngalleries, is indeed one vast gallery. And these excavations,\nwhether designed or accidental, disclose a wealth ever beyond\nexpectation, as is seen in the piazza of the Holy Apostles, the\ngrove of the brothers Arvali, especially in the Church Della Pace,\nthe piazza Navona, on the Monte Luziale, and in the new cemetery of\nthe Jews.\n\nThat the Pontiff has not been behindhand in works of practical\nutility, we see in the Acqua Pia, in the palace of the house of\nreform, the military and civil hospitals, and that of peace,\nthe tobacco manufactory, the adornments of the Pincio, the\npenitentiary, the bridges over the Tiber, the Piazza Pia and\nelementary school, and a new city commenced on the Viminal and\nEsquiline.\n\nAnd while on this point, we see in the Exposition of the Baths of\nDiocletian, which Michael Angelo repaired with a respect not always\nshown by his followers, an example of a character which Rome alone\nof all the world can produce; and this collection of the objects\nof Catholic worship was the most beautiful hymn which the Pontiff\nraised against the blasphemy which precedes violence. This was a\nthought of the Pontiff\u2019s. It was executed by his command, and at\nhis own expense. He inaugurated it, closed it in person, and with\nhis own hand distributed the prizes. Just indeed was the homage\nwhich the artists of every nation then represented in Rome paid\nto Pius IX., in the jubilee of his pontificate, the expression of\nwhich he left exposed for many days in the gallery of Raphael,\nwhere Mantovani, Consoni, and Galli at this day emulate the\nwondrous decorations of Sanzio and Giovanni da Udine.\n\nThe popes and ministers of the church have watched over art with\nspecial care, lest this chosen daughter of God should be sacrificed\nto his enemy. And now, what is left? In the face of these glories,\nhow much misery saddens us! All the manifestations of the supremacy\nof materialism over what is spiritual are multiplied, and hence\nso many edifices purely industrial. The fever of making and\nunmaking on the spur of the moment, the race for life without the\nenjoyment of the least repose, have reduced art, which at first\nwas an enthusiasm, afterwards a taste, now to a fashion and a\nluxury, bereft of the mighty force of our ancient community and the\ngreat-minded and holy faith of our fathers. What the romance is to\nhistory, the novel to the epic poem, the drama to the tragedy, the\nportrait and its kind are to the great artistic works and historic\npaintings, lost in common and epigrammatic subjects, and tortured\nwith minuti\u00e6.\n\nAnd this is not the end. He who preserves a sense of shame, of\ncharity, of faith, must either behold with loathing, or close his\neyes, when he sees the pencil of the lithographer and even the pure\nlight of heaven prostituted to dishonor whatever he has held most\nholy in faith and life, to tempt the senses with foulness that\nSodom would have denounced. As they have made poison distil from\ntheir inkstands, so, with vile ignorance or hateful forethought,\nthey have made art a pander for impurity and a school for the\nbarricades and petroleum. From such frenzy, which terrifies the\nmost daring and causes the most thoughtless to reflect, we hope\nthat men will return to conscience; and in a world which, in order\nto cherish a better faith in its own greatness will believe no\nlonger in God, this hope is sustained by seeing the Martyrs, of\nGiovanni Ferrari; the Angels above the Dead Christ, of Tabacchi;\nthe Christian Martyr, of Argenti; the Assumption, of Morelli and\nGrigioletti; the Saint Joseph, of Bertini; the Saint Clair, of\nMancinelli; the Saint Lucian in Prison, of Ceccarini; the Ecce\nAncilla Domini, of Brioschi.\n\nAnd you, as many of you as have authority and dignity, labor hard\nwith the pen, the voice, example, and precept to prevent the youth\nnot yet contaminated with this new licentiousness, nor yet drunk\nwith that perfume which lulls before it suffocates, from turning\nrenegades to the spirituality of art. Make them improve the feeling\nrather than the style of their productions. Make them disavow the\ncauses whose effects we groan under, and which Providence has\nallowed so long to afflict us. Make them rise above the prejudices\nof the journals and the abjectness of officials, as well as the\nmercenary motives of a utilitarian world and from practices which\nmake a trade of art. Let them never forget the lofty mission of\nart, and that the form is merely a garb and outfit to clothe the\nmoral idea. For beauty is the perfection of being, perceived by the\nspirit, felt in the heart, and its handmaid is truth, represented\nwith love. And, without doubt, for him whose aim is truth, the\nbest way of finding it is in subjects and deeds of religion. Let\nus banish, then, indifference, which slays love and genius alike,\nand that cold calculation which smothers trustful faith. The time,\nthe people, the man best fitted for the culture of art, will be\nthose whose life, at once profound and active, shall not be bound\ndown, but indeed lifted up by beliefs that are fixed and by customs\nthat are right; who combine fidelity to nature with the impulse\nof enthusiasm; retaining power over matter, with due regard to\nhistorical and moral proprieties; exciting that emotion which is\nnot unaccompanied by pleasure, but pleasure mingled with admiration.\n\nRestore, I entreat you, art to its great principles! Fill life\nagain with those sweet illusions and great delights, making a\nlanguage of the deepest thoughts of a civilization ever more\nrefined, and so accustom us to realize the ideal, to ennoble\nhumanity! Give it back to its great office, to bear witness to\nright belief, and to give joy to the little ones, who are our\nbrethren in Christ!\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[112]\n    God\u2019s writ unto our weakness bendeth down,\n    And with an inner meaning hands and feet\n    On him bestows whose being knows no bounds.\n    So holy church an aspect human gives\n    To Michael and to Gabriel and him\n    Who made Tobias whole.\n                          Dante\u2019s _Paradiso_, iv.\n\n[113] Cicero (_De Oratore_) says that Phidias, when sculpturing a\nJove or Minerva, had no model from whom to copy. But in his own\nmind he set up a certain wondrous type of beauty which came to him\nby intuition, and, enwrapt in its contemplation, urged art and hand\nto produce its likeness. It is precisely \u201cthat fixed idea which\ncomes into my mind\u201d that Raphael spoke of.\n\n[114] Petrarch.\n\n[115] Lombardy.\n\n[116] Canova made the observation to Napoleon that the artistic\nmonuments of Rome are religious, or placed under the guardianship\nof religion. Religion had saved the treasures of antiquity in the\ntime of the barbarians, and multiplied them anew in later days.\n\n[117] Overbeck\u2019s principal work, perhaps, is the great piece in the\nFrankfort Museum, where he has represented the triumph of religion\nin art. He himself has explained it in a little book.\n\n[118] A foreign artist said to me that in his arch\u00e6ological\nresearches he did not stop at Rome, because there there was nothing\nmedi\u00e6val. Didron, in his _Arch\u00e6ological Bulletin_, counts here\nfifty Gothic constructions, and declared that in monuments of the\nmiddle ages Rome was no less rich than Rouen, the most Gothic city\nin France.\n\n\n\n\nMAX M\u00dcLLER\u2019S \u201cCHIPS.\u201d[119]\n\n\nMr. Max M\u00fcller, the learned German professor, and Fellow of All\nSouls\u2019 College, Oxford, wrote, and in 1868 published, a collection\nof essays on the science of religion which he calls _Chips from a\nGerman Workshop_. He tells us this title was given him by the late\nChevalier Bunsen, who, on advising him to undertake the translation\nof the Sacred Book of the Brahmins, the _Rig-Veda_, bade him give,\nfrom time to time, to the public some chips from his workshop. The\nintensely absorbing and delightful nature of his studies is to be\nseen very clearly by these specimens. They embrace two of the most\nimportant and most attractive branches of human science--that of\nthe varied forms of human thought in its relations to God; and\nthat of the multifold languages of the earth, and their mutual\nrelations. Prof. M\u00fcller\u2019s philological investigations are confined\nchiefly to the Indo-Germanic family, and confirm beyond possibility\nof cavil the intimate connection between the many branches of\nthat family--the Sanskrit, the Brahmanic language in use at\npresent, the Persian, the Greek, the Latin with its offshoots, the\nItalian, the French, and the Spanish, the Celtic and the English.\nIn exemplifying what he says on this subject, he speaks of the\nmeaning of the word _Veda_. Rig-Veda, he tells us, means praise of\nknowledge or wisdom--_Rig_ or _Rich_ signifying _praise_ or _hymn_,\nand _Veda knowledge_ or _wisdom_. He calls our attention to this\nword _Veda_ in support of the theory of the connection of the Aryan\nor Indo-Germanic group of languages. The root of it, or the word\ndeprived of its final vowel--_Ved_--is to be seen by substituting\nthe interchanging consonants in the English words _wit_, _wot_,\nthe German _weiss_, Gothic _vait_, Anglo-Saxon _wat_, Greek \u03bf\u1f36\u03b4\u03b1,\nto which may be added the Latin word _video_, _to see_, evidently\nclosely connected with this Sanskrit word signifying to know, for\nknowledge is intellectual vision.\n\nWhat impresses us most, at first sight, is the practical conclusion\nto be drawn from the advanced state of philological studies. We\nhave here a striking proof of the unity of the race of man. Max\nM\u00fcller speaks of this proof in favor of the unity of the Aryan\nraces as beyond gainsaying; words are there to establish the truth.\nNow, if we see such differently constituted peoples--such as the\nEnglish and the Hindoo, the French and the Persian, the Celt and\nthe Italian--all members of one family, can any one be so rash\nas to wish to exclude from fellowship with that family the tawny\nArab, the swarthy Malay, or the dark son of Africa, simply because\nthey are to be classed under the heads of Semitic and Turanian? It\nis well known among physiologists that the differences of facial\nangles and cranial thickness constitute nothing essential; while\nthe investigations of national thought and customs, hitherto veiled\nby unintelligible languages, tend continually to demonstrate\nand confirm the unity of man, to show that all men are of one\ncommon stock, of one man and of one woman, all made after the one\ntype--that which exists, as the Bible tells us, in God. So far,\nin fact, is real science from doing harm to revelation, that when\nit attains its perfection it confirms the truths that have been\nrevealed. Whence we may draw this conclusion: that men who are wise\nwill take care to have revelation for their guide, even in science;\nthey will, it is clear, be saved from going astray, since their\nultimate examinations confirm its truth. It is not unfrequently\nthe case that the eager scientific man, by a logical process,\ndraws his conclusion without the slightest suspicion of error in\nhis premises. It is no wonder he is tenacious of his conclusion;\nbut how often are his ideas overthrown by \u201cchance,\u201d that strange\ndiscoverer of more than one great treasure of the human race! And\nhow often sober, thoughtful men, meeting to determine the basis on\nwhich they stand, have to say, as did the Geological Congress of\nParis in 1867: \u201c_The state of the science is not such as to enable\nus to make deductions wholly free from danger of error_\u201d! or,\ncertainly it is most just that we should love science and follow it\nfaithfully, but always with an eye to that old and familiar adage,\n\u201cIt is human to err.\u201d There is really nothing after all that saves\na man from mistakes and confusion so much as a proper estimate\nof his own conclusions, and a readiness to have them corrected\nby others. It is a habit of mind that distinguishes really great\nmen, like the sounder portion of the Prehistorical Congress of\nBologna, in the autumn of 1871: \u201cThere is nothing in prehistorical\ndiscoveries that is in contradiction with revelation.\u201d Bacon has\nbid us all put aside the _idola_, and thus free our minds from\nprejudice. We should begin by banishing the idol of _self_, the\nreliance on our own judgment, so as to be ready at once to abandon\ncherished ideas, and to look on the principles of science as more\nor less liable to be one day, by further investigation, shown to be\nother than we think them. This is all the more important because\n_false_ principles always do practical harm, and, if nothing else,\nthey retard the attainment of what we are searching for, in putting\nus on the wrong path. We do not wish to be thought to condemn all\nscientific principles as one day liable to be proven false. There\nare some, the essential agreement of whose subject and predicate\nabsolutely excludes all danger of error, others which the constant\nexperience of the human race has shown to be true, such as, for\ninstance, the mathematical, and many of those that form the basis\nof natural science. These do not contradict revelation, and will\nnever be proven false. The history of the past, however, is too\nfull of the _d\u00e9bris_ of systems of every kind that any one of\nsolid information should not take warning from them, and be on\nhis guard against looking on any proposition in natural science\nas irrefragable which the concordant testimony of men since the\nenunciation of it has not shown to be so. The Ptolemean system,\nafter an undisputed sway, yielded before the assaults of Copernicus\nand Galileo, and its solid spheres, whose music filled the poet\u2019s\nmind with delight, and charmed the privileged spirits to whom it\nwas given to hear it, came down in awful ruin, and their sounds\nwere hushed for ever. Then those whose years did not begin with\nthe century can recall how eagerly they drank in the doctrine of\nthe imponderable principles; and lo! what has become of them? The\nprogress of the age has substituted for it the teaching of the\nunity of forces, and motion answers for them all. The solidity of\nthe sun and its dark spots, under the telescope and the combined\ninvestigations of astronomers, have disappeared, and gaseous\nsubstance and interruption in its continuity have taken the place\nof both. And in the recent brilliant discoveries in regard to\nthe constituent gases of the sun, who is to make us sure that the\nlines in the spectrum, by which we profess to know the existence\nin the sun of certain determinate objects, may not be produced\nby other causes of which we know nothing? All these theories, we\ngrant, have great probability in their favor, and we do not cite\nthem with any intent to discredit the labors of the gifted men who\nhave formed them; but it is wise not to look on them as the end\nof all investigation and beyond all controversy. As we think of\nthese vicissitudes of science, there occur to us, though not in a\nspirit of disregard for true science, the words written long ago:\n\u201cI have seen the trouble which God hath given the sons of men to be\nexercised in it. He hath made all things good in their time, and\nhath delivered the world to their consideration, so that man cannot\nfind out the work which God hath made from the beginning to the\nend.\u201d (Eccles. iii. 10, 11.) This, however, is a digression; let us\nreturn to our _Chips_.\n\nBy far the most important topic treated of by Prof. M\u00fcller is the\nknowledge of God existing among the varied nations of men. He gives\ngreat weight, and deservedly, to the result of his observation\nin this respect, and we can readily understand why he should lay\nso much stress on the importance of the study of the \u201cscience of\nreligion,\u201d or the comparative study of the different religions of\nthe earth. As a matter of erudition, it must always be a subject\nof the greatest interest, not only in itself, but also because it\nserves to illustrate the words of the Apostle to the Romans, ch. i.\n18-20: \u201cFor the wrath of God is revealed from heaven against all\nungodliness and injustice of those men that detain the truth of God\nin injustice: because that which is capable of being known[120] of\nGod is manifest in them: for God hath manifested it unto them. For\nthe invisible things of him, from the creation of the world, are\nclearly seen, being understood by the things that are made; his\neternal power also, and divinity, so that they are inexcusable.\u201d We\nshall have occasion to return to these words. Here we may remark\nthat this knowledge of God that transpires in all the citations\nthe learned Orientalist has laid before us, is nothing more than\nwhat as Christians we expected to hear. But in this connection we\nhave to say that the contrary effect is produced to that intended\nby Prof. M\u00fcller. This corroboration of the words of St. Paul,\nuttered more than eighteen centuries ago, and proclaimed long\nbefore by the author of the Book of Wisdom, ch. xiii., proves that,\nso far from the religions of the earth meriting praise for their\nreference to a Supreme Being, they deserve to be censured because\nthey detained the truth in darkness--in injustice. The words of the\nProfessor are: \u201cWe shall learn [from this comparative study] that\nthere is hardly one religion which does not contain some important\ntruth; truth sufficient to enable those who seek the Lord, and\nfeel after him, to find him in the hour of their need.\u201d The first\nportion of this assertion is true; the second is incorrect in its\nexpression, and dangerous in its tendency. It is incorrect in its\nexpression, inasmuch as it attributes to these religions, as such,\nthe possession of truth--not all, to be sure, but some truth. We\nsay, on the contrary, that the truth contained in these various\nreligious systems is the common inheritance of the human mind.\n\nThe light of Almighty God\u2019s countenance shines on us all, no matter\nwho we are. The Psalmist asks: \u201c_Quis ostendet nobis bona?_\u201d and he\nanswers: \u201c_Signatum est super nos lumen vultus tui Domine!_\u201d It is\nwrong, therefore, to give credit to a false system for the truth it\nhas enveloped in darkness. And the reason of this is palpable. If\nwe turn to the words of the apostle, as given above, do we find him\ngiving credit to the false religions of mankind for the truth they\ncontain? Anything but this. He says: \u201cThe invisible things of him,\nfrom the creation of the world, are clearly seen, being understood\nby the things that are made; his eternal power also, and divinity,\nso that they are inexcusable. Because, when they knew God, they\ndid not glorify him as God.... And they changed the glory of the\nincorruptible God into the likeness of the image of a corruptible\nman, and of birds and four-footed beasts, and of creeping things.\u201d\nHere we have a sentence pronounced against these very religions our\nauthor speaks of as containing sufficient truth to enable those who\nseek the Lord and feel after him, to find him in the hour of their\nneed. The apostle condemns them because \u201cthey detained the truth of\nGod in injustice.\u201d\n\nThis is to be said of these false religions even at their best.\nBut what is to be said of them when we take into consideration the\nimmense majority of those among the heathen do not attain to any\nrefined spirituality, but are engrossed in the material, sensual\nforms of idolatry, like the conservative Parsees, so graphically\ndescribed in the book before us? We must therefore conclude that,\ngranting Prof. M\u00fcller intended to refer to man\u2019s natural knowledge\nor his reason as a means of knowing God, to which the apostle bears\nwitness, he has used an incorrect form of speech in attributing\nto these religions efficacy in finding God. It would have been in\nevery way better to write that, in spite of the errors of these\nvarious systems, there was still light enough left to man, through\nhis reason, to lead him to God--a truth not only substantiated by\nthe teaching of theologians, but, as we have seen, expressly laid\ndown in Holy Writ.\n\nWe have said the assertion of our author is not only incorrect in\nits form, but dangerous in its tendency. That tendency, with all\nrespect to Prof. M\u00fcller\u2019s expressed opinions, is latitudinarian;\nit would lead one to think that, after all, the heathen and all\nprofessing a false religion are in a comparatively safe state. If\nthis be so, why do we find the apostle assaulting those systems so\nuncompromisingly, and asserting that the heathen are inexcusable?\nAnd how do we reconcile with this theory the words of the Gospel,\n\u201cUnless ye be born again of water and the Holy Ghost, ye shall not\nenter into the kingdom of heaven\u201d? True, there is the _baptisma\nflaminis_, the resource of those who have not the blessing of the\nactual sacrament; but even this requires a rejection, absolute or\nimplied, of the false system, and the act of faith in the true\nGod, accompanied by a firm will of doing whatever it may be known\nhe asks of a sincere soul. The language of the great theologians\nis certainly not in any way favorable to the safety of those who\nfollow a false religion. They tell us that those who among the\npagans of old were saved, were justified by their faith in a true\nGod and in the Redeemer to come. The doctor of grace, the great\nSt. Augustine, whose intellect was one of the most remarkable of\nany age, says in _Serm. 3 on the 36th Ps._, \u201cAll who were just,\nfrom the beginning of the world, have Christ as their head. For\nthey believed he was to come, whom we believe to have come already;\nby faith in him they were saved, as we are.\u201d Then, in the _Comm.\non the 128th Ps._, he writes: \u201cHas the church only existed now?\nThe church is of old; from the time the saints were called the\nchurch is on earth. Once it existed only in Abel, and was warred\nagainst by a wicked and perfidious brother, Cain. Once the church\nwas only in Enoch, and he was taken away from the wicked. Once the\nchurch was only in Noah\u2019s house, and it suffered from all those\nwho perished by the flood, and only the ark floated on the waters\nand escaped to the dry land. Once the church was only in Abraham,\nand we know how much he suffered from the wicked. The church\nexisted only in Lot, and in his house in Sodom, and he bore with\nthe iniquity and perversity of the Sodomites, until the Lord freed\nhim from them. The church began to exist in the people of Israel,\nand it suffered at the hands of Pharaoh and the Egyptians. And in\nthe very church itself, amid the people of Israel, there began to\nflourish a number of holy souls: Moses and other saints suffered\nfrom the wicked Jews. We come at last to our Lord Jesus Christ; the\nGospel has been preached, and he has said in the Psalms: \u2018I have\nbrought the tidings, and I have spoken, and they are multiplied\nbeyond number.\u2019\u201d (See also the writings of the same father against\nthe Donatists.) The same idea of the necessity of faith in Christ\nis found constantly in the teaching of the church and in the\nwritings of the fathers.\n\nWe ask after this, who deserve most credit as exponents of the\nessential requisites of salvation--the early fathers of the\nchurch, who explain the words of the apostle, \u201cWithout faith it\nis impossible to please God,\u201d in the sense we have here in St.\nAugustine, and which too is had in the ancient Athanasian Creed;\nor gentlemen like our author, whose ideas of Christianity, even\nwhen they express them clearly, differ so widely from what was\nonce held as revealed truth, and who moreover cannot come to an\nunderstanding among themselves as to what the truth of Christ is?\nAnd if we must give the preference to the former, what are we\nto say of an _opinion_ that serves to lull people into a false\nsecurity regarding that which is, of all things, the most vital in\nits importance and consequences?\n\nProf. M\u00fcller rightly says that the knowledge of the false religions\nof the world makes us appreciate more the Christian religion. Had\nhe taken the view we have given, he would have had a vastly greater\nappreciation of it. He would not have put it in comparison with\nother religions, as differing from them by a superior degree of\nexcellence, but would have shown that they differed essentially,\nas right differs from wrong, as truth from error, and therefore\nhe would, while speaking charitably of individuals and leaving\nthem to the judgment of God, infinitely just, have condemned and\nrejected these false systems of worship as the curse of the unhappy\nrace of Adam. As we have said before, we are not inclined to\ncharge Prof. M\u00fcller with the full consequences of his assertions,\nsince in several places of his work he gives his unqualified\nacknowledgment of the claims of Christianity. Still we cannot but\nlook on his loose assertions as the result of the rationalistic\nspirit that has begun so rapidly to pervade the most conservative\nof English universities. Only a few years ago, when called to give\nhis testimony before the Board of Inquiry of the House of Lords\nregarding the state of the universities, Canon Liddon said that\nthis tendency to rationalism had come in with the change in the\nsystem of studies and the introduction of the higher philosophical\nbranches, and that it was making headway among the students in a\nmarked manner. Nor, when we see those at the head of the university\ndecide, as they did lately, that the Thirty-nine Articles are not\nto be insisted on for examination except in case of those who\nare candidates for the honorary degrees, and when we hear in our\nown country a board of Anglican bishops declare that the word\n\u201cregeneration\u201d in the formula of infant baptism does not imply\nany moral change in the one baptized--it does not seem to us that\nwe are doing Prof. M\u00fcller injustice in thinking that he, a lay\nprofessor in the university directed by the Anglican Church, has,\nit may be unconsciously, taken in not a little of the leaven of\nrationalism.\n\nTo this may be referred his translation of the text of St. Justin,\n_Ap._ i., \u00a7 46, when he makes this Christian philosopher say,\n\u201cChrist is the first begotten of God, and we have already proved\nhim to be the very Logos (or _universal Reason_) of which mankind\nare all partakers.\u201d In the Edit. of the Congr. of St. Maurus of\nthe _Works of St. Justin_, this word universal does not occur; the\nGreek text has simply the accusative \u201cLogon,\u201d and the Latin simply\n\u201cRationem.\u201d Certainly all Catholic theologians hold this doctrine\nof St. Justin, and teach that the _Logos_ or _Verbum_ or _Ratio_\nis the definite wisdom of the Godhead, by which God understands\nhimself and all things in himself, and that all created wisdom or\nreason is but a participation of that Infinite Reason or Word. But\nin these days, when the locutions, _universal soul_, _universal\nintellect_, _universal being_, are used so much in a pantheistical\nsense, we think an author can hardly find fault with those who very\nprobably misunderstand him when he uses expressions so liable to be\nmisinterpreted, and charge him with some tendency which he seems\nin other places to disclaim. It seems to us the learned professor\nshould have taken all the greater care in his translation, as St.\nJustin (in his _Ap._ ii. \u00a7 7) disclaims expressly all pantheistic\nteaching, which he declares to be \u201cforeign to all sound thought,\nreason and mind.\u201d\n\nTo show we do not wish to be unfair to this distinguished scholar,\nwe will do him the justice to cite his condemnation of the\npantheistic spirit of the times. He is speaking of Barth\u00e9lemy St.\nHilaire\u2019s _History of Buddhism_, and he quotes the words of the\npreface of that writer:\n\n  \u201cThis book may offer one other advantage, and I regret to\n  say that at present it may seem to come opportunely. It is the\n  misfortune of our times that the same doctrines which form\n  the foundation of Buddhism meet at the hands of some of our\n  philosophers with a favor which they ill deserve. For some\n  years we have seen systems arising in which metempsychosis\n  and transmigration are highly spoken of, and attempts are\n  made to explain the world and man without either a God or a\n  Providence, exactly as Buddha did. A future life is refused to\n  the yearnings of mankind, and the immortality of the soul is\n  replaced by the immortality of works. God is dethroned, and in\n  his place they substitute man, the only being, we are told, in\n  which the Infinite becomes conscious of itself. These theories\n  are recommended to us sometimes in the name of science, or of\n  history, or philology, or even of metaphysics; and though they\n  are neither new nor very original, yet they can do much injury to\n  feeble hearts.\u201d\n\nAnd a few lines further on:\n\n  \u201cIt would be useful, however, if the authors of these modern\n  systems would just cast a glance at the theories and destinies\n  of Buddhism. It is not philosophy in the sense in which we\n  understand this great name, nor is it religion in the sense\n  of ancient paganism, of Christianity, or of Mohammedanism;\n  but it contains elements of all worked up into a perfectly\n  independent doctrine; acknowledges nothing in the universe but\n  man, and obstinately refuses to recognize anything else, though\n  confounding man with nature in the midst of which he lives. Hence\n  all those aberrations of Buddhism, which ought to be a warning to\n  others.\u201d (P. 203, vol. i.)\n\nWe have one other charge against the learned professor for what,\nthough savoring a little of rationalism, more particularly\nregards the Catholic Church. He says that \u201cas the Oriental creeds\ndegenerated into grosser forms, so Christianity degenerates into\nJesuitism and Mormonism\u201d (p. 185). We grant that the author is\nstriving to be fair to the pagans, and shows an unwillingness to\ncondemn them as a whole on account of the corrupt practices of a\nportion of them. But in doing so he has shown himself most unjust\nto a distinguished Order in the Catholic Church, whose piety,\nvirtue, and learning claim for them everywhere from Christians a\ntribute of respect and gratitude, and nowhere more so than in our\nown free land. It is really lamentable to see what we must call a\ntotal want of knowledge in a person of such extensive information\nand real ability as Prof. M\u00fcller. \u2019Tis strange that it did not\noccur to him that there was a great incongruity in coupling the\nSociety of Jesus with the corrupt and sensual community of the\nMormons, and it is only another lesson to put us on our guard\nagainst prejudice, which has so wonderful a power in perverting the\njudgments of men so worthy of respect for their zeal in the cause\nof truth.\n\nThis undeserved condemnation of the Jesuit Fathers is not the\nonly error into which Prof. M\u00fcller\u2019s dislike of Catholicity has\nbetrayed him. On page 190, he speaks of the Buddhist ceremonies,\nand in a foot-note refers to the work of the Abb\u00e9 Huc in which he\ndescribes his travels in China and Thibet, and remarks the curious\ncoincidence between the rites of the religion of the Grand Lama and\nthe forms of Catholic worship. Our author tells us that the Abb\u00e9\nHuc pointed out the similarities between the Buddhist and Roman\nCatholic ceremonials with such _na\u00efvet\u00e9_ that, to his surprise, he\nfound his delightful _Travels in Thibet_ placed on the _Index_. We\nconfess our surprise at this information. We never heard of the\nabb\u00e9\u2019s work having been signed with \u201cthe black mark of Peter,\u201d but\nwe have heard the book very highly praised by persons who would\nhardly have praised it had there been anything in it to merit the\ncensures of the church. We have too at hand a copy of the _Index_\ncoming down to six years after the publication of the _Travels in\nThibet_, but after a careful search have not been able to find\nin it the name either of Abb\u00e9 Huc or of this work. Moreover, it\nstrikes us as very unlikely that this writer should have suffered\nfor what has been stated pointedly by authors of the church from\nthe first ages down to our time. Had Prof. M\u00fcller turned his\nattention to Tertullian\u2019s book, _De Pr\u00e6scriptione H\u00e6reticorum_, he\nwould have found at \u00a7 40 the following passage:\n\n   \u201cWho is to interpret the sense of what may further heresy?\n  The devil, forsooth, whose office it is to distort the truth;\n  who rivals by the mysteries of the idols the very actions of\n  the divine sacraments. He too baptizes some as believers and\n  faithful; he promises the putting off of sin by the laver;\n  and, if I remember aright, Mithras there signs his soldiers\n  on the forehead, celebrates the offering of bread, and uses\n  the image of the resurrection, and gains the crown through the\n  sword (martyrdom). What shall I say more? that he destines his\n  high-priest for the nuptials of but one (wife)? that he has\n  his virgins? that he has his celibates? But if we consider the\n  superstitions of Numa Pompilius, if the priestly duties, emblems,\n  and privileges, the sacrificial service and instruments, and the\n  vessels of sacrifice, and the strangeness of their expiations\n  and votive gifts, has not the devil manifestly imitated the\n  observances of the Jewish law?\u201d\n\nIn the seventeenth century Natalis Alexander, in his\n_Ecclesiastical History_ (vol. ii. diss. iii. art. 3, \u00a7 3, No.\nvii.) replying to the objections of Spencer, in his Dissertation\nNo. 3 on the _Ritual Laws of the Hebrews_, says: \u201cIt is far more\nprobable that the devil, the rival of God, inspired the heathen\nto use in the rites of their divinities, or to carry about with\nsolemn pomp, arks or mystic vases containing something hidden\n(arcanum),\u201d than that the Israelites took their idea from them;\nand further on: \u201cWho does not see that the conclusion can be\ndrawn by just and better right? Therefore, the beaten vases had\ntheir origin in the rivalry of the evil spirit seizing on all\nthat was splendid in the worship of God, and turning it to his\nown worship.\u201d There are besides several rites well known to have\nexisted among the heathen after the coming of Christ that bear so\nclose a resemblance to Christian and Jewish forms, that we are\nwarranted in following those arch\u00e6ologists who attribute them to\nimitation of the usages of revealed religion. Take, for instance,\nthe taurobolium or criobolium, or baptism by the blood of a bull\nor goat. In this ceremony the person undergoing it was placed in\na pit with a kind of sieve over his head, through which the fresh\nblood of the animal was made to fall upon his whole body. What\nis this but the corruption of baptism, the idea of redemption\nthrough blood, and of the sprinkling with blood that took place\nby divine command in the old law? It stands to reason that as the\nChristian religion gained influence, paganism would, by seizing on\nwhat was marked in it and perverting it to its own uses, strive to\nregain its credit by an imitation which in some way would deceive\nthe ignorant. Prof. M\u00fcller can see from this that Catholics are\nnot unaccustomed to making such contrasts, and that they are far\nfrom fearing them. And as for the case in point, history tells us\nthat St. Thomas evangelized India and very probably the countries\nadjacent to it, while we know that St. Francis Xavier, as narrated\nin his life, found decided traces of Christianity among some of\nthe Indians, though they had not the priesthood. This being the\ncase, we can readily comprehend how the followers of Buddha should\nhave adopted many of the forms in use among Christians, even the\nrecitation of psalms, which we know from the New Testament to have\nbeen in use among the apostles, who, we are told, \u201cwent out from\nthe supper-room after reciting a hymn with their Master.\u201d\n\nSuch are the remarks we have thought well to make in the interest\nof truth in regard to these volumes of Prof. M\u00fcller, which, aside\nfrom these objectionable features, are full of learning and of\ninteresting information, imparted in an easy and elegant style.\nThey will be of value to the scholar, especially to those whose\noccupations do not allow them to consecrate much time to researches\nsuch as those in which the professor is engaged. They will have the\neffect of confirming the believer in the truth of Christianity, and\nof making him thankful for the gift of a faith that has saved him\nfrom such fearful enthralment of mind and body as he beholds his\nfellow-men condemned to in the many forms of Eastern paganism. It\nis true those who are not favorable to positive religious teaching\nwill wrest not a little of what is said to their own damage--a\ndanger we have tried to point out. Still, the learned author will,\nafter all, be justified in remarking that, if such be the case, it\nis but another exemplification of the fact that the serpent draws\npoison from the same plant from which the bee sips its honey.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[119] _Chips from a German Workshop._ By Max M\u00fcller. New York:\nScribner & Co.\n\n[120] See K\u00fchner\u2019s _Gr. Grammar_, translated by Messrs. Edwards\nand Taylor, London and New York, 1859, \u00a7 234 (i.), with regard to\nthe force of the verbal adjective. The word in the Greek text of\nTischendorf, _Ed. Sept._, is \u03b3\u03bd\u03c9\u03c3\u03c4\u1f78v.\n\n\n\n\nTO WORDSWORTH.\n\n\n    Great poet, I have tasted and admired\n      These many years, but _known_ thee only now--\n      With nine-and-twenty winters on my brow,\n    And much beside that oft thy page inspired.\n    I find in thee a freshness long desired:\n      And take thy song as migrant bird a lake,\n      Which first she shunn\u2019d, yet could not all forsake,\n    Till, last, she nests there--never to be tired.\n    To nature I have ever turn\u2019d with love,\n      But now more fondly, from the world of men.\n      \u2019Twas erst for sympathy: with Byron then:\n    But now, with thee, religiously--to prove\n    The sweets of contemplation, and emove\n      In other minds high thought and holy ken.\n\n  MAY, 1872.\n\n\n\n\nTRUE GREATNESS.\n\n\nThere is a singular power in that pithy summons of the exordium\nto the preface of the Mass--\u201cSursum Corda.\u201d It stirs the deepest\nfeelings of the human heart. Human nature is keenly sensitive to\nevery appeal addressed to her true instincts. Man needs not to\nbe told that he possesses the _power_ of fixing his thoughts on\nthings superhuman, educing from them principles of action, and\nshaping thereby his manifold relations with society. It is in\nstimulating this latent energy, and lovingly decoying it up to its\nmost congenial atmosphere, that we experience the tender force of\n\u201cSursum Corda\u201d as a touching address to our innermost self.\n\nAxioms are beyond demonstration. But man, no less than science,\nhas his own living first principles, and their evidence is of such\na clearness as to be but obscured by ratiocination. For instance,\nit is always agreeable to our better nature to give praise where\npraise is due. Heathen wisdom has beautifully witnessed to this\nhomely truth: \u201cPalmam qui meruit ferat.\u201d[121] The inspired son\nof Sirach makes it an imperative duty: \u201cLet us now praise men\nof renown, and our fathers in their generation.... Let the\npeople show forth their wisdom, and the church declare their\npraise.\u201d[122] If we should be asked to expound the philosophy of\nthis noble instinct, we should be obliged, we apprehend, either\nto mystify what is self-evident, or super-illustrate it by the\nequally undemonstrable fact that greatness of character challenges\nuniversal admiration. It is like the golden sunset of Italy,\nor the many-tinted beauty of the rainbow. We feel, one and all,\nimpelled to do it unsolicited homage.\n\nFurther, we secretly covet and thirst after it. For, by a cardinal\nlaw of our being, we fain would appropriate and monopolize\nwhatsoever we deem worthy of admiration. Concerning the particular\nqualities of which true greatness is made up, there may be some\ndifference of opinion. What is indisputable is that its attainment\nis the result of sustained effort; that that effort is itself a\nfertile source of pleasure; and that in proportion as we loiter\nin listless indolence, and shrink from making it, our life is\nretrogressive and self-condemned.\n\nArtists, in aiming at eminence copy the great masters. They seek\nto touch their lips to the primal fount of inspiration. Now, it\nis rather matter of history than abstract speculation or ascetic\npredilection, that the very best models of greatness of character\nhave been the saints. With their deep piety, lengthened vigils, and\nextraordinary ecstasies, we are not now concerned. It is as simple\nmen and women we view them. We are dealing rather with effects than\nwith causes. Aside from the supernatural aims whereupon they ever\nbent and concentrated all their energies, and whereby they daily\nrenewed their youth, and whereat they ceaselessly imbibed fresh\ndraughts of vitalizing nectar, they are the highest types on record\nof individual excellence. Those fine traits of character which men\nare agreed in admiring shine out more conspicuously in the saints\nthan in any other class of men. On the other hand, human frailties,\nsocial incongruities, personal imperfections, find little or no\nplace in their history.\n\nOnly true men love solitude. Not that anybody positively hates it,\nbut that most people prefer, instead of soaring alone with the\neagle, to fly low with the herd of the feathered tribe. Hence they\nhold, with Aristotle, that he who loves solitude must be either a\nwild beast or a god. It is indeed a godlike love, but it was the\ncherished heritage of the saints. They were \u201cnever less alone than\nwhen alone.\u201d\n\nIndependence wins the respect of all. Not that reckless thrusting\nof ourselves against all established usages which borders on\nsilliness, nor yet that waspish spirit of antagonism by which\nlittleness would, in distinguishing and gainsaying anything, fain\nassume the garb of greatness. Christian independence, which is ever\nboth manly and modest, lies between rashness and sycophancy, but\npartakes of the nature of neither. The harebrained truant is but\nlittle further removed from the saint than the fawning parasite.\nThe kingly prophet of Israel makes frequent and beautiful allusions\nto independence, as: \u201cDominus illuminatis mea et salus mea: quem\ntimebo?\u201d And again: \u201cExpecta Dominum, viriliter age, confortetur\ncor tuum, et sustine Dominum.\u201d[123] If a moral chemist were to\nanalyze independence, he would most likely discover that its seed\nand stem is love of principle. Men have at all times been found\nwho smiled upon the frowns of fortune, and cheerfully welcomed\nadversity, simply because principle still survived in unimpaired\nintegrity, though all else had perished. There was yet one rich\ngerm of abiding felicity. Of such it has been well said that \u201cthey\nneed not flatter the vain, nor be tried with the impertinent, nor\nstand to the courtesy of knavery and folly. They need not dance\nafter the caprice of a humorist, nor take part in the extravagance\nof another.\u201d Perhaps no one sentence in the writings of the\nillustrious Archbishop Hughes furnishes a true key-note to his\ncharacter better than this: \u201cI have never had a patron in church\nor state.\u201d Few are able to pen such words, and, in doing so, defy\nany impeachment of their veracity. A wholesome disregard for the\nopinions of others or indifference to human respect is the synonym\nof independence. It is, indeed, under the latter name we find\nindependence mentioned in hagiology and ascetic theology; and it\nis one of the insidious poisons which the saints seem most to have\nfeared. They considered the world so whimsical that, do what they\nmight, they never could satisfy it. They everywhere saw good reason\nfor pondering the old argument: \u201cJohn came neither eating nor\ndrinking, and you say: He hath a devil. The Son of Man is come both\neating and drinking, and you say: Behold a man that is a glutton\nand a drinker of wine.\u201d[124] There is a remarkable instance of\nindependence in the life of St. Thomas \u00e0 Becket, and it shows how\nutterly irreconcilable are human respect and love of principle.\nIt was clear to the chancellor that one of two things needs must\ncome to pass. Either he should be allowed to remain chancellor,\nand continue in kindly relations with Henry, or he should be\nconstrained to accept the archbishopric, and, by denouncing\nHenry\u2019s conduct, cease to be the friend of the king. The latter\nwould have saints for friends at the cost of principle; he would\nhave precedence given to the crown over conscience; he would have a\ncourtier prelate with elastic convictions; he would have reconciled\nanomalies and \u201charmonized impossibilities.\u201d But the independence\nof conscience is inflexible; and hence the memorable collision\nbetween a powerful monarch, whose fraudulence time has unveiled,\nand a prelate of unsullied integrity, whose glorious martyrdom is\none of the great triumphs of the church. A beautiful writer[125]\nlays down a simple rule whereby men of vacillating character, in\nmatters of conscience and duty, may meet those who would shake\ntheir independence with a sort of _argumentum ad hominem_: \u201cSince\nworldlings look upon us as foolish, let us regard them in the same\nlight.\u201d\n\nClosely akin to independence is steadfastness, or firmness of\nresolve. Not a mulish obstinacy which spurns counsel, and, by\nmagnifying ourselves above all others, teaches us only to unlearn\nourselves. Such a spirit betrays utter want of self-knowledge;\nfor few suffice for themselves, and fewer still see themselves as\nthey are seen by others. Whoever would attain to greatness should\navoid the fickle and the inconstant. \u201cHe that toucheth pitch shall\nbe defiled therewith.\u201d And as instability in the convictions of\nthe mind and affections of the heart extends to men\u2019s relations\nand occupations in life, branding them in all things as volatile,\nsupercilious, and untrustworthy, so we should study to be immovably\nfirm in retaining and acting upon principles which we know to be\nbased upon truth and justice. In pursuing any course of action\nmaturely planned, and followed up from commendable motives, we must\ncourteously but firmly resist all attacks materially affecting\nthe nature of our resolve. It is common with the giddy and the\nirresolute to seek to bring down men of unbending firmness to their\nown contemptible level. Whoever lacks the courage to be singular,\nlacks the first element of greatness, is wanting in a source of\nsolid happiness, and can scarcely be a true Christian. To give up a\ntried and disinterested friend, to relinquish a line of conduct in\nitself good and deliberately entered upon--unless from motives far\nmore overpowering than those which had hitherto swayed you--besides\nfurnishing clear evidence of fickleness, inflicts upon the will an\nincurable wound.\n\nIf steadfastness be the twin-sister of independence, fortitude\nis its eldest daughter. It has various manifestations; but it is\nbest evidenced in danger and in time of difficulty. Opposition is\nits touchstone, elicits its latent powers, displays them in their\nmodest and unborrowed beauty, making us regard their possessor\nwith feelings akin to those with which we behold a gallant ship\nthat has just ridden out a violent tempest, or the conqueror who,\nhaving waded, in calm courage, through a sea of blood, conducts his\ntriumphant legions through the captured provinces to survey the\nrich spoils of victory. Fortitude may be considered the lion-virtue\nof the human breast. It is the shield of all the other virtues,\nrising in earnest promptness at the signal of approaching combat,\nand waiting, with giant force, to crush, if it cannot repel,\nthe invader. Sydney Smith would compare no pleasure to that of\nconversation with a man of well-stored mind and communicative\ndisposition. It seems to us there is no sight more beautiful to\ncontemplate than that of a brave man in the midst of danger.\nIf aught could enhance its thrilling interest, it would be the\nelevating assurance that the invincible hero wars with bitter\nreluctance, and solely for the sacred interests of truth and\njustice. Yet such, in all instances, has been the struggle of the\nsaints and the eminent servants of the church, in which her history\nso copiously abounds. Such, in these latter days, was the attitude\nof Dr. Doyle, before the lords and commons of Britain, disdainfully\nrepelling their calumnies against the Catholics of Ireland,\nscattering a serried phalanx of Oxford\u2019s ablest champions, and\nsubmitting his very examiners to an unexpected ordeal of scrutiny.\nA still more beautiful instance of quiet courage is that evinced\nby St. Paul before the judgment-seat of Festus: \u201cNeither against\nthe law of the Jews, nor against the temple, nor against C\u00e6sar,\nhave I offended in anything. But Festus, willing to show the Jews a\npleasure, answering Paul, said: Wilt thou go up to Jerusalem, and\nthere be judged of these things before me? Then Paul said: I stand\nat C\u00e6sar\u2019s judgment-seat where I ought to be judged. To the Jews\nI have done no injury, as thou very well knowest. For if I have\ninjured them, or have committed anything worthy of death, I refuse\nnot to die. But if there be none of these things whereof they\naccuse me, no man may deliver me to them: I appeal to C\u00e6sar.\u201d[126]\nIt was not only a fearless assertion of the civil rights and\nliberty of the subject, but also the stirring rebuke to the\nperfidious judge for that he sought to transgress the limits of the\nconstitution. St. Chrysostom\u2019s reply to the courtier who brought\nhim the intimation of the Empress Eudoxia\u2019s intention to banish him\nfrom his see, breathes the spirit of conscious fortitude: \u201cIs there\nany place she can send me where God will not be with me?\u201d\n\nThere are few things we more admire in others than energy of\ncharacter. Indolence is the weightiest of burdens. It has been\nwell said, \u201cPeople that have nothing to do are quickly tired of\ntheir own company.\u201d Sluggishness is the paralysis of the mind,\nand the grave of physical health. The intellectual faculties\nof the sluggard are like pearls in the depths of the sea, or\ningots of priceless ore in an undiscovered gold-field. They are\na lost treasure. But they are more. Their loss entails life-long\ndeath. \u201cDesires kill the slothful, for his hands have refused to\nwork.\u201d[127] The most miserable of men is the idler. Pleasure he\ncannot enjoy. Food without an appetite is worse than useless; it\nis positively noxious. A keen relish for delightful pastime is the\nfruit of healthy industry. But from this the sluggard revolts, as\ndo children from ghosts and hobgoblins. For him there needs no\ndemon to tempt; he is the direst of tempters to himself. Sloth is\nthe couch of Lucifer. Moreover, it stifles self-respect, awakening\nin its stead a rancorous spirit of hostility to those of opposite\ncharacter. The loudest grumblers are idlers. Being out of sorts\nwith themselves, they can ill brook the conflicting influences of\nthose who relish labor. When positive and negative electricity\nconflict, lightning is the result. And when the magic charms of\nceaseless industry shine like sunbeams on the stagnant, marshy\nnature of the do-nothing, there is generated a brood of vipers\nwhich thrive by diffusing poison.\n\nIt is not wonderful that the saints should one and all have\ndeclared unceasing war against sloth. They were prodigies of\nindustry. The mighty feats of labor which they successively\nundertook, and, in most instances, amid harassing embarrassment,\ncarried to speedy completion, astonish the most energetic. It\nwould seem as if their bodies had been recast in some unearthly\nmould, whence they came forth purged from all animal properties.\nIt was not so much that they acted in harmonious concert with\nthe will, as that they appear instinctively to have in some sort\nanticipated its behests, outrunning it in the race of industry.\nAnd as the sluggard, imperceptibly, becomes so besotted as to\nseem denaturalized, so, on the other hand, the quickened energies\nof the saints assumed an unflagging elasticity, second only to\nthe miraculous gift of bilocation, whereby, at sundry intervals,\nthey were empowered to be simultaneously present in different\nlocalities. If it be true that no great enterprise has ever\nbeen accomplished without sustained effort, and that before the\nlevelling force of persistent determination the most appalling\ndifficulties soon disappear, it is no less certain that by none\nmore than by the saints has this cheering truth been realized. In\na just appreciation of the value and dignity of labor, and the\nrefreshing streams of pleasure that flow from it, their history\nshows them to have excelled: nor is it too much to say that on\nthis one ground alone they would be entitled to the gratitude and\nveneration of mankind.\n\nHence the uniform cheerfulness which characterized them, and which\nthey ungrudgingly seized every means of imparting to others. It is\namong the balmiest comforts which this shifting world can bestow\nto hold constant, or even frequent, intercourse with men of happy\nand contented minds. They make life a cloudless sunshine, beneath\nwhose genial warmth the chilling shadows of sorrow and depression\nmust needs melt rapidly away. The happiest of men were the saints.\nDescrying in nature\u2019s tiniest product but a feebly reflected beam\nof uncreated beauty, they could sing with the Florentine bard:\n\n    \u201cLa gloria di colui che tutto muove\n    Per l\u2019universo penetra, e risplende\n    In una parte pi\u00f9, e meno altrove.\n\n           *       *       *       *       *\n\n    O gloriose stelle, o lume pregno\n    Di gran virt\u00f9, del quale io riconosco\n    Tutto, qual che si sia, il mio ingegno.\u201d[128]\n\nIf to murmur or grumble was with them a sin, to be blithe and\ncheerful was the lightest of duties. Hours of sadness they indeed\nhad, when their own and the world\u2019s sins were present to their\npiercing minds. But through those passing eclipses there evermore\nshone out a radiant smile--glittering sparks, issuing from the\nglowing furnace of the heart within, where constantly burned the\nloving recollection of promises sure to be redeemed and favors\ngraciously vouchsafed.\n\n                    \u201cSweet intercourse\n    Of looks and smiles; for smiles from reason flow--\n    To brute denied, and are of love the food.\u201d\n\nThere are, it seems to us, but few more desirable fortunes than\na state of perpetual cheerfulness. It is one which is not to be\npurchased with gold. Its roots must be cast in the \u201ceternal hills.\u201d\nThe saints understood this. They held not in fiefdom from men their\nchangeless buoyancy of spirits. It was not with them a vortical\nflux and reflux. It was not a checkered alternation of rapturous\nmirth and gloomy dejection. Such is the ephemeral gladness of the\nshallow humorist or the surfeited _bon vivant_. The cheerfulness\nof the saints had nothing of the spasmodic. It was not a rushing\navalanche of fitfully majestic grandeur. It was a calm, stilly\nlake of perennial transparency, lying in a hushed valley of mossy\nverdure, fringed by a redolent clustering of midsummer\u2019s fairest\nflowers, reflecting the many-colored beauty of a rich autumnal\nfoliage, and resounding to the blessed harmonies of nature\u2019s\nfeathered choristers. It was a fixed and permanent habit of mind,\nsustaining the faculties in even security, keeping the emotions\nof the will poised in rational equilibrium, dispelling all care,\nall discontent, all overweening solitude, and diffusing throughout\ntheir being a moral odor of sweet and undying fragrance.\n\nOne of the most evident results of such a state of mind is a spirit\nof disinterestedness. This rare gift is, we consider, the strongest\nproof of solid virtue. It is also the most winning attraction\nobservable in Christian character; and this, doubtless, is why\nit is so frequently counterfeited, and employed as a subterfuge\nto disguise the petty artifices of selfishness. It was not from\ndisinterestedness, but to be rid of the anxiety attendant upon\nwealth, that the Grecian philosopher cast his gold into the\nsea. He was the founder of a numerous school, whose adherents,\nlacking true greatness of soul, comfort themselves, and seek to\nhoodwink others, by aping excellence which they do not possess.\nDisinterestedness, if it implies not sacrifice _in actu_, at least\nsupposes a readiness to submit, as often as need be, to the loss\nof private interest. It seeks to eradicate, root and branch, all\nnarrow self-seeking. Herein lies the secret of its power in evoking\nsympathy. It subdues the sternest enemy, wins plaudits from the\nmost callous observer, captivates all well-regulated minds, and\ngoes straight to every true, tender, and impressible heart. Knaves\nare well aware of its popularity; conceal under its lambkin-like\nguilelessness their wolfish cunning; and frequently glide, upon\nits unerring prestige, into sudden and unmerited fortune. But only\nwith the saints--except in instances so rare as but to confirm the\nrule--has disinterestedness attained its full growth. Riches, high\nposition, the esteem of the great ones of this world, such things\nthey deem it a luxury to be able to despise. But they stopped not\nhere, for this is but the threshold of disinterestedness. A stilly\nand breathless contentment with the existing state of things; an\never-vigilant eagerness to keep self-interest in the background,\ngiving due prominence to all things else; a prompt readiness to\nbe ignored rather than exalted; to be tossed to and fro upon the\nsea of life, yet ever be buoyed to the surface by uncomplaining\nindifference; to be all to all and dead to self--such is the point\nthey sedulously strove to reach. It was this beautiful quality\nwhich so much endeared St. Francis de Sales to all with whom he\nheld intercourse. There went out from him that which distinctly\nassured them that they stood in the presence of a superior being.\nHis sovereign once declared that there was more true nobility\nin Francis than in any king he had ever read of, and that he\nregarded his lofty virtue as something far more to be coveted\nthan the throne and sceptre of France. Having been requested by\na distinguished personage to accept a purse of gold, he declined\nfor the memorable reason that \u201che really knew not what to do with\nit.\u201d Centuries before, Saul of Tharsus spoke in similarly unselfish\nstrains to the citizens of Corinth: \u201cBehold now the third time I am\nready to come to you; and I will not be burthensome unto you. For I\nseek not the things that are yours, but _you_.\u201d[129]\n\nDisinterestedness finds vent in generosity without limit, and in\nsympathy which admits of no distinction. Greatness embodies these\nministering angels of succor, and calls them her almoners and\nhandmaids. Heroes and conquerors have been bravest in their deeds\nof magnanimity--most honored in their tender considerateness.\n\u201cC\u00e6sar dando, sublevando, ignoscendo, gloriam sibi adeptus\nest.\u201d[130] It is said of Napoleon the First that, walking one\nday on the coast of Calais, and meditating the ruin of the\nBritish empire, he descried an English lad furtively launching a\ntiny skiff, with a view to escaping from the navy of France and\nrevisiting his native land. There was too much of precocious daring\nin the act not to stir the feelings of a soldier who had conquered\neverything but his cool contempt for danger. The emperor gave\norders that a vessel of the line should be despatched to bear the\nyoung Saxon to the shores of Britain. The achievements of human\ngenerosity and sympathy fade into insignificance beside the heroism\nof the saints. Nothing was with them too sacred to be transformed\ninto instruments of sympathy--into healing balsam to staunch the\nwounds of sorrow and distress. The sacred vessels of the altar\nwere converted into money; the revenues of the church were made the\npatrimony of the poor; and asylums of mercy went up to meet the\nravages of sudden epidemic, wherein the princely blood and fine\nfeelings of a St. Charles Borromeo and the genius of a Bellarmine\nwere happiest and most at home in bending over the pestilential\ncouch of smitten wretchedness. It is written of the \u201cSeraph of\nAssisi\u201d that, on learning of a dearth of provisions among a horde\nof banditti, he furnished them with an abundant supply, went in\nperson and publicly embraced the bandit chief, and soon saw them\nexchange their career of plunder for a life of edifying industry.\nTo the hair-splitting sciolist, he would appear to have travelled\nbeyond the bounds of orthodoxy and sanctioned highway robbery; but\nto the closer student of the Gospel, he will rather resemble him\nwho, going out from Gethsemani, kissed the worst of robbers, and\nwith his dying breath gave paradise to a public malefactor.\n\nWe have thus far indicated a few of those leading characteristics\nwhich, if they be not, in the aggregate, true moral greatness\nitself, are recognized as among its special and essential\ningredients. We cannot take leave of this subject without\nrepeating what at the outset we intimated, namely, that it is in\nthe lives of the saints those lofty traits of character are most\ncommonly and most endearingly illustrated. What share grace and\nnature respectively have had in the formation and development of\neach individual one, it has not been our object to investigate.\n\u201cFacienti quod in se est Deus nunquam denigat gratiam.\u201d[131] One\nthing only the saints sought at the hands of men--to be denied a\nplace in their memory. While here below, their wish was for the\nmost part realized to the fullest. They were of all others the\nleast understood and most abused. Their lowliness is now fittingly\nexalted, and, while their bodies rest in peace, their names shall\nbe honored from generation to generation. Nor can we conceive\nany means whereby men may more easily or more surely attain true\ngreatness, even in the natural order, than by striving, however\nimperfectly, to rival those great men and women, once the earthly\ngems of our ransomed humanity, now the sharers of its glorified\ndignity and beauty, whom the church, in the progressive march of\ntime, steadily reproduces to our notice, to strengthen our faith,\nto vivify our hopes, and intensify our undivided love for the\nCreator in the first instance, and then for our fellow-creature,\nwithout limit or distinction.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[121] \u201cLet him receive the palm who has deserved it.\u201d\n\n[122] Ecclus. xliv. 1, 15.\n\n[123] \u201cThe Lord is my light and my salvation: whom shall I fear?...\nWait on the Lord, act bravely, let thy heart be strengthened, and\nwait for the Lord.\u201d\n\n[124] Luke vii. 33.\n\n[125] St. Francis de Sales, _Introduction_, part iv. chap. 1.\n\n[126] Acts xxv.\n\n[127] Prov. xxi. 25.\n\n[128] _La Divina Commedia_, _Paradiso_, canti i., xxii.\n\n\u201cThe glory of him who gives life and motion to all things,\npenetrates the universe, and shines forth with more splendor in one\npart, and with less in another.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\u201cO glorious stars! O light impregnate with powerful virtues! to\nwhich I am indebted for all my genius, such as it is.\u201d\n\nThe above rendering is taken from the admirable prose translation\nof the Rev. E. O\u2019Donnell.\n\n[129] 2 Cor. xii. 14.\n\n[130] \u201cC\u00e6sar gained glory for himself, by giving, by raising up, by\npardoning.\u201d\n\n[131] \u201cGod never denies grace to one who does what he can.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nRELIGIOUS PROCESSIONS IN BELGIUM.\n\n\nIn Belgium the patronal feasts of the churches and towns are\ncelebrated with great pomp and splendor. Each church, on its feast,\nis adorned in the richest style, the streets and houses of the\nparish are decorated with green branches and banners; high and low,\nrich and poor, unite to do honor to the Blessed Sacrament, that\nis carried in procession on the Sunday during the octave, within\nthe limits of the parish. From the houses of the nobles hang the\nbanners, and oriflammes emblazoned with their armorial bearings;\none common bond of sympathy and love unites all ranks, one common\ndesire to show homage and reverence to the dear Lord and Master,\nwho is to be borne in triumph in their midst.\n\nCatholicity has so thoroughly moulded the habits and customs of\nthe people, the festivals of the church make the festivals of\nthe people; consequently, the feast of the church is also the\n_Kermesse_, as it is called, of the people. The parish feast is\nthe _Petite Kermesse_; the patronal feast of the city the _Grande\nKermesse_, when all business is suspended, and universal rejoicing\nprevails.\n\nBruges celebrates the _Grande Kermesse_ on the 6th of May, in honor\nof the Precious Blood, which is on that day carried in procession\nfrom the chapel of _Le Saint Sang_ to the cathedral. In the chapel\nof _Le Saint Sang_, the oldest Christian building in Belgium, is\npreserved the holiest of relics, the precious blood of our Lord,\nwhich was expressed from the sponge with which his sacred body was\nwashed after the descent from the cross. It was brought from the\nHoly Land by Comte Thierry d\u2019Alsace, one of the first and most\ndistinguished of the early crusaders, and presented to the bishop\nof his native city, Bruges; where it has ever since remained, the\nobject of the most faithful love and veneration.\n\nEvery year, on the 6th of May, the Bishop of Bruges and the canons\nof the cathedral go in procession to the chapel of _Le Saint Sang_,\ncarry the relic, which is inclosed in a shrine of inestimable\nvalue, to the cathedral; high mass is sung, benediction given,\nand then the procession returns to the chapel, where, during the\noctave, the precious relic is exposed to the veneration of the\nfaithful.\n\nBruges is one of the oldest and most Gothic of the Belgian towns;\nin the middle ages it was the great commercial _entrep\u00f4t_, canals\nintersect it in every direction, but trade has moved off to Antwerp\nand other cities, and Bruges is left with only the traditions of\nits former importance. It is, too, one of the quaintest of places;\ngrass grows in the streets, and, ordinarily, it is the quietest\nof towns; consequently, the English affect it a great deal,\nparticularly converts. In the most retired part of the town is the\ngreat convent of the _Dames Anglaises_; the chapel is magnificent;\naround the walls are tablets with the names of the Talbots,\nGiffords, Somersets, Middletons, and others who have died in the\nconvent, and were its benefactors. The habit is beautiful, pure\nwhite with black veil; they follow the rule of St. Augustine, and\nare principally English; nothing can be more calm and peaceful than\ntheir retreat.\n\nThe H\u00f4pital St. Jean is also well worth seeing, as its gallery of\npaintings contains many of the gems of Memling and other masters of\nthe Flemish school. The hospital is under the charge of the _S\u0153urs\nHospitali\u00e8res_, who are also Augustinians, dress in white like the\n_Dames Anglaises_, but are not quite so elegantly picturesque.\n\nThe Palais de Justice, the beautiful little H\u00f4tel de Ville, and the\nChapel of the Saint Sang, surround the Grande Place. It was the eve\nof the _Grande Kermesse_ when we arrived in Bruges, and all the\ncountry and adjoining towns had emptied into it; the streets and\nPlaces were crowded with peasants in every imaginable costume;\nwomen in round caps, pointed caps, peaks on top and wings on the\nside; every age and style was represented. Near the Grand Place\nis a belfry, immensely high, called the Carillon, with the most\ndelicious chime of bells, which made music all the afternoon and\nevening. The bells of Bruges are the most famous in Belgium.\n\nIn the Grand Place two or three gymnasiums were in full operation;\nat all the _Kermesses_ there are machines called _moulins_, like\nenormous rotary engines, with chariots for the girls and women,\nand horses for the boys and men, decorated with red and gold in\nthe most fantastic manner. Some of the carriages were red, others\nblue, then yellow, and so on; round and round they went, the bands\nof music playing, the children screaming with enjoyment, the\nwomen waving their handkerchiefs; the people around looking on\ndelightedly, some smoking, some drinking, all enjoying themselves.\nIn another place, a circus was performing in broad daylight, clowns\njumping and turning somersaults, boys standing on men\u2019s heads,\ngirls poised on the shoulders of other muscular individuals. The\nchimes were ringing their merriest, and the great bells of the\ncathedral and Notre Dame joined their loud voices to the chorus to\ncelebrate the eve of the great festival.\n\nEarly on the morning of the feast we visited the Chapel of the\nSaint Sang, ascended the staircase; a priest sat behind a little\naltar, holding the precious reliquary; we kissed the relic, saw\nwith our own eyes the crimson life-blood of our Blessed Redeemer,\nshed for us on Calvary; passed down the other side; and descended\ninto the subterranean crypt, the oldest church in Flanders. Then\nwe visited the cathedral and Notre Dame, looked at the beautiful\npictures that adorn the walls, and meditated by the tombs of the\nbishops and old dukes of Burgundy. In Notre Dame are the tombs of\nCharles the Bold and Maria of Burgundy.\n\nAt ten, the high mass commenced in the cathedral; the Bishop of\nBruges sang the mass, the Nuncio\u2019s throne was opposite, and on the\nright of the Bishop of Bruges the Bishops of Ghent, Li\u00e8ge, and\nTournai occupied the first of the canons\u2019 stalls, crimson velvet\nhangings being thrown over the carved oak in honor of their rank.\nThe canons were in their stalls; the seminarians and the rest of\nthe clergy had the good places directly in front of the screen. In\nthe cathedral of Bruges the high altar is divided from the rest of\nthe church by great marble walls, on top of which were splendid\nhangings of Gobelin tapestry; and all that could be seen was to be\ndone by peeping through the railing of the doors.\n\nWe left at the benediction, and made our way out, so as to see the\nprocession, which would pass the H\u00f4tel de Flandre. The lancers\nwere drawn up in front of the cathedral, the streets were lined\nwith soldiers, flags and streamers floated in the breeze. We had\nbarely reached our window when we heard the approaching music,\nthe splendid band of the lancers. After the cavalry, that opened\nthe way and made the line, came the infantry; then the different\nparishes, headed by the banners, the boys in cassocks and surplices\nchanting, the girls in white veils and flowers--all that was\nbeautiful. The women came out from the houses and strewed flowers\nand green leaves, so that the street looked like a carpet. In\nnearly every detachment was a girl dressed like the Blessed\nVirgin; in one, it was the Queen of Heaven--white dress, studded\nwith stars, mantle and train of blue velvet, gemmed with golden\nstars, diadem and sceptre. In another, the Comfortress of the\nAfflicted; in another, the Mother of God; again, the Mater Dolorosa.\n\nThen came one of the most beautiful divisions: boys dressed to\nrepresent the different saints of the city and churches--St. James;\nSt. Sebastian, with his bow and arrows; one, St. Charles Borromeo,\nwas perfect, mitre on the head, superb cross and chain, the crosier\nin his hand--the little fellow marched with as much dignity and\ngrace as the five bishops who followed.\n\nImmediately before the relic was borne a splendid statue of\nthe Mother of Sorrows, in purple velvet, surrounded by the\nconfraternity, dressed in purple, covered with large black lace\nveils, followed by the \u201cThree Marys.\u201d Some artist must have dressed\nand grouped them. The Blessed Virgin\u2019s face was most exquisitely\npure and sorrowful, her blue mantle and dress fell around her with\nperfect grace; the Magdalene supported her on one side, a beautiful\ngirl, with long flowing hair, superbly dressed, her arms covered\nwith splendid bracelets; on the other side was the third Mary, her\narm thrown around the Blessed Virgin to support her.\n\nLast of all came the clergy of the cathedral, the seminarians\nflinging clouds of incense, the canons in procession. The shrine\nwas carried in turn by different canons; immediately after walked\nthe Bishop of Bruges, giving his benediction, his train borne by\nthree boys; then the three other bishops, and the Nuncio, in a\nsuperb cape and mitre, who likewise blessed the people. It was\nbeautiful; the white dresses of the children, the red and gold\nvestments of the priests (all the vestments, of course, were red in\nhonor of the Precious Blood), the splendid banners, the magnificent\nmusic, and the picturesque crowd, made an ensemble not easily\nforgotten.\n\nIn Ghent, the great procession of St. Macaire, which only takes\nplace once in a century, was celebrated May 19, 1867, with\nextraordinary splendor, to implore his intercession for the\npreservation of Belgium from pestilence, the cholera, the typhus\nfever, and the cattle disease, which so desolated the country the\nprevious year. The Cardinal of Malines, all the Bishops of Belgium,\nthe Nuncio, and Bishop Mermillod, of Geneva, who preached the\nJubilee, assisted. The city was crowded; over 100,000 strangers\nfrom all parts, even from France and Germany.\n\nThe Cathedral of St. Bavon is very old, dates from 940, and was\nin its gala dress. The shrine of St. Macaire, of solid silver, a\npresent from the city of Mons two hundred years ago, was placed\nupon a temporary altar, erected in the middle of the transept,\nsurrounded by thousands of lights, a canopy of evergreens and\nflowers overshadowed it, and the church was decorated with garlands\nof flowers that hung from the ceiling in immense festoons; hundreds\nof pennants suspended from the arched roof fluttered above our\nheads; and the _coup d\u2019\u0153il_ from the lower part of the church, or\nfrom behind the main altar, was surpassingly beautiful.\n\nThe mass was sung by the Nuncio, in the presence of the cardinal\nand the other bishops. After the mass we looked at the paintings\nin all the chapels, saw the font where Charles V. was made a\nChristian, and by making the most of being strangers persuaded a\npolite young gentleman to show us the famous statue of Duquesnoy.\nDuquesnoy was one of the greatest sculptors of his day; we had seen\nthe beautiful statue of St. Ursula in the mortuary chapel of the\nPrinces of Tour and Taxis, in the church of the Sablon in Brussels,\nand were anxious to see the still more famous _chef-d\u2019\u0153uvre_ in the\nCathedral of Ghent.\n\nDuquesnoy, unfortunately, was as wicked as he was talented, and for\nsome great crime was condemned to be executed. While in prison he\nfinished his last great work, the recumbent figure of one of the\nbishops of Ghent. He devoted his best energies to the task, hoping\nby that means to obtain his pardon; the result was a grand success;\nhe had surpassed all his former efforts; but even the great triumph\ncould not obtain grace for him; the law was inexorable; he must\ndie. He asked to see once more his beloved statue, upon which he\nhad devoted his lonely prison life; he was taken before it, and\nin despair and rage he seized a hammer and broke off the fingers\nof the right hand. Before he could inflict further damage he was\nhurried off, and burnt before the church of St. Nicholas.\n\nWe rambled around the cathedral in every direction, looking\nperseveringly at the right hands of all the statues, but all the\nfingers were perfect; where was Duquesnoy\u2019s? Men were going round\nclattering the keys, pushing the people out, priests were in all\ncorners, telling everybody the church must be cleared to make ready\nfor the procession. We made a beseeching appeal to a priest, who\nstood upon the steps leading to the choir, that we were strangers,\nprobably never would be in Ghent again in our lives--couldn\u2019t we\nsee the statue? He gave a wink to one of the ushers, and the young\ngentleman responded by inviting us up the steps, and into the\nchoir we hurried.\n\nThere were three thrones, two on the epistle side for the Cardinal\nand Nuncio, one on the gospel side for the Bishop of Ghent; the\nother bishops had crimson velvet chairs and _pries-dieu_. Behind\nthe throne of the Bishop was the famous statue; the fingers have\nbeen repaired, but the line is visible where the unfortunate wretch\nwreaked his vengeance. Not only did we see the statue well, but our\npolite guide insisted upon our examining closely the shrine of St.\nMacaire; so we had a chance of admiring the beautiful chasing of\nthe repository of the relics.\n\nAfter dinner, we took possession of our window, and at five the\nprocession came in sight. First, the lancers to make the line;\nthen the charitable associations of Ghent, the _confr\u00e9ries_ of St.\nFrancis Xavier, free schools, etc., each headed by superb banners.\nThe gem of this part was the Jesuit College of St. Barbe, forming\na group--the Triumph of St. Aloysius of Gonzaga. The choirboys\nled the van, then the three cardinals--Borromeo, Bellarmin, and\nGonzaga, preceded by pages bearing their escutcheons, followed by\nothers carrying their trains; the statue of St. Aloysius, followed\nby his brother Rudolph, Duke of Mantua, preceded by heralds bearing\nthe arms of the house of Gonzaga; the young nobles walked behind,\nand the avenue was formed by halberdiers in the dress of the time.\nThe dressing of this group was gorgeous; the sons of the first\nfamilies of Flanders arrayed in the most magnificent style. We have\nnever seen it equalled on the stage.\n\nThen followed in endless succession the religious orders of women,\nthe Sisters of Charity with the deaf and dumb; the Sisters of the\nVisitation with their free schools; the Sisters of St. Joseph;\nthe Black Sisters, who nurse the sick; the Beguines from the Petit\nand Grand Beguinage with their free schools; each division bearing\npatron saints decorated in the most beautiful manner, and arranged\nin the most artistic style.\n\nThe parishes were in full force; each parish was a grand procession\nby itself; the schools and _confr\u00e9ries_ of each church with its\ninsignia. The Living Rosary was exquisite; bands of young girls\nreciting the rosary; the Five Joyful Mysteries in white, with white\nroses and ribbons; the Five Sorrowful, white and violet; the Five\nGlorious, white and red--all with gorgeous banners and streamers.\n\nThe parish of St. John the Baptist was distinguished by a group\nof the church militant, suffering, and triumphant. The church\nmilitant, young girls dressed in white, green wreaths, ribbons,\nand gauze veils floating around, indicating the immortal hopes of\nthe church; some bearing on velvet cushions the triple crown of\nthe Pope and the emblems of episcopal authority; the cross borne\naloft, crowned with garlands, and the words, in blazing letters,\n\u201cPort\u00e6 inferorum non pr\u00e6valebunt contra te!\u201d The church suffering,\ngirls in white, purple sashes and wreaths, covered with black lace\nveils, bearing the instruments of the Passion, the inscription on\nthe cross, \u201cAve crux, spes unica!\u201d The church triumphant, girls in\nwhite, veils of cloth-of-gold, dresses studded with golden stars,\nsome bearing the banners of the Blessed Sacrament, others golden\npalms of victory; the cross golden, with the legend, surrounded by\na halo of glory, \u201cIn hoc signo vinces!\u201d\n\nAnd so passed on the different parishes, each followed by the\nclergy of the church in the richest vestments. The religious\norders of men came next, and lastly the parish of the cathedral\nof St. Bavon with the precious relics of St. Macaire; the free\nschools, the _confr\u00e9ries_, the congregation, and the most exquisite\nhistorical group, representing the courts of the King of France and\nthe Comte de Flandre as they assisted at the translation of the\nrelics of St. Macaire in 1067--the soldiers, archers, chaplains,\nstandard-bearers, and pages in the most accurate costumes. The King\nand Queen of France and the Comte de Flandre were magnificently\ndressed; no tinsel, but superb diadems and robes of velvet and gold.\n\nThe \u201cSlaves of Mary\u201d formed a beautiful group; a lovely statue of\nthe Blessed Virgin, borne aloft, from which hung golden chains,\ncarried by young ladies, dressed in white, enveloped in white\nlace veils, the chains binding them together. It was difficult to\nchoose where all was so beautiful, but we were almost tempted to\nsay it was the gem. Add to this magnificence the streets adorned\nwith flags, houses covered with green branches and flowers,\nbalconies with blue, crimson, and yellow velvet hangings glittering\nwith gold, and some idea may be formed of the uniquely beautiful\nspectacle.\n\nThe seminary, the cur\u00e9s in surplice and ermine hanging from the\nleft arm, the deans in copes, the canons of the cathedral, the\nbishops of Namur, Li\u00e8ge, Bruges, Tournai, Geneva, and Ghent in\nmitre and cope, preceding the shrine of St. Macaire, borne by\npriests, surrounded by lights; then the Nuncio; and, last of all,\nthe Cardinal of Malines--all the bishops giving the episcopal\nbenediction, the people blessing themselves in the most earnest,\nreverential manner.\n\nWell may Ghent have been proud of her procession! The Cardinal of\nMalines said it could not have been seen anywhere but in Belgium,\nand nowhere in Belgium but in Ghent. It was two hours passing our\nwindow, and five hours going from the Chateau des Espagnols, the\nold Abbey of St. Bavon, to the cathedral.\n\nThe _Grande Kermesse_ of Brussels is in July, the first Sunday\nafter the 13th, the anniversary of the translation of the\n_Tr\u00e8s-Saint-Sacrement de Miracle_ from St. Catharine\u2019s to the\nbeautiful collegiate church of St. Gudule. In the fourteenth\ncentury, in the year 1370, sixteen hosts were stolen by the Jews\nfrom the tabernacle of St. Catharine, carried to their synagogue,\nand on Good Friday they assembled to gratify their hate; they\nplaced them upon a table, stabbed them--blood flowed. Shocked at\nwhat they had done, but not converted, even by what they had seen,\nthey tried to get rid of them, and induced a woman to carry them to\ntheir brethren in Cologne. The woman had been recently converted,\nand although, from love of gold, she consented to conceal the\ncrime, she determined to reveal all to the priest who had received\nher into the church. She carried them to him, avowing the part she\nhad taken in the whole affair; the authorities arrested the Jews,\nthe guilty ones were executed, the rest banished from Brussels, and\ntheir property confiscated.\n\nSt. Catharine\u2019s was a chapel of St. Gudule\u2019s; so the clergy went in\ngrand procession, followed by the reigning sovereigns, nobility,\nand dignitaries, to bring them to St. Gudule\u2019s. The Jews had\ndestroyed some of them; there only remained three, which are the\nespecial objects of veneration in Brussels. The synagogue where the\noutrage was committed was bought by Comte de Salagar, and converted\ninto a chapel; but as it was small, a beautiful _chapelle\nexpiatoire_, designed by Pugin, has been erected adjoining.\nAttached to it is a community of ladies, semi-religious, who\nperpetually adore the Blessed Sacrament in the spot where it was\nprofaned; besides their office of perpetual adoration, they devote\nthemselves to good works pertaining to the Blessed Sacrament; they\nmake vestments for poor churches and missions, instruct children\nfor the first communion, visit the sick, and prepare the dying for\nthe holy viaticum.\n\nWhere once the most cruel hate was shown, now the most ardent love\nis manifested. The sanctuary is always perfumed with the choicest\nflowers, the altar blazes with light, and the incense of prayer and\nadoration is ever offered, to atone for the awful insult. On Holy\nThursday, the ladies of Brussels send their richest jewels to adorn\nthe repository, which is always in the old synagogue; and when one\nglances from the tablet, which tells that on this spot the shocking\ndeed was perpetrated, he beholds, enthroned on high, the holy of\nholies, surrounded by diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and\npearls.\n\nThe _Tr\u00e8s-Saint-Sacrement de Miracle_ is preserved in St. Gudule\u2019s;\nCharles V. built the beautiful chapel of the Blessed Sacrament,\nand the superb windows were presented by his royal sisters, the\nQueens of Portugal and Hungary, his brother, Ferdinand, King of\nthe Romans, and Francis I. of France. The sanctuary is surrounded\nby a cordon of lamps, always burning, and the monstrance presented\nby the Duc d\u2019Arenberg is ablaze with jewels. When the Pays Bas\nwere under the rule of Austria, the Austrian sovereigns lavished\nupon this chapel every mark of affection; the most superb laces,\nworth thousands of francs, and jewels; and the unfortunate Marie\nAntoinette sent her wedding-necklace of diamonds to be suspended\naround the monstrance.\n\nThe week before the festival, a retreat is always given in the\nChapelle Expiatoire, and during the octave there are sermons by\nsome famous preacher every day at St. Gudule\u2019s. One year the\nretreat was given by P\u00e8re Hermann, in religion Fr\u00e8re Augustin\nMarie du Tr\u00e8s-Saint-Sacrement, a converted Jew, then a bare-footed\nCarmelite. He was a great artist, Liszt\u2019s best pupil, the idol of\nthe salons of Paris, Vienna, Brussels, and all the capitals of\nEurope, and was converted by the Blessed Sacrament in a miraculous\nmanner. He told us the history of his conversion. Said he: \u201cI was\ninvited to play the organ in a church in Paris for some great\ncharity. I consented. I played. At the benediction I ceased, I\nlooked on; when in an instant I felt that I knew that God was in\nthe Blessed Sacrament. I fell on my knees. I adored, and for some\ntime was insensible to all around. But, although convinced, I was\nnot converted. For three months I continued my artist-life, when,\none day in St. Gudule\u2019s, in the chapel of the Blessed Sacrament,\nI received my _coup de gr\u00e2ce_. I resisted no longer; I became a\nCatholic; and you see me now before you, a Carmelite.\u201d We asked\nhim if it was true that he had been such a great artist. \u201cYes,\u201d he\nanswered; \u201cthat is, in the history of music Liszt considered me\nhis best pupil; as such, I accompanied him in his tours, and he\npresented me to all the crowned heads as his future successor.\u201d His\npreaching was wonderful, always on the Blessed Sacrament, and when\nhe turned to the tabernacle his countenance was inflamed with love.\n\nThe grand procession leaves St. Gudule\u2019s after the High Mass,\nwinds its way through the streets, adorned in the most gorgeous\nmanner--military music, soldiers, the different parishes with their\nrespective clergy, children strewing flowers, and priests swinging\ncensers before the Tr\u00e8s-Saint-Sacrement de Miracle, which is borne\nunder a magnificent canopy by the deacon and sub-deacon of the\nMass, followed by the dean. Through the kneeling crowds they march\nuntil they reach the picturesque Grande Place, and there, on an\naltar ornamented with the national colors, the Blessed Sacrament is\nexposed for adoration.\n\nAt that moment it is superb; the military form the square, the\nbeautifully dressed children kneel in the centre, the clergy are\nranged on the high flight of steps leading up to the altar--incense\nis burning from huge urns; the dean intones the Tantum Ergo, it is\ntaken up by hundreds--and then the bell rings, the drums roll, the\nsoldiers present arms, the dean raises the Tr\u00e8s-Saint-Sacrement de\nMiracle, and gives the benediction to the H\u00f4tel de Ville, and in\nblessing that hall blesses the city.\n\nThe Assumption is the festival of Antwerp, and on that day the\ngrand church of Notre Dame is _en f\u00eate_; therefore, as the mother\nrejoices, the children must be happy. The church is the largest and\nrichest in Belgium; seven aisles wide; the pillars are so numerous,\nit looks like a forest; the style is simple, but very fine, pure\nGothic. The main altar was splendidly illuminated by hundreds of\nwax candles, and all down the nave the most magnificent banners\nwere suspended from the columns, producing a superb relief. The\nmusic was excellent, Haydn\u2019s Imperial Mass, with orchestra and\norgan and admirably trained voices. Near the main altar are the\n_chefs-d\u2019\u0153uvre_ of Rubens--the Ascent and Descent from the Cross.\n\nWhen we left the cathedral, we stood for a while contemplating\nthe grand tower, from the top of which on a clear day can be seen\nMalines, Brussels, Bruges, and Ghent. The tower is a mass of the\nmost elaborate tracery, and the filigree carving is so delicate,\nCharles V. said it should be put under glass, and Napoleon compared\nit to Malines lace. There is a delicious carillon or chime of\nninety-nine bells, which ring every ten minutes, and are played\nby machinery, put up in 1540; the great bell, named Charles after\nits godfather, Charles V., requires sixteen men to ring it;\nconsequently, it is only used on great festivals; and as this was\nthe _Grande Kermesse_ of Antwerp, we heard it.\n\nNear by the cathedral is the fountain cast in iron by Quentin\nMatsys, one of the great Flemish painters, when he was a\nblacksmith. The story is he fell in love with the daughter of an\nartist, who would not consent to the marriage until the blacksmith\nshould also become an artist. So Quentin Matsys left the forge for\nthe pencil, and became one of the glories of his country. His tomb\nis in the cathedral, his statue ornaments one of the great Places,\nand his memory is ardently cherished by his native city.\n\nWe were in front of the H\u00f4tel de Ville, a gloomy looking building,\nbuilt by the Duke of Alva in the gloomiest Spanish style, and saw\nthe procession pass. It was very fine; the banners of Antwerp are\nunequalled in the northern part of Europe; they were the glories\nof the procession. The statue of the Blessed Virgin was gorgeously\ndressed in a mass of gold, lace, and precious stones. The banners\nwere sufficiently splendid in the beginning, but as the canopy over\nthe Blessed Sacrament appeared, they became more and more dazzling,\nperfectly resplendent in the bright sun. The golden lamps borne\naround the canopy added to the gorgeousness, the vestments of the\nclergy corresponded; and as every one in the procession carried\na light, it was like a stream of fire quivering along the Place.\nFiles of soldiers made the outer line, and splendid military bands\nplayed at intervals.\n\nOne of the events of this _Grande Kermesse_ was the unveiling of\nthe statue of Teniers, another great Flemish painter. Antwerp is\njustly proud of her artist sons, and in her Places can be seen the\nstatues of Rubens, Vandyck, Quentin Matsys, and Teniers--children\nwhom the mother delights to honor; but greatest of all her glories\nis the grand Cathedral of Notre Dame, which speaks for the faith of\nthe past that could raise such a glorious monument to the living\nGod.\n\n\n\n\nLITTLE LOVE.\n\nBY THE AUTHOR OF \u201cTHE HOUSE OF YORKE.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Of such is the kingdom of heaven._\u201d\n\n\nThe first evening-bell of the N---- State Prison had rung, and the\ndeputy-warden stood in the guard-room taking the ward keys from\ntheir nail, and looking at his revolver. A guard watched from each\nof the windows toward the yard, and at one of the narrow loopholes\nbeside the door stood a little figure on tiptoe peeping out, only\nhalf her face reaching above the wood-work.\n\nThis was Minnie Raynor, the warden\u2019s daughter--a child so happy and\nso beautiful, that lips unused to fanciful talk called her fanciful\nnames; a child so sweet, too, that tender looks and thoughts ever\nfollowed her. Rough men patted her nestling cheek, and called her\n\u201cdarling\u201d; to her father, she was \u201cmy angel\u201d; but her mother went\nto the heart of the matter, and called her \u201cLittle Love.\u201d\n\nThe deputy went toward the door near which she stood. \u201cO Minnie! is\nit you?\u201d he asked; \u201cor is it a ray of sunshine that has come in at\nthe window?\u201d\n\nShe laughed as she settled down from tiptoe, and turned her head;\nand the level sunshine steeped her through--dimpled, delicate face,\nluminous brown eyes, flaxen hair, and all her baby whiteness.\n\n\u201cMay I go out with you?\u201d she asked in a voice of childish sweetness.\n\n\u201cCertainly!\u201d he answered \u201cPlease open the door for me; my hands are\nfull.\u201d\n\nShe tried, in perfect good faith, to do as he bade her; and the men\nwatched, between amusement and admiration, those tiny rosy hands\nthat pulled ineffectually at iron bar and nail-studded oaken door.\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t make it move,\u201d she said at length; and, looking about,\nperceived that they were laughing at her.\n\nThey went out on to the platform, and the door was closed behind\nthem.\n\n\u201cNow stand close to me while I ring the bell, and watch the men\nfile in, then we will go down to the prison,\u201d the deputy said.\n\nAt the second bell, the convicts marched slowly out of the\ndifferent shops, joined in the yard, and passed by, on their way to\nthe prison, the stairs at the head of which stood the deputy and\nMinnie Raynor.\n\nThe child looked in wonder at that long line of silent men, who\nwalked so close together, with interlocked steps, and never raised\ntheir faces. There was something in it that provoked her to\nmischief. Sorrow and sin she knew nothing of, and she had never\nseen in those about her a gravity which her smiles could not\nbanish. Why should she not be a sunbeam to this cloud also?\n\nThere was a flit of white drapery at the deputy\u2019s side, and a toss\nof yellow-flaxen hair.\n\n\u201cCome back, and wait for me,\u201d he said hastily, his eyes fixed on\nthe advancing line.\n\nThere was a trill of bird-toned laughter, and Minnie Raynor\nscampered down the stairs as fast as her feet could carry her.\n\nThe officer dared not go after her, nor remove his eyes from\nhis charge, but he leaned a little, and tried to catch her. She\nlaughed, and fled on, leaving her blue sash in his hand, and,\nreaching the outer door of the prison, stood looking at the\nconvicts as they passed by her.\n\nHundreds of men were there, each stained by some dark crime,\nyet Minnie smiled into their faces, and saw nothing to fear or\ndislike. And in every face, as she looked, dimly, as in troubled\nwaters, there shone back on her a faint and far-away reflection\nof remembered childhood and innocence. Every hard face softened,\nand met her glance with brightening eyes, and every heart blessed\nher--the warden\u2019s bonnie little daughter.\n\nNear the end of the line was a man whose overseers never turned\ntheir backs on him--of whom every officer in the prison was wary.\nThis man, William Jeffries, had been ten years under sentence\nof death for wilful murder, and had passed that time in daily\nexpectation of the order for his execution.\n\nIf personal beauty had aught to do with virtue, one might say\nthat this sentence was an unjust one; for the convict was not\nonly strikingly handsome, but had an air of superiority. The\nblack hair was thrown carelessly back, and left fully exposed the\nmarble-white, exquisite features, whose expression, when he looked\ndown, was one of pride and melancholy. But when he raised those\nfull black eyes, the beholder shrank involuntarily from their hard\nand brilliant regard. No smile ever was seen on those compressed,\nhaughty lips; they never spoke save when obliged to, and never\nasked a favor. And it was well known that he watched, day and,\nnight, for any chance of escape, and cherished a deep, cold hate\nfor his keepers.\n\nAs he approached her, Minnie smiled up into his face, then started\nforward, and, taking his hand, walked on with him, to the horror of\nthe guards and the malicious amusement of the convicts. For the man\nhimself, he merely submitted to the soft clasp of her fingers, and\nkept his eyes downcast; but his face turned a deep red, which had\nnot faded when he reached his cell door.\n\nThere the overseer interfered, and drew Minnie away, just as she\nwas entering the cell.\n\n\u201cI want to go into his play-house, and see the pretty pictures on\nthe walls,\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cYou must not!\u201d was the reply. \u201cIt is wicked to go in there. It\u2019s\nno place for you.\u201d\n\nJeffries drew his cell-door to, and, as he stood holding it, gave\nthe overseer a glance. That glance blazed.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t stare at me!\u201d the officer exclaimed.\n\nThe convict lowered his eyes.\n\nMinnie walked on reluctantly to the end of the ward, and stood\nthere while the cell doors were locked; then, when she saw the\nhands pushed through the gratings, she ran down the walk, full of\nfrolic, and caught one of them.\n\n\u201cYou can\u2019t get it away!\u201d she cried, holding on to the white and\nwell-formed hand with her tiny fingers.\n\nHad any of his keepers been in front of Jeffries\u2019 cell then, they\nwould scarcely have recognized him. The bold eyes were soft and\nhumid, the pallid face faintly colored, and a smile of tender\nsweetness trembled about the mouth.\n\nMinnie leaned close against the grating, and looked through at\nthe pictures that lined the walls of the cell. Only the iron rods\nseparated her head from that guilty breast, some of her bright\nlocks pushed through and touched the convict\u2019s sleeve, and her\ntender hands still caressed that hand that had been stained with a\nbrother\u2019s blood.\n\n\u201cAre they your pictures?\u201d she asked.\n\nHe reached, and, taking the prettiest one from the wall, gave it to\nher. Not even to her would he break the rule of silence.\n\n\u201cO Minnie! Minnie!\u201d said the deputy chidingly, as he came down the\nwalks, after making his rounds. \u201cWhy did you run away from me?\u201d\n\nShe displayed her picture with childish delight. \u201cHe gave it to\nme,\u201d she said, nodding toward the convict. \u201cIsn\u2019t he good?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is very kind,\u201d the officer replied. \u201cDid you thank him?\u201d \u201cWell,\nwe must go now. You can come again some other time.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood-bye!\u201d Minnie called out to her new friend. \u201cI shall come to\nsee you again very soon. And I want to kiss you now,\u201d running back\nagain.\n\nThe deputy, with the child\u2019s hand in his, hesitated, and looked\nembarrassed. He made a point of being scrupulously civil to the\nconvicts, and was particularly careful not to offend this one; but\nhe shrank from allowing such a leave-taking.\n\n\u201cIt won\u2019t hurt her, sir,\u201d said the prisoner, in an eager voice.\n\u201cShe is too pure to take a stain.\u201d\n\nThe child\u2019s hand was released, the convict bent inside his cell,\nand took the kiss she gave him through the bars; then Minnie went\ninto the house with her protector.\n\n\u201cI am not sure that I like it,\u201d Mr. Raynor said, after he had heard\nthe story. He took the child in his arms. \u201cI am not sure that I\nshall let my angel go down to that place again.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, father,\u201d his wife said gently, \u201cif our angel can do good\nthere, we ought not to refuse. I should not wish her to go\nunguarded, nor, indeed, very often in any way; but she might go\ndown occasionally with one of us, or the deputy. As Jeffries says,\nshe is too pure to take a stain.\u201d\n\nThe wife prevailed; and, thereafter, Minnie Raynor\u2019s sweet face\noften cheered the gloom of the prison. The convicts learned to\nbless her small shadow as it fell across the work or book carried\nclose to the cell door for light. They would start and smile at\nany sign of her coming--a laugh, a word, or the patter of light\nfeet on the stones. Those who were on the side of the prison next\nthe street thought themselves repaid if, after a day of toil and\nsilence, they caught a glimpse of the child in a window, or in\nthe garden of the warden\u2019s house. They fabricated wonderful toys\nfor her in their leisure hours--balls that bounded marvellously,\nornaments carved from soupbones, and rattles that were a puzzle to\ntake apart or put together. In return, she gave them smiles and\nthanks, and whatever dainty she could coax from her mother to carry\nin.\n\nBut to no one was this fair vision so dear as to him on whom she\nhad first bestowed her preference; for on her he concentrated all\nthe softness which the others showed toward any one who noticed\nthem. She was the only one to whom he spoke, on whom he smiled;\nand for her sake he would humble himself to any extent. He who had\nbefore scorned to ask a favor, now begged for tools and materials\nto make toys for the warden\u2019s daughter. He showed jealousy when she\nnoticed any one else--he begged her constantly for assurances of\naffection. On her he poured out all the suppressed tenderness of\nhis heart; for she was the only being who had ever come to him with\nperfect trust--the only being who believed him good.\n\n\u201cI think you are real nice,\u201d she would say, gazing at him\nadmiringly. \u201cAnd you are pretty, too. I wish that you lived in our\nhouse, so that I could see you all the time.\u201d\n\nOnce, when she was missing from the prison several days, Jeffries\ncould scarcely taste his food, and at length, unable longer to\nendure the suspense, he asked for her.\n\n\u201cIs anything the matter with the warden\u2019s daughter, sir?\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that any of your business?\u201d the overseer demanded roughly.\n\nThe warden, unseen by him, was at his elbow, and reproved his\nrudeness sharply.\n\n\u201cA civil question deserves a civil answer,\u201d he said; \u201cand you are\nnot lowered by speaking to one whom my daughter talks with. Minnie\nis well, Jeffries, and I will tell her that you inquired. She has\nbeen away on a visit.\u201d\n\nThe longing for freedom had never left this man\u2019s heart, and now a\nnew motive for desiring it was added. Minnie had confided to him\nher desire to own a little gold watch with hands that went round\nand round; and, even while listening to her, he had resolved that,\nshould he ever escape, he would buy and send to her the tiniest\nand prettiest gold watch that could be found. He dreamed over this\nplan, as other men dream over ambition or love. He fancied the\nbrown eyes dilating at sight of a package addressed to herself, the\ndear little head advanced in eager curiosity as father and mother\nbroke the package open, her cry of delight and wonder when she saw\nits contents, the dimpled hands that snatched at the gift, and the\nsweet voice uttering thanks to the far-away \u201cMr. William,\u201d as she\nhad chosen to call him.\n\nAlways, now, this golden thread ran through the dark and tragical\nweb of his retrospections and anticipations.\n\nThus more than six months passed away. The fall and winter were\nover, and spring had come again; and those mysterious impulses of\nnew life which the reawakening of nature brings to the human heart\nmade this man\u2019s confinement every day less tolerable to him. He\nsaid to himself that he should go mad if it were longer continued.\nThe monotony and restraint were hard enough; but that constant\ndread of the sword of justice, for ever suspended over him, was a\ntorture. Hanging would be better than such a life.\n\nEarly in the spring Jeffries had been moved from his cell on the\ninner side of the block to one next the street, and through the\nlong window opposite his grating he could see the warden\u2019s house,\nits visitors coming and going, its pleasant, open windows, with\ncurtains blowing in and out, and, better than all else, he could\nsee little Minnie at her play in house or garden. He could see\nher dance into the breakfast-room at morning, and run to kiss her\nfather, who would lift her to her place at the table. He knew that\nshe drank milk from a silver mug, and that she sometimes took a\nlump of sugar from the sugar-bowl. He could see her mother lead her\naway to bed at evening, and knew that she always took a pet kitten\nwith her, sometimes in her arms, sometimes chasing through the hall\nafter her. He could see her by day soberly hushing a doll to sleep,\nbending absorbed over a picture-book, or romping in the garden.\nOnce she stumbled and fell there, and the convict, watching her,\nsprang at his bars as though he would break them. He gazed an hour\nafter she was carried into the house, and let his supper grow cold\nwhile he waited to assure himself that she was not much hurt. Being\nsatisfied at length, he ate his cold mush and molasses, and drank\nhis cold tea without milk, and lay down to dream of his idol.\n\nThere was good reason, for his being peculiarly anxious about his\nlittle friend that night and indifferent about his supper, for he\nmeant to be a free man the next day or to seal his fate at once.\nAll his preparations were made. He had sewed another dark half\nunder the gray half of his suit, so that by ripping a few stitches\nhe could pull off the gray leg of his pantaloons, the gray side\nof his cap and jacket, and appear in plain dark clothes, and he\nhad procured a guard-key and a slender iron bar two feet long, to\ndefend himself with if attacked.\n\nBesides these preparations, he had been careful to make a good\nimpression on the minds of his keepers. He had been so quiet\nand docile that for some time no search had been made, and no\nsuspicions entertained of his designs. Moreover, he had for the\nfirst time since his condemnation begun to speak of trying to have\nhis sentence commuted to imprisonment for life, of course with the\nappearance of hoping for ultimate pardon. No one would suspect him\nof risking his life in trying to escape while he had any chance of\na commutation.\n\nJeffries had been for months at work on a doll-house, which he\nmeant as a surprise to the warden\u2019s daughter, and also as a\n_souvenir_, and a help in his escape. From the carriage-shop he had\nbegged fine wood, and, since no tool could be taken to the cells,\nhe had been allowed to shape the parts of his cottage in the same\nshop. Every night, unknown to his keepers, he had bartered away his\nsupper to the convict in the next cell, receiving in return glue\nto fasten his work together, a bit of glass to smooth the wood,\nand oil to polish it. It was really a beautiful toy-house, for the\nman had taste and ingenuity, and a heart to do his best. It was\nfinished with windows, doors, and balconies, and the rooms inside\nwere carpeted and curtained with silk and velvet, and had chairs\nand tables so finely carved out of bones the convicts saved from\ntheir dinners as to look like delicate ivory work. All his leisure\ntime for months had been given to perfecting this gift, and now it\nwas completed, and there remained only to present it.\n\nIt was a bright evening in May, and the chaplain was going his\nrounds, changing the books, and speaking a kind word here and\nthere. Minnie, who had recovered from her fall, was with him, and\nwhen they reached Jeffries\u2019 cell, she went no farther. She seldom\ngot beyond that, and to-night it was impossible to do so; for the\nprisoner now showed her his present, and promised that the next day\nit should be given into her possession.\n\nMinnie gazed in rapturous delight while he displayed its beauties\nto her. She could scarcely wait till morning to inspect it more\nclosely, and she put her hands through the bars to touch it, and\nmake sure that it was real.\n\nThe chaplain admired and praised, then went on. \u201cI see that I must\ngo alone, Minnie,\u201d he said. \u201cI cannot expect you to leave such an\nattraction as that.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill you remember me for this, darling?\u201d the prisoner asked, when\nthe two were left to themselves.\n\n\u201cOh! yes,\u201d she answered fervently. \u201cI will love you always. My\nfather says that you want to go home, and when the governor comes\nhere again, I\u2019m going to ask him to let you. The governor is a\nsplendid man, and lets me coax him. But he pulls my hair. Though,\u201d\nshe added, after a pause, \u201che pulls it real easy.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you love the governor better than you do me?\u201d the convict asked\njealously, with a real pang at heart. What did that man, high in\nwealth, rank, and happiness, want of this little girl? Jeffries\nbegan to conceive a dislike for him, to think that even pardon\nwould be unwelcome from him.\n\n\u201cI love you best,\u201d Minnie said thoughtfully, \u201cand\u201d--looking up\nwith serious eyes--\u201cI\u2019m saying prayers for you every night, and\nasking God to save you. Mamma said I might.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo save me!\u201d he repeated.\n\n\u201cYes. What is save, Mr. William? Mamma said it is something good.\u201d\n\n\u201cI--I don\u2019t know,\u201d he replied, both puzzled and embarrassed.\nReligion was about the last subject he would have thought of; and\nwhen the chaplain mentioned it professionally, the brilliant,\nscornful eye of Jeffries had often checked the words upon his lips.\nBut that his darling and idol should pray for him, was a very\ndifferent thing.\n\nSteps were heard returning. Jeffries hastily snatched the little\nhands still stretched through the bars, kissed them passionately,\nthen turned away from the door.\n\n\u201cCome, little lady!\u201d the chaplain called out.\n\n\u201cGood-bye, Mr. William!\u201d Minnie said, with her face pressed close\nto the grating.\n\nHe echoed her good-bye hoarsely, without looking round.\n\n\u201cGood-bye!\u201d she said again, lingering, and wishing to see his face.\n\u201cI shall come soon again.\u201d\n\nHe made no reply, and she was obliged to go. But no sooner had she\ngone than he sprang to the door again, and listened hungrily for\nthe sound of her retreating footsteps, cursing the chaplain\u2019s heavy\nboots and empty talk. It was her last visit to him there, he knew.\n\nThe warden had gone away from home for a day or two, and the deputy\nhad entire charge. So completely had Jeffries\u2019 appearance imposed\non him, he consented to allow him the privilege of presenting to\nMinnie Raynor her playhouse with his own hands.\n\n\u201cHe is so fond of her, and has taken such pains to make the\nbaby-house, it seems a pity he should not have the pleasure of\ngiving it to her,\u201d he said. \u201cIt is best to encourage a man who is\ntrying to reform. Last year there wasn\u2019t a worse man in the prison,\nnow there isn\u2019t a better one, and it is all that child\u2019s doing.\nMrs. Raynor is willing, and there is no reason why I should object.\nI want Jeffries to see that I trust him.\u201d\n\nOne of the guard drew his face down to a preternatural length,\nand gave a low whistle. \u201cThe deputy\u2019s soft,\u201d he whispered to a\ncompanion.\n\nThe deputy heard the whistle, though not the whisper, and his\nspirit rose.\n\n\u201cAny one who knows better than I do, had better take my place,\u201d he\nsaid.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t profess to know more than you do in other things, sir,\u201d\nthe guard answered. \u201cBut I\u2019ve been in this prison ten years, and\nI have learned something of the quirks and turns of convicts. I\nbelieve that fellow cares no more for Minnie Raynor than I do for\nthe man in the moon. He is trying to curry favor with the warden,\nto get a commutation, or get eased up so that he may cut and run.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe\u2019ll see who is right,\u201d the deputy said. \u201cMeantime, I don\u2019t mean\nto give him a chance to cut and run.\u201d\n\nAbout ten o\u2019clock in the forenoon, Jeffries was called out of his\nshop, the toy-house was given him, and he was bidden go up-stairs\nto meet the little lady who had come out for her present.\n\nA great color rushed to his pallid face at this summons, and a\ngreat breath swelled his breast. The hour has come! After ten years\nof servitude and confinement, the green fields and the wide world\nwere before him, if he succeeded. If he failed, speedy death\nwould be his reward for the attempt. He well knew that if he were\nprevented from going out, or arrested when he had once got out, the\norder for his execution would be issued immediately. He had been\nwarned of that.\n\nHis heart beat hard and high as he stepped from the shop, but it\nsank in his bosom as he glanced across the yard. There stood Minnie\nat the head of the stairs, to be sure; but the deputy stood beside\nher in an attitude that showed plainly he was on his guard, and the\ndoor was locked behind them.\n\nHe had expected to be called into the guard-room, or, at least,\nthat Minnie would have stood in the open door. Moreover, besides\nthese precautions, his quick eye caught the gleam of a scarcely\ncovered rifle-barrel at one of the windows.\n\nBut he went up firmly, without any appearance of disappointment,\nand presented his gift to the child, smiling on her involuntarily,\neven at that bitter moment.\n\nMinnie took her present with delight, and, being unable to hold it,\nput it into the deputy\u2019s hand. Then, before either of them divined\nher intention, she flung her arms around the convict\u2019s neck, and\ngave him a loving kiss.\n\nIt was too much. In the despair of that moment, he cared little for\nthe curious eyes that watched him. Clasping the child in his arms,\nhe burst into tears.\n\nThere was a moment of silence. All were awed by such a display\nof emotion in such a man. In that moment Jeffries had controlled\nhimself, put away the little hands that tenderly strove to wipe his\ntears, and turned to descend the steps.\n\nThe guard inside unlocked the door, and the deputy was leading his\ncharge in. Jeffries was half-way down the stairs when the click\nof the lock struck his ear, and stiffened his nerves like steel.\nOne bound, and he was within the door, pushing with main strength\nagainst three men who struggled to close the lock before he could\nenter. The strength of desperation was his, and he overcame them,\nand entered the guard-room, caught Minnie Raynor in his arms, as a\nshield, while he hastily pulled out the bar of iron suspended from\nhis waist, and fumbled for the guard-key which was to unlock the\nlast door that stood between him and liberty.\n\nIt was all the work of a minute. The child clung to his breast,\npale and trembling, and hid her face in affright from the muzzles\nof fire-arms that sought to find him unguarded, and, holding her as\nhis defence, Jeffries reached the outward door.\n\nAn accident favored him, for it was the hour for changing guard on\nthe walls, and the relieved guard, coming up outside, opened the\ndoor behind the fugitive. The surprise was too sudden. They could\nnot stop him. Still holding the child for a shield, Jeffries sprang\ndown the outer stairs, and found himself in the opened yard of the\nwarden\u2019s house.\n\nBut the alarm-bell had been rung, and a command shouted across\nthe posts, and as the fugitive fled across the green to the gate,\nhe was confronted by one man, while two others followed close on\nhis steps. There was no help for it. This man in his path must be\ndisabled. He dropped the child from his arms, and raised the iron\nbar at the same moment that his opponent, having apparently more\nfaith in the strength of the stock than the accuracy of his aim,\nlifted the butt-end of his rifle for a blow.\n\n\u201cYou shall not strike him!\u201d cried Minnie Raynor, and flung herself\nforward to shield her friend; and, at the same instant, both\nblows fell. The guard aimed falsely, but the convict, striking\nwith fierce precision, would have hit his adversary but for that\nloving interposition. Alas! the blow struck the fair temple of the\nprisoner\u2019s dearest and only friend.\n\nMinnie Raynor dropped like a flower before the scythe of the mower.\n\nAll was confusion. The mother rushed shrieking from the house, men\ncame from the street, the guard from the prison. There was a moment\nwhen he might have escaped, but Jeffries did not take advantage\nof it. Throwing himself down by the child, he called upon her in\nagony, kissed her pale lips, and chafed her chilling hands. \u201cO my\nGod! my God!\u201d he muttered.\n\nThey surrounded and bound him.\n\n\u201cI won\u2019t try to run away, I swear I won\u2019t!\u201d he cried wildly. \u201cDon\u2019t\nmind me; see to her. Go for a doctor. Do something for her quickly.\nO God! O God! Open your eyes, my angel! I didn\u2019t mean to hurt you.\nI would rather stay here all my life, or be hanged to-day, than\nhurt you, my darling!\u201d\n\nThey tore him away from her, and carried him back to prison. There\nthey searched him, but found nothing but a lock of silken hair in\nhis breast, done up in a paper.\n\n\u201cShe gave it to me,\u201d he said piteously, but made no remonstrance\nwhen they did not return it to him.\n\n\u201cOnly see how she is, and tell me,\u201d he begged. \u201cYou know I\u2019ve got\nto hang now, and you know that I wouldn\u2019t have hurt a hair of\nher head for my life. I didn\u2019t mean to strike any one, except in\nself-defence. You can\u2019t blame me for trying to escape. It was only\nnatural. But tell me how she is.\u201d\n\nThe deputy looked at him fixedly.\n\n\u201cThe child never breathed after you struck her,\u201d he said.\n\nThe eyes of the convict remained wide open, and fixed on the\nspeaker\u2019s face. And, still with that gaze full of horror, he sank\nat the officer\u2019s feet.\n\nHe lay in the punishment-cell that night without sleeping,\napparently without sense. And he lay there all the next day in\ndarkness, quiet and silent, never tasting food.\n\nThe second morning, the warrant for his execution was read to him.\n\n\u201cI am glad of it!\u201d was all his comment.\n\nThey put him back into his cell, no change being made in his fate\non account of the child\u2019s death. One had but to look into his face\nto see that his punishment was severe enough. One only request he\nmade; that, after his death, the little lock of hair which Minnie\nhad given him might be put into his breast, and buried with him.\nThen he set himself to prepare for death.\n\n\u201cShe wanted me to be saved, and I will not disappoint her, if I can\nhelp it,\u201d he said.\n\nThe chaplain of the prison and the warden\u2019s family were\nProtestants; but Jeffries hated the chaplain, and he recollected\nhaving heard Minnie speak of a certain \u201csplendid priest\u201d in the\ntown, who had once given her a picture of a lady with a baby in her\narms, and a gold ring round her head. The child knew nothing of\ncreeds, and had clung as trustingly, perhaps more trustingly, to\nthe black-robed father, than to any of the clergymen who visited\nher father\u2019s house.\n\nFor this priest Jeffries sent.\n\n\u201cI know nothing of God, nor of religion, sir,\u201d he said. \u201cBut I\nhave only a few days to live, and I want to repent, and make what\natonement I can. I can say sincerely that I am sorry I have not\nlived a better life, and that I deserve all the punishment I have\nhad. If God should refuse to forgive me, I will not blame him. But\nI think he will not. The God who made that little angel must be\nbetter than I can even conceive.\u201d\n\nLooking through the window into the street, on that first day he\nwas returned to his cell, Jeffries saw the house that he had made\ndesolate. He saw the closed blinds, and the mournful faces of those\nwho came and went. He saw flowers brought. Later, carriages came,\nand a crowd slowly gathered. Then he fell on his knees before the\ngrated door, and prayed. One glimpse, only one glimpse of the\ncasket that held her!\n\nPresently there was a stir about the door, and four boys appeared,\nbearing out the lost treasure. The cemetery was near, and these\nboys were to bear the child to her resting-place there. Slowly and\ntenderly they carried their burden, and not far away those eyes,\nfull of hopeless agony, strained to watch them.\n\nThe sill of the gate was a step higher than the garden walk, and as\nthe foremost boys mounted this step, the casket tilted a little,\nand the eyes of the condemned man saw, through the glass lid, a\nwhite little face turned sidewise, with its cheek in the palm of\na waxen hand, and sunny hair flowing around, the whole framed in\nflowers.\n\nAs the sweet, pathetic vision passed, the convict fell on his face,\nwith loud and bitter weeping.\n\nThree days after, Jeffries mounted the scaffold, humbled, penitent,\nand hopeful.\n\n\u201cI am glad it is God\u2019s will that I should die now,\u201d he said.\n\u201cAfter what I have done, my life would be too terrible to me, and\nwould not profit any one else. But I do not consider this hanging\nthe punishment for my crime. No; my reward for having killed\nwillingly one I hated, was that I afterward destroyed unwillingly a\nlife dearer to me than my own. I forgive all who have injured me,\nand ask pardon of all whom I have injured. And I bless God for the\nlittle love on earth that made me believe in the Infinite Love in\nheaven.\u201d\n\nThey were his last words.\n\nPerhaps the warden\u2019s dear little girl would never, in a long and\nbeautiful life, have accomplished the good which was effected by\nher early and pitiful death.\n\n\n\n\nLETTERS OF HIS HOLINESS PIUS IX. APPROVING THE RULES OF THE \u201cUNION\nOF CHRISTIAN WOMEN.\u201d\n\n\nThe following letters of the Sovereign Pontiff which we have taken\nfrom the Boston _Pilot_ are published in the present number of\nTHE CATHOLIC WORLD, on account of their bearing upon the topics\ndiscussed in the articles on the \u201cDuties of the Rich.\u201d We recommend\ntheir perusal in a special manner to all Catholic ladies in the\nUnited States.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  PIUS IX., POPE, TO HIS DEAR DAUGHTER IN JESUS CHRIST, MARIE DE\n      GENTELLES:\n\nDEAR DAUGHTER IN JESUS CHRIST--Health and Apostolic Benediction.\n\nWe congratulate you, dear daughter in Jesus Christ, upon the\nsuccess which God has been pleased to grant to your efforts against\nextravagance in dress. Editions of your \u201cAppeal\u201d have multiplied;\nyou have seen it translated into several languages, and received by\nCatholic women with such eagerness that persons of great prudence\nand discernment have deemed it a duty to urge you to propose to\nyour sisters in the faith the establishment of an association\nhaving for its aim a crusade against extravagance--that scourge of\nsociety, that enemy of morality, of public and private economy.\nWithout doubt, if the wills and strength of many were united in the\nfirm bond of an association, the power of example would become much\ngreater, and its influence much more efficacious upon other women,\nespecially if those distinguished by fortune and social position\nwould subscribe to the project.\n\nIf this association succeed in establishing among women a taste for\nmoderate expenditure and a contempt for love of display, it would\nnot only serve to promote modesty, and prevent a waste of means\nwhich might often be employed in assisting the poor, but it would\nleave a great portion of the day free to be devoted to works of\npiety, to the education of children, or to household duties.\n\nThe rules which you have laid down are well adapted to attain the\ndesired end, especially that which prescribes that every member of\nthe union shall fix in advance, and unalterably, the sum of her\nexpenses, and pay _ready money_ upon all occasions.\n\nThe task is indeed a delicate one. It will encounter great\nobstacles in that love of show and desire to please so natural to\nyour sex. Still, he whose grace has already been powerful enough\nto lead many of your companions to this difficult but withal most\nnoble work, can inspire others to follow the good example. This\nis the success which, from our inmost heart, we presage for your\nproject. Meanwhile, as an auspice of the divine favor, and as a\npledge of our paternal kindness, we grant, with the most lively\ntenderness, to you and all your pious associates in the good work,\nour Apostolic Benediction.\n\nGiven at Rome, near St. Peter\u2019s, Nov. 6, 1869, in the twenty-fourth\nyear of our Pontificate.\n\n                                                      PIUS PP. IX.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  PIUS IX., POPE, TO HIS BELOVED DAUGHTER IN JESUS CHRIST, MARIE DE\n      GENTELLES:\n\nDEAR DAUGHTER IN JESUS CHRIST--Health and Apostolic Benediction.\n\nThe expressions of respect which you address to us, dear daughter\nin Jesus Christ, in your name and in the name of your associates,\nare received by us with the most lively satisfaction, the greater\nthat they are not limited to mere _expressions_ nor to _offers_ of\nassistance by prayer, but they are doubly grateful from the zeal\nyou have employed in seeking to extirpate the evil of extravagance\nin dress so common among your sex. You have also tried to promote\nhabits of simplicity, modesty, and piety among your sisters in the\nfaith. By this, much evil can be prevented--nay, more, your success\nwill be a most useful ally in the war we are now waging against\nthe powers of darkness. Therefore, for you and for the \u201cUnion of\nChristian Women\u201d devoted to this excellent work, we implore from\nheaven perseverance in your undertaking, never-wearying progress,\nand the efficacious assistance of divine grace. As a prelude of\nthese favors, and as a pledge of our paternal affection, we grant\nmost tenderly to you and all your pious companions the Apostolic\nBenediction.\n\nGiven at Rome, near St. Peter\u2019s, April 17, 1871, in the\ntwenty-fifth year of our Pontificate.\n\n                                                    PIUS PP. IX.\n\n\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\n  A CRITICAL DICTIONARY OF ENGLISH LITERATURE AND BRITISH AND\n      AMERICAN AUTHORS, LIVING AND DECEASED. From the earliest\n      accounts to the latter half of the Nineteenth Century.\n      Containing over forty-six thousand articles (authors),\n      with forty indexes of Subjects. By S. Austin Allibone.\n      Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co. 1871.\n\nIt would be strange indeed if a dictionary of authors, in\nthree volumes, each of one thousand pages, closely printed in\ndouble columns, \u201cthe fruit of many years of anxious research\nand conscientious toil,\u201d should not contain a large amount of\ninformation valuable not only to the general reader, but to the\nscholar and the man of letters.\n\nValuable information Mr. Allibone\u2019s _Dictionary_ certainly does\nimpart; but we feel compelled to express regret that its author\nshould have made a serious mistake as to the importance of much of\nthe matter inserted. Into this error he appears to have been led in\nseeking to increase the number of authors by the insertion of names\nwhich never possessed the slightest literary value or significance.\n\nThe title-page announcement that the work contains \u201c_over_\nforty-six thousand articles (authors)\u201d awakens within us no special\nthrobs of pleasurable anticipation, for we know how dictionaries\nare made. And the delight with which one might contemplate its\narray of one hundred and forty-eight Robinsons, its one hundred\nand eighty Browns, its one hundred and eighty-nine Joneses, and\nits solid phalanx of eight hundred and ten Smiths, exclusive\nof a formidable list of Smyths and Smythes, undergoes serious\ndiminution, for the reason that one cannot help reflecting how much\nvaluable space might have been far more advantageously occupied.\n\nIn works of this description, mere book-making manifests itself in\nits most flagrant aspect. In each successive publication in the\ndictionary (alphabetical) form, upon any given subject, the effort\nis made to surpass all its predecessors in the quantity of matter\nand in the number of articles or names. Now, in a literary sense,\nnames die, as in actual life people die; and names which might have\nsome possible interest for the readers of Blount\u2019s work, published\nin 1690, have still less for people of the following century, and\npositively none at all for our readers of 1870. It most resembles\na vain attempt to keep alive the memory of people not worth\nremembering by constant transcription and repetition of what is\nwritten on their tomb-stones. We are, therefore, unable to discover\nany merit in the uniform numerals 46,000. It is more a matter of\nmere assertion than of intelligent investigation and selection,\nand the figure may be reached merely by the simple addition of the\ncontents of a few well-known bibliographical works. One of them\nalone, the _Bibliotheca Britannica_, of Watts, furnishes 22,700\nnames of British and American authors, and more than half as many\nmore may be found in the copious indexes of English magazines and\nquarterlies, not to speak of Griswold and other American works.\n\nWe by no means wish to be understood as desiring that the reduction\nshould be restricted to the elimination of the familiar household\nnames we have mentioned. We would have it ruthlessly extended to\nthe nullities in literature, whose sole contributions consist\nof such productions (single specimens) as \u201cSermon,\u201d \u201cAlmanac,\u201d\n\u201cFuneral Sermon,\u201d \u201cInstruction in Water Drawing,\u201d \u201cReport of\n\u2018Smithers _vs._ Tompkins,\u2019\u201d \u201cCopy-Book,\u201d \u201cEdition of Laws of\nTexas,\u201d \u201cSermon on Popery,\u201d \u201cPyrotechnics\u201d--being careful to pair\noff these two last named, for the \u201cPopery\u201d man clearly means\n\u201cpyrotechnics,\u201d if he could have his way. What cares any one\nnowadays for such a piece of information as this: \u201c_Darch_, John,\n\u2018Sermon,\u2019 1766. 4to\u201d? Why, for instance, should the names of a\nthousand such nobodies as R. P. Blakely go down to posterity as\nauthors, this R. P. B., as we learn from the _Dictionary_, having\nmerely translated some passages from _Liguori_ and called them\n\u201cAwful Disclosures\u201d? Had we been spared profuse mention of most of\nthese sermon, almanac, and copy-book makers, space might have been\nfound to inform seekers for knowledge that William Cobbett wrote a\nwork on the _History of the Reformation in England_, a book which,\nin admirably pure English, does some justice to the infamy of Henry\nVIII. and his colleagues, lay and spiritual, who aided and abetted\nhis wholesale robberies and murders, and made of \u201cMerrie Old\nEngland\u201d a land of desolation, want, and beggary. It is precisely\nby this book that the name of Cobbett is most widely known, but\nMr. Allibone does not appear to have heard of it, otherwise his\nknowledge of its existence might account to a great extent for the\ntone of depreciation in which he speaks of Cobbett.\n\nQuite as remarkable is the author\u2019s suppression, in his\nbiographical notice of George Buchanan, of the fact of Buchanan\u2019s\ndependence for some years upon Mary Stuart, and of her kindness\nand generosity to him. It was this fact that made Buchanan\u2019s\n_Detection_ \u201cunrivalled in baseness, peerless in falsehood, supreme\nin ingratitude.\u201d\n\nIn sharp contrast with extended mention of the _Detection_ and its\nobject is Mr. Allibone\u2019s languid notice of Miss Agnes Strickland\u2019s\nhistorical works, and of the brilliant Donald MacLeod\u2019s writings in\ngeneral, and more especially his _Life of Mary, Queen of Scots_. We\nare perfectly well aware that Mr. A., in season and out of season,\nwith and without pretext, takes every opportunity of protesting to\nhis reader that \u201cwe express no opinion on the question involved\nin the Mary Stuart controversy.\u201d Mr. Allibone protests too much,\nand most so when seeking to convey the worst impression against\nher. Thus, in the article on Buchanan, he says: \u201cIf Buchanan is\nto be believed, there can be but little doubt of the guilt of the\nfair Queen of Scots; but upon this point we express no opinion.\u201d\nMr. Allibone here builds up his little argument on the authority\nof this convicted liar, Buchanan, and adds, \u201cWe express no\nopinion\u201d--oh! certainly not--by no means! Protests and pretended\napologies like this abound in the _Dictionary_, and, so far from\nconcealing, only make more visible the marked bias of the author in\nreligious questions. Naturally enough, Buchanan and John Foxe are\nboth his favorites.\n\nThe author of the _Dictionary_ does not appear to be aware that\nHenry Kenelm Digby has written and published anything since his\ngreat work _Mores Catholici_--Ages of Faith, nor does he seem to\nknow that this distinguished author is a convert from Protestantism\nto Catholicity. The notice of Aubrey de Vere is defective in many\npoints, and totally omits mention of the fact that the brilliant\npoet is also a convert to Catholicity.\n\nThe article on Dr. Brownson is far from doing that distinguished\nphilosophical writer justice. This was not to be looked for,\nbut it is incorrect in several points. Dr. Brownson never was a\nPresbyterian minister, nor was he a Deist. _Charles Elwood_ is not\n\u201can account of his religious experience,\u201d but _The Convert_ is such\nan account. The statement that \u201cDr. Brownson is a great admirer of\nthe philosophy of M. Comt\u00e9 (_sic_) as developed in the _Cours de\nPhilosophie_\u201d is without foundation. Dr. Brownson never admired it,\nnever accepted its philosophic position, and never read anything\nof Comte\u2019s except the Introduction to his voluminous _Course of\nPositive Philosophy_. This error probably originated with Mr.\nGriswold, who confounded the doctrines of Pierre Le Roux and the\nSt. Simoniens with the system of Auguste Comte.\n\nWe presume that the omission of the names of Archbishop Kenrick\n(Peter, of St. Louis), Prince Gallitzin, Frederick Lucas, a\ndistinguished English convert, formerly a Quaker, and of many\nothers we might point out, is the result of accident.\n\nWe have mentioned John Foxe, the great \u201cunreliable.\u201d Mr.\nAllibone\u2019s apology--evidently a labor of love--for this unsavory\npersonage is not only elaborate, it is labored. We have referred\nto Mr. Allibone\u2019s evident bias. Foxe is a test subject, and we\nshall therefore say a few words concerning it. If a scholar as\nenlightened as our author should be can uphold Foxe as he does,\nthen we can readily gauge the measure of his Protestant credulity\nand his anti-Catholic animus. Mr. Allibone spares us the necessity\nof any effort to demonstrate his bias, for he goes to the trouble\nof pointing out to us as one of the high merits of _Foxe\u2019s Martyrs_\nthat \u201c_its influence in keeping alive the Protestant feeling in\nGreat Britain and North America is too well known to be disputed_.\u201d\nHistorical truth is one thing, \u201cProtestant feeling\u201d another. Far\nfrom us to dispute the merit claimed by Mr. Allibone for his\nbeloved Foxe, but we beg leave to suggest to him that the proper\nplace for such praise would be the columns of a Know-Nothing paper,\nnot the pages of a dignified work on literature.\n\nThe account given by Mr. Allibone of Foxe\u2019s life is to some extent\nfabulous, inasmuch as he accepts Mr. Townsend\u2019s statements as to\nthe authorship of _Foxe\u2019s Life_ by his (Foxe\u2019s) son. Mr. Allibone\nought to know that Foxe\u2019s son did not write the _Life_ in question.\nIn the article _Maitland, Rev. S. R._, keeper of the Lambeth\nMSS. and Librarian to the Archbishop of Canterbury, Mr. Allibone\nenumerates as (13) of his works _Notes on the Contributions of the\nRev. George Townsend to the new Edition of Foxe\u2019s Martyrology_. We\nwould advise Mr. Allibone--since he needs must raise an unnecessary\ndiscussion about this man Foxe--to go beyond the title of this work\nof Maitland\u2019s into its contents. He will be rapidly enlightened\nconcerning both Foxe and Townsend. This Dr. Maitland is also the\nauthor of the admirable _Dark Ages_. Mr. Allibone does mention it,\n\u201conly this and nothing more.\u201d\n\nMr. Allibone has the hardihood to assert that, \u201cas regards\nconscientiousness of performance and adherence to records, _the\nfaithfulness of the \u2018Book of Martyrs\u2019 cannot intelligently be\nquestioned_,\u201d and his principal witness to prove Foxe\u2019s veracity\nis--Gilbert Burnet, commonly known as Bishop Burnet! Throw\nliterature to the dogs! It is \u201ckeeping alive the Protestant\nfeeling\u201d we look upon as our mission. That, as we read it, appears\nto be Mr. Allibone\u2019s controlling idea. But what is to become of\nus if the faithfulness of every suspicious and fishy chronicler\nis to be discovered and vindicated by every compiler of every\nliterary dictionary? However, we need not, we believe, be alarmed,\nfor our author\u2019s affections are enlisted for a select few, Foxe\nin particular, because of \u201chis influence in keeping alive, etc.,\netc., etc., etc., etc.\u201d\n\nHere is one of the latest of the many honest Protestant exposures\nof the character of Foxe\u2019s book, from the pen of Professor Arnold,\nof University College, Oxford:\n\n  \u201cIt is now indeed well understood that Foxe was a rampant\n  bigot, and, like all of his class, utterly unscrupulous in\n  assertion;--the falsehoods, misrepresentations, and exaggerations\n  to which he gave circulation are endless. Take, for instance, his\n  account of the death of Wolsey, which we know, from the testimony\n  of George Cavendish, an eye-witness, to be a string of pure,\n  unmitigated falsehoods.\u201d\n\nAs to the worthlessness of Burnet\u2019s testimony we have abundant\nProtestant evidence. Mr. Allibone himself quotes Dr. Johnson to\nthis effect:\n\n  \u201cI do not believe that Burnet intentionally _lied_; but he was\n  so much prejudiced that he took no pains to find out the truth.\n  He was like a man who resolves to regulate his time by a certain\n  watch, but will not inquire whether the watch is right or not.\u201d\n\nWhereupon Mr. Allibone indulges in this astounding piece of\nwithering sarcasm:\n\n  \u201cOne might imagine that the doctor had roomed with the bishop at\n  least, he seems to be so perfectly informed as to his habits\u201d!\n\nAs to Burnet the man and the theologian, we are sufficiently\nenlightened by the use he consented to be put to by Buckingham and\nLauderdale, at the time when, as royal chaplain, he preached before\n\u201cthe king and his harem\u201d every Sunday. This use was the preparation\nof a work in which he undertook to set forth the queen\u2019s barrenness\nas \u201ca good cause for divorce.\u201d Starting at the period of Henry\nVIII., England had become gradually pagan and profligate; but\nwhatever of goodness and virtue was then left in the country joined\nin denouncing the author of the vile principles set forth in\nBurnet\u2019s book.\n\nMr. Allibone neglects to record that it was because Charles II.,\nbad as he was, despised Burnet and his advice, and when, losing his\noffice in the Chapel Royal, Burnet suddenly awakened to a sense of\nthe king\u2019s wickedness, and wrote a remonstrance to him on his bad\nlife, Charles treated him with silent contempt.\n\n\u201cGilbert Burnet,\u201d says one of his Puritan contemporaries, Jacob\nLawton, \u201cwas a man who blew hot and cold for money or for rich\npatrons\u201d; and in the ninth volume of Sir Walter Scott\u2019s _Life and\nWorks of Dryden_ will be found the narrative of the betrayal to the\nHouse of Commons by Burnet of the secrets of his patron, the Duke\nof Lauderdale. Finally, his bishopric from William was merely the\nreward of trickery and treason simply infamous.\n\nAs to Burnet the historian, Hume\u2019s opinion that he is \u201csometimes\n_mistaken_ as to facts,\u201d and Sir Walter Scott\u2019s statement that\n\u201chis [Burnet\u2019s] opinions were often hastily adopted, and sometimes\nawkwardly retracted,\u201d may be thought not entirely fatal to his\nreputation; but other authorities speak more plainly. Sir John\nDalrymple \u201cnever tried Burnet\u2019s facts by test of dates and original\npapers without finding them wrong.\u201d Arbuthnot and Swift challenge\nhis veracity, and do not hesitate to attribute to him unworthy\nmotives. In 1693, Henry Wharton demonstrated his \u201csuppression,\ncoloring, and falsifying of facts,\u201d and the _Historical and\nCritical Remarks_ of Bevil Higgons more than confirms Miss\nStrickland\u2019s conclusion that Burnet is \u201ca notoriously false\nwitness.\u201d This is Mr. Allibone\u2019s veracious upholder of Foxe\u2019s\ntruth! He may now take the witness.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  ST. THOMAS OF AQUIN: HIS LIFE AND LABORS. By the Rev. Father\n      Roger Bede Vaughan, O.S.B. Vol. II. (New York: Sold by The\n      Catholic Publication Society.)\n\nThe first volume of this goodly work has been already noticed. We\nare glad to welcome the second and concluding volume. Together with\nthe events of the life of St. Thomas from the time of his contest\nwith William of St. Amour until his death, which occupy but a\nsmall portion of its space, this volume continues the history and\nanalysis of his works, and expatiates upon the Greek philosophers,\nChristian doctors, and other sources of the doctrine of St. Thomas,\nin their relation with him. As a biography we prefer that of the\nFrenchman Bareille, which we desire to see translated, and which\nthe present work by no means supersedes. As a history of the times\nand the works of the saint, Father Vaughan\u2019s volumes are rich,\nattractive, and valuable. The description of the Paris University\nin the thirteenth century, and the account of St. Thomas and St.\nBuonaventura taking the doctor\u2019s cap, are very lively and graphic.\nThe centenary of St. Thomas will recur in 1874, and will probably\nbe celebrated with extraordinary splendor in Europe. Perhaps we may\ndo a little something also in America.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE VIRTUES OF MARY, MOTHER OF GOD. From the Spanish of Father\n      Francis Arias, S.J. London: Burns & Oates. (New York: Sold by\n      The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\nIf it takes a saint to know a saint, and it is pretty generally\nconsidered that it does, it certainly takes a saint to do justice\nto the sublime virtues of the Queen of Saints. By all accounts\nF. Arias was a saint, and his little work on the virtues of the\nBlessed Virgin is what might be expected--a treatise full of piety,\nfull of emotion, and full of the highest asceticism. Together with\nbeing a holy man Arias was a learned man, and in his book with the\nfervor of the saint is combined the accuracy of the theologian.\nMany of the saints have themselves been able to realize the almost\nineffable holiness of the Mother of God; but few have been able to\nmake this holiness a reality to others.\n\nIn this we think the Spanish Jesuit has surpassed most others.\nIn his hand the virtues of our Blessed Lady become a reality,\nintelligible to all and imitable by all. Therefore it is that his\nlittle work, while pre-eminently suitable for the convent and the\ncloister, may be read with great benefit by all classes of persons\nin the world.\n\nIt is proper to remark that _The Virtues of Mary, Mother of God_\nis a republication; the same translation having been long ago\npublished under the title of _Imitation of the Blessed Virgin_. It\nwould be a great blessing if we had more republications of the same\nsort instead of the mass of modern commonplaces, many of which are\nwanting in emotion and not a few in genuine piety.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  EXTRACTS FROM THE FATHERS, ETC. Dublin: W. B. Kelly, 1860. (New\n      York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\nThis book, under the general title of _Christian Classics_, is\nintended, as we are informed in the preface, \u201cnearly altogether\nfor the use of students,\u201d and as such may be considered a very\nuseful and desirable publication. More than a score of the most\nillustrious and erudite fathers and writers of the church have\nbeen put under contribution by the editor, and though we consider\nthe arrangement and choice of the selections susceptible of some\nimprovement, we are grateful for those presented us in so neat and\nportable a form. Apart from what is purely moral and theological\nin the _Extracts_, there is a great deal of biographical and\nhistorical information interesting to the general reader, which\ncannot be easily acquired except through the voluminous tomes so\nseldom found in ordinary libraries.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  UNA AND HER PAUPERS; or, Memorials of Agnes Elizabeth Jones. By\n      her Sister. New York: George Routledge & Sons.\n\nSo-called Protestant lands, which were once a part of the fair\ngarden of the church, still put forth some shoots occasionally\nfrom the old roots left in the soil. It is pleasant to see them\nspringing up, now and then, as if to assert the indestructibility\nof the divine seed; for the spirit of self-sacrifice and of charity\nis essentially the spirit of Catholicism. As Balmes says, public\nbeneficence was unknown to the ancients. It is wholly due to the\nchurch. The divine words, \u201cInasmuch as ye have done it to one of\nthe least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me,\u201d have gone\non with their undulations through more than eighteen centuries of\nspiritual life in the church, awakening the tenderest instincts of\nthe human heart in behalf of suffering humanity. Thank God! there\nare some nominally without its pale--\n\n    \u201cWith whom the melodies abide\n    Of th\u2019 everlasting chime;\n    Who carry music in their heart\n    Through dusky lane and wrangling mart,\n    Plying their daily task with busier feet,\n    Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat.\u201d\n\n_Una and her Paupers_--happily styled Una, for such lives are\nunique, exceptional, in Protestant annals--is the history of\na large-hearted, sympathetic, North-of-Ireland lady, who was\ngradually led, by her natural inclinations and by circumstances,\nto a partial renunciation of the comforts of a pleasant home and\nfamily affection, and submit herself to training as a nurse in the\ncelebrated Kaiserswerth[132] institution of Protestant deaconesses.\nShe was afterwards connected with an association of Bible-women\nat London; then underwent a year\u2019s training as Nightingale nurse\nat St. Thomas\u2019s Hospital in that city, and was subsequently\nappointed Female Superintendent of the Liverpool Workhouse, where\nshe contracted a typhus fever, and died in 1868, at the age of\nthirty-five.\n\nThe book is admirably edited by her sister, and has a eulogistic\nintroduction by Miss Nightingale, who seems to have given it its\ntitle. The American edition has, moreover, the advantage of a\npreface by the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher. From a Protestant point of\nview, this must be a charming and useful book. If not equally so\nto a Catholic, it is because his standard of piety is infinitely\nhigher, and instances of far greater self-denial for the sake of\nothers are of daily occurrence in the church.\n\nMiss Jones\u2019 piety was decidedly of the so-called Evangelical school\nin the Church of England. The Bible is constantly in her hands,\nand all her spiritual emotions are expressed in Biblical phrases\nthat have more a smack of Cromwell than of prelacy. A few words\ndropped here and there in her letters show her instinctive aversion\nto Catholicism, but we love to think this rather the result of\nignorance than want of charity in a person of her profession.\nAlmost her first words written from Rome were: \u201cI never go out but\nas a duty, for the whole is so depressing, and it is indeed so\nutterly the \u2018city given to idolatry\u2019; the associations of the past\nare forgotten in its present.\u201d This says volumes for her cast of\nmind and piety. Kind and loving as she was by nature, we cannot\nregret she was excluded from all missionary efforts in the Catholic\nward of the Liverpool Workhouse, on which she seems to have kept\na longing eye. She appears to have gained some influence over one\npoor girl in London, who, she says, was \u201con the verge of becoming\na nun--to her the only conceivable way of finding the peace she\nlonged for: now her eyes seem to be opened to a better way, though\n_she does not feel she has yet entered on it_.\u201d As we are not\ninformed of the result, we may reasonably conclude this individual\nfound peace at last in the only true refuge.\n\nThough trained in the best schools of Protestant benevolence,\nMiss Jones\u2019 shrinking from association with the nurses even of\nMiss Nightingale\u2019s school--not unreasonable when we recall the\nexperience of the latter in the Crimea--and her observations\nwith regard to the difficulties of such institutions, are full\nof significance to those familiar with the efficient charitable\norganizations in the church. She says: \u201cThe difficulty [of having\ndeaconesses in England] is, the real submission of the will there\nmust be. I believe this is _the_ valuable part of the training.\u201d\n\u201cI believe all I owe to Kaiserswerth was comprised in the lesson\nof unquestioning obedience.\u201d \u201cNo one can tell what a woman exposes\nherself to who acts independently. I never would advise any one\nto do as I have done, and yet I feel I have been led on step by\nstep, almost unwillingly, certainly not as I should have chosen,\nhad I not seemed guided, as I believe I have been, and so kept.\u201d\n\u201cBut what I feel so much is, how many there are who want some\nplace where they can get teachings for their own hearts and souls,\ntraining for, and direction in, work for others, sympathy in that\nwork and their difficulties in it, and a home where, in their\nleisure hours, they may have more or less association with others.\u201d\n\nAnd the estimable Miss Nightingale, in her introduction, says:\n\u201cThere is no such thing as amateur nursing.... Three-fourths of the\nwhole mischief in women\u2019s lives arises from excepting themselves\nfrom the rule of training considered needful for man.\u201d\n\nTo these quotations, we will add another statement in this book by\nthe Rev. Mr. Moody, likewise of the Evangelical school, who is told\nat Kaiserswerth that the Evangelicals of Great Britain furnished\nless useful sick-nurses than the churches tinged with ritualism.\nThis, he says, was \u201chumbling and instructive to hear\u201d; and he adds\nthis was because \u201cthe nurses that come from us [the Evangelicals]\nare _more anxious to take charge_ and to administer medicines, than\nto _obey_, _to learn_, _to serve_.\u201d\n\nSuch statements make us turn with satisfaction to the noble army\nof charity in the Catholic Church who _really_ give up home and\nearthly pleasures and their own will, and make themselves poor with\nthe poor, counting all this no loss that they may be spent for\nChrist\u2019s poor ones. What they have achieved as a whole is partly\nknown, but individual sacrifices and efforts are buried in the\nhidden life they love. Their veiled lives are only fully known to\nthe Divine Spouse, whom they tenderly take to their hearts in the\nperson of his suffering poor; their countless heroic souls mostly\npass away leaving no _written_ record on earth.\n\nThe garments of the church are all studded over with such precious\njewels of love and charity. We have no reason to envy those who\nseek to imitate our Sisters of Charity like the deaconesses of\nKaiserswerth and Florence Nightingale. May their laudable examples\nand that of Miss Jones find numerous emulators! The glimpses this\nbook gives us of the moral as well as physical degradation of some\nof the Liverpool paupers, are enough to set the Christian heart\non fire to labor for the elevation of the human race. Those women\nwho talk so frantically of their rights and of woman\u2019s mission can\nhere find their true field, where none can compete with them. Men\ncertainly cannot.\n\nBut, as Rahel Varnhagen says: \u201cThose who completely sacrifice\nthemselves are praised and admired: that is the sort of character\nmen like to find in _others_.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  SIX WEEKS ABROAD. By the Rev. G. F. Haskins. Boston: P. Donahoe.\n\nThe genial F. Haskins is known to everybody, and this little\nbook presents his numerous friends with a portrait of him, a\nshort biographical sketch, and some very brief, characteristic,\nand sparkling notes of a recent visit to Europe. Each chapter is\na little crystal of Attic salt. Whoever buys and reads this book\nwill be pleased with it, be he young or old. There are some remarks\non education, Irish and American politics, etc., which are as\nremarkable for point and sense as they are for terseness. Father\nHaskins\u2019 coin is small but valuable, like a rouleau of gold dollars.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  VIRTUES AND DEFECTS OF A YOUNG GIRL. By a Chaplain. Translated\n      from the French. New York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co. 1872.\n\nThis little manual of moral science was intended by the author as a\ntext-book for schools. It will, at least, be useful to parents and\nteachers in forming the character of those confided to them. A more\ncomplete elementary treatise on moral philosophy is a desideratum\nfor our Catholic institutions for girls. Of course it is taught,\nin the highest sense of the word, in connection with the Christian\ndoctrine, but a practical work, not religious, strictly speaking,\nis needed. It would serve, as our author says, as a help to divine\ngrace. The firmest basis of piety is moral principle. The moral\ncondition of the next generation depends on those destined to be\ntheir mothers having definite, practical notions of moral science.\nThis science was once associated with the very rudiments of\nlearning. _The Christian\u2019s Alphabet_, a compendium of the essential\npoints of moral philosophy, has come down to us from the middle\nages.\n\nIn the practical little work before us, the social virtues are\nnot overlooked. Politeness is one of them, for it is a virtue,\nat least in France: we wish we could say everywhere. That \u201clife\nmust be a perpetual sacrifice of self for the sake of others,\u201d is\nhere laid down as the basis of politeness and the social virtues\ngenerally. Like coin of precious metal, politeness is current in\nevery land and among all classes. It is the oil that lubricates\nthe wheel-works of society; it is the garland of flowers that\nbinds society together; it extends to the very tone of the voice,\nthe carriage of the body, and appropriateness of dress; it is\nespecially important to women, on whom depends refinement or\ndegeneracy of manners.\n\nRespect for others is here inculcated in recognition of the divine\nradiance that proceeds from the soul of every human being. One\nsection of this chapter is devoted to \u201cRespect for the Aged and the\nPoor.\u201d Veneration for age is by no means prevalent in these times.\n\u201cIt is regarded as an impertinence to be alive after sixty on this\nside of the globe,\u201d says an American. And as for the poor, who\nrespects them? And yet Bossuet saw an inexpressible sublimity in\nthe condition of the unfortunate.\n\nIndustry is likewise dwelt upon, and the evils of an aimless life.\nThe reason why so many women are nervous, morose, and melancholy is\nbecause they are the victims of an aimless life. Their very hearts\nare wasting away--corroded by rust.\n\nOrder and cleanliness have also their place. And how significant\nthey are of one\u2019s moral condition! We read in F. Faber\u2019s life, when\nthe orderly appearance of his room was noticed one Easter morning,\nhe replied that the napkin in the sepulchre was found _folded_\nafter the Resurrection, showing that our Lord hated untidiness.\n\nThis book is generally well translated, but there are some verbal\ninaccuracies. Madame de Maintenon\u2019s observations, on page 117, were\nprobably to the young ladies of St. Cyr--an institution of which\nshe was the patroness--rather than \u201cthe Misses Saint Cyr.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  WOMEN HELPERS IN THE CHURCH--THEIR SAYINGS AND DOINGS. Edited by\n      William Welsh. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co. 1872.\n\n_Women Helpers in the Church_--that is, in the Protestant Episcopal\nChurch--is a compilation of articles previously published in\n_The Spirit of Missions_ from the memoranda of ladies engaged\nin parochial labors, such as Sunday-schools, mothers\u2019 meetings,\ndistrict visiting, etc.\n\nThis is another book calling attention to the efficiency of woman\u2019s\nco-operation in the regeneration of the human race. It dwells on\nthe necessity of trained lay-helpers in the work, and says the\nchurch should be a training-school for aggressive warfare against\nevil. And \u201cas but few male communicants seem willing to give out\nthe socializing power which God has entrusted to them for the\nbenefit of those less favored, it is well to employ the agency\nof godly women.\u201d It finds less difficulty in training workers in\nthis country than in England, where \u201cfew persons of good social\nposition attend Sunday-school or Bible-class.\u201d This statement\nrather excites a wonder who _do_ attend, for the poor seem to\nhold themselves equally aloof. The Protestant Archbishop of York,\nquoted in this work, says that in one district in London not one\nperson in a hundred attends church. These people are in a state of\nheathenish darkness, though \u201cthe Church of England has emitted a\npure Gospel light for centuries,\u201d and are in the lowest state of\ndegradation. \u201cWho are these people?\u201d asks the archbishop, and, as\nif conscious of the great gulf that separates them from those he\naddresses, he adds, \u201cThey are of the same flesh and blood as we.\u201d\nThe Catholic is unconscious of any such gulf. In the great republic\nof the church, the poor are the most tenderly cared for. The church\nhas ennobled poverty by making it one of the evangelical counsels.\nBossuet says: \u201cLet no one any longer scorn poverty or treat it as\na base thing: the King of Glory having espoused it, he has ennobled\nit by this alliance, and henceforth he grants the poor all the\nprivileges of his empire.\u201d \u201cThe poor of Christ have lineal rights,\u201d\nsays Faber, and it is because the Catholic Church recognizes these\nrights that it is emphatically the church of the poor.\n\nWe are glad to see any attempts made to elevate and socialize\nthe poorer classes by visiting them, disseminating good books,\nand bringing them together for social and religious purposes.\nOne association of ladies engaged in this work is stated to have\nmade over six thousand visits the past year, and a committee of\ntwelve ladies made seventeen thousand visits in the course of\nsix years. The publication of their labors does not seem exactly\non the principle of not letting the left hand know what the\nright hand doeth, though, if it excites emulation, it may not\nbe unjustifiable. Any good resulting from such labors is a more\nenduring record, and will \u201csurvive all paper.\u201d \u201cFor,\u201d as Carlyle\nsays, \u201cthe working of the good and brave, seen or unseen, endures\nliterally for ever and cannot die. Is a thing nothing because the\nmorning papers have not mentioned it? Or can a nothing be made\na something by ever so much babbling of it there? Far better,\nprobably, that no morning or evening paper mentioned it, that the\nright hand knew not what the left was doing.\u201d\n\nWe are unwilling to criticise any sincere efforts to do good,\nand will forbear commenting on the memoranda of the ladies which\ncompose the greater part of this work, however unattractive much\nof their piety may be to a Catholic; but we need not be equally\nforbearing to the editor, who detracts from the effect of incidents\nsometimes touching by his frequent interlardings and would-be wit\nabout \u201cportable fire-extinguishers\u201d (meaning the fire of sin)\n\u201canti-incrustators,\u201d etc. His bitterness against the Catholic\nChurch makes him look with an envious eye at her success among her\ncherished poor ones. He speaks of her as \u201ca corrupt church, whose\nspirit is hostile to republican institutions, now actively drilling\nthe lay force in sodalities and other associations, and using their\npower to the utmost in educational, political, and proselyting\nschemes!\u201d But such insinuations cannot harm us. He himself\nobserves: \u201cThe Church of Rome, with all her obvious errors, suffers\nbut little from the violent opposition to which she is constantly\nsubjected. It will be well for all religious bodies closely to\nscrutinize her educational success, her tender care for the sick,\nand all the other modes by which she generates and uses spiritual\npower. Surely no well-organized church with a pure Scriptural\nfaith, claiming to have divine authority, can in _this Protestant\nnation_ be content any longer to yield ground to a _foreign church_\nwith a foreign ministry.\u201d\n\nWe can afford to be forbearing, and heartily forgive such language,\nin view of the tribute he pays to our superiority. The best thing\nin the book is his extract from the Abb\u00e9 Mullois\u2019 work entitled\n_The Clergy and the Pulpit in their Relations to the People_,\nwhich he rightly calls invaluable, and says \u201cshould be carefully\nand prayerfully studied by the clergy and laity of our church, as\nit is eminently spiritual and practical\u201d--a recommendation not\nquite in harmony with the preceding complimentary allusions. The\nAbb\u00e9 Mullois\u2019 work (issued by \u201cThe Catholic Publication Society\u201d),\nthough only a fourth of the size of _Women Helpers_, is worth a\nthousand such. It is full of charity, zeal, and genuine piety, and\nsparkling with vivacity. No cant or lackadaisical piety _there_. It\nis a book that should be in every priest\u2019s hands at least. The Abb\u00e9\nMullois is fully sensible of woman\u2019s adaptation to self-denying\nlabors in the cause of religion and charity. \u201cWoman is called the\nfeeble sex,\u201d says he. \u201cTrue, when she does not love; but when love\ntakes possession of her soul, she becomes the strong, the able, the\ndevoted sex. She then looks difficulties in the face which would\nmake men tremble.\u201d\n\nThe co-operation of woman in evangelizing the world is nothing\nnew in the church. Woman was instrumental in the fall of man; the\nsecond Eve had a large share in his redemption. The ministrations\nof women date from apostolic times, and the church has always\navailed herself of them. France was said to have been won back\nto Christianity by the Sisters of Charity. The utility of lay\nco-workers, both men and women, is evident from the good done by\nthe Conferences of St. Vincent of Paul among men, and the various\nfemale associations among women. Wherever there is a priest, there\nshould be some such organization for the religious and social\nelevation of the poor. _Women Helpers_ shows how the masses hunger\nfor spiritual aliment. Let us hasten to give them bread instead of\na stone!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE OFFERTORIUM. A complete Collection of Music for the Sunday\n      and Holyday Services of the Catholic Church, containing\n      Masses, Vespers, Anthems, Hymns for Offertory, Benediction,\n      and all Special Occasions, a Requiem Mass, Holy Week\n      Services, Responses, etc. By William O. Fiske. Boston: Ditson\n      & Co.\n\nWhy this collection of music is called \u201cThe Offertorium\u201d we cannot\nunderstand. There is only one Offertory in the whole book. It might\nwith equal fitness be styled \u201cThe Introit\u201d or \u201cThe Kyrie Eleison.\u201d\nClaiming, as it does, to be a collection of music for the services\nof the Catholic Church, we looked at once for the imprimatur of the\nproper ecclesiastical authority, but, after examining its contents,\nwe were not surprised at its absence. It is, in fact, a poor rehash\nof books already well known to our country choirs. A number of\npieces are called \u201cGregorian.\u201d If this be Gregorian chant, we want\nnone of it. It would lead us in charity to believe the compiler\nnever saw a volume of Gregorian chant in his life. Again, we think\nno one capable of writing or compiling music for the church who\ndoes not know how to read, or at least pronounce, Latin. We have\nthe following pronunciations given in this work: luci_f\u00e9_rum,\nspiri_t\u00fa_i, us_qu\u00e9_, glo_r\u00eda_, filio_r\u00fam_, confi_d\u00fant_,\ndescen_d\u00fant_, etc., etc. In a _Gloria in Excelsis_ abridged from\nConcone, the name of our Lord, \u201cJesu Christe,\u201d is left out after\n\u201caltissimus.\u201d The author likely got up his musical phrase first,\nand, finding it too short, sacrificed the integrity of the sacred\ntext to either his musical poverty or professional vanity. This and\na few other cuttings of the text are, however, amply made up for\nby the frequent repetition of words and parts of sentences to be\nfound on every page of the musical masses. The clergy are on all\nsides lamenting the degradation of church music, but let them not\ncomplain so long as they permit their choirs to furnish a market\nfor productions like this.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE CHATEAU MORVILLE; or, Life in Touraine. From the French. By\n      E. R. Philadelphia: Claxton, Remsen & Haffelfinger. 1872. 1\n      vol. 12mo, pp. 366.\n\nThis book, the translator says in his preface, \u201cis the first\nof a contemplated series of entertaining foreign fiction, to\nconsist of a selection of some of the best works of the most\npopular continental authors, and is intended for that class of\nreaders who are desirous of enjoying all the instruction to be\nderived from a first-class novel.\u201d We do not deny that the book is\nsprightly, witty, and entertaining, and that it may please those\nwho read simply for amusement. All the characters are supposed\nto be Catholic, yet that word is not once used in the work; nor\nis religion in any of its practices, public or private, alluded\nto, except on the last page. The story is a moral one, but of\nthe negative kind, and is to Catholic literature what the public\nschools are to Catholic schools--Godless.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  EXCERPTA EX RITUALI ROMANO PRO ADMINISTRATIONE SACRAMENTORUM, AD\n      COMMODIOREM USUM MISSIONARIORUM, IN SEPTENTRIONALIS AMERIC\u00c6\n      F\u0152DERAT\u00c6 PROVINCIIS. Nova et Auctior Editio. Baltimori: Apud\n      Kelly, Piet et Socios. MDCCCLXXII.\n\nThis new edition of the abridged ritual is quite an improvement\non preceding ones. The following matter has been added: \u201cDe\nVisitatione Infirmorum,\u201d \u201cModus Juvandi Morientes,\u201d \u201cBenedictio ad\nOmnia,\u201d \u201cBenedictio Infantis,\u201d \u201cBenedictio Puerorum \u00c6grotantium,\u201d\nand exhortations, in German, before and after marriage. The\n\u201cProfession of Faith at the Reception of a Convert\u201d is also given\nin German. The translation of the baptismal interrogations into\nthe vernacular, which has hitherto been customary, seems to be\nsuperfluous and even objectionable, after the decree of the S.\nCongregation of Rites, August 31, 1867, forbidding the use of such\ntranslations. The title is put as \u201cRituali Romano\u201d on the back in\nthe copy before us, the most prominent words on the title-page\nhaving been transferred to the cover. The rubrics are in red, the\ntype large and clear, and the binding good.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  ON THE DUTIES OF YOUNG MEN. Translated from the Italian of\n      Silvio Pellico, by R. A. Vain. New York: D. & J. Sadlier &\n      Co. 1872.\n\nThis little book, of less than two hundred pages, contains much\nthat is new, apposite, and instructive. The style is calm,\naffectionate, and altogether devoid of that harsh dogmatism which\nsometimes makes even the best advice unpalatable. The varied\nduties of young men claiming to be Christians and aiming at the\nhighest possible refinement, both in the family and society,\nare described in a number of short chapters, every one of which\nis a well-conceived sermon epitomized. The appearance of the\nvolume is in keeping with the excellence of its contents, and we\ncongratulate the publishers on having succeeded in producing one of\nthe handsomest of the minor works of the season in any department\nof literature. We hope the public will appreciate this effort of\nthe Messrs. Sadlier to keep pace with the enterprise of other\npublishers, and that their contemporaries outside of New York may\nshow equal energy and skill in the preparation of their books.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  LATIN SCHOOL SERIES.--PH\u00c6DRUS, JUSTIN, NEPOS. By Francis Gardner,\n      Head Master, A. M. Gay and A. H. Buck, Masters in the Boston\n      Latin School. Boston: Lee & Shepard. New York: Lee, Shepard &\n      Dillingham. 1872.\n\nThe Boston Latin School is one of our few classical glories. A\nseries of Latin text-books, edited by its masters, will be an\nacquisition to be hailed by every teacher and pupil. This volume\nof the series is a gem in every respect--text, notes, glossary,\nand typographical form. What makes it very nice for a boy is its\nsmall size, and the placing of the notes at the bottom of the\npage. We trust that the other volumes of the series will follow in\nrapid succession, and that they will contain nothing which can be\ndangerous to the morals of the youthful scholars in whose hands\nthey will be placed. It is important to promote the thorough study\nof the Greek and Latin languages, but still more necessary to\nguard the minds of the young from the contaminating influence of\nthat portion of the classical literature which is defiled with the\nimpurities of heathenism. The introduction of the excellent series\nof Christian classics published in France into the course of an\nAmerican college would be a good thing.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE LIVES OF THE SAINTS. By Rev. S. Baring-Gould, M.A. January.\n      London: John Hodges. (New York: Sold by The Catholic\n      Publication Society.) 1872.\n\nMr. Gould is a remarkable man. Three years ago we reviewed\nwith considerable severity a work of his, and treated him as a\nrationalist, which we supposed him to be at that time, not knowing\nanything whatever of his opinions, except as they were indicated in\nthe book reviewed. We were somewhat puzzled by discovering that he\nis really a clergyman of the Ritualist school, but it appears in\nreality that he is a Hegelian in philosophy, and at the same time a\n_soi-disant_ eclectic Catholic in theology. How he reconciles these\nopposites is his affair, not ours. The present volume, at any rate,\nis worthy of the highest praise. It is a collection of short lives\nfrom the Bollandists, published in a beautiful style, and perfectly\nsuitable for circulation among Catholics. We trust he will complete\nhis useful and attractive work in the same admirable manner as he\nhas begun it.\n\nTHE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY has in press and in preparation\nthe following works, in addition to those already announced,\nwhich will be published during the fall: _Pictures of Youthful\nHoliness_, by Rev. R. Cooke; _A Saint\u2019s Children_, by Emily Bowles;\n_Life and Writings of St. Catherine of Genoa_; _All Hallow-Eve,\nand Unconvicted_; _Tales from the Spanish of Fernan Caballero_;\n_The Heart of Myrrha Lake, or Into the Light of Catholicity_;\n_The Nesbits, or a Mother\u2019s Last Request_; _Oakley, on Catholic\nWorship_; _The Illustrated Catholic Family Almanac for 1873_;\nand _The Book of the Holy Rosary_, illustrated with thirty-six\nfull-page engravings, by Rev. H. Formby. The publication of F.\nFinotti\u2019s _Bibliographia Catholica Americana_ has been unavoidably\ndelayed, by circumstances beyond the control of either author or\npublisher. It is now about two-thirds printed, and will be ready as\nsoon as possible. This explanation is given as an answer to several\nletters received by the publisher.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[132] An old monastic site (alas!), so named from the donor, the\nKaiser Charlemagne.\n\n\n\n\nTHE REVIEW OF MR. BRYANT\u2019S ILIAD.\n\n\nThe following paragraph appeared in the _Independent_, from which\nit was copied by the New York _Times_:\n\n  \u201cWe were slightly surprised, after reading in the June number of\n  THE CATHOLIC WORLD that \u2018the New York _Times_ has long rivalled\n  _Harper\u2019s Weekly_ in bigotry and anti-Catholic malice,\u2019 to find\n  in the same number a long article on Bryant\u2019s _Iliad_, which is\n  stolen bodily from two reviews of the same work in the _Times_ of\n  March 14 and June 20, 1870. The arrangement of the paragraphs is\n  slightly changed, but their contents are absolutely identical.\n  In the same number of THE CATHOLIC WORLD the editor pathetically\n  inquires: \u2018What is the Catholic press doing to correct these\n  literary influences? What is it doing to cultivate the art of\n  criticism?\u2019 Stealing, evidently. We are informed, however, that\n  often \u2018the force of a Catholic organ consists of nobody but the\n  editor, who writes all the fourth page, and the assistant, who\n  makes up the rest of the forms with a paste-pot and a pair of\n  shears.\u2019 If Catholic monthlies are edited in the same way as\n  Catholic weeklies, it manifestly becomes necessary to search for\n  articles among the files of the daily papers; but we must remind\n  the editor, to quote his own words again, that \u2018newspapers go\n  everywhere. Their readers are not confined to any one sect or any\n  one party.\u2019\u201d\n\nThe simple fact of the matter is, that the author of the articles\nin the _Times_ presented the review of the _Iliad_, which appeared\nin our last number, to the editor of this magazine in manuscript,\nand received payment for it as an original article. The proper\nexplanation has been already made to the editor of the _Times_. To\nthe _Independent_ our only rejoinder may be found in the last four\nlines of the Ninth Fable of Ph\u00e6drus.[133]\n\n                    \u201cTunc ille insolens:\n    \u2018Qualis videtur opera tibi vocis me\u00e6?\u2019\n    \u2018Insignis,\u2019 inquit, \u2018sic, ut nisi n\u00f4ssem tuum\n    Animum genusque, simili fugissem metu.\u2019\u201d\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[133] _Ph\u00e6dri Fabul\u00e6_, Fab. IX., Asinus et Leo Venantes.\n\n\n\n\n                        THE CATHOLIC WORLD.\n\n                 VOL. XV., No. 89.--AUGUST, 1872.\n\n  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by Rev.\n   I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at\n                         Washington, D. C.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CATHOLIC CHURCH IN THE UNITED STATES.\n\nA RETROSPECT.\n\n\nThe astonishing growth of our hierarchy, with the multiplied\ndivisions which such growth calls for--overrunning, as they do,\nand intersecting the boundaries of ancient mission-fields--seems\nto make the renowned past of missionary labor on this continent\nrecede more and more into indistinctness. We propose to make some\nbrief mention of prominent incidents in the history of those\nmissions, and to do so not only that we may awaken in a generation\nof superficial readers an interest in the achievements of the great\npioneers of our faith on this soil of America, but that we may base\nthereupon some suggestions we wish to make to the future historian\nof those times and those men. We trust that the day will come when\na taste for studies of this kind will have spread from the few to\nthe many, and create a necessity for some work more extended than\na sketch or a compend. Meanwhile, of such historical materials as\nwe have, which are accessible to the ordinary reader, we propose to\nmake mention, for the benefit of those who may now desire to know\nwhat materials we possess; nay, more, that they may be encouraged\nto appreciate these materials at their value, we shall reproduce\nfrom them alone all the statements we have to present to the reader.\n\nThe period of time embraced by these early missionary enterprises\ncomprehends no less than eight and a half centuries, dating from\nthe first mention in history of the Norse missions, in the tenth\ncentury, to the establishment of the last of the missions of\nCalifornia in 1823. In the chronological order of their inception,\nthey range as follows:\n\nI. The missions to the adventurous Norsemen, whose settlements\nin the middle ages extended from Labrador to the southern coast\nof New England. Although the light of faith gleamed but for a\ntime on our shores, leaving us only the memory of the Bishop of\nGarda--so happily embalmed in the pages of Mr. R. H. Clarke\u2019s\n_Deceased Bishops_--the Norse missions did not entirely die out\non the eastern coast of Greenland until 1540. At this date, the\nintrepid missionaries of Spain had already advanced from Mexico\ninto the borders of our present Southern territory. The extinction\nof the Catholic settlements at the north was due to the physical\nrevolution caused by a change in the course of the Gulf Stream.\nThereupon, that once smiling and fertile shore became the bleak and\ninhospitable region that it has ever since continued to be, and no\nrace of Europeans now disputes with the rugged Esquimaux a foothold\non the land.\n\nII. The Spanish missions alluded to above. The history of these\nmissionary enterprises, in their alternating successes and defeats,\nis one that renders the soil of Florida, Texas, and New Mexico a\nland of sacred memories. In New Mexico, the Christian settlements\nunder our American Bishop of Santa F\u00e9 perpetuate these ancient\nmissions. In the other states named they exist only in the material\nmonuments they have left behind them.\n\nIII. The French missions. These were the vast Christian enterprises\nwhich, from New France, sent into New York and the states west of\nit so many apostles and martyrs. The present Christian Indians of\nCanada owe their faith, and indeed their continued existence, to\nthese missions, which have also bequeathed to us within our own\nlimits the Abnakis of Maine and the Christian Indians who within a\nfew years have been removed from Illinois, Indiana, Michigan, etc.,\nto the Indian Territory.\n\nIV. The missions of Maryland. These missions carried the light of\nfaith to the aborigines of that colony, and if the latter have\nceased to exist, the Jesuits still subsist, and inhabit the ancient\nmanors where their brethren of old gathered around them the docile\nchildren of the forest, ere the torch of religious and political\npersecution was lighted by stranger hands in the \u201cLand of the\nSanctuary.\u201d Yet, even the missions of Maryland are not without a\nliving succession, for the Jesuits of Maryland planted a colony\nof their brethren in the West, and have carried the Gospel to\nvast multitudes of new subjects among the Indian tribes, and have\nbesides aided to sustain the faith of those expatriated from the\nformer limits of other mission fields. Perhaps the most serious\nblow to the perpetuity of some of these missions is threatened\nin the government\u2019s plan of \u201cimprovement\u201d in its Indian policy.\nWhile the measures comprehended under this new policy aim at\neradicating some abuses, the plan is also ingeniously aimed to\noperate in a direction where no abuses can be alleged, and to\nsubstitute among Catholic Indians the \u201cEvangelical\u201d preacher for\nthe \u201cBlack-gown,\u201d whom the Indians feel to be their best and most\ndisinterested friend, at whose feet they have learned the rudiments\nof Christianity, and at whose feet alone they will condescend to\nsit for instruction in the way of eternal life.\n\nV. The missions of Louisiana. Within the former limits of these\nmissions, the area of the present states of Louisiana, Arkansas,\nand Mississippi was embraced. By the removal of the native tribes,\nthe missions of Louisiana have become practically merged in those\nwhich now embrace the Western States. Nevertheless, some Christian\nIndians still linger on the soil of Louisiana proper.\n\nVI. The missions of California. In so far as the hostility of the\nwhites has permitted the Indians to live in peace, these missions\nmay be said still to subsist. Such remains of them as Mexican\nrapacity had spared descended to us at least on the cession of\nCalifornia to the United States.\n\nShould the full history of these missions come to be written,\nthe more perspicuous arrangement--we beg to suggest to the\nhistorian--would be to divide the whole into _epochs_. Thus,\nthe Norse missions would constitute an epoch by itself, to be\ndesignated, let us say, as the _Ante-Columbian_--missions before\nthe discovery by Columbus. When the Catholic Historical Society\nshall be formed (even if it owe its origin to this suggestion\nfor its formation), its first care, after gathering into its\nfire-proof cabinets the books, pamphlets, newspapers and magazines,\nmanuscripts, charts, portraits, sketches, and other memorials or\nillustrations of the Catholic history of America, should be to draw\nfrom Northern Europe materials for a more extended history than we\nnow possess of an epoch so full of interest to the antiquary and\nthe Catholic. Until recently, indeed, the Norse missions bid fair\nto be reckoned as among myths. If they are no longer so regarded,\nthis result is due to the investigations of a few scholars only.\n\nThe _second_, or _Post-Columbian_, epoch should commence with the\nhistory of the missionary efforts which succeeded the discovery by\nColumbus. This epoch, after displaying the inception and progress\nof these great religious enterprises, might terminate appropriately\nwith the establishment of one of the last series of missions, that\nof San Francisco, erected on the site of the present city of that\nname in 1776, seven days before the date of our Declaration of\nIndependence.\n\nFor the _third_ epoch, no event could form a more appropriate\ninitial point than that which freed our country from the domination\nof England. From this point, a new era opens for our church, for\nthe charter of our national independence was the charter of our\nliberties as well. In the epoch just elapsed, the spirit of British\nlegislation and the spirit of British bigotry harassed or defeated\nat every step the apostolical laborers within the mission-fields\nembraced in the limits of the American colonies. Now, over all\nthe territory of the new Republic, shortly to be enlarged by the\naddition of Louisiana and Florida with their sacred memories of\nthe past, the old colonial legislation against Catholics began to\ndisappear from the statute-books of the states; and, if at the\npresent writing there be a state where these discriminating laws\nstill linger, her apologists are obliged to claim that they are\npractically inoperative.[134] Early in this epoch, our present\nhierarchy had its beginning in the appointment of John Carroll\nas first bishop--John Carroll whose efforts, in conjunction with\nFranklin, Chase, and Charles Carroll, to enlist the sympathies of\nthe Canadians in our national cause, were rendered abortive by\nthe anti-Catholic manifesto which had been issued by the colonial\ncongress of 1774.[135] The era of the great prelate\u2019s labors\nwas shortly rendered memorable by the arrival upon our shores\nof those devoted men whom persecution or revolution abroad had\ndriven hither. Through them, with here and there the assistance\nof the few clergyman already on the spot, religion began to make\nglad the desert places. The centres of population, no less than\nthe scattered settlements of the interior--the mountains of\nPennsylvania equally with the forests of Kentucky--rejoiced in\nthe spreading light of gospel truth. In short, the seventy years\nsucceeding the Declaration of Independence--within which period\nwe propose to limit this third epoch--form an era filled with the\nchronicles of devoted missionary labor, and the history of humble\nand painful foundations which have since expanded into vast and\neven magnificent proportions.\n\nFor the commencement of the _fourth_ epoch, embracing the era in\nwhich we live, and terminating when it may please the historian to\nclose it, the year 1846 is suggested for several reasons. If the\nassignment of this date seems to terminate the preceding epoch at\na period disproportionally early, compared with the epoch before\nit, it must be remembered that these seventy years, embracing as\nthey do the period of the formation and first growth of our present\nhierarchy, would probably require as voluminous a treatment at\nthe hands of the historian as the whole long period of the second\nepoch. In 1846, the partition of dioceses into ecclesiastical\nprovinces began by the erection of the Province of Oregon in that\nyear. Prior to this time the whole United States had formed but\none Province, under the Archbishop of Baltimore. The Province of\nSt. Louis was erected in 1847, those of New Orleans, Cincinnati,\nand New York in 1850, and the Province of San Francisco in 1853.\nThe year 1846 is also the date of the accession to the Pontifical\nthrone of the great and good Pius IX., still happily reigning,\nwhose Pontificate is the most remarkable of modern times, if not\nof all times, as it has certainly been the longest, and, in its\nrelations to the American church, the most momentous. The Sixth\nProvincial Council of Baltimore was held in 1846, and the same\nyear was signalized by the opening of the Mexican War, which\nwas followed in 1848 by the acquisition of California and New\nMexico, classic lands in the history of the American Missions. The\nannexation of Texas in 1845, with all her legacies of missionary\nheroism, forms the closing political event of the preceding epoch.\nThus, many reasons concur for selecting 1846 as the period of a new\ndeparture in our ecclesiastical annals. The thread of narrative\nconnecting the history of the old missions with our own day may be\nsaid to terminate at the beginning of this epoch, by the admission\nof California and New Mexico into the Federal Union. Nor need this\nthread be afterwards resumed. The fourth epoch, judging from its\nenergetic beginnings and the triumphant progress the church in this\ncountry has made in the interval, is destined to fill a glorious\nplace in ecclesiastical history.\n\nThese suggestions in regard to the method of dealing with our\nCatholic history would be superfluous, except upon the supposition\nthat such a history as the subject calls for has yet to be written.\nWe have no doubt it will be. It is the purpose of this paper to\npromote such a consummation, both by arousing an interest in\nthe subject on the part of readers, and stimulating the zeal of\nwriters. Without this interest on the part of readers, the zeal,\nlearning, and ability of authors will never be called into play\non this field. Whatever meed of praise we must assign to the few\nauthors who have made our missions or our Catholic history their\ntheme, it cannot be contended that they have largely developed it:\nbut, if they have not done more, it is because the taste of the\npublic--the Catholic public, at least--did not demand more. Here,\nthen, is need for reformation.\n\nCatholics might take a lesson from the conduct of people of the\nworld. When a family of high origin rises again into distinction\nfrom a condition of temporary depression, it reverts with fondness\nto the ancestry by which it was distinguished in the past, as well\nas to that which achieved its return to greatness: it justifies its\npresent position by the long roll it exhibits of its genealogical\nworthies. So should American Catholics of the present day act and\nfeel as a religious family, but with a pride that is commendable,\nsince the object of it is the church of God, and all the glory it\nacquires is due to the humility, the sacrifices, the self-devotion\nof the truest heroes that ever lived, the saints and servants of\nGod. Such were our religious ancestors on this continent, and such\nthey were long before in the vista of centuries. It is something\nto possess a mere antiquity in a land where all is new save the\nrace that is dying out towards the setting sun, and no lineage can\ndispute for antiquity with that of the Catholic Church on this soil.\n\nIf her history were better known, we should not be so often met by\nthe assertions that this is a \u201cProtestant country\u201d--an assertion\nwhich, though provoking, would be harmless but for some social\nor legal ostracism which is attempted under color of it. The\npreponderance of numbers, the only tenable ground upon which the\nassertion can be made, is a mere temporary condition of things,\nand is so rapidly disappearing that a mathematical calculation\nis alone sufficient to fix its period of termination. But, last\nas long it may, this preponderance avails nothing so long as the\nlaw of the land knows neither Protestant nor Catholic as such.\nThis impartiality of the law, by the bye, will never be disturbed\nby Catholics even when the preponderance of numbers shall be in\ntheir favor. They venerate too deeply the example of the Catholic\nPilgrims of Maryland ever to descend from the high standard they\nhave left behind.\n\nAgain, this is not a Protestant country by virtue of early\ndiscovery or possession, nor by reason of early settlement or\nreligious foundation, nor even by the establishment of an earlier\nhierarchy, as some Protestant churchmen contend. Much less is it\nProtestant by the conversion of either native or foreign races\nwithin its confines. With one only exception, as a class, that may\nbe reckoned considerable, Protestantism is only an heirloom in\nfamilies that were Protestant at the time of their immigration.\nNor has it, with these, held its own; for the statistics supplied\nby our Catholic bishops show that, among those confirmed by\nthem, a proportion, varying in different dioceses, but forming\nan average of probably twelve per cent., is composed of converts\nfrom Protestantism. The considerable exception we note is formed\nof the descendants of Irish Catholics who long since emigrated\nto these shores or were transported hither in large numbers by\nOliver Cromwell. Their children, deprived of religious instruction\nand left without priests and sacraments, have been gradually\nabsorbed into the ranks of the sects around them. Hence the\nnumber of unmistakably celtic names we find borne by many who are\nnow Protestants. This exception, however, goes very little way\ntowards establishing the general assertion that the Protestantism\nof the country is due to the conversions it has made. The blacks\nhave naturally followed the religion of the masters in whose\nfamilies they were domesticated while slaves. As to the Indians,\nProtestantism has done little or nothing that it can point to\nwith any pride, and it employs itself in their regard, as it does\nin all other parts of the world where it encounters the Catholic\nmissionary, in marring or obstructing his work, thus leaving the\npoor Indian in a more wretched condition than he had been before he\nheard of Christianity at all.\n\nUnder whatever auspices certain colonies of Protestants were\nestablished, long after the first occupation of American soil\nby Catholics, the constitution, which is the charter of our\ngeneral liberties, and which these colonies, or the states\nrepresenting these colonies, united in adopting, is silent on the\nsubject of religion. Its equilibrium on this point is perfect.\nNor will it be disturbed, even though a judge of the Supreme\nCourt heard the little knot of superserviceable Protestants who\nadvocate the apparently innocent project of introducing \u201cGod in\nthe constitution.\u201d Even if it were possible that these gentlemen\nshould succeed in their effort, an internecine warfare would\nensue among Protestants themselves for the possession by one\nor the other of the different sects of the power to direct the\n\u201cappropriate legislation\u201d contemplated in the proposed amendment\nto the constitution. In this scramble, the opportunity of wielding\nthis new engine against the Catholics would be lost, and hence much\nof the animus that directs the movement now would prove a waste\nof zeal. Our general laws are, therefore, no more Protestant than\nCatholic, and even court-preachers who claim that their \u201cchurch\u201d is\na \u201cpower in the land\u201d are unable to wrest them from their tenor,\nthough they may fill the public offices with the adherents of their\nconventicle.\n\nHistory, good sense, and common observation thus militate against\na claim which is intended, in one way or another, to be injurious\nto American Catholics and their church. This subject may not be new\nto the readers of THE CATHOLIC WORLD, but it is one which will bear\nrepetition, in view of the necessity of presenting the truth as it\nis before right-minded Protestants who may otherwise be beguiled by\nthe specious pretences of their less scrupulous brethren--in view\nof the still greater necessity of fortifying our own people against\nan allegation which is intended to discourage and demoralize\nthem. We need our moral force, our Catholic spirit, our sense of\nequality with our neighbors, in order to accomplish much of the\ngood that is before us in both the social and the religious sphere.\nIt will help this spirit of noble independence to become familiar\nwith the history of our church in this country and of its unique\nachievements.\n\nThe scattered memorials of early missions have been gathered with\ngreat labor by Mr. John G. Shea, and compressed in his _History\nof the Catholic Missions_ (New York, 1854). His narrative needs\ndigesting, but is of most interesting matter. The absence of\nmaps, however, and the consequent difficulty of following the\nfootsteps of the missionaries in their labors and journeys, often\nthrough unfamiliar localities, necessitate a reference to other\nbooks, and so detract from the value of the work as a handbook\nfor ordinary readers. Even the works of Kip and Parkman, covering\na more restricted ground, are illustrated by maps. The tables in\nMr. Shea\u2019s appendix, with the names of the missionaries, the date\nof their arrival, and that of their death, and also the list of\nauthorities in print and manuscript illustrating his subject, are\nextremely valuable. We are indebted to Mr. Shea\u2019s work for the\nprincipal portion of our materials.\n\nT. D\u2019Arcy McGee\u2019s five lectures on the _Catholic Church in the\nUnited States_ (Boston, 1855), written in a clear, brilliant, and\nforcible style, pass in review the history of the American church\nfrom the days of Columbus down to the period of the publication of\nthe book.\n\n_The Catholic Church in the United States_, by Henry de Courcy,\ntranslated and enlarged by John G. Shea (New York, 1856), is\nmodestly designated by the author as a \u201csketch,\u201d but can only be\nconsidered so because the ground covered by the work is so vast,\nand the period so extended, that it was found impossible to dwell\nat length on any particular point. Still, the work is neither hasty\nnor superficial, and comprehends a bulk of nearly 600 pages.\n\nThese three works by Catholic authors are the only publications we\npossess bearing upon the general ground, and adapted to popular\nuse and reference. A lecture here or there, or Dr. White\u2019s sketch\nattached to Darras\u2019 _General History of the Church_, does not add\nmaterially to our resources. It will be observed from the date of\ntheir publication that these three works were published in three\nsuccessive years about the period of the last \u201cKnow-Nothing\u201d\nexcitement. Are we to infer from this circumstance that our people\ncan only be goaded by religious persecution into demanding such\nworks? If so, we shall have the less reason for regret when the\nunprecedentedly long period of peace we are now enjoying shall\ncome to a close, as it certainly must, sooner or later, in the\nprovidence of God.\n\nOf biographies and local histories we have a growing collection,\nsome of them of great value. The affairs of a diocese, a state,\nor a particular region of country will always command a special\ninterest among those who dwell therein. Hence we may expect this\nclass of works to appear in increasing numbers. They furnish\nimportant materials to the future general historian, and probably\neducate the taste of readers into a demand for more comprehensive\nworks. Many details that would be useful to the historian would\nperish but for them, as many have doubtless perished already for\nthe lack of timely chroniclers. An enumeration of these works is\nnot essential in this place, but we trust that other hands will do\njustice to those who have bestowed their scanty time upon labors\nof this kind, for all these works have been written by men of busy\nlives, such men as the late Archbishop Spalding, for example,\namong the clergy, and the late Bernard U. Campbell, of Baltimore,\namong the laity. Mr. Campbell\u2019s writings, to be sure, have not\nbeen reprinted from the magazine for which they were written; but\nhad not the gates of death closed in the midst of his career on\nthe author of the _Life and Times of Archbishop Carroll_, we might\nhave expected from one possessed of his industrious research, his\nardent mind, and genuine talents, contributions of the highest\nvalue to the history of the church in America. He was called hence\njust as a position of comparative distinction and emolument seemed\nabout to compensate him for his long years of faithful duty in the\ninconspicuous but responsible post he had hitherto filled; and this\ntribute to the memory of one whose character was brightened by\nevery Christian and every civic virtue will not seem out of place\nhere to those who knew him--and who in his community did not know\nhim? who did not love him?\n\nWhen will our young men, beginning life with advantages of which\nMr. Campbell could not boast, with wealth and family position and\nscholastic training, learn to emulate such an example, and devote\ntheir opportunities, their means, and the fruits of their studies\nto a task which would do them infinite honor, instead of devoting\nall these gifts to the service of a frivolous society?--a task upon\nwhich, in their default, strangers and aliens have entered, and\ngathered laurels to themselves at the expense of the church whose\nheroes they pretend to exalt.\n\nThe author of a work to which we have already referred has snatched\nfrom the intervals of severe professional labors time for the\nproduction of two of the most important volumes contributed to\nour American Catholic literature in the department of biography,\nalthough their bulk and cost must render them inaccessible to many\nreaders. But it is a work the perusal of which must quicken the\ndesire for that full and connected history of the American church\nwhich awaits us in the future. Here, that history glitters in\ndetached fragments, like prismatic hues reflected from some great\nsignal-light, around each saintly and venerable figure whose life\nand labors the author has portrayed. There, in one luminous whole,\nit will irradiate our entire past. Again, a clergyman has found the\nopportunity, amid the cares of a parish and the distractions of\nfrequent and painful illness, to prepare for publication a schedule\nof all the early issues of our American Catholic press--a most\nwelcome adjunct to the labors of the Catholic historian. With these\nand many similar examples before them, how great a reproach must\nrest upon our Catholic young men of culture if their last and only\ncontribution to the literature of their church and country be the\nfleeting amenities of a college address at graduation!\n\nBut, as we have already remarked, the field of our Catholic history\nhas been entered upon by writers of another and an alien school.\nThe wealth of incident, the picturesque _entourage_, the heroic\naction, which characterize the history of our Catholic missions\nhave proven irresistible attractions to the Protestant scholar. Mr.\nFrancis Parkman is especially conspicuous in this department, and\nwe wish to say a few words in regard to his best-known work, _The\nJesuits in North America_ (Boston, 1867). We trust that to Catholic\nreaders Mr. Shea\u2019s elegant reprint of Father Charlevoix\u2019s _History\nof New France_, fully and carefully annotated by Mr. Shea himself,\nwill supply all the needs of a reference on this field of inquiry.\nNone can fail to admire the graces of style which distinguish Mr.\nParkman\u2019s writings, but Protestants alone can make him a reference\nand commend him for the fidelity with which he adheres to their\nworn-out traditions and the readiness he exhibits to flatter their\ningrained prejudices and prepossessions.\n\nIt is difficult to understand how an author could have written so\nfully and so eloquently of men, the dignity of whose aims he seems\nnot to have formed the slightest conception of, or that he should\nhave chosen this theme at all under the circumstances. We can only\nhope that a more profound feeling stirred him to the task than he\nis willing to acknowledge. But Mr. Parkman is a New Englander, and\nit befits not the Puritan traditions of his people to display any\nenthusiasm. On the ears of the auditory he undoubtedly in the main\nsets himself to address--an auditory dead to every supernatural\nimpression except that which may be evoked by the practices of\nspiritism--words of enthusiasm would fall distastefully, and the\nreflex of an inner faith be simply repelling. Hence Mr. Parkman\ncarefully avoids any suspicion of complicity with these unpopular\nemotions, and his heroes enact their grand parts like puppets put\nin action on a mimic stage by some inexplicable machinery. All the\npith and marrow of their actions, such as Catholics know to have\nanimated them, is eliminated, and nothing but a limp and imbecile\ncounterfeit is left of the living, breathing man. Yet these men,\nthese great missionaries so parodied, were they who undertook the\nmost gigantic labors, endured the most severe hardships, and met\neven death itself, from the most exalted motive that can animate\nour kind--the love of souls for God\u2019s sake! In Mr. Parkman\u2019s\nhands, all that is great and ennobling about them shrinks into\nan unsubstantial figment: the impelling motive, if one is to be\ndescried at all, is a barren sentimentalism, the action, left\naimless and unsupported, a mere _prettiness of behavior_.\n\nThe following passage from _The Jesuits in North America_ (page\n97) will afford an example of the _animus_ with which the book is\nwritten. It opens with the reiteration of a stale slander: \u201cThat\nequivocal morality, lashed by the withering satire of a Pascal--a\nmorality built on the doctrine that all means are permissible for\nsaving souls from perdition, and that sin itself is no sin when\nits object is the \u2018greater glory of God\u2019--found far less scope\nin the rude wilderness of the Hurons than among the interests,\nambitions, and passions of civilized life. Nor were these men,\nchosen from among the purest of their order, personally well fitted\nto illustrate the capabilities of this elastic system. Yet, now\nand then, by the light of their own writings, we may observe that\nthe teachings of the school of Loyola had not been wholly without\neffect in the formation of their ethics. But when we see them in\nthe gloomy February of 1637, and the gloomier months that followed,\ntoiling on foot from one infected town to another, wading through\nthe sodden snow, under the bare and dripping forests, drenched with\nincessant rains, till they descried at length through the storm\nthe clustered dwellings of some barbarous hamlet--when we see them\nentering, one after another, those wretched abodes of misery and\ndarkness, and all for one sole end, the baptism of the sick and\ndying, we may smile at the futility of the object, but we must\nneeds admire the self-sacrificing zeal with which it is pursued.\u201d\n_The futility of the object!_ And this is said in the nineteenth\ncentury of Christian enlightenment! Has the lettered paganism which\nheld its head so high in the days of the early Roman Pontiffs\nindeed revived in all its impenetrable pride, and with all its\nscorn of the Christian faith and the Christian people? Has it only\n_slept_ through all these centuries, to awaken again in our day and\nstalk among us with unblushing front as of old?\n\nIn conclusion, on the subject of authors, Rev. W. I. Kip,\nafterwards made Protestant Episcopal Bishop of California,\npublished, under the title of _Early Jesuit Missions in North\nAmerica_, a translation of some letters written by the French\nJesuits on the mission between 1696 and 1750. We see nothing to\nobject to and much to commend in this work. We must except from our\ncommendation a portion of the editor\u2019s preface, as follows: \u201cThere\nis one thought, however, which has constantly occurred to us in\nthe preparation of these letters, and which we cannot but suggest.\nLook over the world and read the history of the Jesuit Missions.\nAfter one or two generations, they have always come to naught....\nMust there not have been something wrong in the whole system--some\ngrievous errors mingled with their teachings, which thus denied\nthem a measure of success proportioned to their efforts?\u201d\nConsidering that, after one or two generations, the insane jealousy\nof governments generally led to the persecution of the Jesuits, the\nrapacity of officials to the plunder of their missions, and that\nthe whole society was suppressed and dispersed in the midst of some\nof its most prominent labors, the failure of most of the Jesuit\nmissions may be easily accounted for. But these causes were all\nextrinsic, not intrinsic, as Mr. Kip suggests. In spite of these\ndisintegrating causes, the vitality of the missions established\nby the Jesuits, as exemplified in this retrospect, is something\nremarkable. Nor was there ever, or, if ever, rarely, a failure\nwhere these extrinsic causes were not at work. Mr. Kip\u2019s assertion\nthat there is not a \u201crecorded instance of their permanency\u201d is\nunveracious in spirit, if it be not in fact. He might easily have\nknown better. Probably, if he would \u201clook over the world\u201d through\nthe medium of the Protestant authorities quoted by Dr. Marshall\n(and Dr. M. quotes no others) in his work on _Christian Missions_,\nMr. Kip and others equally in need of enlightenment would know what\nthey ought to believe of Jesuit and all other Catholic missions.\n_Per contra_, and as shown by the same Protestant authorities,\nit will be seen that the barrenness erroneously predicated of\nthe Jesuit missions by Mr. Kip is the distinguishing mark of the\nProtestant missions everywhere and at all times, under the most\nfavorable as under the most adverse circumstances, in their first\nstage equally as in their last.\n\nWhen we consider that eight hundred or more years ago all that\nwas Christian in our land was Catholic, we can bear with more\nequanimity the presumptuous offers of hospitality made to us\nby sectaries who claim as their own a soil wherein Catholicity\nwas planted before their religion was heard of. In brief, the\nhistory of these first missions was as follows: When the light\nof Christianity spread from Ireland to Iceland, the adventurous\nnatives of the latter country had already effected a lodgement on\nour continent through the colonies they had planted in Greenland\nand on the shores further south, extending to Narragansett Bay.\nThey called this latter region Vinland from the great profusion\nof native vines they found there. In the year 1000, Catholic\nmissionaries set forth from Iceland, and soon bade Greenland\nblossom with the fruits of faith, as it blossomed already with the\nmaterial beauty and verdure that then crowned its valleys. In time\nmissionaries were despatched hence to Vinland, with the same happy\nresults. Thus, in what seems to us the night of ages, the voice\nof Christian prayer and the hymns of Christian praise resounded\nalong our Northern shores. Greenland was already dotted over with\ninstitutions of piety and learning when Eric, now its bishop, with\nhis see at Garda, came in 1121, for the second time, to visit his\ndear Vinlanders and their Indian neophytes; rounding the promontory\nof Cape Cod to the south, five hundred years before the grim\nPuritans rounded it to the north on their way to Plymouth Bay. He\ncame this time to dwell with the chosen ones of his flock, and\ndoubtless to die with them, for the curtain of history has fallen\nover his fate and that of his companions and spiritual children.\n\nThe old stone tower at Newport is, in the eyes of some respectable\nantiquaries, a relic of ancient Catholicity in New England that\nbelonged to a church or monastery, but its mute walls reveal\nnothing of the sacred catastrophe which overwhelmed the Christian\ncolony of Vinland. The soil of New England was therefore long since\ndedicated to the God of truth, and let us trust that he will again,\nin his own good time, claim his heritage.\n\nTurning our eyes to the other extreme of our national boundaries\nas they now exist, we find that the first Spanish missionaries set\nfoot in Florida in 1528, in company with the expedition of Narvaez.\nThe latter expected to find him an empire rivalling in wealth and\nextent that of Mexico, so recently subjected to the Spanish arms by\nthe prowess of Cortez. The limits of the new empire were already\nmarked out for a see, which took its title from the Rio de las\nPalmas, its southern boundary, a river in Mexico between Vera Cruz\nand Tampico, and extended to the Cape of Florida. The new bishop\nhimself, Juan Juarez, headed the band of missionaries. As Father\nJuarez, he had been one of the twelve Franciscans who were invited\nto Mexico by Cortez to be its first apostles, and whom he received\nwith great honor in 1524, five years after his landing. Father\nJuarez here distinguished himself by his zeal and his love and care\nfor the Indians, and his appointment as the new bishop, which was\nmade on the occasion of a subsequent visit to Spain, was therefore\nmost fitting.\n\nThe expedition of Narvaez proved, however, a failure, and in its\nfailure was involved that of the missionary scheme connected\nwith it. No rich empire met the commander\u2019s expectant gaze,\nno dusky monarch clad in barbaric splendor and surrounded by\nassiduous courtiers crossed his path to question his purposes or\nwithstand his advance. He encountered only straggling Indians\nwho treacherously led him on to his ruin. At last, weary,\ndisappointed, pinched with want, and decimated by disease or the\narrows of ambushed savages, the troops of Narvaez forced their\nway back through the jungle to the shore they had left. Narvaez\nhad injudiciously, and against the advice of Bishop Juarez,\nordered his ships elsewhere, and the only resource of the party\nwas to escape to sea as best they might in the rude boats they\nconstructed for the purpose. Four only remained behind, and these\nsaved themselves by a perilous journey across the continent.\nThe remainder were lost at sea, or were cast away to die a more\nlingering death by starvation, disease, or the attacks of the\nnatives. Among the latter was the party of Bishop Juarez, which\nhad been driven ashore on Dauphin Island, near the mouth of the\nMississippi. Thus the fate of the second bishop who possessed\njurisdiction over any portion of our soil is, like that of the\nfirst, wrapped in painful obscurity, and the fruits of his mission,\nif there were any, are equally left without living trace. All that\nis known of this devoted pioneer and martyr of the South has been\nrecorded by Mr. Clarke in his _Lives of the Deceased Bishops_.\n\nThe four survivors of the expedition of Narvaez traversed Texas and\nNew Mexico, and, reaching the shores of the Gulf of California,\nreappeared to the gaze of their astonished friends. The accounts\nthey gave of the kingdoms and cities they had passed on their\njourney--accounts that were doubtless somewhat colored by their\nimagination--came to the ears of an Italian friar named Mark, and\nexcited his zeal for the glorious spiritual conquest that seemed\nto lie before him. Placing himself under the guidance of Stephen,\na negro, one of the four survivors alluded to, and attended by\nsome friendly Indians, he boldly plunged into the wilderness which\nskirted the river Gila. Crossing it, he continued his march until\nhe came within sight of Cibola, a city of the Zu\u00f1i tribe. Here he\nsent forward Stephen with a party of the Indian attendants to\nprepare the way, but the natives drove them back, and even killed\nStephen and some of his companions. The friar could only look\nwith longing eyes towards the city where he had hoped to garner a\nharvest of souls, and then sorrowfully began to retrace his steps.\nEre descending the hill from which he bade farewell to the city,\nhe, however, planted the cross, the object of his journey and the\nemblem of his mission.\n\nThe chieftain, Coronado, stimulated by the representations made\nof the supposed riches of Cibola, headed an expedition fitted out\nby the government to reduce it. He followed the route previously\ntraversed by Friar Mark, who accompanied him, together with a\nnumber of other Franciscans. Cibola was reached, and soon yielded\nto the invader, but so barren was the prize, that Coronado resolved\nto press on to the conquest of another fabled empire in the\ninterior, leaving the poor friar, overwhelmed with reproaches,\nto return home in shattered health. He ended his days shortly\nafter. Coronado, in his researches, crossed to the valley of the\nRio Grande, and even to that of the Arkansas, but without result,\nexcept in the discovery of the vast herds of bisons which swarmed\nthe plains, and of which he was the first among Europeans to give\nan account. When Coronado, weary of his fruitless journey, resolved\nto return, Father John de Padilla, one of the Franciscans, in his\nyounger days a soldier, begged to be allowed to remain at the\nIndian town of Quivira, west of the Rio Grande. Brother John of\nthe Cross proffered a similar request in regard to the neighboring\nvillage of Cicuye, now Pecos. Bestowing upon them a supply of live\nstock, and some Mexican Indians as assistants, the expedition\npassed on and left them to their perilous posts. The Indians of\nNew Mexico were, as a race, of morals more than ordinarily pure,\nand they possessed some familiarity with the arts. Notwithstanding\nthese humanizing traits, the lives of the two devoted missionaries\npaid the forfeit of their courage and zeal, or they may both have\nperished by the hands of roving Indians. No tidings were ever heard\nof the lay brother, and the fate of the father was announced in\nTampico by his companions, who fled thither with the news of his\nmartyrdom.\n\nThe expedition of Coronado occupied the years 1540-1, or a great\nportion of them. In the latter year De Soto, who had entered\nFlorida in 1539, led on by the same delusive hopes with which\nthe narrative of the survivors of the party of Narvaez inspired\nCoronado--stood beside the mighty Mississippi, its discoverer. The\nfollowing year, its waters were to be at once the grave of the\ngreat leader and the haven of refuge for the remnant of his band\nin their escape from the country. De Soto had brought with him\nfrom Spain a number of ecclesiastics, secular and regular. It is\nnot probable that they accomplished anything among the natives,\nbut they at least sacrificed their lives in the attempt, for the\nlast of them perished in the interval between the death of De Soto\nand the arrival in Tampico of the survivors of his expedition. The\ndark colors in which those who cater to popular prepossessions\ndelight to paint the conduct of the Spanish invaders are seldom\nbrightened by the testimony that should accompany the picture, of\nthe religious purposes which were never entirely absent from their\nminds. With some of them religion was, indeed, a controlling\nmotive. Coupled with dreams of worldly conquest, was always the\nhope and desire of spreading the knowledge of Christian truth\nthroughout the empires that might be won. Let the conduct of our\nnon-Catholic fellow-citizens in the first years of the American\noccupation of California, in all its characteristics of violence,\nirreligion, greed, and cruelty to the Indians, be compared with\nthat of the Spaniards of three centuries before, and it may be\nfound that the latter will gain by the comparison. Moreover, no\nscheme of benevolence in behalf of the poor Indians, no thought of\nextending God\u2019s kingdom upon earth, ever entered the thoughts of\nour nineteenth-century adventurers.\n\nIn 1544, one solitary soldier of the cross, Father Andrew de Olmos,\na Franciscan, acquired a success among the Indians of Texas which\nhad been denied to all his predecessors on the same field. It\nwas the wild race then known as the \u201cChichimecas,\u201d among whom he\nfearlessly advanced. Strange to say, many hearkened to his words,\nand followed him to Tamaulipas, where he founded a reduction\nfor them, and completed their instruction. In the missions of\nMexico, Father Andrew had already acquired a knowledge of four\nIndian languages, of three of which he had prepared grammars and\nvocabularies, and in two of them had written religious works for\nthe use of the Indians. He now became a proficient in the language\nof this tribe also, and prepared many books for his spiritual\nchildren. Father John de Mesa, a secular priest, a kindred spirit\nin zeal, and of like accomplishments as a linguist, joined him in\nhis labors, and both of them devoted the remainder of their lives\nto the Indians of the reduction. Their mission was so fortunate as\nto be perpetuated by successors, under whom it was also enlarged by\nthe accession of many new Indian converts.\n\nAn attempt equally intrepid in character and peaceful in its\nmethod, but still entirely ineffectual in result, was the\nexpedition into Florida in 1547 under the direction of Father\nCancer de Barbastro, a distinguished missionary of Mexico, attended\nby several other Dominicans. Fortified with a royal decree from\nPhilip of Spain restoring to liberty all natives of Florida held in\nbondage in any portion of the Spanish possessions, and provided by\nthat monarch with an unarmed vessel, the missionaries were received\nwith some delusive demonstrations of friendship on the part of\nthe Indians. Untouched by the peaceful character of the mission,\nhowever, they seized the first opportunity to massacre Father\nDiego de Pe\u00f1alosa, who had entrusted his life in their hands, and\nnot long after Father Cancer himself. The mission was thereupon\nabandoned by the others as hopeless.\n\n  NOTE.--In addition to the works devoted specifically to the\n  subject, mentioned in the text of this article, we would refer\n  the future historian to the following sources of information as\n  indispensable to an exhaustive treatment of the theme. We offer\n  the suggestion as a partial acknowledgment of the obligation\n  which we, in common with our fellow-Catholics of the United\n  States, are under to a pioneer in this field of investigation--an\n  assiduous and _successful_ student (so far, at least, as his\n  readers are concerned) of early American Catholic annals:\n\n  _Discovery and Exploration of the Mississippi Valley_. By John\n  Gilmary Shea. (Embracing the Relations of Fathers Marquette,\n  Hennepin, Allouez, and others, and a _fac-simile_ of the outline\n  map of the region made by F. Marquette.)\n\n  _Early Voyages up and down the Mississippi._ By the same.\n\n  The Cramoisy Series of _Memoirs and Relations concerning the\n  French Colonies in North America_. Edited and published from\n  early MSS. By the same. 24 vols. (This includes Relations,\n  Biography, Travels, Letters, Diplomatic Correspondence, etc.,\n  etc.)\n\n  _The Library of American Linguistics_: A Series of Grammars and\n  Dictionaries of American Languages. Edited by the same. 13 vols.\n\n  \u201cOur Convents,\u201d in _The Metropolitan_, and \u201cOur Martyrs,\u201d in the\n  _United States Catholic Magazine_. (The latter has been published\n  in book-form in a German translation.)\n\n                         TO BE CONTINUED.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[134] Let us pause to observe that this change in the spirit of\nlegislation marks also the decline of that spirit of bigotry which\ninspired it in the first place. The spirit of bigotry, however,\nstill survives, though it be less aggressive than formerly. It\noutlives the melioration of charters, and dies hard. When it\nshall have reached that stage of feebleness to which the natural\ngenerosity of our countrymen will sooner or later reduce it, we may\nthen hope to follow where Canada has led in her laws concerning\n_education_. The pompous protection now afforded by states and\nmunicipalities to their necessarily infidel school will disappear\nto give way to measures of solicitude for the equal education of\nall, Catholic and infidel, Protestant and Jew, without injustice\nto any man\u2019s religion or any man\u2019s resources. The unfortunate\nprecedent afforded by the theocratic government of New England, and\nwhich has been so blindly followed by other states, in assuming\nto _educate_ instead of _aiding_ education--even this disorder in\nour republicanism may be healed, if congress do not meanwhile (as\nappearances threaten) strengthen the hands of state absolutists\nby its largesses; or, if it do not, by an act of still greater\nusurpation than the states have been guilty of, consign the task of\npopular education to the care of the general government.\n\n[135] Thus Protestant bigotry probably lost us Canada, as it gained\nus--must we say it?--the treason of Arnold. The bigotry of Arnold\nrevolted at the alliance with France, because it was an alliance\nwith Catholics. His disgust was heightened by the liberality of\nfeeling which began to be manifested by his countrymen towards\nCatholics. The co-operation of Catholics, native and foreign, in\nthe cause of our National Independence, was so marked that it\nmay well have embittered a patriot of his calibre, and indeed it\ninfuriated him to that degree that he preferred to sell his country\nrather than serve a cause which was so largely sustained by those\nwhose religion he hated. Does not Arnold live in successors? To say\nnothing of others, who were the Know-Nothing patriots who preferred\nto disgrace the national name by destroying the memorial-stone\ncontributed by Pius IX. to the Washington Monument, rather than\nthat its shaft should preserve the evidence of the respect of a\nPope for the memory of our Pater Patri\u00e6?\n\n\n\n\nFRAGMENTS OF EARLY ENGLISH POETRY.\n\n\nTO THE BLESSED VIRGYNE.\n\n    As thou wel knowest, O Blessed Virgyne,\n    With lovynge herte and high devocion,\n    In thyne honour he (Chaucer) wroot many a lyne,\n    For he thi servant was, mayden Marie,\n    And let his love floure and fructifie.\n                                         --OCCLEVE.\n\n\nTO THE BLESSED VIRGIN.\n\n    Lady, when men pray to the,\n      Thou goest before of thy benignitie\n    And getest us the light of thy prayere\n    To giden us to thi Sonne so dere.\n                                         --CHAUCER.\n\n\n\n\nFLEURANGE.\n\nBY MRS. CRAVEN, AUTHOR OF \u201cA SISTER\u2019S STORY.\u201d\n\nTRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH, WITH PERMISSION.\n\n\nPART SECOND.\n\nTHE TRIAL.\n\n\nXXIV.\n\nFleurange hastily wrapped a large white burnous around her, drew\nthe hood over her face, and then ran to the carriage, which was\nwaiting for her. It seemed as if heaven had sent her aid in the\nvery hour of her greatest need. She felt that her resolutions would\nbe carried out by means of her cousin, but in what way she could\nnot yet see. At all events, she was no longer friendless, and one\nof the difficulties she had to surmount was already smoothed away.\n\nThese thoughts prevailed over all others during her short ride\nfrom the palace to the hotel. At her arrival, the sight of Clara\nmade her forget everything for a while but the sweet memories of\nthe past.--The Old Mansion, the fireside around which they used\nto gather, the family all scattered since they last saw each\nother--all came back with sharp poignancy, and it was with tears of\njoy and regret they flew into each other\u2019s arms.\n\nThis first emotion somewhat calmed, the two cousins looked at one\nanother. Though they had not been separated more than a year,\nthe appearance of both bore marks of the changes they had passed\nthrough. Clara was as fresh and pretty as ever, but her fine son,\nwhose birth had delayed her return to Germany, added to the charm\nof youth a certain gravity which enters into all maternal joy, and\ngave to her beauty the crown of dignity it had hitherto lacked.\n\nAs to Fleurange, it would be difficult to say what had changed\nher. Was it the elegance of her dress, which the princess did not\nexcuse her from, even when they were alone? Or the distinguished\nsociety in which she now moved? Or was it the increased paleness of\nher face, and her air of depression, that gave such sweetness to\nher look, lent such new grace to her form, and rendered her whole\nperson more strikingly attractive than ever?\n\nFleurange had passed through too many sorrows, and at too early an\nage, for her face ever to reflect the careless gaiety of youth. And\nyet, after some weeks passed in her uncle\u2019s family, the Old Mansion\nwas lit up with no smile more radiant than hers--it resounded with\nno voice more joyful. Now, her pale and noble countenance seemed\novershadowed with a premature gravity. Her serene eyes, with their\nexpression of firmness, no longer displayed the sanguine enthusiasm\nof youth, which used at times to light them up and deepen the\ngray hue of the iris into the lively brilliancy of black. Without\nlooking a day older, she seemed to have acquired the experience of\nmaturity, and made a correct estimate of life without having taken\na step further through it.\n\nClara and Julian gazed at her with a kind of anxious admiration,\nbut forbore questioning her. They instinctively felt she would\nprefer not to answer their questions. Besides, her own inquiries\nleft no room for theirs. The names so dear to them all were one by\none pronounced, and for some moments everything was lit up with the\nwarmth of the far-off fireside, which, amid all the young girl\u2019s\nrecent emotions, she had never ceased to feel. Everything was going\non well among those dear absent ones. Comfort, peace, and even\nsomewhat of ease gradually reappeared beneath their roof. And all\nthis was owing to Clement\u2019s activity and ability.\n\n\u201cDear Clement!\u201d said Clara with tears in her eyes. \u201cWhat a\nprovidence he has been to them all! May God bless and reward this\nbeloved brother!\u201d\n\nThen the travellers spoke of themselves. They were only passing\nthrough Florence, which they had previously visited. After going\naround to see Perugia, and all that region so attractive to\nartists, they intended resuming the route to Germany. They were to\npass the following year at Heidelberg, where they were impatiently\nawaited, Julian feeling obliged to make up for the time he had lost\nin this delightful journey and to undertake with no further delay\nthe orders he had received.\n\nPerugia!--At the very mention of this place an idea suddenly\noccurred to Fleurange. Before arriving at Perugia they would have\nto pass near Santa Maria al Prato. Could she not accompany them\nthus far, and seek the advice and aid of the Madre Maddalena who\nhad always shown so affectionate an interest in her? Guided by her,\nshe would be sure of taking the wisest course in the perplexities\nof her situation. If she needed courage, where find it if not\nwith her, the very remembrance of whom often sufficed to renew\nthe vigor of her soul? If she needed consolation, who so able to\nimpart it? Yes, this opportunity was providential; she must hasten\nto profit by it; and, without speaking for the present of absolute\nseparation, she would only obtain the princess\u2019 permission for a\nfew days\u2019 absence in order to make this short journey.\n\nHaving decided on this, Fleurange breathed as freely as if a weight\nhad been removed from her heart. Before the end of the hour,\nshe took leave of her cousin after appointing a meeting for the\nfollowing day, and re-entered the carriage which had brought her.\n\nIt was in the month of May. The air was redolent of\nspring-time--and spring-time at Florence. Count George\u2019s carriage\nwas an open _cal\u00e8che_. As she took her seat, one of the passers-by,\ndoubtless struck with her beauty, threw her one of those large\nbouquets which in that city of flowers are in every one\u2019s hands\nat that season. Fleurange, without even turning her head to look\nat the person who offered her this delicate homage, accepted it\nwithout any scruple, and inhaled its odor with delight. She felt\nan unusual pleasure in the sweet fresh night air which caressed\nher cheek, and at finding herself thus alone for a moment with\nuncovered head beneath so pure and brilliant a sky. After the long\nconfinement she had endured--passing so many days and nights\nin a chamber the air and light scarcely penetrated--this moment\nof freedom was a mental and physical refreshment of which she\nunconsciously had absolute need. Besides, amid all the anxious\ncare she lavished on the princess, one thought--a constant,\npainful thought--had not ceased to haunt her: She had been obliged\nto practise continual renunciation of a tenderness which, mute\nor sometimes murmured, had on a thousand occasions made itself\nunderstood or divined. It was an additional relief to feel this\nstruggle would soon end, that a means of departure was at hand, or\nrather of flight, and she would only have to courageously struggle\nand repress her feelings a few days longer. After that, she would\nonly have to suffer; there would be nothing more to fear, either\nfrom others or herself.\n\nThe young girl\u2019s evening ride came to an end too soon. The horses\nwent like the wind, and brought her in a few moments to the foot of\nthe broad marble staircase. She ascended it slowly, and proceeded\nat the same pace through the large salons, till she came to the one\nin which she had left the princess and her son. This room, it will\nbe remembered, was the last of the suite, and opened, as well as\nthe one next it, upon the terrace, which thus afforded an exterior\ncommunication between the two rooms.\n\nWhen Fleurange came to the latter, she stopped. She feared the\nprincess might have retired without waiting for or needing her.\nBut not so: her son was still with her. She could distinctly hear\nthe sound of their voices. Owing to the vernal mildness of the\nevening, all the windows were open, and, instead of entering,\nFleurange passed out on the terrace to await the conclusion of\ntheir conversation. And, moreover, it had not yet struck ten--the\nhour appointed for her return.\n\nBut she had scarcely gone out before she regretted it, for she\ncould not help hearing, not only their voices, but their very\nwords. She was about to return when she was stopped, and rooted as\nit were to the ground, by a word which her ear caught, and which\ngave her a thrill. That word was _Cordelia_; and almost immediately\nafter she heard her own name--her name, not that of Gabrielle, the\nonly one by which she was known, but the name of her childhood, the\nname unknown to every one at Florence except him who now uttered\nit--and in such a tone!\n\n\u201cFleurange!\u201d said Count George. \u201cYes, mother, this name which\njust escaped me in speaking of her; this name as strange as her\nbeauty, and which, like the charm she is endowed with, belongs to\nno one else in the world, was the one her father called her by the\nfirst time I ever saw her--a thousand times more charming than the\nCordelia of which she was the original--\u201d\n\nFleurange heard nothing more.--For some moments she felt ready to\nfaint, and it was only a resolute effort of her will that kept her\nfrom falling to the ground, overcome by surprise and emotion. Was\nit really the count she heard speaking? and could it be his mother\nto whom he was talking? What madness led him to brave the princess\nby using such language--her whom the slightest contradiction often\nthrew into a violent state of impatience and anger--her who could\nnot endure the least opposition from any one? What would she say?\nWhat reply was Fleurange about to hear?\n\nShe no longer thought of stirring. She felt incapable of deciding\nwhether it were well or ill to remain; she had but one wish--to\nhear the princess\u2019 reply, and to act in consequence. Perhaps, after\nhearing it, she would leave the place where she stood, never to\nappear before her again; who could tell? Already a confused idea\nentered her mind of leaving the palace and returning through the\nstreets, alone and on foot--night though it was--to the Steinbergs.\n\nAfter a long silence the princess spoke, but her trembling and\nsubdued voice, to Fleurange\u2019s great surprise, betrayed no signs of\nanger. The effect was only the more profound on her who now stood\nquivering with silent expectation.\n\n\u201cThen, George, you wish to cause me the greatest mortification it\nis possible for a son to cause his mother--you wish to violate the\npromise on which I relied with so much faith and confidence?\u201d\n\n\u201cMother, I have already told you I never made any promise.\u201d\n\n\u201cEnough, George. I like your frankness. Do not spoil it now by\nprevarication. If you made her no promise, you made me one which\nyou have not kept--me, your mother. This is sufficient, I think, to\nmerit my reproaches.\u201d\n\n\u201cMother--!\u201d And George rose with an impatient air, and turned as if\nto go out.\n\nThe princess rose too. She seemed completely cured. It often\nhappened that some extraordinary excitement effaced in a moment the\nlast traces of a long and severe attack.\n\nShe put her arm around her son\u2019s neck and drew him towards her.\n\u201cGeorge,\u201d said she, when he returned to the place he had just left,\n\u201cI ought not to trust any more in your promises, and yet there is\none I beg you to make.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is it, mother?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will not yield to this folly without taking time for\nreflection?\u201d\n\n\u201cI can promise that.\u201d\n\n\u201cMoreover--listen to what I am going to ask--Swear you will never\nyield to it till you have obtained my consent.\u201d\n\nGeorge hesitated. \u201cThat would be a very serious promise,\u201d said he\nat length in a caressing tone, \u201cif I did not know that in the end\nyou never refuse anything to your spoiled child.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, come, George,\u201d resumed his mother in an eager tone of\ndistress, \u201cdo not make me repent of my indulgence. Give me your\npromise!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, mother, it should be acknowledged I ought to hesitate to\ngive it--without ever having asked her, without even knowing how,\nafter all, I should be received.\u201d\n\nThe princess shrugged her shoulders.\n\nHe continued: \u201cI am persuaded she would dispense with your consent\nless readily than I, and consequently my submission is under the\nguard of a will stronger than mine.\u201d\n\nThe princess at first looked astonished; then, after a moment\u2019s\nreflection, she said: \u201cPerhaps you are right. No matter, give me\nyour hand on this promise.\u201d\n\nGeorge bent down, kissed his mother\u2019s hand, and pressed it in his.\n\u201cThere it is,\u201d said he, \u201cand my promise--on my word of honor.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is right, my child, now leave me. It is time for Gabrielle to\nreturn, and it would be better for her not to find you here.\u201d\n\nGeorge rose, and, embracing his mother once more, left the room.\n\nAs soon as she was alone, the princess threw herself on her _chaise\nlongue_, put both hands to her face, and burst into sobs.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV.\n\nFleurange hesitated a moment, then followed her natural impulse,\nwhich was always straightforward and courageous. She resolutely\nentered the salon by the terrace window, and when the princess\nraised her head she saw the young girl before her, wrapped in her\nwhite burnous, with her bouquet in her hand. Though the princess\nwas expecting her, this sudden apparition surprised her to such\na degree that she gazed at her for a moment without speaking, as\nif she were a supernatural vision. But it was only for a moment.\nFleurange perceived that the anger she repressed in her son\u2019s\npresence was now about to burst forth.\n\nThe princess wiped away her tears. Her eyes expressed at once wrath\nand disdain. She hastily rose, and was about to add severe words\nto the imperious gesture with which she pointed towards the door\nwith one hand, and had already placed the other rudely on the young\ngirl\u2019s shoulder, when the latter, without arrogance and without\nfear, looked her in the face.\n\nThe expression of Fleurange\u2019s large eyes was such as can only be\ncompared to that magnetic virtue--that sometimes subdues, they\nsay, the fury of beings destitute of reason. No words could have\nexpressed to such a degree the uprightness and purity of her\nsoul. With all her faults, there was a nobleness in the princess\u2019\nnature which was touched by that look, and responded to it. Her\neyes turned away: she fell back on her _chaise longue_, and\nunresistingly allowed Fleurange to take both her hands, which had\njust made so threatening a gesture. She held them for some moments\ngrasped in her own, but neither of them spoke.\n\nAt last Fleurange said in a sweet, calm voice: \u201cPrincess, I was on\nthe terrace, and heard everything.\u201d\n\nA new flash of indignation awoke in the princess\u2019 eyes, and her\nmouth resumed its expression of disdain. The young girl\u2019s face\nslightly flushed.\n\n\u201cYou will readily believe,\u201d she continued, \u201cthat I did not go there\nwith the intention of listening. But hearing my name, I stopped. It\nwas wrong, I acknowledge, but I had no time for reflection. Pardon\nme, and forgive also,\u201d she added in a more troubled tone, \u201cthe\nmomentary displeasure Count George has caused you on my account.\u201d\n\n\u201cMomentary!\u201d repeated the princess in a cold, ironical tone.\n\n\u201cAt least,\u201d continued Fleurange, \u201cyou will find it only for an\ninstant that this notion, this folly--in short, what you have just\nheard--will be serious enough to annoy or afflict you.\u201d\n\n\u201cGabrielle!\u201d\n\n\u201cAllow me to continue, princess; you shall reply afterwards. My\nheart is so full of gratitude towards you--\u201d\n\n\u201cDo not talk to me of your gratitude,\u201d cried the princess,\ninterrupting her, and breaking out anew. \u201cIt is precisely because\nI thought I had some claims on it that I feel so deeply wounded.\nAfter loving you so much, I am tempted to hate you. It is your\nperfidy, your ingratitude--\u201d\n\n\u201cI am neither perfidious nor ungrateful,\u201d said Fleurange, turning\npale. \u201cAllow me to prove I am not. I ask it even more for your own\nsake than for mine.\u201d\n\nThe princess became calm once more, as if appeased by her sweet\nvoice, and seemed to resign herself to let Fleurange continue. She\nleaned her head on her hand, and listened some moments without\nchanging her attitude.\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d repeated Fleurange, \u201cI am neither perfidious nor ungrateful,\nand God knows what I am ready to suffer to spare you this\nmortification or any other!--My first thought was to go away--to\nflee--that you might be delivered from my presence and all the\nannoyance it might cause you. But, princess, that would not have\nbeen the best course. He must forget me. Therefore I must not\ndisappear in so romantic a fashion.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d said the princess with surprise.\n\n\u201cThat I must certainly go away, but not in a way that will induce\nhim to pursue me. The less obstinate he is made by any appearance\nof opposition, the sooner I shall be effaced from his memory.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou understand him well,\u201d said the princess, more and more\nastonished; \u201cand you talk very coolly,\u201d added she. \u201cThen you do not\nlove poor George at all?\u201d\n\nA moment before she had been greatly irritated at her proteg\u00e9e\u2019s\npresumption, but now, mother-like, she seemed ready to take offence\nat her indifference.\n\nA lively blush suddenly suffused Fleurange\u2019s face, and great\ntears came into her eyes. \u201cI do not love him?--My God! O my God!\u201d\nmurmured she in a stifled tone, \u201chave pity on my poor heart!\u201d\n\nBut she almost immediately regained her self-control, and the\nprincess, more affected than she wished to appear, became\nattentive, and at length perceived the importance of what she was\nabout to hear.\n\nFleurange then rapidly explained her design. It was the same she\nhad formed an hour before at her cousin\u2019s: only then she was\ndesirous of concealing the motive and duration of her absence from\nthe princess. Now everything was simplified; she would set out with\nthe Steinbergs for Perugia, and afterwards find a pretext for\nprolonging her absence. Only it was important the princess should\nappear to expect her return, and, above all, should manifest no\nanxiety as to her son\u2019s fidelity to his promise.\n\n\u201cThat promise,\u201d continued Fleurange, not without a tone of just\npride, \u201cI venture to say that M. le Comte George, in placing it\nunder the protection of my will, was right in his conviction it\nwould be well kept.\u201d\n\nWhile she was talking, all the princess\u2019 resentment vanished, and\nchanged gradually to profound gratitude. Looking at Fleurange as\nshe stood before her, she realized, if she had wished to abuse\nher ascendency or even take advantage of it, no filial respect\nwould have sufficed to bring George to submission: no maternal\nauthority have succeeded in restraining him. Whatever it might cost\nher to acknowledge it, she could not deny that, if this double\nwound was spared her pride and her affection, it was due to the\ngenerous disinterestedness of her whom she had just treated with\nso much haughtiness, as well as to her clear judgment. Yes, she\nwas perfectly right in thinking it would not do to disappear and\nsuddenly tear herself away, as it were, from George. The princess\nknew, better than any one else, to what degree of tenacity this\nkind of contradiction might lead her son, and it was precisely\nthis knowledge of his character alone that had just given her the\npower of restraining herself in his presence. The means suggested\nby Fleurange was therefore the best to ensure his future safety.\nThe princess\u2019 great hope was in the mobility of George\u2019s nature,\nprovided, on the one hand, he were withdrawn from the dangerous\ncharm of Fleurange\u2019s presence, and, on the other, they did not\nappear separated by the prestige of a great obstacle. Nothing,\nin fact, could be more judicious than the advice this young girl\ngave contrary to her own interests. She was too much a woman of the\nworld not to comprehend this, and was grateful to her for it. Once\nmore she might hope to attain the aim of her whole life, and with\nthis end in view she yielded without remorse to the necessity of\ntrampling under foot the noble heart that was immolating itself.\nWe will even venture to affirm that, if she was preoccupied with\nanything beyond the present danger, it was not Fleurange\u2019s crushed\nlife, but rather the effect of this unfortunate occurrence on\nher own comfort and habits. Nevertheless, when they separated at\nthe end of this long conversation, the princess folded Fleurange\nin her arms with many demonstrations of affection, and when the\nlatter was once more alone in her chamber she felt comparatively\nhappy. She abhorred all dissimulation, and the important step she\nhad just taken in the path of courageous frankness seemed to have\nremoved a burden from her heart. She was still in that state of\nsomewhat excessive satisfaction which succeeds a great effort,\nwhen, in entering her chamber, she threw down the bouquet she had\nin her hand. In doing so, a paper she had not noticed fell from\nit to the floor. She picked it up with some surprise, opened it\nmechanically, saw the writing was unknown to her, and read it\nwithout comprehending it at first:\n\n\u201cTo live without the power of reparation: to suffer without being\nable to expiate: are these torments that belong to earth, or hell?\nNot far from you a man lives and suffers thus. _You who pray, pray\nfor him!_\u201d\n\nFleurange read and re-read these words two or three times without\nattaching any special importance to them. Suddenly she shuddered\nand began to tremble. The concluding words were the refrain of a\nsong sung at one of the soir\u00e9es at the Old Mansion in the hearing\nof the only person she knew in the world who had reason to write\nthe other part of the note she had just read.\n\nBut was it possible! Could it have been Felix, her guilty and\nunhappy cousin, who wrote it, and this very evening placed it in\nher bouquet? Was it his hand that threw it? At this thought she\nshivered as if the shadow of one dead had fallen upon her. Or was\nit simply a mystification? The history of the Dornthals\u2019 ruin was\nnot wholly unknown at Florence. Perhaps some one wished to frighten\nor puzzle her. She grew bewildered in trying to unravel this new\nmystery. How solve the doubt? How even speak of it without reviving\na hateful remembrance, or making a painful revelation?\n\nShe finally bethought herself of Julian\u2019s presence at Florence, and\nthis relieved her mind: he would be able to discover the truth,\nand know better than any one else how to avoid injuring in his\nresearches the unhappy man who was perhaps this very moment hiding\nnot far from her a blasted and dishonored life.\n\nIf the Princess Catherine had been told the previous evening she\nwas about to be deprived of her charming companion, the news would\nhave been sufficient to cause a return of the alarming symptoms\nfrom which, thanks to her care, she had but just recovered. But\ngreater interests than her fondness for Gabrielle were at stake,\nand her selfishness itself was overruled, or, rather, assumed\nanother form, in view of the danger she reproached herself for not\nhaving foreseen, and which threatened an essential element in her\nhappiness, as well as the accomplishment of one of her dearest\nwishes.\n\nNot to be unjust to the princess, we must acknowledge this wish\nwas reasonable, and in her persistency on this point she gave as\ngreat a proof of genuine maternal sagacity as of worldly ambition.\nWe should also add that the wish in question was in accordance\nwith one sacred in her eyes--the wish of the adored husband of her\nyouth. His memory was interwoven with her earlier days, when her\nlife, simpler and better, promised to be something higher than\nsucceeding years had realized.\n\nAfter she became a widow, she had no guide but herself, and\nwhen, beautiful, wealthy, and still young, she appeared in the\nfashionable world at St. Petersburg, her light and frivolous nature\nhad no restraint but her pride. In the height of the intoxication\nof this second epoch of her life, she always respected the limits\nthe fashionable world itself sets, and beyond which refuses\nits consideration and respect, even while still lavishing its\nflattery and incense. Her pride, in particular, prevented her\nfrom transgressing these limits--that was the dominant trait in\nher character--and prompted her to aim at the highest position at\nall times and in all places. And after conferring on her life a\nkind of dignity, it guided her in the choice of a second husband.\nShe thought herself happy in obtaining rank, honors, and wealth,\nbut she soon found she had paid too dear for these advantages;\nand perhaps she would not have passed through the trials of an\nill-assorted union as irreproachably as the period of liberty that\npreceded it, if, at the end of two years, death had not restored\nthat liberty a second time.\n\nAfter this, nothing occurred to trouble the brilliant and\nprosperous course of a life which, in spite of generous instincts\nand a mind considerably cultivated, was given wholly up to\nfrivolity, with the exception of her affection for her son. But\nhowever lively and passionate this affection might be, it was\nwanting in the dignity of maternal authority. Her charming boy,\nwho from his earliest years possessed every grace and attraction\nwhich nature in her most generous mood could confer, as well as\na rare mind and uncommon beauty, gratified her maternal pride,\nwhich is so excessive in proud natures. The princess, proud of her\npromising son, did not perceive she was not obeyed as fully as she\nwas adored; and years passed away thus till the epoch,\n\n                       \u201cOve uom s\u2019innamora.\u201d\n\nThen the Princess Catherine began to realize she had no authority\nover her idolized son, and that she needed great prudence and skill\nto avoid what would have been the most trying of failures, for all\nher ambition was now centred in him--an ambition even more ardent\nthan she had ever felt for herself.\n\nThen sprang up the earnest desire of seeing his father\u2019s wish\nrealized--a wish expressed while George was still in his cradle.\n\nThe Count de Walden\u2019s neighbor in Livonia was a brother in\narms, a dear and intimate friend, named the Count de Liningen.\nBoth noblemen of the highest rank in the province, wealthy, and\npossessing contiguous estates, they agreed to unite their children\nunless their wishes were opposed to it when old enough to fulfil\nthe agreement.\n\nNeither of the two friends lived long enough to catch even a\nglimpse of the dawn of that day. Three years after the birth of his\nson, the Count de Walden was no longer living, and before the young\nVera, who was a year younger than George, reached her eleventh\nyear, the death of her father, and, soon after, that of her mother,\nleft her mistress of all their possessions. The young heiress was\nsent to St. Petersburg till she was of age, and there was reared in\nstrict seclusion by one of her aunts, who long before had given up\nthe world.\n\nThe Princess Catherine had always retained a respectful remembrance\nof the Count de Walden\u2019s wish, which was renewed on his death-bed;\nbut that wish assumed another aspect in her eyes when, towards\nthe epoch of which we have been speaking, the young Vera suddenly\nemerged from her retirement and was presented at court. The\nsensation she produced, her immediate popularity, the place at once\naccorded her among the empress\u2019 maids of honor, gave an _\u00e9clat_\nto her entrance into society which the princess deeply regretted\nGeorge had not witnessed. But he had been absent several months\nfrom St. Petersburg, and was now visiting Paris for the first time.\nHis mother neglected no opportunity of seeing the young maid of\nhonor, and this was facilitated by the friendly relations that\nformerly existed between the two families. These relations were now\nrenewed on both sides with an eagerness which seemed most favorable\nto the project formed during George\u2019s and Vera\u2019s infancy, though\nthey had never met since that time. The princess\u2019 impatience for\nher son\u2019s return increased. Vera seemed formed to captivate him,\nand as to George, his mother could not be anxious as to the effect\nhe would produce.\n\nAt last he returned, and everything indeed seemed to favor the\nprincess\u2019 plans. George was greatly struck, almost captivated. The\nlovely Vera was still more so. But the princess, in her ardor for\nthis marriage, took the false step of speaking to her son with an\nanxiety that had precisely a contrary effect to that she wished\nto produce. George had not come from Paris quite disposed to\nrelinquish his independence at once and bind himself for ever. He\nbecame cautious. The words Vera perhaps expected to hear died away\non his lips, and changed into meaningless flattery. His mother,\nwithout abandoning her hopes, felt their realization must be\ndeferred. But they were both young. With her penetration as a woman\nand a mother, she was sure she was not deceived as to the effect\nher son had produced. She thought she could trust to the durability\nof the sentiment he had inspired, and believed time would bring\nGeorge back to the feet of her whom she destined for him; and she\ndoubted this the less because, in one of their conversations on\nthis subject, he acknowledged no woman had ever attracted him more\nstrongly, and he almost promised his mother not to offer his hand\nto any one else.\n\nIn this way affairs remained. George returned to Paris, and thence\nto Italy, where his mother had decided to live. But meanwhile,\nas we know, Fleurange\u2019s sudden appearance, and other influences\nwe have caught a glimpse of, had gradually drawn his mind and\nheart in a very different direction from what his mother wished\nhim to take. At his last visit to St. Petersburg, during which\nFleurange became an inmate of the princess\u2019 house, the latter had\nthe double displeasure of learning her son avoided Vera, and that\nthis coolness, so cutting to the young girl, was malevolently\nattributed by many to George\u2019s political opinions. This greatly\ntroubled his mother. Whoever knew Russia at that period is aware\nthat the privation of its ruler\u2019s favor was not regarded as a\nslight misfortune. If the insulting words of a former and not very\nremote epoch were no longer in force, \u201cIf the emperor no longer\ndeclared a man was only something when he was speaking to him, and\nas long as he was speaking to him,\u201d many people at St. Petersburg\nacted as if he had so spoken; and the princess could not resign\nherself to see her son in the position of a man in disgrace. And\nyet his rash and imprudent language kept her constantly anxious\non this point. It was therefore with something like a maternal\ninstinct of approaching danger she ardently desired his marriage\nwith Vera, which would give him the liberty of remaining at court\nor leaving it, and in the latter case of returning to Livonia under\nthe safeguard of favor, and taking the position his rank and their\nunited estates would entitle him--a position in which he could\ndispense with the favor of the court.\n\n\u201cOh! why is it not so?\u201d sometimes exclaimed the princess with\nmingled anguish and impatience. \u201cWhy is he not already sheltered\nfrom all I fear?\u201d\n\nAnd then, contrary to the suggestions of her prudence, she allowed\nherself to broach the subject to her son, which, in the interests\nof her design, it would have been better not to have done. She\nthus, in spite of herself, provoked a resistance, the real source\nof which, unsuspected by her, daily became more clear to himself.\n\nWe can now imagine the effect of the confidence George had been\nled to repose in the princess in a fit of capricious frankness.\nOn the whole, he did not fear his mother; and though of course\nhe had never subjected her condescension to such a trial, he was\nconvinced, whatever repugnance she might at first manifest to his\nwishes, a little persistence on his part would triumph sooner or\nlater.\n\nFor nearly four months he had, it is true, been endeavoring,\ncontrary to his habit, to conceal the attraction he felt, but\nit was that he might not disturb his mother too soon, or the\nyoung girl either, and thereby perhaps deprive himself of the\ncharm of her presence while he was still uncertain as to his own\nplans. These plans he now believed matured. Under the increasing\nascendency of present influences, the remembrance of Vera gradually\nfaded away, and the future as well as the present seemed linked\nwith her who now filled his life. He therefore considered it\nopportune to allow his mother at once to have a glimpse of what was\ngoing on in his heart.\n\nIn spite of her inexpressible alarm, the princess had sufficient\ncontrol over her feelings to receive this annoying disclosure with\napparent calmness, and almost conceal from her son the effect of\nthe most painful disappointment she had ever met with.\n\nAt first all seemed hopeless. As to Gabrielle\u2019s grace and\nattractiveness, who knew and appreciated them more than herself?\nWhat could she do to counteract their influence, so long exercised\nunsuspected by too credulous a mother? How foolish she had\nbeen!--How imprudent!--How fatal her confidence!--Her reliance on\nFleurange\u2019s virtue, the only danger that had ever occurred to her,\nprevented her fears. And who would ever have suspected her of so\nmuch ambition or him of such folly?\n\nNever had such a tempest raged in her bosom before. So violent a\nhatred had never succeeded to so much fondness. But before her\nanger had time to burst fully out, all these feelings underwent a\nnew transformation, and one still more unforeseen than the first.\n\nHer enemy became her ally--she against whom she felt herself\npowerless, now came to her aid against herself, and George was\nrestored to her by the hand that could so easily have led him for\never away.\n\nIn view of so great a danger and such unexpected assistance, all\nthe considerations that would so recently have made her dread\nFleurange\u2019s departure now induced her to hasten it, without losing\nsight, however, of the importance, so reasonably pointed out by\nher, of doing nothing to lead George to connect this departure\nwith his disclosure and give it the appearance of an irrevocable\nseparation. Self-interest was supreme, and there was no danger\nthis time that the Princess Catherine would be wanting in prudence\nor shrewdness, or would not at need have recourse to skilful\ndiplomacy.\n\n\nXXVII.\n\nEverything really seemed to favor the plan the princess had\nat heart. The opportune arrival of the Steinbergs afforded a\nreasonable pretext it might have been difficult to find at another\ntime without exciting George\u2019s suspicion.\n\nThe following day, when Fleurange timidly expressed a desire before\nthem all of accompanying her cousin a part of the way to Perugia,\nthe Marquis Adelardi, who was present, declared the excursion would\nprove very beneficial, and begged the princess to allow her young\nprot\u00e9g\u00e9e a short vacation, of which her overtaxed strength had\nneed. George joined his entreaties to those of the marquis, and the\nprincess seemed to yield more through consideration for them than\ncondescension to Fleurange.\n\nShe had preserved an appearance of sorrowful gravity since the\nnight before, which did not suffer George to forget he was in\ndisgrace. Nor did she conceal a certain coolness towards Fleurange,\nwhich he naturally attributed to his communication respecting her.\nIt was the princess\u2019 intention not to allow him to perceive the\nperfect reassurance which her conversation with the young girl\nhad restored. George comprehended his mother was displeased with\nhim, but he had expected this displeasure; he saw she suppressed\nher resentment and continued to treat Fleurange kindly, and he was\ntouched by her forbearance. He felt she relied on his word, and was\ngrateful for her trust.\n\nEverything was therefore arranged in the most natural manner.\nA fortnight was the time allowed for the projected excursion.\nThe Steinbergs, deceived like the rest, were as much overjoyed\nas surprised at the prospect of a pleasure they had not dared\nanticipate, and thus everything fell in with the princess\u2019 wishes\nwithout her appearing to do anything but yield to the desires of\nthe rest.\n\nThe Steinbergs were to leave the following morning. This last\nday was to be devoted to revisiting several museums, and would\nend with a walk to San Miniato. Fleurange boldly proposed to\njoin them. A feverish agitation made inaction insupportable. She\nfeared finding herself alone with George for an instant, and was\nsure of being readily dispensed from her attendance on this last\nday. The princess\u2019 consent, in fact, was not difficult to obtain,\nand towards the middle of the day Fleurange set out with Julian\nand Clara for the Palazzo Pitti. After visiting that gallery and\nseveral others they continued their ride, and at length stopped\nat the foot of the ascent to San Miniato. There they left the\ncarriage. While slowly ascending the steep hill, Fleurange took out\nthe paper that fell from her bouquet the night before, and gave it\nto Julian to read, telling him the suspicion which had arisen in\nher mind.\n\n\u201cIt is strange,\u201d said the latter with an anxious look, after\nreading the note and carefully examining the writing. \u201cNothing\ncould be more painful now than to meet Felix again, and yet this\npaper only reawakens a previous suspicion respecting him.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou had already suspected his return to Europe?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, but only from a slight indication, and I should not have\nmentioned it if this new incident had not occurred. Several months\nago, I was making some necessary researches at Bologna, when\nmy attention was drawn to a work in the library in which I was\ntaking notes. There was a question of some contested historical\npoint, respecting which several passages had been copied from the\ncurious manuscripts in the library. The writing was but recently\ninterrupted, as was evident from the open page. I was reading it\nwith a good deal of interest when my attention was completely\nwithdrawn from the subject of the work by some words scribbled\nalmost illegibly on a paper the copyist had used to try his pen on.\nYour name, Gabrielle, was written on it several times; then the two\nletters F. D.; and finally, \u2018Felix--happy; what irony--Felix!\u2019 I\nexamined the extracts with increased attention. The writing did not\nlook like his, but was a studied fac-simile of the manuscript he\nwas copying. As to the scribbling on the loose paper, it was wholly\nunrecognizable. I asked the librarian some questions, and learned\nthat the work was for some great Florentine nobleman whose name he\nwas ignorant of, but the copyist was an Italian named Fabiano Dini.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that all?\u201d asked Fleurange. \u201cWere you not able to learn\nanything more definite?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing. The next day the unfinished work had disappeared, and\nduring the remainder of my stay at Bologna the copyist did not\nreturn to the library. I kept the scrawl that had puzzled me, but\nthought no more about it. Allow me to retain this note, that I may\ncompare the writing with that.\u201d\n\n\u201cCould it really have been Felix? Or is all this a mere accident?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is impossible to tell. It might have been he, for you know he\nhad a thorough knowledge of Italian, and it might also have been\none of his friends familiar with his history. All we have ever\nbeen able to discover respecting him is, that he went to America\nwith questionable travelling companions--Italians, Germans, and\nPoles--mostly driven out of their own country for good reasons.\u201d\n\nClara\u2019s smiling face grew sad during this account, and Fleurange\nfelt her heart contract with increased melancholy. This revival of\none of the saddest memories of her life seemed to add a mournful\npresage to the sad realities of the day.\n\nHowever, she kept her sorrows to herself. Her cousin must for\nthe present remain ignorant of the cause as well as the real\nlength of the journey she would begin on the morrow, and on every\naccount it was best for her to seek distraction from her thoughts.\nTherefore, after entering the church of San Miniato, she gave\nher whole attention for a while to the frescoes, paintings, and\nmosaics around her, and listened to the explanations Julian gave\nrespecting the numerous symbols--a kind of Christian hieroglyphics\nwhich are alone comprehended by those who seek something in art\nbeyond the mere form that strikes the senses. They spent nearly an\nhour in this manner without perceiving the flight of time and the\nincreasing dimness of the church. They were at length preparing\nto leave, when at the door they found themselves face to face\nwith Count George and the Marquis Adelardi. The former said in a\ngay tone he knew their excursion was to end at San Miniato, and\nhe had proposed to his friend to join them here. \u201cWe were neither\nof us unworthy to hear what Steinberg would have to say, but\nunfortunately we are too late.\u201d\n\nWhile he was speaking, Fleurange, overcome with surprise,\ninvoluntarily shrank back as if to hide herself in the obscurity\nof the church, but daylight was rapidly disappearing, and they all\nagreed it was time to return to the carriage, which was awaiting\nthem at the foot of the hill. She therefore followed the others,\nbut, though she was the last, George waited for her, and before she\nhad a chance to avoid him offered her his arm. Adelardi had given\nhis to Clara, and Julian accompanied them. In this way they slowly\ndescended this charming declivity, looking at the prospect--one of\nthe finest views of Florence, over which the setting sun now cast\nthe soft rays of its departing light.\n\nGeorge slackened his steps so as to allow the others to precede\nthem, and was thus, in a manner, left alone with Fleurange. For a\ntime neither of them spoke. Though very different in their natures,\nthe emotion of both was profound. As for her, the consciousness\nthat this must be their last interview, added to the repressed but\nprofound tenderness of her nature, made this the sweetest but most\nheart-rending hour of her life. He, on the contrary, felt freed\nfrom his previous restraint by the explanation he had had with\nhis mother. Besides, he was not unskilful in reading the feminine\nheart, and not without sufficient penetration to understand what\nwas passing in that he imagined he could now hear beating beside\nhim, and he felt at liberty to speak more openly than he had yet\ndone.\n\n\u201cFleurange!\u201d he suddenly said. She trembled, and tried to withdraw\nthe hand that rested on his arm, but he held it.\n\n\u201cNo, no, allow me to retain your hand, and let me--me alone--call\nyou by this name,\u201d added he softly. \u201cLet it be a name sacred to my\nuse; you are willing, are you not?\u201d\n\nHe pressed the hand he still held, and raised it to his lips.\nFleurange clearly saw amid the soft tones of his words an assurance\nbut feebly disguised. But, alas! if she had dared reveal her real\nsentiments at this moment, she would not have dreamed of showing\nany offence at this. Yes, she loved him; he did not doubt it, that\nwas evident. But what of that? It would have been a great relief\ncould she have avowed it boldly to every one as well as to himself.\nGeorge\u2019s assurance was certainly rather too evident, but how\nreadily she pardoned him! How happy she would have been to tell him\nhe was not mistaken, and that her whole life should prove it. This\nwould have been the sincere cry of her heart, had the clearness of\nher conscience been for a moment obscured at this dangerous hour.\nBut it was not so.\n\n\u201cMonsieur le Comte--\u201d said she after a long silence.\n\n\u201cGeorge! Oh! call me George!\u201d he passionately cried. \u201cLet me hear\nyou, at least once, call me by my name.\u201d\n\nPoor Fleurange! She withdrew her hand from his arm and left him\nfor a moment, endeavoring to control the too violent agitation of\nher heart. He followed her, and she soon resumed, with apparent\ncalmness: \u201cI never expected to hear you call me by my name again,\nand hoped I should not.\u201d\n\n\u201cHoped! Tell me then I am mistaken; that I am presuming and\nfoolish; that I have been deceived in thinking I read in your eyes\nsomething besides absolute indifference.\u201d\n\nShe made no reply.\n\n\u201cFleurange!\u201d continued he impetuously, \u201cyour silence wounds and\nchills me. Have I not, at least, a right to some answer?\u201d\n\n\u201cBut have you any right to question me? Ah! Monsieur le Comte, you\nwould be more noble and generous were you more mindful of what you\nare and who I am.\u201d\n\n\u201cFleurange,\u201d said the count with a grave accent of sincerity, far\nmore dangerous than that of passion, \u201cyou shall be my wife if you\nwill consent to be--if you will accept this hand I offer you.\u201d\n\n\u201cWith your mother\u2019s consent?\u201d said Fleurange slowly, and in a low\ntone. \u201cCan you assure me of that?\u201d\n\nAfter a moment\u2019s hesitation, George replied: \u201cNo, not to-day; but\nshe will yield her consent, I assure you.\u201d\n\nFleurange hesitated in her turn. She knew only too well to what a\ndegree this hope was illusory, but this was her last opportunity\nof conversing with him. The next day would commence their lifelong\nseparation, which time, distance, and prolonged absence would\ncontinually widen. There was no longer any danger in telling the\ntruth--the truth, alas! so devoid of importance now, but which\nwould, perhaps, second the duty she had to accomplish quite as well\nas contradiction.\n\n\u201cAh! well,\u201d she at last replied with simplicity. \u201cYes, why should\nI deny it? Should life prove more favorable to us; if by some\nunforeseen circumstance, impossible to conceive, your mother should\ncheerfully consent to receive me as a daughter, oh! then--what\nanswer I would make you know without my telling you. You are\nlikewise perfectly aware that until that day I will never listen to\nyou.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut that day will come,\u201d cried George vehemently, \u201cand that\nspeedily.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps--\u201d said Fleurange. \u201cWho knows what time has in store for\nus? And who knows that in time the obstacle may not come from\nyourself?\u201d\n\nShe endeavored to say these last words in a playful tone. They were\nhardly uttered before she suddenly stopped, but the shade of the\nlarge cypresses that bordered the road prevented George from seeing\nthe tears that inundated her face.\n\nShe then left him and walked rapidly on to overtake Julian,\nGeorge soon joined them, and they all continued on the way for\nsome time without speaking. The light was fading gradually away,\nand they walked more cautiously as they approached the foot of\nthe hill. Just before reaching their carriage, they met two men\nwalking rapidly along, and conversing too earnestly to notice them\nbeneath the shade of the cypresses. But their features could be\ndistinguished, and the two cousins and Julian felt a thrill of\nsympathetic horror as, in one of them, they recognized Felix!--\n\nAdelardi, on his side, seemed surprised and annoyed also, but\nGeorge, after following them with his eyes like the rest, left his\nparty, turned back, and spoke to one of them. The latter at his\napproach respectfully uncovered. George said a few words to him\nin a low tone, and the two men then kept on their way. The count\njoined his party again.\n\n\u201cWho was that you were speaking to, if the question be not\nindiscreet?\u201d said Adelardi.\n\n\u201cBy no means,\u201d replied George, unhesitatingly. \u201cIt was Fabiano\nDini, the young Italian I spoke to you about, who is my agent, you\nknow, and a very intelligent one, in purchasing curiosities, and\nwho also aids me in my little historical and artistic researches.\nHe has been away, and only returned two days ago. I had a word to\nsay to him.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe was in very bad company,\u201d said Adelardi, frowning.\n\nThe two cousins, meanwhile, entered the carriage; Julian, obliged\nto follow, heard no more.\n\n                         TO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SYMBOLISM OF THE CHURCH.\n\n\nThe Catholic Church has no _forms_--that is, meaningless\nceremonies used to impress and awe the multitude; but she has\nsymbols--that is, \u201csigns by which things are distinguished one\nfrom another.\u201d[136] According to the original meaning of the word,\nthese symbols, the aggregate of which has come to be an outward and\nuniversal profession of faith, have each one a deep significance,\nsometimes even a double sense, and are, in fact, a silent\ncompendium of the history as well as the doctrines of Catholic\nChristianity. But it cannot be too much insisted upon that their\nworth is entirely relative, depending solely on their authorized\ninterpretation, and losing all their value if disconnected from it.\nThus we can recognize no symbols, but mere forms, in the ritual of\nAnglicanism, Lutheranism, etc. Not only is their value relative,\nbut their use is almost optional in the church--we mean as regards\nthe use made of them by the individual soul. The church has \u201cmany\nmansions,\u201d and sympathizes with the severe taste of the Northern\nraces, as well as with the superabundant love of the gorgeous in\nobservance, of the Southern and Eastern nations. Sprung from an\nEastern people, her ritual is as manifold and dignified as that of\nher Hebrew precursor; but, deputed as she is to the _universal_\nworld, and having built her later development upon the broad basis\nof the Gothic and Scandinavian natures, her exterior admits of the\naustere simplicity so dear to the last-mentioned races.\n\nStill the principle of outward forms being a fitting expression of\ninward belief is so obvious and so wedded to the requirements of\nhuman nature, that it would need a second deluge to destroy it.\nWhen \u201cforms\u201d (so-called) were dethroned by the Reformation, they\ncrept in again in real earnest among the reformers themselves. The\nphraseology of Cromwell and his Roundheads, the speech and garments\nof the Quakers, the splits among the Baptists and Anabaptists\nupon the \u201cform\u201d of administering what they did not even believe\nto be a sacrament, were so many involuntary acts of homage to the\ntime-honored principle of symbolism. Of the good effect produced\non all sorts of minds by the outward expression of the doctrine\nof Christ, we will quote two examples, taken from very opposite\nsources. In a note to the preface of Moehler\u2019s _Symbolik_, we\nread: \u201cThere is at Bingen, on the Rhine, a beautiful little\nCatholic church dedicated to St. Roch, to which Goethe once gave\nan altarpiece. \u2018Whenever I enter this church,\u2019 he used to say,\n\u2018I always wish I were a Catholic priest.\u2019 In the great poet\u2019s\nautobiography we also find an interesting description of the\nextraordinary love for the Catholic ritual and liturgy that had\ncaptivated his heart in boyhood.\u201d\n\nThe other example is from the writer\u2019s own experience among the\nagricultural poor of England. A poor and infirm woman, having\ncome for the first time to a Catholic chapel, said afterwards\nthat, often as she had read in the Bible the history of Our Lord\u2019s\nPassion, she had never understood it so well as she did by once\nlooking at the crucifix over the altar. This was the beginning of\nher conversion.\n\nOf the great religious revival in Germany and the labors of Count\nStolberg (the period which answers in time, as also in result,\nto the Tractarian or Oxford movement in England) the preface to\nMoehler\u2019s _Symbolik_ also says: \u201cAs the avenues that led to the\nEgyptian temples were bordered on either side by representations of\nthe mystical sphinx, so it was through a mystical art, poetry and\nphilosophy, that many minds were then conducted to the sanctuary of\nthe true church.\u201d Mrs. Jameson bears witness to a similar process\nwithin her own consciousness concerning the saints of the monastic\norders. \u201cWe have in the monastic pictures a series of _biographies_\nof the most _instructive_ kind.... After having studied the\nwritten lives of St. Benedict, St. Bernard, St. Francis, St.\nClare, and St. Dominic, to enable me to understand the pictures\nwhich relate to them, I found it was the pictures which enabled\nme better to understand their lives and character.\u201d[137] The same\nthought is expressed by a learned English antiquarian, speaking\nof the symbolical paintings of the Catacombs: \u201cMoreover, because\nthey [the artists] desire that the mind of those who see these\npaintings should not retain the outward semblance of the scene,\nbut be carried forward to its hidden and mystical meaning, they\nalways depart more or less from its literal truth, _e.g._, we never\nfind seven or twelve baskets (the miracle of the multiplication of\nloaves), but eight; nor six water-pots of stone (marriage of Cana),\nbut seven. It was the symbol of a religious idea they aimed at, not\nthe representation of a real history.\u201d[138] In a word, symbolism\nis as old as creation, and there never was a time when men did not\nmake for themselves a language of _signs_. Heathendom was only a\ncorruption of signs into realities; Judaism was a religion of signs\ncarefully interpreted in view of the later and fuller revelation.\nOur faith is the realization, in part, of the Hebrew types; but\nsince we are still clogged with mortality, and therefore still\nunder an imperfect law, it follows that through symbols we must\nstill be taught. An unsymbolical religion would be unscriptural,\nfor Christ himself tells us he has come to \u201cfulfil, not to destroy\nthe law.\u201d And this is not incompatible with the command to \u201cworship\nGod in spirit and in truth\u201d; for without the _spirit_, of what use\nwould be the form? It would be as valueless as words from the lips\nof a maniac, words which have no weight because the mind does not\ndirect them. But who would contend that because the random words\nof a madman are meaningless, all speech is so? Even so, though\nmere forms would be idolatrous, forms hallowed by doctrinal and\nscriptural meaning are holy and venerable.\n\nHaving premised thus much, we will attempt some description of a\nfew of those symbols most anciently used by the church, and of the\nsignificance of certain acts and ceremonies which usually are but\nsuperficially examined by our opponents, and, perhaps, not fully\nappreciated by Catholics themselves.\n\nThe Catacombs, where the ecclesiastical life of the church was\nfirst brought into shape, furnish the most interesting material\non the subject of Christian symbolism. The times required\ngreat caution--here was one motive for secret and hieroglyphic\ninstruction; the first converts were Jews, Orientals deeply imbued\nwith the love of imagery and poetry--here was a second reason for\nthe rapid development of symbolism; our Lord himself had deigned\nto use figures and parables in his teaching--here was also a model\nand a permission for the copious use of signs. Almost the earliest,\nand certainly the most interesting, Christian symbol was the\nfish. The Greek word for fish contained five letters, \u1f38\u03c7\u03b8\u03cd\u03c2, each\nof which was the initial of the following words: Jesus, Christ,\nSon (of) God, Saviour. Dr. Northcote says of it: \u201cIt became a\nprofession of faith, as it were, both of the two natures, the unity\nof person and the redemptorial office of our Lord.\u201d[139] Besides\nthis ingenious meaning, the fish signified \u201cthe human soul in the\nfirst or natural creation, the same soul as regenerate or created\nanew, and Christ himself as uniting the two creations of nature\nand grace. In the first or natural creation, life began in the\nwaters and from the waters, of which the fish is the inhabitant.\nIn the spiritual or new creation, all life begins from the waters\nof baptism.\u201d[140] The fish also bears a reference to the story\nof Tobias, where the application of its entrails \u201cdefeats devils\nand restores sight.\u201d[141] In three or four instances the fish\nis depicted bearing a ship on its back, and this combination\nnaturally suggests to us Christ upholding his church.[142] The\nepitaph of St. Abercius, Bishop of Hierapolis in Phrygia at the\nend of the second century, has the following allusion to the\nsymbolic fish: \u201cFaith led me on the road, and set before me for\nfood from the one fountain the great and spotless fish which the\npure Virgin embraced; and this fish she (Faith) gave to friends to\neat everywhere, having good wine, giving wine mixed with water,\nand bread. May he who understands these things pray for me.\u201d In\na fresco in the crypt of Santa Lucina is seen a fish carrying on\nits back a basket of bread, the latter being of an ashen color,\nlike that offered by the Jews to their priests on festival days,\nand in the midst of the bread appears something red, partly\neffaced, but resembling a cup of red wine.[143] This, of course,\nwas intended for the Holy Eucharist, as we shall see further on.\nIn the work of Aringhi on the Catacombs, we find it mentioned\nthat a sarcophagus was found of the date of the very earliest\ncenturies, whereon the story of the paralytic is represented (a\nvery favorite simile in the Catacomb list of subjects). The bed of\nthe subject of the cure is shaped like a fish.[144] The baptismal\nfont first received the name of \u201cpiscina,\u201d and the Christians\noften called each other \u201cpisciculi,\u201d little fishes, as we learn\nfrom Perret. He also tells us too that this emblem reminded the\nearly Christians of the very scenes of the Gospel connected with\nChrist\u2019s miracles, the apostles\u2019 calling, and the establishment\nof the church; Christ walking on the waters; preaching from a\nbark; allaying the tempest; causing a miraculous draught of fishes\nto be taken; finding the coin of the tribute in the mouth of a\nfish--all this was suggested by the simple figure of a fish. St.\nJerome says that \u201cthe fish that was taken in whose mouth was the\ncoin of the tribute was Christ, the second Adam, at the cost of\nwhose blood the first Adam and Peter, that is, all sinners, were\nredeemed.\u201d Origen speaks of our Lord as \u201che who is figuratively\ncalled the fish.\u201d This symbol leads naturally to that obvious one\nof the loaves, which typifies the Holy Eucharist. Abundant proof\nof this is found in the writings of the fathers. The types of this\nsacrifice and sacrament are unmistakable. In the cemetery of St.\nCallixtus is a painting representing the _mystical supper_ (not\nthe historical one) of the Eucharist. \u201cThe seven disciples seated\nat the table represent all the disciples of Christ. The number\n_seven_ signifies universality. The two fishes on the table remind\nus of the multiplication of the five loaves and two fishes. The\nseven baskets are filled with _whole_ loaves, not fragments, and\nthe addition of an eighth hints that we are not to think of the\nliteral history, ... but of that ulterior and spiritual sense to\nwhich they all (the three occurrences represented in this one\nfresco) point, and in which they all unite, that is, the doctrine\nof the Blessed Eucharist.\u201d[145] A lamb carrying a milk-pail on its\nback is sometimes used as an eucharistic emblem. The _Acts_ of St.\nPerpetua give us her dream, or rather vision, in which the Good\nShepherd gave her the _curds_ to drink, after he had milked his\nflocks. She received it with her arms crossed on her breast, while\nall the assistants said \u201cAmen\u201d! These words and posture were those\nused during the administration of the Blessed Sacrament. Milk is\nperpetually used in Scripture to denote the good things of God; and\nin early times, according to Tertullian and St. Jerome, _milk and\nhoney_ were given with this meaning to newly baptized infants or\nadults. The practice was continued, on Holy Saturday at least, as\nlate as the ninth and tenth centuries. This symbol of the milk-pail\nis, however, rarer than any other, and is by no means on the same\nlevel as that of the fish, the lamb, and the loaves.[146]\n\nThe Good Shepherd is a pictorial symbol that has never fallen into\ndisuse, and that of Orpheus with his lute or pipe is analogous to\nit. The adaptation of the heathen myth of Orpheus training wild\nbeasts by the sweet sounds of his lyre to the hidden meaning of\nChrist curbing men\u2019s passions by his doctrine, is vouched for by\nSt. Clement of Alexandria. In a painting of the Good Shepherd in\nthe cemetery of St. Saturninus, a goat appears in place of the\nlost sheep. \u201cThis,\u201d says Dr. Northcote, \u201cwas intended as a protest\nagainst the hateful severity of the Novatians and other heretics\nwho refused reconciliation to penitent sinners.\u201d In some of these\nrepresentations, we see several sheep at the feet of Jesus, in\nattitudes pregnant with meaning; some \u201clistening attentively,\nnot quite understanding as yet, but meditating and seeking to\nunderstand; others turning their tails--it is an unwelcome subject,\nand they will have nothing to do with it\u201d;[147] or, again, \u201cone\nof the two sheep is drinking in all that he hears with simplicity\nand affection; the other is eating grass--he has something else to\ndo; he is occupied with the cares, pleasures, and riches of this\nworld.\u201d[148]\n\nDr. Northcote says that as the sheep represent the flock of Christ\nin life, so the dove is more especially the symbol of the soul\nafter death. It is primarily a type of the Holy Ghost, as the\nScriptures suggest and the writings of the fathers assert. They\ncall the Holy Spirit figuratively \u201ca dove without gall,\u201d the\nexpression which is found repeated on some of the sepulchres of\nchildren, as indicative of their innocence. Later on, we find the\nsoul of St. Scholastica appearing to her brother, St. Benedict,\nunder this form. A dove pecking at grapes denotes the soul\u2019s\nenjoyment of the fruits of eternal happiness.[149] Tertullian calls\nthe dove \u201ca herald of peace from the beginning,\u201d and, when painted\nwith an olive-branch in its mouth, it is to be taken in this sense.\nIt is a symbol that we use in our own times. Noah\u2019s ark, a type\nof the church often seen in the Catacombs, is connected with the\ndove. Perret tells us of a picture, noticed by Bottari in his\n_Sculture e Pitture_, of Noah in the ark, and the ark again within\na ship. The form of the ark, according to Hebrew calculations,\nwas a long square, but it is generally represented in the Early\nChristian paintings as a _cube_, a figure suggestive of greater\nstability.[150] This system of departure from the literalness of\nhistory is too universal not to be intentional. For instance, none\nof these representations of the ark are without a dove, but in some\na woman appears instead of Noah. Tertullian in his work on baptism\nsays that this symbol meant the general doctrine of \u201cthe faithful,\nhaving obtained remission of their sins through baptism, receive\nfrom the Holy Spirit [the dove] the gift of divine peace [the\nolive-branch], and are saved in the mystical ark of the church from\nthe destruction of the world.\u201d\n\nThe resurrection of Lazarus, and Moses striking the rock, are both\ntypes of the resurrection and eternal life, and are often seen in\njuxtaposition. In one of these paintings, Lazarus is like a little\nchild, and is clothed in bands that more resemble swaddling-clothes\nthan a winding-sheet. Our Lord also is quite boyish. The apostles\nlikewise are often represented as young men, so is Moses in many\ninstances. This is thought by Perret to be symbolical of the\nimmutability of heavenly glory. Among other types often found\nin the Catacombs are the anchor with a cross-shaped handle, the\nsymbol of hope from time immemorial; the palm, a sign of victory;\nand the ship, the invariable type of the church of Christ. The\nScriptures themselves suggest this latter idea, as they also do\nthat of the rock, _petrus_. This subject is fully treated in\nsome frescoes of the cemetery of St. Callixtus. The rock (Christ)\npours down streams of living waters, which two apostles join their\nhands to catch and collect for the benefit of the world. In other\ncompositions, the rock does not pour forth water spontaneously\n(this was a reference to the day of Pentecost), but emits it at\nthe touch of the rod held by Moses (the type of Peter); and in\nother paintings, two men appear carrying away from it baskets of\nbread, which are then touched with a rod by a figure supposed to be\nChrist. This would denote the sacramental change from bread to the\nflesh of Christ.[151] Thus one type is always presupposing another\nor merging itself into another. In a fresco of several subjects,\nall referring to the Holy Eucharist, found in an ancient Christian\ncemetery at Alexandria, there is written over the heads of several\npersons assembled at a feast these words: \u201cEating the benedictions\nof the Lord.\u201d\n\nNow, the Greek word here used is the same that St. Paul uses (1\nCor. x. 16) to denote the communion of the body and blood of\nChrist, and, furthermore, is the identical word by which St. Cyril\nof Alexandria denotes the _consecrated_ elements.[152]\n\nDaniel in the lions\u2019 den and the three children in the fiery\nfurnace are constantly represented in the Catacombs as types of the\npersecutions of the church and the fortitude under them. The ph\u0153nix\nor palm-bird occurs as a symbol of immortality, and was graven\non the tomb of Maximus by order of St. Cecilia.[153] The peacock\nalso signified immortality, and came to be so used from being the\nbird of Juno, or the supposed emblem of the apotheosis of the\nRoman empresses. In one fresco in the cemetery of St. Sixtus, we\nfind SS. Peter and Paul represented as standing on either side of\na _crowned_ tower, doubtless a symbol of strength, figurative of\nthe church. Perret also tells us that God the Father, \u201chimself\ninvisible, while his power is manifested by his works,\u201d is typified\n\u201cwith singular aptitude by a hand coming forth from the clouds.\u201d\nThis is in a picture of Moses striking the rock.\n\nA very beautiful representation of the Lamb, Jesus Christ, of later\ndate however than the Catacombs, but not so late as to have lost\ntheir informing spirit, occurs in a mosaic that formerly decorated\nthe apse of the basilica of St. Peter in Rome. The Lamb stands\nat the foot of a jewelled cross, on a rock, with four streams,\none running from each of its feet, and a fifth from the foot of\na chalice into which the blood of the Lamb spurts down from its\nwounded breast. An evident allusion to the five wounds of the Lord\nis here combined with the type of the Holy Eucharist (for the\ncup suggests the latter). The cross, as such, is rarely found in\nthe Catacombs, but the _Acts of the Martyrs_ mention a soldier,\nSt. Orestes, who, while playing at throwing the disc, let fall\nfrom his garments a small cross (which, discovering his religion,\nprocured him the glory of martyrdom), so that we may suppose that\nthis sign of Christianity was sometimes secretly worn about the\nperson during the early centuries. St. Augustine, St. Hilary, St.\nJerome, St. Chrysostom, and our own countryman, Venerable Bede,\nagree in the cross being \u201cthe sign of the Son of Man\u201d of which\nJesus himself speaks in the Gospel. Tertullian quotes the vision of\nEzechiel (ix. 4), and interprets thus the sign _Tau_: \u201cNow, the\nGreek letter _Tau_ and our own T is the very form of the cross,\nwhich he predicted would be the sign on our foreheads in the true\nCatholic Jerusalem.\u201d Dr. Northcote tells us that the number 300,\n\u201cbeing expressed in Greek by the letter _Tau_, came itself, even in\napostolical times, to be regarded as the equivalent of the cross.\u201d\nWe know how St. Paul speaks of the cross, as meaning the whole\nChristian faith. The sign of the cross, however, was contained\nin or appended to the monogram \u03a7\u03a1. (the first two letters of the\nGreek word Christ--\u03a7\u03a1\u0399\u03a3\u03a4\u039f\u03a3). This was sometimes written P, while in\nsome ancient manuscripts the _Tau_ itself was written +, forming\nan exact Greek cross. Sometimes to this monogram (worn to this day\nas a badge by the Passionist Friars) was added the letter _\u039d_, the\ninitial of \u039d\u03b9\u03ba\u03b7\u03c4\u03ae\u03c2, the Greek for conqueror. This is something\nsimilar to the inscription translated \u201cIn hoc signo vinces,\u201d seen\nby Constantine in his vision outside the gates of Rome. It was in\nthis shape that the inscription was afterwards put on the \u201cLabarum\u201d\nor banner of the cross, and also on many coins struck during the\nreign of Constantine.[154]\n\nNot to prolong the subject of the Catacombs too indefinitely, let\nus end with these words of Dr. Northcote: \u201cNothing was likely to\nbe more familiar to the early Christians than the symbolical and\nprophetical meaning of the Gospels and the Old Testament, so that\nthe sight of these paintings on the walls of the subterranean\nchapels was probably as a continual homily set before them....\nIndeed, it is scarcely too much to say that some of these artistic\ncompositions might be made to take the place of a well-ordered\ndogmatic discourse.\u201d\n\nWhen the immediate fear of persecution was removed, the church\ngradually added to her alphabet of symbols. The cross became more\ngeneral, at first ornamented and wreathed, jewelled and gilt, as it\nwas by order of Constantine, then by an easy transition becoming\na simple crucifix, with the image of the Redeemer plainly wrought\nupon it. Constantine forbade the cross to be any longer used as an\ninstrument of torture or punishment; while the finding of the true\ncross and the honor paid to it soon familiarized the people with\nits exclusively divine associations. From Mrs. Jameson\u2019s researches\nwe gather that the \u201cfashion of decorating the cross with five\njewels, generally rubies, typified the five sacred wounds.\u201d[155]\nWe also learn from her the origin of the nimbus, or glory, so\ngenerally used after the fifth century as an attribute of holiness.\nAt first it was borrowed from pagan sources, the \u201cluminous nebula\u201d\nof Homer--that, is the divine essence standing \u201ca shade in its\nown brightness\u201d--being, as she informs us, the first trace of it\nto be found in antiquity. Rays or plates of brass were sometimes\nfixed to the heads of imperial busts and statues in Rome, and later\non it is seen round the heads of Christian emperors (Justinian\nin particular) who were not canonized. It strikes one as curious\nthat Mrs. Jameson should have omitted all mention of Moses and the\n_horns_ or rays of light that adorned his countenance as he came\ndown from Mount Sinai. In the transfiguration, our Lord\u2019s face \u201cdid\nshine as the sun,\u201d[156] and the angel that sat over against the\nsepulchre on the morning of the resurrection had a \u201ccountenance\nas lightning.\u201d[157] After the fifth century the _nimbus_ became\nuniversal, and was adopted as a symbol of holiness. A cruciform\nglory was the distinctive emblem of God, and also a triangular one,\nwhich typifies the Trinity, and was often used later round the head\nof figures representing God the Father, and entirely surrounding\nthe Holy Spirit, who was painted as a dove.\n\nIt would be quite impossible to go through the cycle of all the\nsymbols now in use. They have varied very little since the days of\nConstantine, but they cover so vast a field that it would take a\nlifetime to study each one in detail.\n\nThe chief service of the church, the Mass, naturally strikes\nus first. Nearly every ceremony is connected with it, and is\nonly complete when preceded or followed by it. Churches (often\nsymbolical in their form and arrangement), vestments with their\nmany hidden meanings, lights, incense, holy water, music,\nprocessions, group themselves as mere accessories round the\nsacrificial act which gives them their importance. The word Mass\nis supposed by some to be derived from the Hebrew _Missach_, a\nvoluntary offering,[158] but the most widely received opinion\nis that it comes from _Missa_ or _Missio_, the dismissal of the\ncatechumens before the most solemn part, the consecration. The word\nitself is of very ancient use, as appears from the letters of St.\nAmbrose, St. Leo, and St. Gregory.[159] The _Gloria Patri_, which\nis often used in the liturgy as well as constantly in the hours\nof the divine office, was introduced in 325 as a protest against\nthe Arian heresy which contended that the Son was not equal to the\nFather.[160] The custom of standing during the gospel signifies our\nreadiness to defend its truths and practice its precepts. We sign\nour foreheads, lips, and breast in token of our resolve not to be\nashamed of the cross of Christ, to profess it always in words, and\nto keep it for ever in our hearts. At the \u201cIncarnatus est\u201d in the\nCredo we kneel in reverence to the mystery of the God made man, and\nat the \u201cDomine non sum dignus\u201d we strike our breasts in token of\npenance and humiliation, as we have before done at the Confiteor.\nThis has always been the conventional sign of sorrow, as we read of\nthe publican in the gospels.\n\nOf the use of lights, St. Jerome says in his letter against the\nheretic Vigilantius: \u201cThroughout all the churches of the East,\nwhen the gospel is to be recited, they bring forth lights, though\nit be at noonday, not certainly to drive away darkness but to\nmanifest some sign of joy, that under the type of corporal light\nmay be indicated that light of which we read in the _Psalms_--\u2018Thy\nword is as a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.\u2019\u201d[161]\nEverywhere in the Old and New Testaments, _light_ is the type of\nknowledge; in the parable of the virgins, it is also the symbol\nof fidelity. In Rome, torches were carried at weddings as a sign\nof honor. St. Chrysoston says that lights are carried before the\ndead to show that they are champions and conquerors. What more\nnatural than that these usages should have been transferred to\nthe Christian churches? \u201cWithin the sanctuary and in front of\nthe altar,\u201d says the anonymous author of the _Explanation of the\nSacrifice and Liturgy of the Mass_, \u201ca lamp is kept day and night,\nto warn us that Jesus Christ, the light of the world, is present\non our altars, ... and that our lives should, by their holiness,\nshine like a luminary.\u201d Candles are used in several mystical\nsenses by the church during the ceremonies of Holy Week, as chiefly\nthe Paschal candle. This is fraught with many meanings. Unlighted,\nit is an emblem of Christ in the tomb, while the five grains of\nincense put into it in the shape of a cross typify both the five\nwounds of our Blessed Lord and the spices with which his dead body\nwas buried. Contrary to the usual custom, which requires a _priest_\nto bless any holy thing, the Paschal candle is blessed by the\n_deacon_, to denote that Christ was buried by his disciples (Joseph\nof Arimathea and Nicodemus), not by his apostles. When lighted,\nthe candle prefigures Christ arisen. The Pavia Missal makes it\nsignify, while unlighted, the pillar in the cloud which guided the\nIsraelites by day through the desert, and, after being lighted, the\nfiery column that directed them at night. The columnar shape of the\ncandlestick in many Italian churches is thought to refer to this\npart of the interpretation. The triple candle, which is lighted\nwith new fire on Holy Saturday, signifies the Trinity, and in\nconnection with this we are reminded of a curious ceremony in the\nGreek ritual, which consists in the benediction given by a bishop\nwhenever he says Mass. He holds in each hand a candle--one triple,\ndenoting the Trinity; and the other double, and symbolizing the\nunion of two natures in Jesus Christ.[162] The manual of Holy Week\ntells us that the fifteen candles on the triangular candlestick,\nused during the office of _Tenebr\u00e6_, represent the \u201cdisciples\nwhose fervor cooled at the approach of danger, and who dispersed\nhere and there, wavering in faith, forgetful of their promises,\nand all seeking safety in flight, abandoning their Master. The\ncandle that remains lit and is finally _concealed_ behind the\naltar is a figure of Jesus Christ. He came to enlighten the world;\nbut ungrateful, perverse men made every effort to obscure and\nextinguish his glory. When they fancied they had succeeded, he rose\nfrom death to an immortal life, more glorious than the former.\u201d\n\nThe whole of the ceremonies of Holy Week are nothing but a literal\n\u201cshowing forth of the death of the Lord until he come\u201d--a yearly\nrehearsal, as it were, of the great drama of human life and\ndestiny, of the rejection of the elder and the adoption of the\nyounger branch of the family of men--that is, the choice of the\nGentiles after the trial of the Jews. Incense, the recognized\nemblem of prayer, and spoken of as such in the well-known passages\nof the Apocalypse,[163] also reminds us of the perfumes used in the\nEast as a sign of honor towards kings and princes, and of the gift\nof the Magi to the infant Saviour. Dr. Rock says that \u201ca venerable\nantiquity (522) informs us that the incense burning round the\naltar, whence, as from a fountain of delicious fragrance, it emits\na perfume through the house of God, has ever been regarded as a\ntype of the good odor of Jesus Christ which should exhale from the\nsoul of every true believer.\u201d[164] The frequent use of holy water\nis above all typical of purity, the great preparation of the soul\nfor any holy action.\n\nSalt is a preservative against corruption, and also reminds us of\nthe miracle of Eliseus,[165] when, to make the drought cease, he\nasked for a vessel with water and salt. The apostles are called\nthe \u201csalt of the earth,\u201d and salt is recognized as the emblem of\nwisdom. Oil, used in many functions, is typical of sweetness and\nmildness, in consideration of its natural powers of healing, and\nfrom time immemorial anointing has been considered a consecration\nto God.[166] Oil was also used in the old Hebrew sacrifices,\ntogether with cakes as well as salt.[167] The \u201cAgnus Dei\u201d perhaps\nrequires a fuller explanation than the former symbols. It is a\nwaxen cake stamped with the figure of a lamb. The Pope blesses a\ncertain quantity of these cakes every seventh year of his reign.\n\u201cThe origin of this rite seems to have been the very ancient\ncustom of breaking up the Paschal candle of the preceding year and\ndistributing the fragments among the faithful. Alcuin, a disciple\nof the Venerable Bede, describes the blessing in these words:\n\u2018In the Roman Church, early on the morning of Holy Saturday, the\narchdeacon comes into the church and pours wax in a clean vessel,\nand mixes it with oil; then blesses the wax, and molds it in the\nform of lambs; ... the lambs which the Romans make represent to us\nthe spotless Lamb made for us; for Christ should be brought to our\nmemories frequently by all sorts of things.\u2019\u201d[168] The Asperges,\nor sprinkling with holy water before Mass, reminds us of the\nsprinkling of the blood of the Paschal lamb on the door-posts of\nthe Israelites--a ceremony which was to be performed with a bunch\nof hyssop.[169] It also refers to the Psalm Miserere, in which we\npray to be \u201csprinkled with hyssop, and we shall be cleansed\u201d--a\nprayer which forms part of the prescribed orisons to be repeated\nduring the Asperges.\n\nOf the symbolical meaning of the sacred vestments, and their\ncolors, we will only speak briefly. The most obvious apology for\nthem is their use as prescribed in the Old Testament, where they\nare made the subject of the most minute directions. Many things\ncame to us through the Temple traditions, the Gregorian chant, for\ninstance, which closely resembles that still used in the orthodox\nsynagogues of our own day. It is not improbable that something\nof Hebrew traditions entered into the custom, early adopted by\nthe Christians, of wearing specified and holy garments during the\ncelebration of Mass. But the church, ever mindful of her mission of\nteaching, could not let such vestments be mere ornaments, however\nfitting and seemly. The author of the _Explanation of the Mass_\nsays that \u201cceremonies are a kind of illustration of our sacred\nmysteries; they represent them to the eye, to a certain extent,\nas a look or a discourse do to the ear or mind, especially to the\nuneducated, who are always the greater number.\u201d The vestments are\na very prominent part of the externals of the Mass; their color\nannounces at one glance whether a virgin or a martyr is being\ncommemorated, whether we are to join in prayer for some unknown\nbrother deceased in Christ, or to lament in a penitential spirit\nthe sins of mankind and our own. Green, very seldom used, is the\nnormal color for Sundays, denoting hope and joy in the promise of\nthe new spring. There are two meanings attached to the different\ncomponent parts of the holy vesture. The \u201camice\u201d which covers\nthe head (in ancient times entirely) represents the \u201chelmet of\nsalvation,\u201d divine hope; the \u201calb,\u201d innocence of life, because it\nclothes the celebrant from head to foot in spotless white; the\n\u201cgirdle,\u201d with which the loins are girt, purity and chastity (also\nreferring to the text of St. Luke, \u201cLet your loins be girt\u201d),[170]\nand possibly bearing some allusion likewise to the journey of life,\nand the command anciently given to the Jews at the first Pasch,\n\u201cYou shall gird your reins\u201d;[171] the \u201cmaniple,\u201d which is put on\nthe left arm, patience under the burdens of this mortal life; the\n\u201cstole,\u201d which is worn on the neck and shoulders, the yoke of\nChrist; and the \u201cchasuble,\u201d which, as uppermost, covers all the\nrest, charity--according to the saying of St. Peter, that \u201ccharity\ncovereth a multitude of sins.\u201d[172] The author of _The Following of\nChrist_, speaking of the duties and dignity of the priesthood, thus\nbeautifully interprets the ecclesiastical apparel: \u201cA priest clad\nin his sacred vestments is Christ\u2019s vicegerent, to pray God for\nhimself and for all the people in a suppliant and humble manner. He\nhas before him and behind him the sign of the cross of the Lord,\nthat he may always remember the passion of Christ. He bears the\ncross before him in his vestment, that he may diligently behold the\nfootsteps of Christ, and fervently endeavor to follow them. He is\nmarked with the cross behind, that he may mildly suffer, for God\u2019s\nsake, whatsoever adversities shall befall him from others. He wears\nthe cross before him that he may bewail his own sins, and behind\nhim that through compassion he may lament the sins of others, and\nknow that he is placed, as it were, a mediator between God and the\nsinner.\u201d[173]\n\nBesides this mystical signification, the vestments also have a\nrepresentative meaning. The amice is intended to recall the rag\nwith which the Jews bandaged our Saviour\u2019s eyes;[174] the alb,\nthe white garment in which Herod, in derision, clothed him; the\ngirdle, maniple, and stole, the cords with which he was bound; the\nchasuble, the purple garment with which the soldiers covered him\nwhen they hailed him as a mock king, and as a complement, the cross\non the chasuble represents that which Christ bore on his wounded\nshoulders on his way to Calvary. The priest\u2019s tonsure, worn very\nconspicuously by most of the religious orders, is a type of the\ncrown of thorns.\n\nThe ceremonies of marriage are interesting from their symbolical\nmeaning, but are so familiar that it is useless to dwell on them.\nIn the Greek Church, a glass of wine is partaken of by the bride\nand bridegroom, as a type of the community of possession which\nis henceforth to exist between them. The use of the ring is not\nconfined to earthly nuptials; it is worn, as we know, by bishops\nas a sign of union with their sees, and also by many orders of\nnuns, as a pledge of their mystical bridal with their heavenly\nSpouse. The rites of initiation and profession in some of the\nreligious orders of women are full of symbolism. In the taking of\nthe white veil among the Dominicanesses at Rome, the novice is\nasked to choose between a crown of thorns and a wreath of roses\nplaced before her on the altar. The hair is shorn, as a sign of\ndetachment from the vanities of this world. At the profession the\nnun prostrates herself, and is entirely covered with a funereal\npall, while the choir chants in solemn cadence the psalm for the\ndead--_De Profundis_.[175] This awful expression of her utter\nrenunciation of the world has a most mysterious effect on any one\nwho is happy enough to witness it. The grating and curtains that,\nin some orders, screen the religious from view, even during their\nfriends\u2019 visits to the \u201cparlor,\u201d are only a visible sign of the\nentire separation between them and all, even the most innocent,\nearthly ties. And speaking of religious orders, we are reminded\nof the peculiar ceremonies which, with some of them, enhance the\nsolemnity of the divine office. Of these, a biographer of St.\nDominic says, with true medi\u00e6val instinct, that it was no wonder\nthat Dominic should have tried to imitate, in the many bowings and\nprostrations of the white-robed monks, the pageantry of angelic\nadoration which he had so often seen in visions--the folding of the\nmany myriad wings, and the casting down of golden crowns before\nthe throne of the Lamb.[176] And yet, while we are thinking of\nthis beautiful interpretation, there comes another thought--that\nof churches as bare as the monastery itself, and of a ritual so\nsimple that it would satisfy the veriest Covenanter. The Trappists\nespecially, the Cistercians and Franciscans also, are forbidden any\ndisplay in ceremonial, and any costliness in material, with regard\nto the worship of God. Poverty is to reign even in their churches;\nand thus we have an asylum provided for those minds whose ascetic\nturn inclines them to ignore everything but the most spiritual\nand internal expression of faith. Thus, in old times, St. Paul\nof the Desert abode among caves and wild beasts, and St. Simeon\nStylites passed his life on the summit of an isolated column.\nPrayer without the slightest incentive to it, meditation without\nany outward suggestions to strengthen it--such was their life. They\nnever heard glorious chants nor saw processions of clerics clad in\ngolden robes; no ritual, no symbol even, was there to help them\non; and yet they were saints. There are such minds still now; the\nchurch has a place for them--a place among her rarest and choicest\nchildren, for, after all, \u201cthey have chosen the good part, and it\nshall not be taken from them.\u201d\n\nBut for the majority symbolism is language, ceremonial is reading.\nAnd because others who do not understand this language rail at\nit, should we forget or give it up? Rather should we explain it\nto them; for who does not know how much pleasure may one day be\nderived from a tongue that to-day seems barbarous? Who can read\nGoethe till he has mastered the grammar of one of the richest\nlanguages in the world? or who can enjoy Dante till he has learnt\nto read him familiarly in the liquid original? Even so with\nCatholics; others must learn the Catholic alphabet before they\npronounce upon the magnificent poems contained in our ceremonial.\nSee this picture of the crucifixion--for in this one subject all\nour religion is enfolded. It is a medi\u00e6val painting. The arms of\nour Saviour are spread wide, almost on a level with his head; Mary,\nJohn, and Magdalen stand beneath; the penitent thief is beside\nhim on his own cross. Two angels in flowing robes hold jewelled\nchalices under his pierced hands to collect the drops of blood, and\nother angels are seen in the clouds above, with musical instruments\nin their hands. This is no literal representation of the scene\non Mount Calvary, no realistic picture of the thunder cloud, the\nbrutal soldiery, the opened graves, such as we see by the dozen\nnowadays. It is not so much a picture of the _crucifixion_ as of\nthe _redemption_. It occupies itself merely with the mystical sense\nof the great sacrifice; the figures beneath the cross are not\nportraits, in attitudes of human desolation, but representatives\nof the church of the faithful on earth; the good thief is put\nthere for the aggregate of repentant sinners; the angels in the\nclouds rather celebrate the redemption of the world than lament\nthe death of God; and the instruments they play are--we may well\nsuppose it--meant to typify the consecration of art to religious\npurposes; the cup-bearing angels, catching the drops of blood as\nthey fall, are types of the adoration paid to the saving blood of\nJesus through all generations, and of the untold preciousness of\nthis great treasure; in the _chalices_, also, we see a distinct\nallusion to the sacrifice of the Mass; finally, the widely extended\narms mean--at least, they came to mean it not long after--the\n_universal_ nature of the redemption; and therefore the Jansenists,\nwhen they taught that Christ died only for those who are actually\nsaved, painted their crucifixes with the arms uplifted high above\nthe head.\n\nSo our Catholic symbolism is an open book, a text for the highest\nart, and a guide to the humblest mind. It has chapters for all--for\npoverty, nudity, and coarseness are as symbolical as magnificence\nand oriental grace. The despoiled altars of Good Friday are as\neloquent as the procession of Palms or the Easter exuberance of\ndecoration; the crib and the straw of Christmas are not less\nfraught with meaning than the decked tabernacles of Corpus Christi.\n\nIn a Benedictine abbey you will hear soul-stirring strains of the\nmost solemn harmony; in a Carmelite convent you will listen to a\nchorus of nuns who are forbidden to use more than three notes with\nwhich to vary their singing of the divine office; in a Trappist\nretreat you will watch for the slightest sound, and hear nothing\nsave the muffled fall of clods of earth as a monk digs his own\ngrave, or the salutation, \u201cBrother, we must all die,\u201d as another\nmonk passes him on his way to a similar occupation. Let those who\ndo not understand our symbolical language pause and learn it; and\nno doubt, learning to read it _as_ we do, they will soon come to\nread it _with_ us in the brotherhood of the faith.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[136] Dr. Rock, _Hierurgia_.\n\n[137] Introd. to _Legends of the Monastic Orders_ (p. 25).\n\n[138] Dr. Rock, _Hierurgia_.\n\n[139] _Roma Sotterranea._\n\n[140] Palmer\u2019s _Early Christian Symbolism_.\n\n[141] See Northcote\u2019s _Roma Sotterranea_.\n\n[142] _Ibid._\n\n[143] _Ibid._\n\n[144] Perret, _Catacombes de Rome_.\n\n[145] Palmer\u2019s _Early Christian Symbolism_.\n\n[146] Northcote\u2019s _Roma Sotterranea_.\n\n[147] _Palmer._\n\n[148] _Ibid._\n\n[149] _Dr. Northcote._\n\n[150] Perret, _Catacombes de Rome_, vol. x.\n\n[151] Palmer\u2019s _Early Christian Symbolism_.\n\n[152] Dr. Northcote\u2019s _Roma Sotterranea_.\n\n[153] Perret, _Catacombes de Rome_.\n\n[154] Dr. Northcote\u2019s _Roma Sott_. p. 123.\n\n[155] _Sacred and Legendary Art._\n\n[156] St. Matt. xviii. 2.\n\n[157] St. Matt. xxvii. 3.\n\n[158] Deut. xvi. 10.\n\n[159] Dr. Challoner.\n\n[160] Dr. Rock\u2019s _Hierurgia_.\n\n[161] Ps. cxviii. 105.\n\n[162] Dr. Rock\u2019s _Hierurgia_.\n\n[163] v. 8, viii. 4.\n\n[164] Dr. Rock, _Hierurgia_.\n\n[165] 4 Kings ii. 19.\n\n[166] 1 Kings x. i.\n\n[167] Levit. ii. 4, 5, 6, 7, 13.\n\n[168] Cardinal Wiseman, _Four Lectures on Holy Week in Rome_.\n\n[169] Exodus xii. 22.\n\n[170] Luke xii. 35.\n\n[171] Exodus xii. 11.\n\n[172] 1 Peter iv. 8.\n\n[173] Book iv., chap. 5.\n\n[174] St. Luke xxii. 64.\n\n[175] For the foregoing particulars see Challoner\u2019s _Catholic\nChristian Instructed_.\n\n[176] Dr. Alemanny, _Life of St. Dominic_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PROGRESSIONISTS.\n\nFROM THE GERMAN OF CONRAD VON BOLANDEN.\n\n\nCHAPTER II.--CONTINUED.\n\nTHE LEADERS.\n\n\u201cI do not catch the gist of your simile of the blind man and\ncolors,\u201d interrupted Greifmann.\n\n\u201cI wanted to intimate that thousands swear allegiance to the\nbanner of progress without comprehending its nature. Very many\nimagine progress to be a struggle in behalf of Germany against\nthe enfeebling system of innumerable small states, or a battling\nagainst religious rigorism and priest-rule in secular concerns.\nIn unpretending guises like these, the spirit of the age\ncirculates among the crowd travestied in the fashionable epithet\n_progressive_. Were you, however, to remove the shell from around\nthe kernel of progress, were you to exhibit it to the multitude\nundisguised as the nullification of religion, as the denial of\nthe God of Christians, as the rejection of immortality, and of an\nessential difference between man and the beast--were you to venture\nthus far, you would see the millions flying in consternation before\nthe monster Progress. Now, just because the multitude, although\nprogressive-minded, everywhere judges men by Christian standards,\nvery often, too, unconsciously, therefore Shund has to pass,\nnot for an able speculator, but for a miserable usurer and an\nunconscionable scoundrel.\u201d\n\n\u201cFor this very cause, the liberal leaders of this city should\nstand up for Shund,\u201d opposed the banker. \u201cJust appreciation and\nrespect should not be denied a deserving man. To speak candidly,\nMr. Schwefel, what first accidentally arrested my attention, now\nexcites my most lively interest. I wish to see justice done Mr.\nShund, to see his uncommon abilities recognized. You must set his\nlight upon a candlestick. You must have him elected mayor and\nmember of the legislature; in both capacities he will fill his\nposition with distinction. I repeat, our deeply indebted city\nstands in want of a mayor that will reckon closely and economize.\nAnd in the legislative assembly Shund\u2019s fluency will talk down all\nopposition, his readiness of speech will do wonders. Were it only\nto spite the stupid mob, you must put Shund in nomination.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt will not do, Mr. Greifmann! it is impracticable! We have to\nproceed cautiously and by degrees. Our policy lies in conducting\nthe unsophisticated masses from darkness into light, quite\ngradually, inch by inch, and with the utmost caution. A sudden\nunveiling of the inmost significance of the spirit of the age would\nscare the people and drive them back heels over head into the\nclerical camp.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not at all share your apprehensions,\u201d contended the\nmillionaire. \u201cOur people are further advanced than you think. Make\nthe trial. Your vast influence will easily manage to have Shund\nreturned mayor and delegate.\u201d\n\n\u201cUndoubtedly, but my standing would be jeopardized,\u201d rejoined\nSchwefel.\n\n\u201cThat is a mistake, sir! You employ four hundred families.\u201d\n\n\u201cFour hundred and seventy now,\u201d said the manufacturer, correcting\nhim blandly.\n\n\u201cFour hundred and seventy families, therefore, are getting a living\nthrough you, consequently you have four hundred and seventy voters\nat your command. Add to these a considerable force of mechanics who\nearn wages in your employ. You have, moreover, a number of warm\nfriends who also command a host of laborers and mechanics. Hence\nyou risk neither standing nor influence, that is,\u201d added he with a\nsmile, \u201cunless perhaps you dread the anathemas of Ultramontanes and\nimpostors.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe pious wrath of believers has no terrors deserving notice,\u201d\nobserved the leader with indifference.\n\n\u201cAnd yet all this time Shund\u2019s remarkable abilities have not been\nable to win the slightest notice on the part of progressive men--it\nis revolting!\u201d cried the banker. \u201cMr. Schwefel, I will speak\nplainly, trusting to your being discreet; I will recommend your\nfactory at Vienna, but only on condition that you have Hans Shund\nelected mayor and member of the legislature.\u201d\n\n\u201cThis is asking a great deal--quite flattering for Shund and very\ntempting to me,\u201d said the leader with a bright face and a thrice\nrepeated nod to the banker. \u201cSince, however, what you ask is\nneither incompatible with the spirit of the times nor dishonorable\nto the sense of a liberal man, I accept your offer, for it is no\nsmall advantage for me from a business point of view.\u201d\n\n\u201cCapital, Mr. Schwefel! Capital, because very sensible!\u201d spoke\nCarl Greifmann approvingly. A short groan, resembling the violent\nbursting forth of suppressed indignation, resounded from the\nadjoining apartment. The banker shuffled on the floor and drowned\nthe groan by loudly rasping his throat.\n\n\u201cOne condition, however, I must insist upon,\u201d continued the\nmanufacturer of straw hats. \u201cMy arm might prove unequal to a task\nthat will create no ordinary sensation. But if you succeeded in\nwinning over Erdblatt and Sand to the scheme, it would prosper\nwithout fail and without much noise.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall do so with pleasure, Mr. Schwefel! Both those gentlemen\nwill, in all probability, call on me to-day in relation to matters\nof business. It will be for me a pleasing consciousness to have\naided in obtaining merited recognition for Hans Shund.\u201d\n\n\u201cOur agreement is, however, to be kept strictly secret from the\npublic.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course, of course!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will not forget, at the same time, Mr. Greifmann, that our\nvery extraordinary undertaking will necessitate greater than\nordinary outlay. It is a custom among laborers not to work on the\nday before election, and the same on election day itself. Yet, in\norder to keep them in good humor, they must get wages the same as\nif they had worked. This is for the manufacturer no insignificant\ndisadvantage. Moreover, workingmen and doubtful voters require to\nbe stimulated with beer gratis--another tax on our purses.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow high do these expenses run?\u201d asked the millionaire.\n\n\u201cFor Sand, Erdblatt, and myself, they never fall short of twelve\nhundred florins.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat would make each one\u2019s share of the costs four hundred\nflorins.\u201d\n\nTaking a five-hundred florin banknote between his thumb and\nforefinger, the banker reached it carelessly to the somewhat\npuzzled leader.\n\n\u201cMy contribution to the promotion of the interests of progress! I\nshall give as much to Messrs. Sand and Erdblatt.\u201d\n\n\u201cMany thanks, Mr. Greifmann!\u201d said Schwefel, pocketing the money\nwith satisfaction.\n\nThe millionaire drew himself up. \u201cI have no doubt,\u201d said he, in his\nformer cold and haughty tone, \u201cthat my recommendation will secure\nyour establishment the custom already alluded to.\u201d\n\n\u201cI entertain a similar confidence in your influence, and will take\nthe liberty of commending myself most respectfully to your favor.\u201d\nBowing frequently, Schwefel retreated backwards towards the door,\nand disappeared. Greifmann stepped to the open entrance of the side\napartment. There sat the youthful landholder, his head resting\nheavily on his hand. He looked up, and Carl\u2019s smiling face was met\nby a pair of stern, almost fierce eyes.\n\n\u201cHave you heard, friend Seraphin?\u201d asked he triumphantly.\n\n\u201cYes--and what I have heard surpasses everything. You have\nbargained with a member of that vile class who recognize no\ndifference between honor and disgrace, between good and evil,\nbetween self-respect and infamy, who know only one god--which is\nmoney.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo not show yourself so implacable against these _vile_ beings, my\ndearest! There is much that is useful in them, at any rate they are\nhelping me to the finest horses belonging to the aristocracy.\u201d\n\nA stealthy step was heard at the door of the cabinet.\n\n\u201cDo you hear that timid rap?\u201d asked the banker. \u201cThe rapper\u2019s\nheart is at this moment in his knuckles. It is curious how men\nbetray in trifles what at the time has possession of their\nfeelings. The mere rapping gives a keen observer an insight into\nthe heart of a person whom he does not as yet see. Listen--\u201d\nRapping again, still more stealthily and imploringly. \u201cI must go\nand relieve the poor devil, whom nobody would suspect for a mighty\nleader. Now, Mr. Seraphin, Act the Second. Come in!\u201d\n\nThe man who entered, attired in a dress coat and kids, was\nErdblatt, a tobacco merchant, spare in person, and with restless,\nspering eyes. The millionaire greeted him coldly, then pointed him\nto the chair that had been occupied by Schwefel. The impression\nproduced by the two hundred thousands on the man of tobacco was\nfar more decided than in the case of the manufacturer of straw\nhats. Erdblatt was restless in his chair, and as the needle is\nattracted by the pole, so did Erdblatt\u2019s whole being turn towards\nthe money. His eyes glanced constantly over the paper treasures,\nand a spasmodic jerking seized upon his fingers. But he soon sat\nmotionless and stiff, as if thunderstruck at Greifmann\u2019s terrible\nwords.\n\n\u201cYour substantial firm,\u201d began the mighty man of money, after some\nfew formalities, \u201chas awaked in me a degree of attention which\nthe ordinary course of business does not require. I have to-day\nreceived notice from an English banking-house that in a few days\nseveral bills first of exchange, amounting to sixty thousand\nflorins, will be presented to be paid by you.\u201d\n\nErdblatt was dumfounded and turned pale.\n\n\u201cThe amount is not precisely what can be called insignificant,\u201d\ncontinued Greifmann coolly, \u201cand I did not wish to omit notifying\nyou concerning the bills, because, as you are aware, the banking\nbusiness is regulated by rigorous and indiscriminating forms.\u201d\n\nErdblatt took the hint, turned still more pale, and uttered not a\nword.\n\n\u201cThis accumulation of bills of exchange is something abnormal,\u201d\nproceeded Greifmann with indifference. \u201cAs they are all made\npayable on sight, you are no doubt ready to meet this sudden rush\nwith proud composure,\u201d concluded the banker, with a smile of cold\npoliteness.\n\nBut the dumfounded Erdblatt was far from enjoying proud composure.\nHis manner rather indicated inability to pay and panic terror.\n\u201cNot only is the accumulation of bills of exchange to the amount\nof sixty thousand florins something abnormal, but it also argues\ncarelessness,\u201d said he tersely. \u201cWere it attributable to accident,\nI should not complain; but it has been occasioned by jealous\nrivalry. Besides, they are bills first of exchange--it is something\nnever heard of before--it is revolting--there is a plot to ruin me!\nAnd I have no plea to allege for putting off these bills, and I am,\nmoreover, unable to pay them.\u201d\n\nThe banker shrugged his shoulders coldly, and his countenance\nbecame grave.\n\n\u201cMight I not beg you to aid me, Mr. Greifmann?\u201d said he anxiously.\n\u201cOf course, I shall allow you a high rate of interest.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is not practicable with bills of exchange,\u201d rejoined the\nbanker relentlessly.\n\n\u201cWhen will the bills be presented?\u201d asked the leader, with\nincreasing anxiety.\n\n\u201cPerhaps as early as to-morrow,\u201d answered Greifmann, still more\nrelentless.\n\nThe manufacturer of tobacco was near fainting.\n\n\u201cI cannot conceive of your being embarrassed,\u201d said the banker\ncoldly. \u201cYour popularity and influence will get you assistance\nfrom friends, in case your exchequer happens not to be in a\nfavorable condition.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe amount is too great; I should have to borrow in several\nquarters. This would give rise to reports, and endanger the credit\nof my firm.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are not wrong in your view,\u201d answered the banker coldly.\n\u201cAccidents may shake the credit of the most solid firm, and other\naccidents may often change trifling difficulties into fatal\ncatastrophes. How often does it not occur that houses of the best\nstanding, which take in money at different places, are brought to\nthe verge of bankruptcy through public distrust?\u201d\n\nThe words of the money prince were nowise calculated to reassure\nMr. Erdblatt.\n\n\u201cBe kind enough to accept the bills, and grant me time,\u201d pleaded he\npiteously.\n\n\u201cThat, sir, would be contrary to all precedents in business,\u201d\nrejoined Greifmann, with an icy smile. \u201cOur house never deviates\nfrom the paths of hereditary custom.\u201d\n\n\u201cI could pay in ten thousand florins at once,\u201d said Erdblatt once\nmore. \u201cWithin eight weeks I could place fifty thousand more in your\nhands.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am very sorry, but, as I said, this plan is impracticable,\u201d\nopposed Greifmann. \u201cYet I have half a mind to accept those bills,\nbut only on a certain condition.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am willing to indemnify you in any way possible,\u201d assured the\ntobacco merchant, with a feeling of relief.\n\n\u201cHear the condition stated in a few words. As you know, I live\nexclusively for business, never meddle in city or state affairs.\nMoreover, labor devoted by me to political matters would be\nsuperfluous, in view of the undisputed sway of liberalism.\nNevertheless, I am forced to learn, to my astonishment, that\nprogress itself neglects to take talent and ability into account,\nand exhibits the most aristocratic nepotism. The remarkable\nabilities of Mr. Shund are lost, both to the city and state, merely\nbecause Mr. Shund\u2019s fellow-citizens will not elect him to offices\nof trust. This is unjust; to speak plainly, it is revolting, when\none considers that there is many a brainless fellow in the City\nCouncil who has no better recommendation than to have descended\nfrom an old family, and whose sole ability lies in chinking ducats\nwhich he inherited but never earned. Shund is a genius compared\nwith such boobies; but genius does not pass current here, whilst\nincapacity does. Now, if you will use your influence to have\nShund nominated for mayor of this city, and for delegate to the\nlegislature, and guarantee his election, you may consider the bills\nof exchange as covered.\u201d\n\nNot even the critical financial trouble by which he was beset could\nprevent an expression of overwhelming surprise in the tobacco man\u2019s\nface.\n\n\u201cI certainly cannot have misunderstood you. You surely mean to\nspeak of Ex-Treasurer Shund, of this place?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe same--the very same.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, Mr. Greifmann, perhaps you are not aware--\u201d\n\n\u201cI am aware of everything,\u201d interrupted the banker. \u201cI know that\nmany years ago Mr. Shund awkwardly put his hand into the city\ntreasury, that he was sent to the penitentiary, that people imagine\nthey still see him in the penitentiary garb, and, finally, that\nin the stern judgment of the same people he is a low usurer. But\nusury has been abrogated by law. The theft Shund has not only made\ngood by restoring what he stole, but also atoned for by years of\nimprisonment. Now, why is a man to be despised who has indeed done\nwrong, but not worse than others whose sins have long since been\nforgotten? Why condemn to obscurity a man that possesses the most\nbrilliant kind of talent for public offices? The contempt felt for\nShund on the part of a population who boast of their progress is\nunaccountable--may be it would not be far from the truth to believe\nthat some influential persons are jealous of the gifted man,\u201d\nconcluded the banker reproachfully.\n\n\u201cPardon me, please! The _thief_ and _usurer_ it might perhaps be\npossible to elect,\u201d conceded Erdblatt. \u201cBut Shund\u2019s disgusting and\nshameless amours could not possibly find grace with the moral sense\nof the public.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, and the origin of this _moral sense_ is the sixth commandment\nof the Jew Moses,\u201d said the millionaire scornfully. \u201cI cannot\nunderstand how you, a man of advanced views, can talk in this\nmanner.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou misinterpret my words,\u201d rejoined the leader deprecatingly.\n\u201cTo me, personally, Shund exists neither as a usurer nor as a\ndebauchee. Christian modes of judging are, of course, relegated\namong absurdities that we have triumphed over. In this instance,\nhowever, there is no question of my own personal conviction, but\nof the conviction of the great multitude. And in the estimation of\nthe multitude unbridled liberty is just as disgraceful as the free\nenjoyment of what, _morally_, is forbidden.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are altogether in the same rut as Schwefel.\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you spoken with Schwefel on this subject?\u201d asked Erdblatt\neagerly.\n\n\u201cOnly a moment ago. Mr. Schwefel puts greater trust in his power\nthan you do in yours, for he agreed to have Shund elected mayor and\ndelegate. Mr. Schwefel only wishes you and Sand would lend your\naid.\u201d\n\n\u201cWith pleasure! If Schwefel and Sand are won over, then all is\nright.\u201d\n\n\u201cFrom a hint of Schwefel\u2019s,\u201d said Greifmann, taking up a\nfive-hundred-florin banknote from the table, \u201cI infer that the\nelection canvass is accompanied with some expense. Accept this\nsmall contribution. As for the bills of exchange, the matter is to\nrest by our agreement.\u201d\n\nErdblatt also backed out of the cabinet, bowing repeatedly as he\nretreated.\n\nSeraphin rushed from his hiding-place in great excitement.\n\n\u201cWhy, Greifmann, this is terrible! Do you call that advanced\neducation? Do you call that progress? Those are demoralized,\ninfernal beings. I spit upon them! And are these the rabble that\nare trying to arrogate to themselves the leadership of the German\npeople?--rabble who ignore the Deity, the human soul, and morality\ngenerally! But what completely unsettles me is your connivance--at\nleast, your connection with these infernal spirits.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut be easy, my good fellow, be easy! _I_ connected with tobacco\nand straw?\u201d\n\n\u201cAt all events, you have been ridiculing the ten commandments and\nChristian morals and faith.\u201d\n\n\u201cWas I not obliged to do so in order to show how well the thief,\nusurer, and filthy dog Shund harmonizes with the spirit of\nprogress? Can he who wishes to make use of the devil confer with\nthe devil in the costume of light? Not at all; he must clothe\nhimself in the mantle of darkness. And you must not object to my\nusing the demon Progress for the purpose of winning your span\nof horses and saving my stakes. Let us not have a disgraceful\naltercation. Consider me as a stage actor, whilst you are a\nspectator that is being initiated into the latest style of popular\neducation. Ah, do you hear? The last one is drawing near. Be\npleased to vanish.\u201d\n\nThe third leader, house-builder Sand, appeared. The greater\nportion of his face is hidden by a heavy black beard; in one hand\nhe carries a stout bamboo cane; and it is only after having fully\nentered, that he deliberately removes his hat.\n\n\u201cI wish you a pleasant morning, Mr. Greifmann. You have sent for\nme: what do you want?\u201d\n\nThe banker slowly raised his eyes from the latest exchange list to\nthe rough features of the builder, and remembering that the man had\nrisen up from the mortar board to his present position, and had\ngained wealth and influence through personal energy, he returned\nthe short greeting with a friendly inclination of the head.\n\n\u201cWill you have the goodness to be seated, Mr. Sand?\u201d\n\nThe man of the black beard took a seat, and, having noticed the\nhandsome collection of banknotes, his coarse face settled itself\ninto a not very attractive grin.\n\n\u201cI want to impart to you my intention of erecting a villa on the\nSauerberg, near the middle of our estate at Wilheim,\u201d continued the\nmillionaire.\n\n\u201cAh, that is a capital idea!\u201d And the man of the beard became\nvery deeply interested. \u201cThe site is charming, no view equal to\nit; healthy location, vineyards round about, your own vineyards\nmoreover. I could put you up a gem there.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is what I think, Mr. Sand! My father, who has been abroad for\nthe last three months, is quite satisfied with the plan; in fact,\nhe is the original projector of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know, I know! your father has a taste for what is grand. We\nshall try and give him satisfaction, which, by the bye, is not so\nvery easy. But you have the money, and fine fortunes can command\nfine houses.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat I want principally is to get you to draw a plan, consulting\nyour own taste and experience in doing so. You will show it to me\nwhen ready, and I will tell you whether I like it or not.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well, Mr. Greifmann, very well! But I must know beforehand\nwhat amount of money you are willing to spend upon the house; for\nall depends upon the cost.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said the millionaire, after some deliberation, \u201cI am\nwilling to spend eighty thousand florins on it, and something over,\nperhaps.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, well, for that amount of money something can be put\nup--something small but elegant. Are you in a hurry with the\nbuilding?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo be sure! As soon as the matter is determined upon, there is to\nbe no delay in carrying it out.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am altogether of your opinion, Mr. Greifmann--I agree with you\nentirely!\u201d assented the builder, with an increase of animation. \u201cI\nshall draw up a plan for a magnificent house. If it pleases you,\nall hands shall at once be set at work, and by next autumn you\nshall behold the villa under roof.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course you are yourself to furnish all the materials,\u201d added\nthe banker shrewdly. \u201cWhen once the plan will have been settled\nupon, you can reach me an estimate of the costs, and I will pay\nover the money.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo be sure, Mr. Greifmann--that is the way in which it should be\ndone, Mr. Greifmann!\u201d responded the man of the black beard with a\nsatisfied air. \u201cYou are not to have the slightest bother. I shall\ntake all the bother upon myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat, then, is agreed upon! Well, now, have you learned yet who is\nto be the next mayor?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, yes, the old one is to be re-elected!\u201d\n\n\u201cNot at all! We must have an economical and intelligent man for\nnext mayor. Of this I am convinced, because the annual deficit in\nthe treasury is constantly on the increase.\u201d\n\n\u201cAlas, \u2019tis true! And who is the man of economy and intelligence to\nbe?\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Hans Shund.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho--what? Hans Shund? The thief, the usurer, the convict, the\ndebauchee? Who has been making a fool of you?\u201d\n\n\u201cPardon me, sir! I never suffer people to make a fool of me!\u201d\nrejoined the banker with much dignity.\n\n\u201cYes, yes--somebody has dished up a canard for you. What, that\ngood-for-nothing scoundrel to be elected mayor! Never in his life!\nHans Shund mayor--really that is good now--ha, ha!\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Sand, you lead me to suspect that you belong to the party of\nUltramontanes.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho--_I_ an Ultramontane? That is ridiculous! Sir, I am at\nthe head of the men of progress--I am the most liberal of the\nliberals--that, sir, is placarded on every wall.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow come you, then, to call Mr. Sand a good-for-nothing scoundrel?\u201d\n\n\u201cSimply for this reason, because he is a usurer and a dissipated\nwretch.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I am in the right, after all! Mr. Sand belongs to the ranks\nof the _pious_,\u201d jeered the banker.\n\n\u201cMr. Greifmann, you are insulting!\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing is further from my intention than to wound your feelings,\nmy dear Mr. Sand! Be cool and reasonable. Reflect, if you please.\nShund, you say, puts out money at thirty per cent. and higher, and\ntherefore he is a usurer. Is it not thus that you reason?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, yes! The scoundrel has brought many a poor devil to ruin by\nmeans of his Jewish speculations!\u201d\n\n\u201cYour pious indignation,\u201d commended the millionaire, \u201cis\npraiseworthy, because it is directed against what you mistake\nfor a piece of scoundrelism. Meanwhile, please to calm down your\nfeelings, and let your reason resume her seat of honor so that you\nmay reflect upon my words. You know that in consequence of recent\nlegislation every capitalist is free to put out money at what rate\nsoever he pleases. Were Shund to ask _fifty_ per cent., he would\nnot be stepping outside of the law. He would then be, as he now is,\nan honest man. Would he not?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is as you say, so far as the law is concerned!\u201d\n\n\u201cFurthermore, if after prudently weighing, after wisely\ncalculating, the _pros_ and _cons_, Shund concludes to draw in\nhis money, and in consequence many a poor devil is ruined, as you\nsay, surely no reasonable man will on that account condemn legally\nauthorized speculation!\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t talk to me of legally authorized speculation. The law must\nnot legalize scoundrelism; but whosoever by cunning usury brings\nsuch to ruin is and ever will be a scoundrel.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy a scoundrel, Mr. Sand? Why, pray?\u201d\n\n\u201cSurely it is clear enough--because he has ruined men!\u201d\n\n\u201cRuined! How? Evidently through means legally permitted. Therefore,\naccording to your notion the law _does_ legalize scoundrelism; at\nleast it allows free scope to scoundrels. Mr. Sand, no offence\nintended: I am forced, however, once more to suspect that you do,\nperhaps without knowing it, belong to the _pious_. For they think\nand feel just as you do, that is, in accordance with so-called\nlaws of morality, religious views and principles. That, judged by\nsuch standards, Shund is a scoundrel who hereafter will be burned\neternally in hell, I do not pretend to dispute.\u201d\n\n\u201cAt bottom, I believe you are in the right, after all--yes, it is\nas you say,\u201d conceded the leader reluctantly. \u201cAhem--and yet I\nam surprised at your being in the right. I would rather, however\nthat you were in the right, because I really do not wish to blame\nanybody or judge him by the standard of the Ultramontanes.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat tone sounds genuinely progressive, and it does honor to\nyour judgment!\u201d lauded the banker. \u201cAgain, you called Shund a\ngood-for-nothing scoundrel because he loves the company of women.\nMr. Sand, do you mean to vindicate the sacred nature of the\nsixth commandment in an age that has emancipated itself from the\nthrall of symbols and has liberated natural inclinations from the\nservitude of a bigoted priesthood?--you, who profess to stand at\nthe head and front of the party of progress?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is really odd--you are in the right again! Viewed from\nthe standpoint of the times, contemplated in the light of\nmodern intellectual culture, Shund must not really be called\ngood-for-nothing for being a usurer and an admirer of women.\u201d\n\n\u201cShund\u2019s qualifications consequently fit him admirably for\nthe office of mayor. He will be economical, he will make the\nexpenditures balance with the revenue. Even in the legislature,\nShund\u2019s principles and experience will be of considerable service\nto the country and to the cause of progress. I am so much in favor\nof the man that I shall award you the building of my villa only on\ncondition that you will use all your influence for the election of\nShund to the office of mayor and to the legislature.\u201d\n\n\u201cMayor--assemblyman, too--ahem! that will be hard to do.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy no means! Messrs. Schwefel and Erdblatt will do their best for\nthe same end.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that so, really? In that case there is no difficulty! Mr.\nGreifmann, consider me the man that will build your villa.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe canvass will cost you some money--here, take this,\nmy contribution to the noble cause,\u201d and he gave him a\nfive-hundred-florin banknote.\n\n\u201cThat will suffice, Mr. Greifmann, that will suffice. The plan you\ncannot have until after the election, for Shund will give us enough\nto do.\u201d\n\n\u201cEverything is possible to you, Mr. Sand! Whatever C\u00e6sar, Lepidus,\nand Antony wish at Rome, that same must be.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery true, very true.\u201d And the last of the leaders disappeared.\n\n\u201cI would never have imagined the like to be possible,\u201d spoke the\nlandholder, entering. \u201cThey all regard Shund as a low, abandoned\nwretch, and yet material interest determines every one of them\nto espouse the cause of the unworthy, contemptible fellow. It is\nextraordinary! It is monstrous!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou cannot deny that progress is eminently liberal,\u201d replied the\nbanker, laughing.\n\n\u201cNor will I deny that it possesses neither uprightness nor\nconscience, nor, especially, morals,\u201d rejoined the young man with\nseriousness.\n\nCarl saw with astonishment Seraphin\u2019s crimsoned cheeks and flaming\neyes.\n\n\u201cMy dear fellow, times and men must be taken as they are, not as\nthey should be,\u201d said the banker. \u201cInterest controls both men and\nthings. At bottom, it has ever been thus. In the believing times\nof the middle ages, men\u2019s interest lay in heaven. All their acts\nwere done for heaven; they considered no sacrifice as too costly.\nThousands quit their homes and families to have their skulls cloven\nby the Turks, or to be broiled by the glowing heats of Palestine.\nFor the interests of heaven, thousands abandoned the world, fed on\nroots in deserts, gave up all the pleasures of life. At present,\nthe interest lies in this world, in material possessions, in money.\nDo not therefore get angry at progress if it refuses to starve\nitself or to be cut down by Moorish scimitars, but, on the other\nhand, has strength of mind and self-renunciation enough to promote\nHans Shund to honors and offices.\u201d\n\nSeraphin contemplated Greifmann, who smiled, and hardly knew how to\ntake him.\n\n\u201cAn inborn longing for happiness has possession of all men,\u201d said\nhe with reserve. \u201cThe days of faith were ruled by moral influences;\nthe spirit of this age is ruled by base matter. Between the moral\nstruggles of the past strong in faith, and the base matter of the\npresent, there is, say what you will, a notable difference.\u201d\n\n\u201cDoubtless!\u201d conceded Greifmann. \u201cThe middle ages were\nincontestably the grandest epoch of history. I am actuated by the\nhonest intention of acquainting you with the active principles of\nthe present.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, and you have been not immaterially aided by luck. But for the\norder from Vienna for straw hats, the bills of exchange, and that\nvilla, you would hardly have attained your aim.\u201d\n\nGreifmann smiled.\n\n\u201cThe straw-hat story is merely a mystification, my dear friend.\nWhen the end will have been reached, when Hans Shund will have been\nelected mayor and assemblyman, a few lines will be sufficient to\ninform Mr. Schwefel that the house in Vienna has countermanded its\norder. Nor is any villa to be constructed. I shall pay Sand for his\ndrawings, and this will be the end of the project. The matter of\nthe bills of exchange is not a hoax, and I am still free to proceed\nagainst Erdblatt in the manner required by the interests of my\nbusiness.\u201d\n\nSeraphin stood before the ingenuous banker, and looked at him\naghast.\n\n\u201cIt is true,\u201d said Greifmann gaily, \u201cI have laid out fifteen\nhundred florins, but I have done so against one hundred per cent.;\nfor they are to secure me victory in our wager.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour professional routine is truly admirable,\u201d said Gerlach.\n\n\u201cNot exactly that, but practical, and not at all sentimental, my\nfriend.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall take a walk through the garden to get over my\nastonishment,\u201d concluded Gerlach; and he walked away from the\nastute man of money.\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nSERAPHIN AND LOUISE.\n\nSombre spirits flitted about the head of the young man with the\nblooming cheeks and light eyes. He was unable to rid himself of\na feeling of depression; for he had taken a step into the domain\nof progress, and had there witnessed things which, like slimy\nreptiles, drew a cold trail over his warm heart. Trained up on\nChristian principles, schooled by enlightened professors of the\nfaith, and watched over with affectionate vigilance by a pious\nmother, Seraphin had had no conception of the state of modern\nsociety. For this reason, both Greifmann _Senior_ and Gerlach\n_Senior_ committed a blunder in wishing to unite by marriage three\nmillions of florins, the owners of which not merely differed,\nbut were the direct opposites of each other in disposition and\neducation.\n\nLouise belonged to the class of emancipated females who have\nin vain attempted to enhance the worth of noble womanhood by\nimpressing on their own sex the sterner type of the masculine\ngender. In Louise\u2019s opinion, the beauty of woman does not consist\nin graceful gentleness, amiable concession and purity, but in\nproudly overstepping the bounds set for woman by the innate\nmodesty of her sex. The beautiful young lady had no idea of the\nrepulsiveness of a woman who strives to make a man of herself,\nbut she was sure that the cause and origin of woman\u2019s degradation\nis religion. For it was to Eve that God had said: \u201cThou shalt be\nunder thy husband\u2019s power, and he shall have dominion over thee.\u201d\nLouise considered this decree as revolting, and she detested the\nbook whose authority among men gives effect to its meaning. On the\nother hand, she failed to observe that woman\u2019s sway is powerful\nand acknowledged wherever it exerts itself over weak man through\naffection and grace. Quite as little did Miss Louise observe\nthat men assume the stature of giants so soon as women presume\nto appear in relation to them strong and manlike. Least of all\ndid she discover anything gigantic in the kind-hearted Seraphin.\nIn the consciousness of her fancied superiority of education,\nshe smiled at the simplicity of his faith, and, as the handsome\nyoung gentleman appeared by no means an ineligible _parti_, she\nbelieved it to be her special task to train her prospective\nhusband according to her own notions. She imagined this course of\ntraining would prove an easy undertaking for a lady whose charms\nhad been uniformly triumphant over the hearts of gentlemen. But one\ncircumstance appeared to her unaccountable--that was Seraphin\u2019s\ncold-bloodedness and unshaken independence. For eight days she had\nplied her arts in vain, the most exquisite coquetry had been wasted\nto no purpose, even the irresistible fire of her most lovely eyes\nhad produced no perceptible impression on the impregnable citadel\nof the landholder\u2019s heart.\n\n\u201cHe is a mere child as yet, the most spotless innocence,\u201d she would\nmuse hopefully. \u201cHe has been sheltered under a mother\u2019s wings like\na pullet, and for this I am beholden to Madame Gerlach, for she has\ntrained up an obedient husband for me.\u201d\n\nSeraphin sauntered through the walks of the garden, absorbed\nin gloomy reflections on the leaders of progress. Their utter\ndisregard of honor and unparalleled baseness were disgusting to\nhim as an honorable man, whilst their corruption and readiness\nfor deeds of meanness were offensive to him as a Christian.\nRegarding Greifmann, also, he entertained misgivings. Upon closer\nexamination, however, the unsuspecting youth thought he discovered\nin the banker\u2019s manner of treating the leaders and their principles\na strong infusion of ridicule and irony. Hence, imposed upon by\nhis own good nature, he concluded that Greifmann ought not in\njustice to be ranked among the hideous monstrosities of progress.\n\nWith head sunk and rapt in thought, Gerlach strayed indefinitely\namid the flowers and shrubbery. All at once he stood before Louise.\nThe young lady was seated under a vine-covered arbor; in one hand\nshe held a book, but she had allowed both hand and book to sink\nwith graceful carelessness upon her lap. For some time back she had\nbeen observing the thoughtful young man. She had been struck by his\nmanly carriage and vigorous step, and had come to the conclusion\nthat his profusion of curling auburn hair was the most becoming\nset-off to his handsome countenance. She now welcomed the surprised\nyouth with a smile so winning, and with a play of eyes and\nfeatures so exquisite, that Seraphin, dazzled by the beauty of the\napparition, felt constrained to lower his eyes like a bashful girl.\nWhat probably contributed much to this effect was the circumstance\nof his being at the time in a rather vacant and cheerless state of\nmind, so that, coming suddenly into the presence of this brilliant\nbeing, he experienced the power of the contrast. She appeared to\nhim indescribably beautiful, and he wondered that this discovery\nhad not forced itself upon him before. Unfortunately, the young\ngentleman possessed but little of the philosophy which will not\nsuffer itself to be deceived by seductive appearances, and refuses\nto recognize the beautiful anywhere but in its agreement with the\ntrue and good.\n\nLouise perceived in an instant that now was at hand the\nlong-looked-for fulfilment of her wishes. The certainty which\nshe felt that the conquest was achieved diffused a bewitching\nloveliness over her person. Seraphin, on the other hand, stood\nleaning against the arbor, and became conscious with fear and\nsurprise of a turmoil in his soul that he had never before\nexperienced.\n\n\u201cI have been keeping myself quiet in this shady retreat,\u201d said she\nsweetly, \u201cnot wishing to disturb your meditations. Carl\u2019s wager is\na strange one, but it is a peculiarity of my brother\u2019s occasionally\nto manifest a relish for what is strange.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are right--strange, very strange!\u201d replied Seraphin, evidently\nin allusion to his actual state of mind. The beautiful young lady,\nperceiving the allusion, became still more dazzling.\n\n\u201cI should regret very much that the wager were lost by a guest\nof ours, and still more that you were deprived of your splendid\nracehorses. I will prevail on Carl not to take advantage of his\nvictory.\u201d\n\n\u201cMany thanks, miss; but I would much rather you would not do so. If\nI lose the wager, honor and duty compel me to give up the stakes\nto the winner. Moreover, in the event of my losing, there would be\nanother loss far more severe for me than the loss of my racers.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat would that be?\u201d inquired she with some amazement.\n\n\u201cThe loss of my good opinion of men,\u201d answered he sadly. \u201cWhat I\nhave heard, miss, is base and vile beyond description.\u201d And he\nrecounted for her in detail what had taken place.\n\n\u201cSuch things are new to you, Mr. Seraphin; hence your astonishment\nand indignation.\u201d\n\nThe youth felt his soul pierced because she uttered not a word of\ndisapproval against the villany.\n\n\u201cCarl\u2019s object was good,\u201d continued she, \u201cin so far as his\nman\u0153uvre has procured you an insight into the principles by which\nthe world is just now ruled.\u201d\n\n\u201cI would be satisfied to lose the wager a thousand times, and even\nmore, did I know that the world is not under such rule.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is wrong to risk one\u2019s property for the sake of a delusion,\u201d\nsaid she reprovingly. \u201cAnd it would be a gross delusion not to\nestimate men according to their real worth. A proprietor of fields\nand woodland, who, faithful to his calling, leads an existence pure\nand in accord with nature\u2019s laws, must not permit himself to be so\nfar misled by the harmlessness of his own career as to idealize\nthe human species. For were you at some future day to become more\nintimately acquainted with city life and society, you would then\nfind yourself forced to smile at the views which you once held\nconcerning the present.\u201d\n\n\u201cSmile at, my dear miss? Hardly. I should rather have to mourn the\ndestruction of my belief. Moreover, it is questionable whether I\ncould breathe in an atmosphere which is unhealthy and destructive\nof all the genuine enjoyments of life!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what do you look upon as the genuine enjoyments of life?\u201d\nasked she with evident curiosity.\n\nHe hesitated, and his childlike embarrassment appeared to her most\nlovely.\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon, Mr. Seraphin! I have been indiscreet, for\nsuch a question is allowable to those only who are on terms of\nintimacy.\u201d And the beauty exhibited a masterly semblance of modesty\nand amiability. The artifice proved successful, the young man\u2019s\ndiffidence fled, and his heart opened.\n\n\u201cYou possess my utmost confidence, most esteemed Miss Greifmann!\nIntercourse with good, or at least honorable, persons appears to me\nto be the first condition for enjoying life. How could any one\u2019s\nexistence be cheerful in the society of people whose character is\nnaught and whose moral sense expired with the rejection of every\nreligious principle?\u201d\n\n\u201cYet perhaps it might, Mr. Seraphin!\u201d rejoined she, with a smile of\nimagined superiority. \u201cRefinement, the polished manners of society,\nmay be substituted for the rigor of religious conviction.\u201d\n\n\u201cPolished manners without moral earnestness are mere hypocrisy,\u201d\nanswered he decidedly. \u201cA wolf, though enveloped in a thousand\nlambskins, still retains his nature.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow stern you are!\u201d exclaimed she, laughing. \u201cAnd what is the\nsecond condition for the true enjoyment of life, Mr. Seraphin?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is evidently the accord of moral consciousness with the behests\nof a supreme authority; or to use the ordinary expression, a good\nconscience,\u201d answered the millionaire earnestly.\n\nA sneering expression spontaneously glided over her countenance.\nShe felt the hateful handwriting of her soul in her features,\nturned crimson, and cast down her eyes in confusion. The young man\nhad not observed the expression of mockery, and could not account\nfor her confusion. He thought he had perhaps awkwardly wounded her\nsensitiveness.\n\n\u201cI merely meant to express my private conviction,\u201d said Mr.\nSeraphin apologetically.\n\n\u201cWhich is grand and admirable,\u201d lauded she.\n\nHer approbation pleased him, for his simplicity failed to detect\nthe concealed ridicule. After a walk outside of the city which\nGerlach took towards evening, in the company of the brother and\nsister, Carl Greifmann made his appearance in Louise\u2019s apartment.\n\n\u201cYou have at last succeeded in capturing him,\u201d began he with a\nchuckle of satisfaction. \u201cI was almost beginning to lose confidence\nin your well-tried powers. This time you seemed unable to keep the\nfield, to the astonishment of all your acquaintances. They never\nknew you to be baffled where the heart of a weak male was to be\nwon.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d\n\n\u201cAbout the fat codfish of two million weight whom you have been\nsuccessful in angling.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not understand you, most mysterious brother!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou do not understand me, and yet you blush like the skies before\na rainstorm! What means the vermilion of those cheeks, if you do\nnot understand?\u201d\n\n\u201cI blush, first, on account of my limited understanding, which\ncannot grasp your philosophy; and, secondly, because I am amazed at\nthe monstrous figures of your language.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I shall have to speak without figures and similes upon a\nsubject which loses a great deal in the light of bare reality,\nwhich, I might indeed say, loses all, dissolves into vapor, like\nwill-o\u2019-the-wisps and cloud phantoms before the rising sun. I\nhardly know how to mention the subject without figures. I can\nhardly handle it except with poetic figures,\u201d exclaimed he gaily,\nseating himself in Louise\u2019s rocking-chair, rocking himself.\n\u201cSpeaking in the commonest prose, my remarks refer to the last\nvictim immolated to your highness--to the last brand kindled by the\nfire of your eyes. To talk quite broadly, I mean the millionaire\nand landholder Seraphin Gerlach, who is head and ears in love with\nyou. Considered from a business and solid point of view, it is\nexceedingly flattering for the banker\u2019s brother to see his sister\nadored by so considerable a sum of money.\u201d\n\n\u201cMadman, you profane the noblest feelings of the heart,\u201d she\nchidingly said, with a smile.\n\n\u201cI am a man of business, my dear child, and am acquainted with no\nsanctuary but the exchange. Relations of a tender nature, noble\nfeelings of the heart, lying as they do without the domain of\nspeculation, are to me something incomprehensible and not at all\ndesirable. On the other hand, I entertain for two millions of money\na most prodigious sympathy, and a love that casts the flames of\nall your heroes and heroines of romance into the shade. Meanwhile,\nmy sweet little sister, there are two aspects to everything. An\nalliance between our house and two millions of florins claims\nadmiration, \u2019tis true; yet it is accompanied with difficulties\nwhich require serious reflection.\u201d The banker actually ceased\nrocking and grew serious.\n\n\u201cMight I ask a solution of your enigma?\u201d\n\n\u201cAll jesting aside, Louise, this alliance is not altogether free\nfrom risks,\u201d answered he. \u201cJust consider the contrast between\nyourself and Seraphin Gerlach\u2019s good nature is touching, and his\ncredulous simplicity is calculated to excite apprehension. Guided,\nimposed upon, entirely bewitched by religious phantasms, he gropes\nabout in the darkness of superstition. You, on the contrary, sneer\nat what Seraphin cherishes as holy, and despise such religious\nnonsense. Reflect now upon the enormous contrast between yourself\nand the gentleman whom fate and your father\u2019s shrewdness have\nselected for your husband. Honestly, I am in dread. I am already\nbeginning to dream of divorce and every possible tale of scandal,\nwhich would not be precisely propitious for our firm.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat contradictions!\u201d exclaimed the beauty with self-reliance.\n\u201cYou just a moment ago announced my triumph over Seraphin, and now\nyou proclaim my defeat.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour defeat! Not at all! But I apprehend wrangling and discord in\nyour married life.\u201d\n\n\u201cWrangling and discord because Seraphin loves me?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo--not exactly--but because he is a believer and you are an\nunbeliever; in short, because he does not share your aims and\nviews.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow short-sighted you are! As you conceive of it, love is not a\npassion; at most, only, a cool mood which cannot be modified by\nthe lovers themselves. Your apprehension would be well grounded\nconcerning that kind of love. But suppose love were something\nquite different? Suppose it were a passion, a glowing, dazzling,\nomnipotent passion, and that Seraphin really loved me, do you think\nthat I would not skilfully and prudently take advantage of this\npassion? Cannot a woman exert a decisive and directing influence\nover the husband who loves her tenderly? I have no fears because I\ndo not view love with the eyes of a trader. I hope and trust with\nthe adjurations of love to expel from Seraphin all superstitious\nspirits.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow sly! Surely nothing can surpass a daughter of Eve in the\nmatter of seductive arts!\u201d exclaimed he, laughing. \u201cHem--yes,\nindeed, after what I have seen to-day, it is plain that the Adam\nSeraphin will taste of the forbidden fruit of ripened knowledge,\npersuaded by this tenderly beloved Eve. Look at him: there he\nwanders in the shade of the garden, sighing to the rose-bushes,\ndreaming of your majesty, and little suspecting that he is\nthreatened with conversion and redemption from the kingdom of\ndarkness.\u201d\n\n                         TO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NECESSITY OF PHILOSOPHY AS A BASIS OF HIGHER EDUCATION.\n\nBY F. RAMIERE, S. J.\n\nFROM THE ETUDES RELIGIEUSES.\n\n\nWe have shown what secondary education does for the formation\nof man, and how powerfully it is aided by philosophy in the\naccomplishment of its task. Secondary education in the soul of the\nyoung man completes the work sketched out by the primary lessons\ngiven to the child; it develops his faculties, teaches him their\nuse, invests him with full dominion over himself, and prepares him\nto carry out, according to his high vocation, the great duty of\nlife. Philosophy is the necessary complement of this education,\nsince it is indispensable for the development of the sovereign\nfaculty, reason, and consequently for the complete formation of the\nman, and the perseverance of the Christian.\n\nWe might dispense with further proofs of the utility of philosophy,\nalthough we are still very far from having examined it from every\npoint of view. The man whom primary and secondary education have\nplaced in possession of his faculties is not destined to live alone\nin the world, and employ those admirable instruments wherewith\nhis Creator has endowed him simply for his own advantage. He is\nmade to live in society; it is to society he owes, after God, his\nexistence, his nurture, his instruction, his development, his\nphysical and moral being, in a word, all that he is. During the\nperiod of his education, he has remained almost passive in its\nhands, and has received everything from it. Arrived at the term of\nthis long career, justice obliges him to set to work to pay back to\nit the immense debt he has contracted. Moreover, that which in him\nis but a just duty is at the same time a necessary condition of his\ndignity and happiness. For, if he does not force himself to utilize\nhis faculties in the interests of his fellows, those faculties will\ninfallibly become for him a source of wasting _ennui_ and cruel\ntorment. If, then, he wishes to become an honorable man, let him\nsee that he become a useful citizen.\n\nFor this purpose a multitude of careers open out before him; for\nthere is many a way of serving society; and the most useful of all\nis not always that whose results are the most immediate, and whose\nfruits are the most easily gathered.\n\nUndoubtedly the father of a family who improves his land or devotes\nhimself laboriously to the exercise of a mechanical profession\naccomplishes his whole duty to society; and, if he gives to it\nvirtuous children, he pays it in overrunning measure the debt\nwhich he has contracted in its regard. We do not deny that these\nmore humble callings are the most common, and we acknowledge\nthat to fulfil all their conditions it is enough to have learned\nwell that divine philosophy which is contained in the maternal\nteachings of the church. But a society could never attain a great\ndevelopment, it could scarcely exist, whose members possessed no\nhigher knowledge than that which goes to make a good agriculturist,\na diligent workman, or an honest father of a family. Beyond\nthese common callings there are others more choice which present\nthemselves to souls more richly endowed. Some more inclined to the\ntheoretical, rush at the conquest of science; others of a more\npractical tendency betake themselves to the study of laws and the\nadministration of justice. One studies deep the experience of\nthe past in order to illustrate the present; another would be an\norator, and is ambitious of the triumphs of eloquence; a third\nis a poet, and he believes, and believes rightly, that he makes\nhimself of use enough to his fellows by lifting up their souls to\nthe contemplation and love of the beautiful. Others, again, feel\nthemselves called upon from on high to become the representatives\nof God before men, and the interpreters to them of his oracular\nteachings. We have named the principal careers which lie open\nto the young man whose mind has been cultivated by a liberal\neducation. But to whatever side his choice may bend, he will find\nphilosophy of an almost indispensable utility for the attainment\nof solid success. After having made him a finished man, it will\naid powerfully in making him a true scholar; it will provide the\nlawyer, the historian, the orator, the poet, with the seeds of\ntruth, which each one of them should cause to fructify after his\nfashion. In fine, to form the summit of its glory, it will lend to\nrevelation an invincible arm for the defence of its dogmas; and in\nuniting its light to that flowing from this divine torch, it will\nform the first and most divine of all sciences--theology. Such in\na few words are the various aspects under which we have still to\npresent its utility.\n\n\nNECESSITY OF PHILOSOPHY FOR THE FORMATION OF THE SCIENTIST.\n\nI do not ignore to what I expose myself when I dare affirm that\nwithout philosophy there is no true scientist. People will tell me\nthat therein lies a prejudice of the middle ages, the defence of\nwhich no one can undertake to-day without denying all the progress\nwhich science has made within three centuries. They will sing me\nthe old song of the panegyrists of Bacon. They will point out to\nme the incomparable advance of the physical sciences in modern\ntimes, dating precisely from the day when they shook off the yoke\nof metaphysics, and when, laying aside the syllogism which clogged\ntheir march, they claimed a right to their own process and an\nindependent existence.\n\nI will not stop to discuss the truth of these assertions; but,\naccepting them all provisionally, I will maintain my thesis, and,\nwith God\u2019s help, will prove it.\n\nWhat is the legitimate conclusion derived from the fact they\noppose to us? It is that the physical sciences are distinct from\nphilosophy, and that the middle ages were perhaps mistaken in\nidentifying them too closely with it. But because metaphysics and\nphysics are distinct sciences, does it follow that the man who\npretends to the title of a scientist can content himself with the\none and neglect the other altogether? Clearly not. Such a man, on\nthe contrary, condemns himself in despising philosophy to remain\nimperfect, not merely as a man, but also as a scientist.\n\nTo demonstrate this truth let us define science, and give an exact\naccount of its conditions.\n\nAll knowledge does not deserve the name of science. The animal\nknows after a certain fashion; the infant and the idiot know still\nmore; there is no man so ignorant as not to know an innumerable\nmultitude of things; but neither the one nor the other possesses\nscience. Science is, in relation to a certain order of truths,\nwhat philosophy is in relation to man and to God; it is knowledge\nreasoned out; that which places in a state of explication the\nwherefore of things, to tell of them their essence and their\nlaws, their causes and their effects, their faculties and their\ndestinations; to connect their consequences with their principles,\nand draw their principles from their consequences: \u201cthe knowledge\nof things by their causes.\u201d Man is, therefore, a greater scholar\nin proportion as he is capable of mounting higher in the region of\nprinciples, and of embracing in a more general conception a greater\nnumber of particular truths. Science indeed is like a luminous\nmountain composed of many a height, some more elevated than others.\nAs we mount, the horizon expands, and we are able to embrace with\nthe same glance a vaster space. He alone will possess complete\nscience, and he alone consequently will deserve, in its absolute\nsense, the title of a man of science, who arrived at its loftiest\nheight, and grasping in its infinite simplicity the first principle\nof all things, shall behold in the splendor of this focus all the\nrays which burst forth from it and spread abroad to illumine the\nwhole sphere of truth.\n\nBut this complete science is not within the reach of mortal man,\nand in its absolute perfection belongs alone to God.\n\nFettered by his nature, and fettered still more by the conditions\nof his earthly existence, man can only aspire to a partial\nscience; and it is left him to choose in this immense sphere that\nparticular ground whereon to pursue his investigations with more\nprofit. The entire field is open to us. \u201cGod,\u201d says the Scripture,\n\u201chas delivered the world to the searchings and the disputes of\nmen.\u201d In bestowing on us the faculty of finding a reason for\nthings, he has authorized us to make use of this faculty in regard\nto all the truths of the natural order, provided we see on all\nsides the boundary of the mysterious, which reminds us of our\nessential infirmity.\n\nBut though every science is equally lawful, they are not all\nequally useful. We may divide them into three classes, which\nform the three circles of the great sphere of truth. There are\nthe sciences which concern the inferior world, the mathematical\nand physical sciences; those whose object is humanity, the\npsychological and moral sciences; thirdly, those which concern the\nhigher world, the science of first principles and of the primal\ncause of all things. This last, which holds the centre of the great\nsphere of truth, is called metaphysics; and it is joined to the\npsychological and moral sciences, which are drawn from the same\nprinciples, under the common name of philosophy.\n\nThis simple statement of the place which belongs to philosophy\nin the hierarchy of the sciences is enough to prove our thesis,\nnamely, the necessity of philosophy for the formation of the true\n_savant_.\n\nWhat man, in fact, is truly worthy of this name, unless it be he\nwho is possessed of the necessary science? But I would ask: Does\nthat man possess this science, does he know what he ought to know,\nwho possesses a perfect knowledge of the inferior world, and who\nignores himself; who has passed his life away in studying the\nlaws of bodies, yet has never given a thought to his own nature\nand the destiny of his own soul? Tell me that that man is a great\nphysicist, and I will not gainsay it; but I can never consent to\nyour bestowing on him the title of a man of science. The ancient\nGreek unites with me in denouncing an error so opposed to the\ndignity of the human intelligence. \u201cKnow thyself.\u201d Such was the\nprecept impressed on all those who went to Delphi to consult the\noracle of Apollo. The gate of the true temple of wisdom opens\nonly to those who have put this recommendation into practice.\nBut wisdom is the true science. The true scholar is not he who\nknows something, but he who knows enough of it. No one thinks of\npraising unreservedly a statue whose head and bust are scarcely\noutlined, and whose lower members alone are finished. It is to\nthe whole, it is above all to the principal parts, that we look,\nwhen we wish to estimate a work definitely. Reason commands that\nwe act in the same manner when we wish to judge of the absolute\nvalue of an intelligence. As there are for a people liberties\nwhich are necessary, so is there also for a man knowledge which\nis indispensable, of his own nature, his origin, and his destiny;\nand he who is deprived of this, although he possess all sorts of\nsuperfluous knowledge, cannot pretend to the title of a man of\nscience.\n\nTo this first motive for the necessity of philosophy derived from\nits object we are able to add another deduced from the very idea\nof science. Science, we have said, is the knowledge of things by\ntheir principles. Its perfection consists in attaching particular\ntruths to truths which are more general, which comprise them, and\nwhich enable the intelligence to catch them at a single glance.\nBut this unity, which forms the perfection of the sciences, and\nwhich each of them establishes among the particular truths which\nconstitute their several objects, it is the province of philosophy\nto establish among the sciences themselves. Metaphysics, in fact,\nwhich is the principal part of philosophy, has for its special\nobject not the study of particular truths, but of those general\nprinciples which throw a light upon the other sciences. It is then\ntheir necessary complement, and their indispensable crown. Set in\nthe very centre of the great sphere of knowledge, it is to the\nother sciences the polar star, whereon they must turn their eyes\nin order to see their way. It points out to each one of them the\nrelation of the truths which constitute their special object with\nthe primary truth which is their common centre. The geometrician\nand the physicist, who occupy themselves exclusively with the\nrelations of numbers and the laws of bodies, are like explorers\nvoyaging in regions where the disc of the sun is never seen, placed\nwithout the power of tracing to their luminous focus the rays of\ntruth which their studies permit them to catch.\n\nBut far beyond this, philosophy alone can make the geometrician\nor the physicist acquainted with the inner essence of the objects\nwhich form the special material of their studies. Geometry analyzes\nthe relations of magnitudes, but it does not seek to give an\naccount of the very idea of magnitude: natural philosophy evolves\nfrom experiments the laws of bodies; but it cannot, by induction\nat least, which is its special process, arrive at a knowledge of\nthe essence of bodies. Philosophy alone scrutinizes, as far as it\nis possible for human reason so to do, the mystery of that inner\nessence by which each thing is what it is. Philosophy is therefore\nnecessary for the completion of the special sciences, and to\nfurnish scholars with the knowledge of their different objects.\n\nLastly, a fourth and still more incontestable motive for the\nnecessity of philosophy for the formation of the true scientist\nis deduced from the scientific education of the intelligence,\nwhich philosophy alone is capable of undertaking. One of the most\nimportant parts of philosophy is logic; that is, the science of\nreasoning, and of the different processes by means of which the\nhuman intelligence can find truth. These processes are not only\nthose which philosophy avails itself of, but also those which\nobtain among the other sciences. It belongs to philosophy, and\nto philosophy alone, to study their nature, to fix their laws,\nto prevent their wandering. The other sciences borrow these\nprocesses from it; they make use of them; but they would depart\nfrom their object if they studied them in themselves. One cannot,\nthen, dispute the utility of philosophy for the formation of\nthe scientist, without maintaining an evident absurdity; to\nwit, that it is useless for the workman to obtain a knowledge\nof the instrument he uses in the exercise of his craft. Who can\nfail to see that, without a profound knowledge of the different\nintellectual processes, the scientist is exposed to a double\ndanger--on the one hand, to the danger of deceiving himself in the\nuse of the special process which is proper to him; on the other,\nto the danger of exaggerating its importance, and not holding in\nsufficient estimation those processes equally legitimate which\nare in use among other sciences? The first of these dangers is to\nbe feared, above all, in the inductive sciences. Induction is a\nmode of reasoning perfectly legitimate in itself; but of all the\nintellectual processes it is the one which is most easily abused,\nand which, pushed beyond its just limits, may lead to the gravest\nof errors.\n\nThe mathematical sciences which work by equation are not equally\nexposed to the danger of diverging from their track, but they\nthreaten with a still greater peril the mind of the scholar whom\nthe study of philosophy has not set on his guard against the\ntoo exclusive influence of this process. Equation, as its name\nindicates, does not pass from one truth to another, but from a like\nto a like, from the expression of a relation of number or magnitude\nto another simpler expression of the same relation. It is not,\nthen, surprising that this process offers to the mind an exactness\nfar more easy of comprehension than that by means of which we\nare enabled to grasp moral truths and give ourselves a reason\nfor our own nature. The philosophic mathematician will take this\ndifference perfectly into account, and his progress in the science\nof numbers will hinder him in no wise from seizing upon substantial\ntruths. But the man who all his life long has occupied himself\nwith nothing save the study of mathematics is very much exposed to\nbecoming incapable of comprehending that which is not demonstrated\nby equation; and he will experience a greater estrangement and\ninaptitude for the science of God and of himself in proportion as\nhe advances further in the science of the inferior world.\n\nIn good faith, can we see progress in this? Is it not, on the\ncontrary, a degradation, not only from the moral, but also from\nthe intellectual point of view? Has not the absence of a sound\nphilosophy stood as much in the way of that man\u2019s scientific\nelevation as of his moral greatness? Though he may have become\na more able manipulator of formulas, he surely has not become a\ngreater _savant_. Nothing, on the contrary, is more calculated to\ncramp and mutilate the faculties of the soul than this exclusive\nconcentration on one of the collateral objects of its activity. In\nthe same way as a limb which is never set in motion wastes away\nand becomes paralyzed, so the powers of the soul cannot cease to\nact without losing their vigor. Such is the state to which a too\nexclusive study of what are called the exact sciences reduces\ncertain minds: these are the minds whose higher faculties have\nbeen wasted. All their activity is turned to one side; the eye\nof their intelligence is so constructed for the lesser light\nof equation, that, when they rise from the subterranean world\nof geometrical abstractions to enter into the region of moral\nrealities and into the world of souls, they are dazed, and can\nsee naught but darkness. True it is that they are much enamored\nof their blindness, and attribute it to excess of light. Fain to\nacknowledge that their formulas, the only legitimate arguments\naccording to them, are powerless to solve the great moral problems,\nthey suppress those problems with the declaration that it is folly\nin human reason to trouble itself with them, and that for him who\nwishes to ascertain truth and possess certainty it is enough to\nstudy the relations of numbers and the laws of bodies. Such is true\nscience in the eyes of the disciples of Auguste Comte. These men\nare perfectly logical. They adopt the only means to ensure their\ntitle to be really scientific men without the aid of philosophy;\nthey suppress philosophy altogether, and suppress consequently its\nobject, that is, the human soul and God, the beginning and the\nend of things. With adversaries of this stamp I refuse to dispute.\nI can only appeal to their conscience against the disdain which\ntheir lips affect for the formidable questions whose suppression\nthey in vain decree. They exist in spite of them; and wherever they\ngo they carry about in themselves the problems which they refuse\nto examine. As for those for whom God and the soul have still a\nmeaning, I believe I have said enough to compel them to admit\nthat no one has a right to the title of a wise man so long as he\nignores the science which learns all that reason can know of those\ngrand objects, and that the other sciences when separated from it\nare often more hurtful than useful to the real improvement of the\nintellect.\n\nI might go still further; and, coming back to the concession\nwhich I appeared to make in favor of the loud-voiced preachers of\nthe exact sciences, I stand on perfectly firm ground in denying\nthat the excessive importance which a very great number of minds\nbestows on them, and the exclusive study to which they give\nthemselves up, are for the sciences themselves a condition of\nprogress. What this study can produce is able practitioners, who\nwill solve successfully problems whose data somebody has already\nfurnished them; the artisans of science, who may build up with\nskill the edifice whose plan they find traced out beforehand;\nwatchful pilots, who by the aid of their compass and marine chart\nmay guide their ship safely into port. But the geniuses capable of\ndiscovering new lands, of opening up to science new horizons, you\nwill never find among the minds who have only learnt to navigate\nby the compass of equation. Not by the aid of formulas are great\ndiscoveries made; they are the effect of that sort of divination\nwhich those intelligences possess which are accustomed to raise\nthemselves in all things to the most general principles, and grasp\nin the variety of phenomena the analogy of laws. If Kepler had only\nproceeded by the aid of formulas, he would never have discovered\nthe laws of worlds; and Leibnitz would undoubtedly have been a far\nless distinguished geometrician had he not been an equally eminent\nphilosopher.\n\nWe may, then, affirm that the study of philosophy--which is\nnecessary to enlarge the mind of the scholar--is of immense utility\nin the advancement of the sciences, even of those very ones which\nseem to have the least connection with this queen of sciences.\n\n\nII.\n\nNECESSITY OF PHILOSOPHY FOR THE FORMATION OF THE JURISCONSULT.\n\nIf it is thus with the sciences whose objects are distinct from\nthat of philosophy, what shall we say of jurisprudence, which\ntreats of the rights and duties of the members of human society?\nHere the connection is much more direct, since the object which\nwe are about to indicate is precisely that which moral philosophy\ntreats of. Between the two sciences there is no other difference\nthan this: while moral philosophy treats only of essential rights\nand duties, that is to say, of those which result from the very\nnature of man, and depend on the necessary will of the Creator,\njurisprudence has for its more particular object those rights which\nare derived immediately from the civil authority, and which have\nbeen established by a positive law. But who does not see that this\nsecond species of rights and duties presupposes the first and leans\nupon it for its necessary support? In order to proceed rationally\nto the study of the acts of civil authority, and take into account\nthe duties which it imposes, we must know whence proceeds this\nauthority, from whom does it hold the right of making laws, what\nis its mission, and how far does its power extend. We must know\nalso what is law, what are its conditions, when it begins and\nwhen it ceases to compel, what are the causes which dispense with\nits observance, what the objects to which its provisions should\nextend. Where shall we seek the solving of these questions, and of\nmany others which form the necessary preliminary of all rational\njurisprudence, unless from philosophy? Open the most celebrated\ntreatises; the _Treatise on Laws_ by Domat, for instance, and see\nif he is ashamed to borrow from the metaphysicians their principles\nand their definitions. By how many eminent jurisconsults has the\n_Treatise on Laws_ of Suarez been used? How often have his general\ntheories, though altogether removed from the different special\nlegislations, served, nevertheless, as the connecting clue to lead\nthem out of the labyrinth of their provisions, and furnished the\nmost precious indications for the determination of the rights which\nthey only defined imperfectly?\n\nMore than ever has it become necessary in our days to establish\nsolidly, in the minds of those who are destined to make laws or\nwatch over their execution, these fundamental notions on the\norigin, the end, and the extent of civil authority, and on the\nconditions of its exercise. For one must be blind not to comprehend\nthat from the ignorance and reversing of these notions springs the\noverturning of modern societies. Strange it is that public order,\nwhich has never had to withstand such radical attacks as in these\nour days, should find its worst foes, not in those who deny the\nlegitimacy of law, but, on the contrary, in the very men who have\nexaggerated beyond measure the power of the law. What in effect is\nthat system but socialism, according to which we must recognize no\nother right, no other duty, save such as emanate from the social\nwill; which extends to everything the power of the law; and which,\ngrinding under this pitiless roller every natural right and every\nrelation of property and family, leaves nothing to subsist before\nthe state, save isolated individualities? Since the hand of God\nfirst founded human society, never has an error so fatal to its\nexistence sprung up. Yet this error, since we must confess it,\nhas had for its upholders, through many ages, a great number of\njurisconsults, who have done their best to establish the principles\non which it leans, detesting all the while the consequences\nwhich it deduces from them. In place of borrowing from a sound\nphilosophy the true notions with regard to the mission of civil\nauthority, they are pleased to give it an extension without limits,\nnot perceiving that they thereby impose on it an overwhelming\nresponsibility, and that in lessening the rights which should\ngive it equilibrium, they weaken at the same time its solidity.\nAlas! how many \u201cmen of order,\u201d how many grave jurisconsults, are\nin our days completely socialistic in their ideas, and yet fail\nto perceive that their doctrines only furnish that party, whose\ncriminal efforts they oppose with all the force that is in them,\nwith arms which are only too powerful!\n\nPhilosophy is not only useful to the jurisconsult in furnishing\nhim with the general notions on the origin, end, and exercise of\nlegislative power; in addition, it throws a light over the detail\nof laws, atones for their deficiencies, fixes their uncertainties,\nreconciles their opposition, and by discovering the motives of\ntheir provisions, determines the limits within which they ought to\nbe restrained.\n\nThe written law, in fact, is not enough for itself. Its end is\nnot to promulgate all duties. There are a great number, and they\nare the most essential, which are anterior to it, and which the\nfinger of God has graven on the soul of every man coming into this\nworld, and which his Eternal Word promulgates in the depth of every\nconscience. It is on this unwritten law that human society leans;\nit is only in virtue of the rights and duties of which it is the\nsource that men have been able to unite themselves into different\ngroups and establish civil societies. Unless they had been\npreviously submitted the one to the other by some obligation, they\nwould never have bound themselves by any contract; their agreements\nwould have been determined by convenience; they would never have\nbelieved in duties. The civil law presupposes, then, a law anterior\nand superior to it, by which all the necessary relations of men are\ndefined with a sovereign authority, since it is the authority of\nGod himself, and with an irresistible clearness, since it is the\nvery light of reason. The mission of the human legislator consists\nmerely in adding to the essential duties, which the natural law\nprescribes for all men, those which result from the constitution\nof the different groups which form civil societies. It is the\nnatural law which bids man love his fellows and co-operate for\ntheir happiness; the civil law, supporting itself on this general\nobligation, determines the particular services which the citizens\nowe one another for the common defence of their interests. The\nnatural law establishes the family, and promulgates the essential\nrights of parents and children; the civil law surrounds the\nexercise of these rights by the guarantees necessary to certify\ntheir existence, to ward off the dangers which threaten them, to\nensure their stability, and prevent their conflict. The natural law\nlays the foundation of property, in bestowing on each man the fruit\nof his labor, and commanding him to provide for his own future and\nthat of his children; but it belongs to the civil law to determine\nthe necessary forms for the authentication of the acquisition\nand transfer of property, and to prevent this right, which is so\nnecessary to social order, from becoming a source of disorder.\n\nWe see, then, that in all its provisions the civil law presupposes\nthe natural law, of which it is but the complement and final\ndetermination. The rights which it establishes are real rights\nbeyond doubt; they are sacred and inviolable rights, which divine\njustice, the protector of all order, takes under its guarantee,\nand for which it reserves a sanction as eternal as for the rights\nof which it is the immediate source: but nevertheless these are\nbut secondary rights, which are only binding so long as they are\nconformable with the rights which are preordained, and lose all\ntheir force from the moment that they become contrary to them; for\nthere is no such thing as right against right, as Bossuet has so\nwell said. Whence it follows that no man can acquire a complete and\nsure knowledge of civil legislation, unless he has first of all\nmade a serious study of that part of philosophy which is called\n_natural right_.\n\nBut it is clear that this moral and practical part of philosophy\ndoes not subsist alone; it is only the consequence of principles\nestablished in the speculative and metaphysical part; it is, then,\nphilosophy in its entirety which he ought to study with the most\nlaborious attention who destines himself for the teaching or the\npractice of jurisprudence. There alone will he find the final\nreason of human laws: thence will he draw those great principles\nto which he ought to go back at all times when he wishes to solve\none of those difficult cases which the civil law has not foreseen,\nor for which she has furnished insufficient data. It will often\nhappen that two laws appear in opposition, and right will clash\nagainst right. To whom shall we turn to reconcile these apparent\nor real antinomies, which are found in the letter of the law? To\nwhom, unless to the supreme lawgiver, of whom the framers of laws\nare but the interpreters; to the spirit of the law, to that eternal\nreason whose oracular decisions philosophy records? Unhappy the\njurisconsult who, before investing himself with the toga of the\nmagistracy, or taking upon himself the defence of the rights of\nhis fellows, shall not have entered into the sanctuary where these\nluminous oracles are expounded by the mouth of sages, and who\npersuades himself that the letter of the code is enough to enable\nhim to acquit himself of his difficult functions! The letter is\na useful instrument undoubtedly, an instrument necessary even,\nindispensable; but it is nothing more than instrument. To hit its\nmark it requires to be ably handled. Philosophy alone gives this\npower and freedom in the management of the written law, because it\nalone shows its end, mechanism, and motives. Guided by its light,\nthe true jurisconsult will advance with confidence, and apply the\nlaw with intelligence; he will resolve it into its different parts,\ntake in his hands the links that bind them together, and show their\nconnection with the different problems, whose complexity rendered\ntheir solution more difficult. The superficial jurisconsult, on the\ncontrary, unaided by the torch of philosophy, will always grope\nupon the earth when he seeks to penetrate the inner mechanism of\nlaws and the essence of things; as the law cannot foresee the\ndiversity of particular cases, he will ever be embarrassed in the\napplication of its general provisions; a slave to the letter, he\nallows himself to be guided by, instead of guiding it, as every\ngood workman ought to guide his instrument. If he strives to free\nhimself from it, and lift himself above it, it is only to wander\nat haphazard in the region of guesswork. So he goes on, pushed\nfrom one extreme to another, not fleeing a servile application of\nthe written law, more or less opposed to its spirit, and always\nuncertain, only to lose himself in conjecture more uncertain and\nmore dangerous still; in place of being the defender and the\nminister of justice, he will too often be its executioner, and will\nverify but too faithfully the truth of that saying: \u201cThe letter\nwithout the spirit can only be a principle of death.\u201d\n\n\nIII.\n\nUTILITY OF PHILOSOPHY FOR THE FORMATION OF THE HISTORIAN.\n\nHistory is not a science properly so-called, since it only occupies\nitself with contingent facts, and does not pretend to deduce\nthose facts from first principles by any necessary connection.\nDiffering from the physical world, where phenomena seemingly the\nmost accidental are the effect of constant laws, the moral world\nis the product of human liberty, acting under the control of the\nDivine Providence in all the spontaneity of its expansion. History,\nwhich presents us with the faithful tableaux of this world, must\nrefuse therefore to admit into its process that severe order which\nconstitutes science; and if at times in the recital of human acts\nit can point out to us the accomplishment of the moral law, far\nmore frequently does it show the most flagrant and persistent\nviolation of it.\n\nMust we say, then, that history ought to resign itself to\npresenting to the mind a mere disconnected and aimless chaos of\nfacts, and that it cannot seek to cast on its recitals the light\nof principles, and give to them that order and that unity without\nwhich there is nothing truly beautiful? Who dare say this? To what\npurpose would the study of history serve us if it were nothing else\nthan an incoherent tableau of the caprices of human liberty? In\nplace of being one of the most useful studies for the formation of\nthe mind and heart of a young man, it would be nothing but an idle\npastime and dangerous food for curiosity. Instead of illumining the\npresent by the light of the past, it would only serve to transmit\nto the present generations the consequence of the scandals of the\ngeneration which went before; in place of pointing out a God still\nworking in the world and thus becoming a school for religion, it\nwould be simply a school for atheism, in permitting us to see in\nthe moral world nothing but human liberty abandoned to itself, a\nworthy emulation of that blind and impious science which in the\nphysical world would show us nothing save a nature self-produced,\nself-acting by its own power.\n\nHistory, then, is a study truly worthy of man; with a power to\ncharm his intellect and make a beneficial impression on his heart,\nonly so long as it marches ever under the light of principles, and\nkeeps its eyes ever fixed on the moral laws, to show where they\nagree or where they clash with the facts with whose recital it is\ncharged. That is to say, history cannot fulfil its mission without\ncalling in philosophy to its aid; and, however able a writer may\nbe in the narration of facts, he can never merit the title of\nhistorian if he is not a philosopher.\n\nNot that I wish to bring myself forward here as the defender of\nthe _philosophy of history_, as understood by the greater portion\nof modern historians. I know well that this pretended science,\nso vaunted in our days, is one of the deadliest engines of war\nwhich impiety has set in action in its attack on the church. The\nphilosophy of history thus understood is to true history, such\nas St. Augustine and Bossuet taught, what the philosophy of the\nsophist is to the philosophy of reason. I cannot help, therefore,\nrepudiating with all my power this word, if they persist in giving\nit the sense which Voltaire, who first introduced it, gave, or the\nstill more impious sense which the pantheistic school gives it. I\nmaintain that there is no philosophy of history if you understand\nthereby the fatalist development of human activity, after certain\nfixed formulas as necessary as those which govern the movements of\nmatter; such a philosophy of history is nothing else than a denial\nof the human soul and of God, the legitimizing of all crime, the\nexciting of all the worst passions, the overthrow of all society,\nthat is to say, the destruction of all philosophy and of all\nhistory.\n\nBut the false philosophy of fatalism and pantheism is not the only\none, thank God, which can be applied to history. There is also a\ntrue philosophy of history, which shows us God glorifying himself\nin the reparation of the disorders of the moral world after a\nmanner as admirable in its kind as is the maintenance of the order\nof the physical world. If he showed his power and wisdom, when with\nsovereign hand he caused the splendors of the heavens to radiate\nfrom the womb of chaos with the harmony of the stars and the life\nof nature, how much wiser and more powerful does he not seem to\nus when we behold him making use of a chaos a thousand times more\nrebellious, the chaos of the passions and perverseness of humanity,\nin order to produce the most beautiful of all his works--the\nmanifestation of his truth and the triumph of his goodness!\n\nIt is this sovereign action of the Divine Providence, irresistibly\nshaping to its own end the will of man without infringing an iota\non his liberty, that the true philosophy of history purposes to\ncontemplate. It is part of this principle that God, sovereignly\nwise, who could not call into being the least atom without giving\nit an end worthy of himself, could not for a stronger reason\nproduce the masterpiece of his hands, the rational soul, without\ngiving it an end, and without urging it unceasingly to the\nrealization of that end. That which is true of the individual is\ntrue of society, and is truer still of all humanity.\n\nThis end being attainable by visible means, and, on the other hand,\nbeing conformable to the nature of God and the nature of man, it\nought to be possible to discover it by means of a study of facts,\nwhich constitute history, and by means of a profound observation\nof those two natures, which constitute philosophy. Philosophy\nfurnishes the data _a priori_; history possesses itself of these\ndata and verifies them by experience. The result of this double\nrevision is one of the most attractive branches of knowledge for\nthe mind, and most capable of enlarging the soul, the knowledge of\nthe divine economy, and of the secret resorts by which Providence\ngoverns the affairs of this world.\n\nThe divine government operates in three different spheres, to which\nrespond three degrees of the philosophy of history.\n\nThe first sphere of action chosen by Providence is the conscience\nof each man. Undoubtedly we are not to look in this world for the\ndefinite accomplishment of individual destinies. God has reserved\nfor a more durable life the full award of his law. Meanwhile it has\noften been his will to anticipate this eternal award by a temporary\none, which, in this life, may avenge his justice for the outrages\nof crime. Thus, there are some lives most obscure; there are, for\na still stronger reason, brilliant lives which leave their mark on\nthe memory of the human race. It is not often possible to discover\nthis award. To arrive at it, history will borrow from philosophy\nthe moral laws which ought to regulate the conduct of individuals;\nand she will look for the confirmation of these laws in the\nprosperity or misfortune which have accompanied their observance or\ntheir neglect. Such is the study which constitutes the first degree\nof the true philosophy of history, and which makes this science an\nexcellent school for morality.\n\nBut history mounts still higher by the aid of philosophy; its\nmission, in fact, is not merely to recount the life of certain\nindividuals, who by their talents, their virtues, or their crimes\nhave left a deep trace in the memory of generations: above all, it\nis the tableau of the destiny of peoples which it is called upon to\npaint; it is social events which, above all, form the interest of\nits pictures. Therein each people appears like a moral personality,\nwith its infancy, its growth, its maturity and its decrepitude; its\nspecial character, its qualities and faults, its good points and\nits crimes, its prosperity and its misfortune. The life of each\npeople is, then, a grand drama, wherein not one of the elements of\nthe most moving interest is wanting; but this drama must have its\nmoral, and, in order to give it one, history must have recourse\nanew to philosophy. Philosophy will not fail it; she will furnish\nit with the social laws, that is to say, those by which societies\nare constituted, governed, and developed. The application of these\nlaws, which she deduces from the nature of man, she invites history\nto seek in the facts. If her theories are true, it is impossible\nthat their accomplishment should not confer happiness on society,\nand their violation misfortune. History ought therefore, again,\nfrom this point of view to be the counter-proof of philosophy;\nand it ought to become so after a manner still more complete than\nwhen it occupied itself with the destiny of individuals. In truth,\nthis destiny, playing its part chiefly on the invisible theatre\nof conscience and carrying it on into after-time, often escapes\nthe application of history. Societies, on the contrary, having an\nexistence temporal in its duration and public in its most important\nevents, ought to show forth in their history with great clearness\nthe award of the laws which the Creator has imposed upon them, and\nwhich philosophy establishes _a priori_ by its deductions. The\nstudy of this award must purchase, then, at the price of very\ngreat difficulties, the precious advantages which it promises. It\nis this which constitutes the second degree of the philosophy of\nhistory, and which makes this science the best school of politics.\n\nLastly, history mounts a degree still higher: beyond the\nmoral individualities which we call peoples, she discovers an\nindividuality much more vast and much more lasting--humanity,\nthe immense body whose members are all peoples, and in which\neach individual plays his _r\u00f4le_, like a living molecule which\ninfluences in its part the destinies of the whole. As each nation\nhas its character and as it were its own style of feature which\ndistinguish it from other nations, so humanity is distinguished\nfrom the other species of rational beings wherewith the Creator has\npeopled the universe, by prerogatives and by infirmities which no\nother shares with it. It also has had its infancy, its growth, its\nripe age; and everything leads us to believe that it will one day\nhave its decrepitude. It also, in fine, has its mission, which it\naccomplishes in the course of ages, and at the term of which its\ndevelopment will cease.\n\nThis common destiny of humanity constitutes, together with its\ncommon origin, the unity of this vast body. It permits us to lift\nourselves up even to the divine thought, which, in sowing this\ninnumerable multitude in the immensity of the ages, proposed to\nitself a plan as harmonious in its unity as when it launched into\nspace this immense variety of globes and atoms which compose the\nuniverse. Behold herein the true unity of the human race, whose\nsubstantial unity, as seen by the pantheist, is nothing but an\nabsurd parody.\n\nIt is here, in fact, that we find ourselves face to face with the\ntwo philosophies of history--the false and the true. Both wish\nfor unity, because unity, which is the essence of God and the law\nof the world, is also the last want of our mind and the last end\nof science. But the first of these philosophies only establishes\nunity in the world by destroying its diversity, which is an\nessential condition of beauty and of life. In its eyes individuals\nare nothing but unreal phenomena, which appear, only to vanish;\nspace alone is something; it alone remains while all the rest\npasses away. And as it would be too absurd to give space a separate\nreality, independent of that of individuals, to make humanity\nsomething existing outside of man, it is forced to conclude, in the\nfinal analysis, that this humanity, which alone truly exists, is\nnothing in itself but a form which is developed by some fatality in\ntime and space; and all of us who persuade ourselves that we each\nhave our own existence are in reality but the varied expressions of\nthis form, the passing vibrations of an ideal fluid, the fleeting\ntints of a cloud. Behold the philosophy of history according to\npantheism!\n\nHow much greater, how much more consoling, how much more beautiful\nis the true philosophy of history--that of which St. Augustine and\nBossuet have made themselves the eloquent interpreters! And in the\nmeantime, in the midst of all these varied existences, in the midst\nof these actions so divergent, in the midst of these liberties so\noften at war, she finds a perfect unity, the unity of the divine\nthought--bringing back to its end all these divergencies, and\nmaking of their very opposition so many means thereto. But what is\nthis thought, what is this one end, which God is working in the\nworld, and for the realization of which, willingly or unwillingly,\nall these individuals and peoples labor? For a reply to this\nmighty question, it has pleased God not to abandon us to uncertain\nconjecture. He hath spoken from the beginning of the world; and in\nproportion as the human race has developed has he manifested more\nclearly its destiny--a destiny thrice divine since it has God for\nits principle, God for its term, and God again for its means; it is\nthe divinization of man by Jesus Christ the God-man, the conquest\nof eternal happiness by God himself, by the fulfilling of the\nearthly ordeal in the image of God Incarnate.\n\nSuch is the divine thought which it has pleased God to reveal\nto us from his own mouth. The incarnation of the Son of God is,\ntherefore, the pivot around which roll the events of history--as\nthe divinization of men in him is the term where these events ought\nto meet. The glory of the Word Incarnate: such is the closing scene\nto which all the catastrophes of this drama ought infallibly to\nlead up--a drama whose every historic period forms a scene, whose\nplot borrows a most captivating interest from the apparent triumph\nof human passions. Jesus Christ: such is the word which unlocks\nthe great enigma of the ages--Jesus Christ: behold the Sun, whose\ndawn and coming form the natural division of the ancient and modern\nworld, whose presence and whose absence make the day and the night\nin the moral order, and whose final triumphs over the mists and\nvapors, which to this day have striven against him, will give to\nthe earth the unity and the happiness for which it sighs.\n\nBut one may stop me, and tell me that I am no longer treading on\nphilosophic ground. I am happy to confess it. For the same reason\nthat in seeking the final explanation of his individual destiny man\nis compelled to have recourse to his Creator, so must he abide his\nfinal explanation alone of the destiny of the world. Reason tells\nhim that in the existence of humanity God pursues one end, and that\nthis end should be the manifestation of his divine attributes. It\ncan tell him no more. As for the mode of this manifestation, it\nrests entirely with the will of God; and it would consequently be\na presumption on the part of philosophy to pretend to determine\nit, since its power does not stretch beyond necessary truths.\nWe acknowledge, therefore, that, without the aid of faith, the\nscience of history cannot reach its third degree. Therein we\ndetract in no wise from philosophy; for, if it must necessarily\nborrow from revelation this fact of the free end of God, as it\nborrows from history the knowledge of the free actions of men, it\nis no less true that by its processes these different facts meet\ntogether to form the most harmonious of all the tableaux, and\nthe most inspiring of all the poems which human thought has ever\nconceived--the divine epic of humanity.\n\n                         TO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n\n\nA SUMMER IN THE TYROL.\n\n\nThe Tyrol is--or was, when we knew it--one of the most primitive\ncountries in Europe. Entirely Catholic, it comes up to the ideal\nof the faith of the middle ages far better than even the most\nhistoric cities of Italy, that by-gone cradle of our faith. It is\nnot sufficiently overrun with tourists to be corrupted by them, and\ntheir stay in any of its towns is seldom long. Before the Brenner\nRailroad was opened, it was almost, practically speaking, as\nsecluded a spot as the interior of China.\n\nTwenty years ago, hardly any language but a _patois_ of German was\nunderstood by the Tyrolese, and when a couple of English explorers\nmade a tour among the mountains, journeying on foot nearly the\nwhole of the way, they were amused one night by finding their\nold English valet seated in the kitchen of a very unpretending\n_Gasthaus_, with his bare feet stamping on the floor within a\ncabalistic-looking circle drawn in white chalk. The old man had\nbeen frantically but vainly endeavoring to make the natives\nunderstand his master\u2019s need of--a foot-bath! One of the travellers\nwas luckily able to come to his assistance in good Hanoverian\nGerman, which itself, however, was only just barely comprehensible\nto the simple mountaineers.\n\nAlthough we have no personal reminiscences of that style of\ntravelling which skims over half a continent in a two months\u2019 tour,\nyet the local knowledge we acquired by a four months\u2019 residence in\none town of the Tyrol will perhaps not be entirely uninteresting.\nInnsbruck, although the capital of the province, is nothing more\nthan a large village with two or three roomy and tidy but very\nold-fashioned inns, and a church or two not remarkable for either\nbeauty or antiquity. Besides the inns, which were too much embedded\namong streets and houses to be suitable to our taste, there were,\noutside the town, a few cheap \u201cplaces of entertainment,\u201d where\nlodging could be had for next to nothing, and where unlimited quiet\nmight be enjoyed. One was a \u201cSchloss,\u201d anciently some baronial or\nmonastic dependency, very picturesque and inaccessible, and on the\ninside very susceptible of English home comfort, but for an invalid\nthis could not be thought of. The road that led to it was enough to\njolt any springs to pieces, and once a carriage had safely got up,\nit seemed impossible that it should ever get down again. So this\nhad to be given up despite the romantic name and position of the\n\u201cSchloss.\u201d Lower down, and on the turnpike road, just beyond the\nbridge over the Inn (which gives the town its name), was another\nhouse, partly a _ch\u00e2let_, comfortable enough and very quiet. It\nwas delightfully primitive. A wide wooden staircase led right up\nfrom the entrance door on the left hand, and never, on the darkest\nnight, was there by any chance a light to guide you over it. The\nfirst floor consisted of a wide passage with rooms on each side,\nlike a monastery, and a large _Saal_, or public room, with a clean\nboarded floor and a billiard table. Beyond this were three or\nfour other rooms. Our party took the whole floor, including the\n_Saal_, which during our stay was to be a private room. Sufficient\nfurniture was brought in to make one corner of it look civilized,\nand it served for drawing, dining, and billiard room alike. Nothing\ncooler nor more rustic could have been imagined, and, to add to\nthe pleasantness of this retreat, the windows opened on a balcony,\njust like those on the toy Swiss _ch\u00e2lets_ we have so often seen.\nThere was a chapel in the house, and the proprietor claimed that\nhe had a right to have Mass said there every Sunday. However\nproblematical this sounded, Mass _was_ said notwithstanding, but\nunder a legitimate permission obtained for our own party. There in\nthe little dark closetlike room, with a congregation of servants\nand stray guests or laborers out in the corridor beyond, Mass was\noffered every Sunday and very often on week-days. Sometimes the\nJesuits from the town would officiate, sometimes the parish priest\nof the little church half a mile further up the country. The Jesuit\nchurch, standing on the edge of the town, among great lindens and\nelm-trees, was a large, tawdry renaissance building, where brick\nand stucco did duty for the marbles of Italy, and artificial\nflowers and gilded finery reigned supreme. There was not one\nfeature worth noticing about the whole church, and even the Madonna\nshrine was but a sad burlesque on the wonderful idea it symbolized.\nBut, on the other hand, the priests worked hard and earnestly,\nservices were frequent and well attended, the confessionals\ncrowded, and the communions numerous. There were real sympathy and\nsound counsel to be had there; strength to be gathered from the\nexhortations given in secret, and instruction in all necessary\nreligious knowledge to be reaped from the plain and practical\nsermons delivered in public. The devotion of the Tyrolese is as\nsimple as it is deep; it has no need of exalting externals to draw\nit to God, it is so full of vitality and manliness that it does not\nask for the \u00e6sthetic helps whose absence often makes such a void in\nour own devotion, and we cannot choose but admire it, though it is\nvain for our weaker if more cultured Christianity to endeavor to\nimitate it.\n\nThe parish church outside the town to which we have referred was\nmuch smaller and poorer than that of the Jesuits, but a great\nfeeling of peace came over you as you entered it, and as, pacing\nto and fro under its low, simple roof, you thought of the many\nholy and acceptable peasant lives that had been lived under its\nshadow, and ended joyfully within its churchyard. It stood on\na small but abrupt hill, which, from the singular flatness of\nthe vale of Innsbruck, looked higher than it was. Iron crosses\nwith rude metal rays or crowns attached to them replaced in this\nTyrolese cemetery the broad gravestones to which our northern eye\nis so well accustomed, and so it is throughout all Germany and\nSwitzerland. About a mile further than this church stood a little\nprivate chapel, near a deserted villa, or, as the French would\ncall it, a _ch\u00e2teau_. This chapel was always open, and was our\ninvariable resting-place every day during a long stroll into the\ncountry. A high gate of rusty and intricate iron-work divided the\nmain chapel from the lower and narrower part accessible to the\npublic at all times, and remains of gilding and heraldic colors\ndenoted the connection, in the past at least if not in the present,\nof this little oratory with some old family of high standing. Here\nand there a group of cottages that hardly made a hamlet was dotted\non the green landscape, and the only sound to be heard was the\ntinkling of the great square cow-bells, or the peculiar _j\u00f6del_ of\nthe mountaineer, a cry now made familiar to the outside world by\n\u201cTyrolese minstrels\u201d (or their spurious personifiers). The Tyrol is\nfamous for its wild flowers, as are all Alpine tracts, the gentian\nand the wild rhododendron[177] predominating. All kinds of summer\nmeadow flowers grow well in the green pasture lands near Innsbruck,\nand the forget-me-not lines the frequent brooks with thick fringes\nof blossom.[178]\n\nWater-mills are very often found on the line of these mountain\nbrooks, and as only the old-fashioned appliances are known, the\nplaces where they are built are fortunately not disfigured by\nbusiness-looking arrangements or alarmingly active squads of men.\nOne of these picturesque mills we well remember, standing over a\nbeautiful, foaming brook, and surrounded by hay-fields. It was a\nvery silent, lonely walk, and used to be almost a daily one with\nus, until the old farmer to whom the mill and hay-field belonged\nonce waylaid us at the door of his cottage and began expostulating\nin no very choice language, and ordering us not to trample his\nhay any longer unless we liked to pay him for the damage. The\nold fellow was very small and wizened, and whether the garment\nhe had on was a smock-frock or a night-shirt it was difficult to\ndetermine, though the certainty of his unmistakable nightcap was\napparent.\n\nOf course, like all thoroughly Catholic countries the Tyrol is\nfull of wayside shrines, with rude daubs reminding the passer-by\nof some religious event or point of Christian doctrine. Besides\nthese, however, one thing cannot fail to strike a stranger as he\nwalks through the lands round Innsbruck. On every house or building\nthat is not an absolute \u201cshanty\u201d appears in the flaming colors\nsacred to the chromos of the cheap press the figure of a young\nRoman soldier pouring water out of a common jug on a most terrific\nand disproportionate conflagration. This is meant to represent St.\nFlorian, a saint much honored in the Tyrol, and to whom tradition\nattributes a particular sovereignty over fire. The buildings, both\nfarm and dwelling-houses, that abound most in that part of the\ncountry, are of wood, and very liable to the kind of destruction\nover which St. Florian has power. Hence his image is painted on\nthe outer wall by way of a preservative, a kind of \u201cinsurance,\u201d\nthat may make stockholders smile, but that will bring in more of\nthose riches garnered up where \u201cthe rust doth not eat, nor the moth\nconsume,\u201d than their long-headed thriftiness will ever be able to\ngather.\n\nPilgrimages, among a people so devout as the Tyrolese, are\nnumberless. Every village has its chapel where of old miracles were\nwrought or some proof of divine favor was manifested. Five or six\nmiles from Innsbruck is one of these hamlets, called Absam, where\nthe shrine is of a somewhat peculiar nature. Among the several\nvisits we paid to it was one on the day of the Assumption. The road\nleads through fields of flax, one of the crops most cultivated\nin the Tyrol. Its tiny blue flowers were thickly spread over the\nfields, and August seemed thus to have put on a fitting livery\nwith which to greet the blue-mantled Queen whose triumph is\ncommemorated on the 15th of that month. The village church at Absam\nis small and otherwise uninteresting. The altar, over which hangs\nthe miraculous image, is covered with ornamental ex-votos, while\nlarger votive offerings, curious little commemorative pictures, and\nplain tablets adorn the walls for a long space beyond. The image\nitself is on glass, a common thick pane, of very small dimensions,\nwith the veiled head of the Virgin scratched in dark outline upon\nit. Tears are coursing down her cheeks, and the expression is\nwonderfully strong and sweet. It is strange that these few rude\nlines should be able to speak so energetic and unmistakable a\nlanguage, but then we must remember the legend which calls this\nimage the work of an angel. It was suddenly found in the church\none morning, four or five centuries ago, and was immediately\ntransferred from the window to a private chamber. A great deal of\nreligious litigation and examination had to be gone through before\nit was allowed to be placed in a shrine and publicly venerated.\nSince then cures have been yearly obtained in this church, which\nhas become famous through the Tyrol. We do not remember another\ninstance of a miraculous image being graven on _glass_. It has\nnone of the attributes of stained glass, neither in color nor in\nstyle, and is all of one piece. It is now framed in a showy gilt\nframe with a royal cross-surmounted crown ornamenting the top.\nBoth pictures and prints of it are to be procured in the village,\nand also representations on glass, two or three inches square, but\nwhose likeness to the original are perhaps not entirely reliable.\n\nThis was not the only shrine we visited while at Innsbruck. The\npilgrimage of Waldrast included a picturesque journey half-way\nup the Brenner pass, and through some very wild and beautiful\nAlpine scenery among the lesser peaks. We slept at a little inn\nat the foot of Waldrast, so as to be able to make the most of the\nearly morning. The day was beautiful; it was in the beginning of\nSeptember, and just that season when, in Europe, summer and autumn\nseem to make but one. A thin mist hung over the mountain tops, the\npath was rugged and winding, and there were frequent brooks and\nfences to jump over or climb. Heather grew in purple masses under\nfoot, and the growth of trees varied from oak to chestnut, till it\nleft the higher and more barren ground to the pines alone. After\ntwo or three hours\u2019 good walking, we reached the chapel, which\nis only one level lower than the uncovered mountain top. It had\ngrown quite chilly despite the sun which was advancing on his way.\nWe were just in time to hear Mass, if we remember right, and had\nbut little time to spare for refreshment. There is a _Gasthaus_\nopposite the church, a little solitary, whitewashed, low-roofed\ncottage, very clean and comfortable. It is pretty full all the\nsummer, but entirely deserted, even by its keeper, during the\nwinter. We asked to see the priest. He turned out to be a Servite,\nand told us that the church belonged to his order. There was next\nto it a bare-looking house with one (and the larger) portion in\nruins, a gaunt shell with no roof and full of _d\u00e9bris_ inside. It\nhad been a monastery, but circumstances, chiefly of a persecuting\nnature, had obliged the monks to abandon the place. One of their\ncommunity, however, was always there, to attend to the shrine and\nreceive the still numerous pilgrims; he himself had never left the\nplace for ten years, and, saving the visitors to the shrine, never\nsaw a human being. During six months out of twelve he could safely\nsay he was a hermit. We asked him how he spent his time. \u201cI have\na small library,\u201d he answered, \u201cand read a great deal, but when I\nhave more time than I can fill by reading, or my office, or even\nthe work of the church, I turn carpenter.\u201d\n\nAnd he took us into a workshop, littered over with shavings and\nsawdust, where among planks and rough logs of wood were various\nuseful things of his own making. We particularly noticed a little\nwooden sleigh, and asked him its use.\n\n\u201cI use it in the winter,\u201d he said, \u201cto take me down to the village,\nto buy necessaries every week; and, when there is plenty of snow\nto cover the inequalities of the path, it works very well. Coming\nback, however, I have to load my purchases on it, and drag it up\nafter me. It is good exercise,\u201d he added, with a good-humored\nlaugh, \u201cand keeps me warm.\u201d\n\nHe led us into the church, and told us the story of the apparition.\nThis image was not so old as that of Absam, although it could\nboast of three centuries\u2019 antiquity at least. It had been found\nby a woodman while chopping a tree on the mountain very near the\nspot where the church now stands. The figure suddenly appeared,\nsurrounded by a marvellous light, in the cleft made by his axe in\nthe wood. Years of suspense followed, during which authentications\nof this wonderful occurrence were severely tested, the devotion of\nthe villagers preceding, however, the permission of the church to\nvenerate the image as miraculous. During this time it was housed\nin the hamlet at the foot of the mountain, where crowds flocked to\nvisit it. When it was removed to the Servite church and monastery,\nbuilt expressly for its reception, on the spot where it had first\nappeared, its translation was a cause of grief as well as joy,\nthose who had guarded it till then loudly lamenting their loss. The\nmonastery, we believe, was reduced to its present condition through\nthe decrees against monastic orders issued during the unhappy reign\nof the infidel Emperor Joseph. The church was never, however,\nwithout its chaplain. It is a plain, whitewashed building, with a\nflat frontage, irregularly pierced with a great many windows, while\nto the back rises one of those extraordinary steeples so often seen\nin the Tyrol, suggestive of a farm-house rather than a church.\nOften and often have we come upon such, sometimes of red tiles and\nnot unfrequently of green, so that we were forcibly reminded of\nSt. George and his scaly dragon. The interior of Waldrast church\ncorresponds to the exterior, and is very plain and inartistic. The\nimage itself is of wood, and peculiarly German in its cut. Our\nLady is covered with a stiff, heavy mantle, and bears her Divine\nSon, also robed in the same kind of garment, absolutely shapeless\nexcept where his hand comes forth. The Virgin bears a globe in her\nhand, and both she and the Divine Infant are crowned. The crowns,\nhowever, and the chains and ornaments on the figures, are due to\nthe devotion of the faithful.\n\nThe Servite father who kindly showed us over the church was still\na young man, and seemed very quiet and refined. His ten years\u2019\nsolitude had not taken any of the grace of civilization--ought we\nnot rather to say of charity?--from his manner, nor given him in\nany way the air of a Nabuchodonosor. He wore his black habit and\na long black beard. We were sorry to be able to see so little of\nhim, for we had a long journey home before us, and the greater part\nhad to be performed on foot. We left Waldrast at midday, feeling\nthat in these out-of-the-way nooks more can be learnt of the inner\nlife of a people than in larger centres of bustle and activity.\n\nThe way down the other side of the mountain led through sparse\nforests of pine, where workmen were felling the trees and piling\nthem in heaps as high as houses along the path. Glimpses might be\ncaught now and then of far-off precipices, walls of rock or of\nsnow with the intense golden white of the noonday sun glorifying\ntheir stern beauty, and reminding one of those still more difficult\nascents to virtue, seemingly so inaccessible, yet so gloriously\ntransfigured in the light of God\u2019s help and God\u2019s promises. Wild\nflowers abounded through the wood, and mosses and ferns grew\nin great tangles of greenery by the brooks which their growth\novershadowed. It was a delightful expedition, and one that we\nshould very much like to repeat. But nothing in this world ever\nduplicates itself; the places we once visited with such confident\nhopes of returning to enjoy them the next year, have we ever seen\nthem again, or if we have, has it ever been with the same feelings,\nthe same hopes, the same companions, nay, even the same _self_?\nIn this law of change lies, to our mind, the sad side of travel.\nWe go to a place, we learn to admire it, we remember it with\npleasure, we almost begin to have associations with it and its\nsurroundings, it grows in fact into our soul\u2019s history, and makes\nitself a place in our life. We leave it, and never see it again.\nWe have the regret of having seen and felt beauty that is not for\nus, we have longed for what we could not have, we have dreamed of\nutopias that were never to be realized, and we have prepared for\nourselves a nest of disappointments for the future. Is not this so\nmuch time and energy lost? so much vitality taken out of our life\nwhich might have been usefully employed at home? But if the place\nwe have visited once becomes a frequent resort, if we go back to\nit again and again and find ties and duties to bind us there, the\ncharm of life is doubled, and the happiness of home reproduced\nunder a different set of circumstances. No one knows a place if\nhe have not lived there in all seasons and spent quiet months in\nfinding out its hidden beauties. Places, like people, grow upon\nyou; and what once seemed bare will, by long acquaintance, appear\nas full of interest as it was once devoid of it. It happened\nthus to ourselves in a seaside town in England, where the coast\nis rather bare of trees, and the country mostly flat and divided\nwithout hedges into com and hay fields. Again, the country round\nMilan, which is always conventionally styled \u201cthe fertile plain of\nLombardy,\u201d is of this nature. Wide fields of rice, half-flooded,\nand a network of roads fringed by pollard willows or low hedges,\nwith here and there a neat little farm-house, do not at first sight\nconstitute a beautiful country. But after three or four weeks\u2019\nconstant driving through these lanes, you discover the loveliest\nbits of \u201cPre-Raphaelite\u201d nature, small triangular patches of\nluxuriant grass, with flowers of brilliant hue and starry shape;\ntiny brooks running through meadows with fire-flies making movable\nilluminations on their banks by night, and many more beautiful and\nminute details that naturally enough escape the first glance. The\nRoman Campagna, even with its desolate, Niobe-like grandeur, is\nsusceptible of this alchemy of habit. To the unaccustomed eye of a\nstranger it may look grand, but scarcely beautiful; to one who has\nwalked, ridden, and driven through it in all directions, it reveals\nsecrets of pastoral beauty, soft vales hidden by groves of ilex\nor cork, with violets growing plentifully in their recesses, and\nrivulets trickling through their rocky crevices. Even cities are\nbetter known when seen gradually, after the manner of a peaceable\nresident rather than that of a hurrying tourist. What do we know,\nto take our own case, of the Campo Santo of Pisa, which we visited\nbetween the arrival and departure of the two trains from Leghorn,\ncompared to what we learnt of St. Mark\u2019s at Venice, where we heard\nMass every day for five months? And this feeling is surely enough\nto breed a weariness of _mere_ travel, however instructive it may\nbe. The only places we should care to revisit are those where\nwe stayed long enough to make them feel like home. Innsbruck is\ncertainly one that recalls many touching domestic scenes, many\nof those little memories which, like a daisy-chain, bind life\ntogether, childhood and youth, sickness and health, trouble and\njoy--frail links, but so fair, begun in early childhood and winding\nthemselves round the heart, through the vicissitudes of many\nyears, the wanderings in many lands, and, above all, through the\nintangible changes of a restless mind and soul.\n\nFor the general reader, this sketch may perhaps have no further\ninterest than to make him acquainted with some of the local traits\nof a country not so well known as other European fields of travel;\nfor the Catholic, it ought to possess the additional interest of an\neffort meant to show how thoroughly this country is still imbued\nwith the faith. Its patriotism, too, ever closely bound to faith,\nwas conspicuous in the wars against Napoleon and in the Tyrol. The\nfirst decade of this century is noted chiefly for the name, not of\nthe resistless invader Bonaparte, but of the stubborn defender of\nmountain freedom, Andreas Hofer. Here and there are his relics--his\ngun, or his cap, or the cup out of which he drank. Every other inn\nhas his figure for a sign, and every other child bears his name in\nmemory of his gallantry. His descendants, poor and simple peasants\nas he was himself, are as proud of their ancestry as the haughtiest\nMontmorency or the oldest Colonna; and no Tyrolese mountaineer can\ntalk for half an hour without mentioning some of Hofer\u2019s exploits\nagainst the French.\n\nWe cannot conclude without again speaking of that weird _j\u00f6del_\nor herd-song peculiar to the Tyrol. We have never heard it as\nperformed by the hired companies of \u201cminstrels\u201d so often advertised\nin large towns, but we had the opportunity of listening to it\nunder very pleasant circumstances at Innsbruck. In the beginning\nof September, just before our pilgrimage to Waldrast, a rural\n_f\u00eate_ was given in honor of one of our party whose birthday it\nwas. The open court-yard behind our house served as an _al fresco_\ndining-hall, a band was engaged, and fireworks and illuminations\nprepared. In this primitive assemblage, speeches were actually\nmade, and, as it was not easy for the English and Tyrolese to\nunderstand each other, an interpreter was found in the bright\nand quick-witted courier who had superintended the whole thing.\nAfter this cordial display of mutual friendship, and a few songs\nand pieces, the people were left to their private enjoyments, the\npriest from the nearest parish being present among them. About an\nhour afterwards, and before the party of mountaineers dispersed,\nthey begged leave to sing us their _j\u00f6del_, thinking it was the\nmost interesting thing for strangers to hear well done. Thirty\nmen in rugged costumes, whose ornamentation chiefly consisted in\nsilver buttons, were then brought into the great _Saal_, and the\nchorus began. Suddenly a single voice broke in with the marvellous\n_j\u00f6del_; all the others dropping into silence, and then again\njoining in the national song. It was indeed strange and weird-like,\nthe echoes seemed to break again and again in renewed bursts of\nplaintive sound; it was not like the cry of a bird or of any\nanimal, nor yet was it suggestive of a human voice; it had in it\nsomething of what, were we Pantheists, we might call the \u201cvoice of\nnature.\u201d The effect was indescribable, and, because so beautiful,\nsaddening. We should not wish to hear it again on the stage or\nin the concert-room; the effect would be lost, and merged into a\ndramatic trick. Sung by those thirty strong voices, used to no\nconcert hall but the open air and the mountain passes, the _j\u00f6del_\nwas one of those things that one likes to look back upon and place\namong the fresh, healthy remembrances of the past. Sung before\nthose who have always been at our side through weal or woe, this\nTyrolese song becomes more than a mere remembrance, and remains\na sacred memory, shared with the dead and the absent, the ever\nbeloved and unforgotten ones of our heart. So true is it that a\nthing unconnected with love, however brilliant it may be in the\nfield of art or literature, is a failure as far as our individual\nappreciation of it is concerned--that this simple mountain song,\nvigorously but hardly skilfully performed, is far dearer to our\nremembrance than the perfect strains heard at other times from the\nlips of finished artists.\n\nThe Tyrol, no doubt, is fast putting off its early garb of faith\nand simple honesty; with Manchester prints and chignons, the free\ngrace of its peasant women will vanish, and with the poisonous\nteaching of the International, the frankness and charm of its men\nwill go. Already we have heard of the earnest workers of the Jesuit\nchurch being annoyed and insulted, and it may not be long before\nthe cupidity of public officials will rob the shrines of many of\ntheir votive treasures. In these days of ruthless destruction,\neven the Tyrol may be dechristianized and made over to a worse\nbarbarism than that of its savage bands of early settlers, and a\nworse slavery than that against which Andreas Hofer so ably and\nsuccessfully fought. Still, it will always be a pleasure to us to\nthink that we visited it in the days of its Catholic prosperity,\nand saw there the remains of that state of peace and public safety\nwhich everywhere characterizes a truly Christian land.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[177] Falsely called _rose des Alps_ by the French.\n\n[178] The real \u201cAlpenrose\u201d of the Tyrolese is a strange-looking\ngrowth, a starry flower of a dull white, with thick velvety petals,\nfive in number. It grows only in very inaccessible places, and is\nconsidered a great prize.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ROMAN EMPIRE AND THE MISSION OF THE BARBARIANS.\n\nSECOND ARTICLE.\n\n\nDuring the centuries of persecution, then, the Northern heavens\ngrew darker and darker, and the storm-clouds thickened on the\nhorizon. God was at work behind that dark and heavy cloud-wall\nplanning the most terrible campaign that was ever executed. The\nheedless, sinning empire little thought what fire and tempest would\nsweep over it when that storm-cloud should burst. It considered\nitself a veritable part of the rock-built earth, and immovable\nwhile the world lasted; that it would only perish when the universe\nshould cease to exist. But behind that fiery storm-cloud that hangs\nheavy and threatening in the Northern skies, there is a mightier\nGod than paganism knows of, who will sweep the Roman power away as\nthe leaves are swept by the autumn blasts. The moment of vengeance\nis fixed. Whilst the cry of the martyrs\u2019 blood has been sounding\nin the ears of God, he has been preparing for that moment of\nwrath. But there was another cry, too, rising up to heaven from\nthe length and breadth of the empire, and calling down vengeance\nand wrath. It was the cry of sin--a never-ceasing, clamorous,\nmany-voiced cry--going up night and day from city and town and\nhamlet over the wide area of Roman dominion. The corruption, then,\ndeep and universal, of the Roman Empire was the second cause of the\nbarbarian invasion. Of this we have still to speak.\n\nWe must remark at the outset that, when we speak of the corruption\nof the Roman Empire, we are not referring to that period of\nhistory which preceded Christ. We wish to speak of that period\nwhich immediately preceded the great invasion of the Northern\nbarbarians in the fifth century. We are about to point out another\nobject which God evidently had in view in sending down his wild\nwarriors, and why their course was one of fire and devastation.\nIn a word, we are about to speak of that moral rottenness which\nhad eaten through the very vitals of the Roman Colossus, and which\nGod, unable to bear it longer before his high heaven, infecting,\nas it was, the very universe with its pestilent stench, sent his\nmessengers of wrath with flaming sword and fiery torch to cleanse\naway from the afflicted earth. We must insist upon God being an\nactive power in the world. We are no followers of Professor Seeley,\nwho lectures to the young men of Cambridge on the Fall of the Roman\nEmpire as if God had had no hand in it. However ingenious Prof.\nSeeley may be, he will never convince us that God does not make\nand unmake empires. We want no new theory of the Fall of the Roman\nEmpire and the Invasion of the Barbarians. The grandest and the\ntruest was given us long ages ago by St. Augustine in his immortal\nwork _De Civitate Dei_, and it has satisfied all Christian thinkers\nup to the present day. Prof. Seeley asks what is the cause of the\ndecaying condition of the empire? \u201cIt has been common,\u201d he says,\n\u201cto suppose a moral degradation in the Romans, caused by luxury and\nexcessive good fortune. To support this, it is easy to quote the\nsatirists and cynics of the imperial times, and to refer to such\naccounts as Ammianus gives of the mingled effeminacy and brutality\nof the aristocracy of the capital in the fourth century. But the\nhistory of the wars between Rome and the barbaric world does not\nshow us the proofs we might expect of this decay of spirit. We\ndo not find the Romans ceasing to be victorious in the field and\nbeginning to show themselves inferior in valor to their enemies.\nThe luxury of the capital could not affect the army, which had no\nconnection with the capital, but was levied from the peasantry of\nthe whole empire, a class into which luxury can never penetrate.\nNor can it be said the luxury corrupted the generals, and through\nthem the army.... Whatever the remote and ultimate cause may have\nbeen, the immediate cause to which the fall of the empire can be\ntraced is a physical, not a moral, decay.\u201d[179]\n\nThis specimen of Mr. Seeley\u2019s philosophy of history gives us a\nvery low opinion of his powers of penetration. If the professor\ncould see a little further below the surface, he would surely\ndiscover that a frightful moral decay was the underlying cause of\nthe physical decay. He cannot persuade us that, if the capital\nwere so corrupt, the generals and the army would still maintain a\nmanly and a vigorous character. If the central heart be corrupt,\na corrupting influence will flow out over the whole body. It was\nso, beyond doubt, with the Roman Empire in past days; it has been\nso with another mighty empire in our own times. Moral corruption\nflowed out from the capitals of both empires, and destroyed the\nvigor, courage, and all the manly virtues of their peoples. And\nthen the messengers of God came. They came from the North in both\ncases, and terrible was the devastation which God gave them power\nto effect. In both cases they were irresistible, simply because\nhe who beckoned them on and was hid in the smoke of battle was\nthe God of battles himself. This is the theory which a Christian\nprofessor at least will naturally follow. There is something far\nmore satisfactory in this, both to the intellect and to faith,\nthan in any theory that can be suggested by the naturalistic views\nof men of Mr. Seeley\u2019s school. We wonder if the young men who sat\nunder Mr. Seeley at Cambridge were satisfied when the professor\nsummed up his theory of the fall of the empire in these words:\n\u201cMen were wanting; the empire perished for want of men\u201d? To go no\nfurther than that seems to us pitiably shallow indeed. We are not\nat all captivated by Mr. Seeley\u2019s view. We feel far more satisfied\nin believing the grand, old Christian theory, viz., that the empire\nperished at the hands of God for its savage cruelty to the holy\nmartyrs and for its widespread corruption and revolting crimes.\n\nWe have already endeavored to sketch out the history of the age of\nblood: it now remains for us to give a picture of the corruption in\nwhich the empire lay steeped at the period previous to the descent\nof the barbaric hordes. But we most honestly state that we cannot\ndo more than give a faint portraiture of what is so offensive to\nChristian purity of mind. To point to the life in this case, even\nif we were able to do so, would be too painful for Catholic ideas.\nThe picture would necessarily be too frightful for the eye of\nmodesty to gaze upon. It would be a dreadful exposure to the light\nof day of the blackest and the most shameful side of fallen human\nnature. Of necessity, then, must the painting be in somewhat dim\noutlines. But even so, it will sufficiently answer our present\npurpose.\n\nFor well-nigh five centuries, then, had Christianity been at work\nover the length and breadth of the Roman Empire, and yet paganism\nand its demoralizing influence were not dead. We know well how\nboldly and triumphantly the apostles went from the Cenacle to\nthe conversion of the pagan world. The heavenly fire that had\ncome down upon them had lodged itself in their hearts. It shot\nits wondrous power through their whole bodies, darting forth\nfrom their eyes in living light, issuing from their mouths in\nburning words, nerving them up to brave tortures and racks. They\nwent forth, did that little band from the Cenacle, fire-girt and\nheaven-inspired, to the most arduous task ever confided to mortal\nmen. Their wondrous success we need not here recount. It was such\nas only men with God in their midst could effect. They no longer\nknew fear of earthly powers; they quailed not in the presence of\nthe terrors of death. Nothing could withstand them in their course.\nThe demons of paganism fled before them; a thrill of horror ran\nthrough the vast Pantheon of pagan worship, and the idols trembled\non their pedestals. Like the Titans of old, those messengers of\nthe Crucified scaled the Olympus of paganism, and hurled down the\nfalse gods that were enthroned there. Hell and Olympus mingled\ntheir groans at the sounding blows which were levelling the idols\nof false worship and shaking the universe. But was, then, paganism\nutterly destroyed? Did it never recover from the shock which it\nreceived at the hands of the apostles of Christ? Did the darkness\nflee away before the bright torches of light which Christians held\nup in the midst of cities and towns and on every hill-top, and\nnever return? Did the demons who lurked in the pagan temples and\nspoke by the mouths of the idols plunge into the deep abyss at the\napproach of Christ\u2019s preachers, and never come back again? It is\nusual to think that something like this was the case. But it is far\nfrom the historic truth. We must admit, indeed, that the success\nof the first apostles of Christianity was the most amazing fact\nwhich we have ever read of in history. The light of divine truth\nflashed with miraculous swiftness through the world. Thousands of\npersons abandoned the idols of paganism, and joined the strange,\nnew standard of the Cross. But yet paganism, continued to exist\nand to spread its baneful influence--it was not a dead thing. It\nhad become welded into the very substance of the empire. It was\nassociated with so much of the grand historic past.\n\nThe Roman could not read of the warlike glories of his country\nwithout finding them mingled with the worship of Jupiter and Mars.\nHe could not take up the verses of his immortal poets without\nmeeting at every page with the gods and goddesses of Olympus. The\nlaws of the empire recalled pagan gods; the customs and festivals\nand games kept their remembrance fresh in the mind. We do not\nwonder, then, that paganism was not easily destroyed. It would\nalmost seem that the life of the empire and the life of paganism\nwere one; that the pillars of the pagan temples were, so to speak,\nidentical with the pillars of the state. When we bear all this in\nmind, we are not so much surprised to find that paganism was still\na living thing more than eighty years after the first Christian\nemperor had taken the Labarum for his military standard, and had\nlifted Christianity out of the dark caves of the Catacombs to place\nit on the throne of the C\u00e6sars. We are also more prepared for what\nwe read regarding the Emperor Honorius. When in 404 he visited\nRome, in order to celebrate his sixth consulate, pagan temples\nstill surrounded the imperial palace, the sanctuary of Jupiter\nTarpeius still crowned the capital, and from sacred edifices still\nstanding on every side a whole host of pagan gods yet looked down,\nas of old, on Rome and the world. So real a thing was paganism\nstill even in the fifth century that the pagan poet Claudian, who\nhad been appointed to celebrate in verse the occasion just referred\nto, could with impunity and, we suppose, with apparent propriety,\npoint out the gods as seeming to guard the imperial palace by their\ndivine presence and smile propitiously upon one who was the heir\nof so many Christian emperors.[180] Some years later a work was\nwritten by an unknown author who lived in the time of Honorius or\nof Valentinian III., giving a topographical description of Rome,\nand mentioning those monuments which had been spared by the fire\nand sword of the Goths. The writer enumerates as still existing 43\npagan temples and 480 cedicul\u00e6. The Colossus of the Sun, a hundred\nfeet high, still towered aloft close by the Coliseum, where so many\nholy martyrs had poured out their blood for Christ. The statues\nof Apollo, of Hercules and Minerva still stood, as of old, at the\ncrossings and in the public squares. Still the fountains flowed\nunder the invocation of nymphs. And this, though Constantine and\nTheodosius had wielded the sceptre of the empire, and SS. Sylvester\nand Damasus had sat in the midst on the throne of Peter. Time\npasses on, and with it the age of the great fathers of the church.\nThose days which Christianity filled with its spirit, when Gregory\nand Chrysostom and Basil and Jerome and mighty Augustine preached\nand taught, go by with their brightness and their glory, and yet in\n419, in the time of Valentinian III., we find Rutilius Numatianus\ncelebrating the greatness of pagan Rome, the mother of gods and\nheroes. Christianity had been throwing bright gleams of light\nover the whole world for these 400 years, the voices of the great\nfathers of the church had been thundering in the principal cities\nof the empire, yet Claudian and Rutilius Numatianus were as though\nthey had caught no glimpse of the light which shone around them nor\nheard a sound from Hippo or Milan. Claudian had found a cord of\nthat Latin lyre which was broken to pieces on the day when Lucan\nopened his own veins in the bath. Though living in Christian times,\nhe was as pagan as his great model, and his imagination revelled\namid the fabled splendors of Olympus and the baseless fictions of\nmythology. He can sing of the rape of Proserpine whilst the cultus\nof our Blessed Lady is taking possession of the temple of Ceres at\nCatana. He invites the graces, the nymphs, and the hours to prepare\ntheir garlands for the fair spouse of Stilico, though she had, in\nhatred and contempt of the gods of paganism, snatched the golden\ncollar from the neck of the statue of Cybele. His genius takes even\na more daring flight when he introduces Christian princes into the\nabodes of the immortals, and represents Theodosius, the greatest\nhater of the gods, as holding familiar converse with Jupiter.\nRutilius Numatianus, on the other hand, pours out his soul in\npassionate words of patriotism upon Rome herself, the last and the\ngreatest divinity of the ancient world. To him Rome is the ever\nbeautiful queen of the universe, whose dominion she holds for all\nages. To him she is the mother of men and of gods. \u201cWhen we pray\nin thy temples,\u201d he exclaims in his burning ardor, \u201cwe are not far\nfrom heaven. Of all nations she has made one country, of a whole\nworld one city. Her trophies are countless as the stars of heaven,\nher temples too dazzling for the eyes to look upon. Spread yet\nfurther thy laws; they shall govern ages yet unborn which shall\nbecome Roman despite themselves, and thou alone, of all earthly\nthings, shalt not fear the power of the fates.\u201d[181]\n\nWe might easily imagine on reading these two writers that\nChristianity had not yet dawned upon the world, yet we are in\nthe fifth century. We naturally ask if the Christian emperors\nused their power to crush out paganism. History tells us of many\nimperial edicts which ordered the pagan temples to be closed and\nthe sacrifices to be discontinued. We find those edicts often\nrenewed, and hence, we argue, often disobeyed. Nothing, however,\nsurprises us so much as to find that in the middle of the fifth\ncentury the sacred chickens were still kept at the capital, and the\nconsuls, on their appointment to office, went to seek from them the\nauspices which they were supposed to be able to give. At this date\nalso the public calendar indicated the feasts of the false gods by\nthe side of those in honor of Christ and his saints. In a word,\npaganism is yet a living power, with its temples and idols, and\nsacrifices and sacred groves.\n\nIn Rome itself, where the smoke of incense ascends to the only\ntrue God, the smoke of sacrifice also rises to the false gods of\nOlympus. And beyond Rome, over Italy and Gaul and throughout the\nwhole of Western Christendom, there are still symbols of pagan\nworship; still undoubted indications of its enduring influence\nover thousands who believe that the empire and the pagan gods\nare equally eternal, and will still be in existence when men\nhere become tired of the folly of the cross and the name of the\ncrucified Nazarene has faded from their minds. How true, then,\ndoes it appear that paganism continues to hold its ground to a far\ngreater extent than is commonly imagined! It was a fearful task\nfor Christianity, divine though it was, to level to the ground the\ntemples and idols of pagan worship. Paganism seemed to hold on\nto the empire with unrelaxing tenacity; it was bound up with its\ninstitutions; it seemed built with the very stones into the walls\nof the great capital.\n\nThe incontrovertible fact, then, that paganism still existed and\nretained a stout hold upon the empire even so late as the fifth\ncentury will prepare the reader to believe that its demoralizing\nprinciples were still working their natural results. We will\nnot maintain that human sacrifices were as common at this date\nas they had been some centuries before; but we do not feel sure\nthat they were altogether abandoned. We know that in the time of\nConstantine, when Christianity was looking down from the throne\nof the C\u00e6sars over the empire, pagan priests poured out each year\na patera of human blood to Jupiter Latial. The example which the\nRomans themselves had set was followed by the conquered nations,\nand those dreadful horrors long continued to be practised among\nthem in spite of imperial decrees and prohibitions. \u201cAll the laws\nof civilization,\u201d says F. Ozanam in his striking way, \u201ccould not\nsmother the instincts of that savage beast which paganism had\nunmuzzled in the heart of fallen humanity.\u201d But even if human\nsacrifices had altogether ceased, yet the essential principles of\npaganism were still at work. The direct tendency of pagan worship\nwas to enslave man to his senses. The fearful degradation to which\nmankind were thus brought, it is almost impossible for Christian\nminds to credit. St. Augustine, in the seventh book of his _City of\nGod_, tells us of horrors which we cannot read without a sense of\nshame and disgust for our race. Those processions through the towns\nand fields of Latium on the feast of Bacchus are too shocking to\ndescribe. We know, also, that unnamable crimes were honored with\na religious cultus, and had temples dedicated to their worship at\nCyprus, Samos, at Corinth, and on Mount Eryx. When we read of this\nutter degradation to which paganism reduces human nature, we wonder\nhow such a religion could endure. But it was precisely because it\nministered so readily and so generously to the worst passions of\nhuman nature that it maintained its influence so long. When in\ncourse of time, and, by the repeated pressure of imperial edicts,\nthe priests of Cybele and the priestesses of Venus were dispersed,\npaganism still had its temples and its thousands of worshippers in\nthe circus, the theatre, and the amphitheatre. In these centres\nof resort, where the most reckless and the most unholy passions\nhad full play, the gods were in their strongholds. St. Cyprian\nhad understood the true nature of paganism well when he said that\nit was \u201cthe mother of the games.\u201d Nothing could have seized upon\nhuman nature with a more powerful grasp than paganism did by making\npleasure into a religious worship. The two strong tendencies of\nmankind, viz., the religious sentiment and the intense love of\npleasure, were thus directed to one and the same object. The\ncombats of the gladiators, which exercised such a fascination on\nthe Romans for so many years, were supposed to appease the spirits\nof the departed; the dances of the stage were thought to avert\nthe anger of heaven. The symbolism which covered all lent an air\nof mystery and solemnity to these exciting entertainments. We are\ntold that the courses of the circus represented the evolutions of\nthe stars, the dances of the theatre symbolized the voluptuous\nwhirl of pleasure in which all living beings were hurried along,\nand the combats of the amphitheatre were a type of the struggles\nin which the human race is ever engaged. The circus, theatre, and\namphitheatre were, then, so many temples of worship, and, as we\nmay well believe, the most popular and the best frequented temples\nthat paganism ever consecrated to its false and corrupting rites.\nThe other religious temples of the Roman were notoriously small\nand poor, but on these he lavished his gold, his marble, and all\nthat he held most precious, so that he has left behind him nothing\ngrander or richer than the monuments of his pleasures, and, we may\nadd, nothing more defiled, more foul or more bloody.\n\nThe circus was dedicated to the sun; so proclaimed the obelisk\nwhich rose in stately height in the centre of the arena. Everything\nabout the circus breathed idolatry. If we accept the view of\nthe Greeks, its very name was taken from Circe, the daughter\nof the sun. If we take up the scathing work of Tertullian, _De\nSpectaculis_, we shall be told that \u201cevery ornament of the circus\nwas in itself a temple. The eggs those assign to Castor and Pollux,\nwho blush not in believing that these were born an egg from a\nswan which was Jupiter. The pillars vomit forth their dolphins\nin honor of Neptune; they support their Sessi\u00e6, so-called from\nthe sowing of the seed; their Messi\u00e6, from the harvest; their\nTutelin\u00e6, from the protection of the fruits. In front of these\nappear three altars to three gods, mighty and powerful; these they\nconsider to be of Samothrace. The enormous obelisk, as Hermatetes\naffirmeth, is publicly exposed in honor of the Sun; its inscription\nis a superstition from Egypt. The council of the gods were dull\nwithout their great mother; she therefore presideth there over the\nEuripus. Consus, as we have said, lieth buried beneath the earth\nof the Marcian Jail; even this jail he maketh an idol. Think, O\nChristian! how many unclean names possess the circus. Foreign to\nthee is that religion which so many spirits of the devil have\ntaken unto themselves!\u201d[182] It would seem that the circus was a\nsort of Pantheon, where almost every god received his tribute of\nworship. If the pagan deities had lost some of their temples in\nthe onward advance of Christianity, they still retained a shrine\nwhere they were worshipped all at once. And no opportunity was lost\nwhen an act of religious worship could be brought in. Before the\ncourses were opened, the gods were carried on rich litters round\nthe circus by a grand cort\u00e9ge of priests. Tertullian speaks of\nthe dazzling _pompa_ which preceded the games, \u201cthe long line of\nimages, the host of statues, the chariots, the sacred images, the\ncars, the chairs, and the robes\u201d with which the gods were clothed.\n\u201cHow many colleges,\u201d he says, \u201chow many priesthoods, how many\noffices are set in motion, the men of that city know in which the\ncouncil of the demons sitteth.\u201d[183] Sacrifices without number were\ncelebrated in the course of the performances. They preceded, they\ncame between, they followed them. And it is difficult to conceive\nthe height of frenzy to which the people were excited by these\ngames. \u201cOn the longed-for day of the equestrian games,\u201d Ammianus\nMarcellinus tells us, \u201cere the clear rays of the sun yet shine,\nall hurry headlong, outpoured, as though they would outspeed the\nvery chariots which are to contend.\u201d Before the races began, all\neyes, wild with the fire of excited passions, were fixed on the\nmagistrate, who held in his hand the handkerchief whose falling\nwas to signal the commencement of the sports. As that handkerchief\nfell, there came rushing into view those charioteers who were the\ndelight of the Roman people. The crowd raised a wild cry of joy,\nand then, breathless with suspense, followed with their glaring\neyes the rushing horses and the rattling cars as they dashed along\nthe course. As the horses bounded over the ground, now losing, now\ngaining, on one another, and the dust-clouds rose from beneath\nthe rattling chariot-wheels, louder and wilder rang the shouts of\nthe spectators, and passion rose to its height in Roman hearts.\nFurious factions were formed, which soon developed into violence\nand internecine battle. This was the grand climax, sought for\nand expected. The gods were appeased; Romulus now recognized his\npeople. From this state of wild excitement we naturally expect\ncruelty and bloodshed. We are quite prepared to believe what\nSuetonius tells us. He records that Vitellius massacred some of\nthe people because they cursed the faction which he favored.\nCaracalla is said to have done the same for some jest on a favorite\ncharioteer. But to add more vivid coloring to the picture, we will\nborrow the striking language of Tertullian. \u201cBehold the people,\u201d\nhe says, \u201ccoming to the show already full of madness, already\ntumultuous, already blind, already agitated about their wagers.\nThe pr\u00e6tor is too slow for them. Their eyes are ever rolling with\ntheir lots within his urn. Then they are in anxious suspense for\nthe signal. The common madness hath a common voice. I perceive\ntheir madness from their trifling. \u2018He hath thrown it,\u2019 they say,\nand announce to each other what was seen at once by all. I possess\nthe evidence of their blindness. They see not what is thrown; they\nthink it a handkerchief, but it is the gullet of the devil cast\ndown from on high.\u201d[184]\n\nThus, then, in the stormy days of the fifth century did the\ngreat Roman people forget their troubles and their dangers in\nthe excitement of the circus. What was so vividly described by\nTertullian went on through the centuries that came after him. The\nRoman people had, in truth, lost the empire of the world; it had\npurchased its capital out of the hands of savage hordes by heavy\nsums of gold; but it forgot all in the delirium of the circensian\ngames. There, as has been said, it found its temple, its forum,\nits country, and the term of its hopes. Through the storms of\nwar against barbarians, in spite of the thunders of Christian\neloquence, under the dazzling light of the Christian Gospel, still\nthe circus stood, and its multitudinous gods received their tribute\nof worship, and the maddened crowds thronged to the games, as of\nold. In the year 448, the calendar marks 58 days for the public\ngames. We may well be amazed as we read it. Fifty-eight days still\ndedicated to this wild self-abandonment, whilst on the Northern\nborders of the empire the threatening armies of Genseric and Attila\nwere amassed, with the sword of fire and vengeance in their hands,\nawaiting the signal of God!\n\nThe theatre was another temple where paganism still retained a\nterrible hold. It was dedicated to Venus, the unholy goddess who\nswayed the hearts of almost all mankind. If we would see the great\nRoman people at its lowest, we must look upon it as it lies in\nprostrate adoration in this temple of Venus. Here it is grovelling\nin the veriest mire of abasement. Here, more than anywhere else,\nit forgets its dignity, and plunges into the deepest depths of\nsensuality and degradation. But we cannot paint the scene in\nbold colors. The picture would shock by its startling horror and\ndeformity. The eye of Christian modesty would turn away in disgust\nand pain. We must let the outlines even be faint, lest they should\noffend the delicate sensitiveness of pure minds.\n\nIn the midst of the theatre stood the altar of the unholy goddess,\ncrowned with garlands. Before this altar were represented the\nshameful histories of the pagan gods. There the wretched mimes,\nby look, and gesture, and suggestive attitude, displayed before\nthe lascivious eyes of the multitude the loves of Jupiter and the\nfury of Pasipha\u00eb. But as time went on, and the passions of the\npeople became more and more inflamed, the mute language of look and\ngesture did not satisfy. Far worse horrors were demanded. Shadows\nand unrealities were not enough for the hungry fire of unrestrained\npassion. Realities, revolting, shameless, and unnamable, must be\nenacted before the eyes of a vast multitude, composed of old and\nyoung of both sexes. He who played the part of Hercules must be\nburned in the presence of a maddened throng; the horrid history\nof Atys must have a reality answering to it, and be carried\ninto effect before the full gaze of the people. We can conceive\nnothing more pitiable than the sight of the great Roman people, so\nsadly fallen into baseness, so completely abandoned to shameful\nsensualities, and lying prostrate before the foul goddess of unholy\npassions in the theatre. The empire might perish and the heavens\nfall upon their heads, but the people must have their pleasures.\nThis was their madness and their worship. Three thousand dancers\nministered, like so many priestesses, in the theatre-worship of\nRome. For these panderers to their vile pleasures, the Romans were\nwilling to sacrifice all that was dear to them. These favorites\nthey crowned with flowers, and flattered by their manifestations of\napplause. They retained them in the city, as Ammianus Marcellinus\ntells us, at a time of severe famine, where a decree was passed\nwhich expelled men of letters and those who exercised the liberal\nprofessions. Old Ammianus, though a pagan, is filled with wrath\nat this shameful abandonment of his countrymen, and pours out his\nindignation in vehement, fiery words. But what hope was there?\nCorruption had affected every class. The dancers were the favorites\nof all, and even the senators of Rome were not ashamed to sit in\nthe first seats of the theatre gazing upon the nudity of these\npriestesses of Venus. Thus had the Romans fallen below even the\nmost fallen of other nations, which had once been great, but had\nperished for their crimes. Egypt had deified its agricultural\nproducts and domestic animals, Ph\u0153nicia its commerce, Assyria its\nsciences, Persia the elements, Greece its arts.[185] But Rome had\ngone down far deeper than all into folly and idolatry; it had\nraised altars to its own base passions. And this theatre-worship\nwas existing in its full life in the latter days of the empire.\nChristianity had not abolished it. The demons held their own in\ntheir temples of sinful pleasure, and the people came and adored in\ncountless multitudes, and their passions were kept alive and burned\nwildly with unholy fire--and all under the dark, bodeful shadow of\nthe storm-cloud which hung so black and threatening in the Northern\nskies.\n\nBut we have yet to speak of another great centre of paganism and\nmoral corruption--the amphitheatre. \u201cThis,\u201d says F. Ozanam, \u201cwas\nthe greatest school which was ever opened for the demoralization of\nmen.\u201d It exercised a power of fascination beyond all conception,\nand was irresistible. The people rushed there in countless\nthousands, frantic with excitement. The thirst for blood maddened\nthem like a wild indwelling demon. The games of the circus were\ntame in comparison with the sight of wild beasts engaged in\ndeath-struggle or the savage conflict of well-matched gladiators.\nThere the emperors presided under the shadow of their pagan\ngods; there were gathered together the senators and the great\nones of Rome; there rose tier upon tier round the vast arena the\nwaving mass of countless human heads. There all Rome assembled\nfor brutal pleasure and pagan worship, for the amphitheatre was\na temple. Tertullian tells us this in his characteristic way.\n\u201cThe amphitheatre,\u201d he says, \u201cis consecrated to deities more\nnumerous and more barbarous than the capitol. It is the temple\nof all demons. As many unclean spirits sit together as the place\ncontaineth men.\u201d[186] Under the shadow, then, of so many pagan\ngods, breathed upon by so many devils, we can picture to ourselves\nthe wild excitement of these thousands of spectators, as they\nassemble on occasion of a Roman holiday. They have caught a rumor,\nperhaps, of what is prepared that day, by a subservient emperor,\nfor the amusement of his people. It may be that hundreds of\nferocious beasts are to tear one another to pieces before them, as\noften happened in the time of Septimius Severus; or it may be that\ntwo hundred lions are to die in a horrid, bloody affray, as took\nplace in the reign of one of his successors. Or, perhaps, Roman\nsenators are to descend into the arena, to sacrifice their lives\nfor the amusement of their fellow-citizens, as was the custom from\nthe time of the first C\u00e6sars. Perhaps it is near mid-day, and the\ncrowd has been thronging in for hours. The sun is pouring down his\nblazing rays over the scene, though their heat is tempered by the\ncanvas awnings which stretch a kind protecting shade wherever it is\npossible. But the bright light penetrates every nook and corner,\nand makes every figure stand forth to view. It flashes off the\nshining armor of Roman knights, dances and glistens in many a dark\nyoung eye, falls with a flood of glory upon C\u00e6sar\u2019s throne, and\nplays around the imperial robes which gold and precious stones so\ngorgeously bedeck. The brightness of the day adds to the excitement\nof the people. They talk with vivacity upon the nature of the\nexpected conflicts; they lay their wagers, and become more excited\nas time flies on. They are impatient for the \u201cshows\u201d to begin; they\nclamor; they can wait no longer. We will here let a more brilliant\npen than ours help to complete the picture. \u201cAnd now, with peal of\ntrumpets and clash of cymbals, a burst of wild martial music rises\nabove the hum and murmur of the seething crowd. Under a spacious\narchway, supported by marble pillars, wide folding-doors are flung\nopen, and two by two, with stately step and slow, march in the\ngladiators, armed with the different weapons of their deadly trade.\nFour hundred men are they, in all the pride of perfect strength and\nsymmetry, and high training and practised skill. With head erect\nand haughty bearing, they defile once round the arena, as though\nto give the spectators an opportunity of closely scanning their\nappearance, and halt with military precision to range themselves\nin line under C\u00e6sar\u2019s throne. For a moment there is a pause and\nhush of expectation over the multitude, while the devoted champions\nstand motionless as statues in the full glow of noon; then,\nbursting suddenly into action, they brandish their gleaming weapons\nover their heads, and higher, fuller, fiercer rises the terrible\nchant that seems to combine the shout of triumph with the wail of\nsuffering, and to bid a long and hopeless farewell to upper earth,\neven in the very recklessness and defiance of its despair:\n\n\u201c\u2018Ave C\u00e6sar! Morituri te salutant!\u2019\n\n\u201cThen they wheel out once more, and range themselves on either side\nof the arena: all but a chosen band who occupy the central place of\nhonor, and of whom every second man at least is doomed to die.\u201d[187]\n\nWe can imagine how the thousands who had come to feast their eyes\non the cruel spectacle would now be frantic for the real work to\nbegin. We can picture to ourselves how all would proceed. We see\nthe huge rhinoceros with his overlapping plates of armor led forth\ninto the arena. He rolls his glowing eyes around in the fury of his\nhunger, but sees only the smooth white sand. He stamps with his\nlarge flat foot, and digs madly into the earth with his \u201chorned\nmuzzle.\u201d We see, too, his enemy come sneaking in--the Lybian tiger,\nwith his sleek, striped coat and glaring eyes. They approach\neach other. The spring is made; they are in a death-struggle.\nAnd now that blood is seen, a maddened shout of savage joy from\nthe gratified spectators rends the air. More blood is wanted.\nThe trumpets ring out again. The gladiators step forth and range\nthemselves in opposing ranks. They are \u201call armed alike with a\ndeep, concave buckler, and a short, stabbing, two-edged blade.\u201d\nThen is heard the sharp clash of meeting steel. Men\u2019s breath is\nhushed; their hearts beat quick; their eyes glare with a wild fire\nand are riveted on the struggling athletes. Then the ranks of the\ncombatants waver and are broken; blood is seen upon the white sand:\nit flows from large gashes in the gladiators\u2019 sinking forms. The\nhuge giants fall one after another, hard and brave to the last.\n\nAnd this is the hideous sight which day after day delights and\nnever satisfies the Roman public. It is sad to think of so much\nnoble strength and magnificent bravery sacrificed so ignobly. It\nsickens the heart to dwell on the brutal, reckless destruction\nof manly life perpetrated to amuse a blood-thirsty populace\nin \u201cthose Roman shambles.\u201d Yet \u201cso inured were the people to\nsuch exhibitions, so completely imbued with a taste for the\nhorrible, and so careless of human life, that scarcely an eye\nwas turned away, scarcely a cheek grew paler, when a disabling\ngash was received or a mortal blow driven home, and mothers\nwith babies in their arms would bid the child turn its head to\nwatch the death-pang on the pale, stern face of some prostrate\ngladiator.\u201d[188]\n\nWe have now said enough to show the reader the corrupting influence\nof those three mighty powers of paganism--the circus, the theatre,\nand the amphitheatre. Many pagan temples had no doubt fallen under\nthe crushing arm of Christian teaching, but these three, in which\nso many gods and goddesses had taken refuge, stood their ground.\nThey were found in every province of the empire, and everywhere\nwere well frequented. The demoralizing effect produced by them it\nis not easy to estimate--it was simply never-ceasing and universal.\nAnd when the persecutors had passed away, and there was no longer\nthe constant presence of cruel death to keep alive the fervor of\nChristians, we find that they too came under the demoralizing\ninfluence of these mighty powers of evil. This is the cause of that\nbitter cry of grief which bursts forth from every page of the\nwritings of the great saints of the fourth and fifth centuries.\nPagan corruption was rushing upon them like a strong flood on\nevery side. They found themselves overpowered and engulfed. Listen\nto the plaintive words of SS. Jerome, Chrysostom, and Augustine,\nladen with the sobs and groans of grief-stricken hearts. Open\nthe pages of Salvian, and you will soon be convinced that mortal\ndegradation has invaded every city and town, and that all classes\nof society are grovelling in the lowest depths of corruption. The\nholy bishop pours out his soul in the most moving language. His\nwords sometimes flash with holy wrath and indignation; sometimes\nthey are the wailing cry of despair; sometimes, again, they are\nthe tears of deepest sorrow, flowing out of his inmost soul. \u201cHow\ndifferent,\u201d he exclaims, \u201cis now the Christian people from itself,\nthat is, from what it formerly was!... What is now every assembly\nof Christians but a sink of vices?... We make it our study not only\nnot to accomplish the precepts, but even to do the contrary. God\ncommands us to love one another; we tear one another to pieces in\nmutual hatred. God commands us to help the poor; and we all rob\nothers of what belongs to them. God commands every Christian to be\nchaste even in look; and who is he who does not grovel in the mire?\nI appeal to the conscience of those to whom I speak. Who is the\nperson who has not to reproach himself with some of these crimes,\nor, rather, who is the man who is not guilty of all? It is easier\nto find Christians guilty of all these crimes than to meet with any\nexempt from some of them; it is easier to find great criminals than\nordinary sinners. Many of the Romans who have been baptized have\narrived at such a laxity of morals that it is a kind of sanctity\namongst the faithful to be less vicious. Audacious criminals rush\ninto the temples of the true God without any respect for the\nDivine Majesty. They go there to meditate in silence upon some\nfresh iniquity. Scarcely are the divine mysteries concluded than\nsome return to their thefts, others to drunkenness; these to their\nbad habits, those to their deeds of violence. What is the life\nof courtiers? Injustice and iniquity. What is the life of public\nofficers? Lies and calumny. What is the life of soldiers? Violence\nand rapine. What is the life of merchants? Fraud and deceit. Alas!\nour vices disinherit us of the beautiful name of Christians; for\nthe depravity of our morals renders us unworthy of the privileges\nof our birth. Base behavior destroys the glory of an honorable\ntitle. As there is no condition which is not disgraced, no place\nwhich is not filled with the crimes of Christians, let us no longer\nglory in this beautiful name. It will only serve to render us more\nculpable, and to aggravate our offences.\u201d[189]\n\nWe think the picture sufficiently complete. Over this huge mass\nof moral rottenness; over the heads of pagan gods yet standing\nerect in the midst of this foul corruption; over the great sinning\nempire, pagan still in its vices and its tastes, the threatening\nstorm-cloud hangs, waiting the moment when God shall bid it belch\nforth its hidden terrors of fire and flame. That moment is close at\nhand. Then shall the martyrs be avenged, and this universal crime\nbe punished.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[179] _Lectures and Essays_, p. 48.\n\n[180] See Claudian, _De Sexto Consulatu Honorii_, v. 43.\n\n[181] See Ozanam, _Civil. au 5me Si\u00e8cle_, p. 82.\n\n[182] _De Spectaculis_, viii.\n\n[183] _De Spectaculis_, vii.\n\n[184] _De Spectaculis_, xvi.\n\n[185] _Leroy_, vol. ii. p. 450.\n\n[186] _De Spectaculis_, xii.\n\n[187] _The Gladiators_, by Whyte Melville, p. 135.\n\n[188] _The Gladiators_, p. 140.\n\n[189] Salvianus, _De Gubernatione Mundi_, lib. iii. _passim_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LAST DAYS BEFORE THE SIEGE.\n\n\nPART II.\n\nEXCELSIOR!\n\n\u201cGreat news! Extra! Three sous!\u201d The newsvender, a ragged little\nurchin who nearly collapsed under the weight and volume of his\nextras, was shouting out these three startling facts at the top\nof his voice as I went out early in the morning. Two rheumatic\nold rag-women, immediately suspending their investigation of the\ndust-heaps, dropped their crooks, and cried out to him to know the\nnews. Was it a victory or a defeat, or was it anything about the\nsiege? But the urchin, as hard-hearted as any editor, waved the\nmomentous sheet majestically with one hand, and answered, \u201cThree\nsous!\u201d To the renewed entreaties of the rag-women he condescended\nso far as to say that it was well worth the money, that they never\nspent three sous more advantageously, for the news was wonderful\nnews, but for less than three sous they should not have it. I did\nnot altogether believe either in the extra or in the wonderful\nnews, but the newspaper fever was on me like the rest of the world,\nso I produced the inexorable three sous and took the paper. The\nmoment the two women saw this they came up to me, and, evidently\ntaking for granted that I was going to give them the benefit of my\nextravagance, stood to hear the news. I read it aloud for them, as\nwell as to a milk-boy who was passing at the moment and stood also\nto get his share of the three sous, and a remarkably sympathetic\naudience the three made. The news was none of the best. The\nPrussians were at Chalons, and they might be at the gates of Paris\nbefore another week.\n\n\u201cThat was MacMahon\u2019s plan from the first,\u201d observed the milk-boy,\n\u201cand, if the Prussians fall into the trap, the game is ours.\u201d\n\nThe rag-women, not being so well up in military tactics and\ntechnicalities, meekly begged to be enlightened as to the nature\nand aim of the trap in question, and the young politician was so\nkind as to explain to them that the marshal had all along been\nluring on the Prussians to Paris, which was to be their pitfall;\nMont Val\u00e9rien and the fortifications would annihilate them like\nflies; not a man of them would go back alive; the only fear was\nthat that rascally Bismarck would be too many guns for the marshal,\nand make him fight before Chalons, in which case, he observed, \u201cit\nwas all up with the marshal, and consequently with France.\u201d\n\nHaving delivered himself of this masterly exposition of the case,\nthe milk-boy swung his cans, touched his cap to me, and, having\nachieved the most preternaturally knowing wink I ever beheld,\nstrode off without waiting to see the effect of his words on the\ntwo old women. They looked after him aghast. Had they been talking\nto a confidential agent of the War Office, or to an emissary of the\nrascally Bismarck himself? A spy, in fact?\n\n\u201cOne ought to have one\u2019s mouth sewed up these times,\u201d observed the\nmore ancient of the beldames, casting a half-suspicious glance at\nme as I folded my newspaper and put it into my pocket. \u201cOne never\nknows whom one may be speaking to.\u201d\n\nThis remark was too deep and too fearfully suggestive to admit of\nany commentary from her companion; the only thing to be done in\nsuch a crisis was to take refuge in professional pursuits that\noffered no ground for suspicion, so seizing her crook the rag-woman\nplunged prudently once more into her rubbish.\n\nA little further on, turning the corner of a street, I came on two\ngentlemen whom I knew, standing in animated conversation. I stopped\nto ask what news? None, except that the horizon was growing darker\nfrom hour to hour. The despatches from the frontier were as bad\nas could well be. As to pooh-poohing the siege now it was sheer\nstupidity, one of them declared, and, for his part, he only wished\nit were already begun: it was the last chance left us of rejecting\nthe disasters of the campaign and crushing the remains of the\nenemy. His companion indignantly scouted both the certainty of the\nsiege and the desirability of it. The city was not to be trusted;\nno great city ever was; there were hundreds of traitors only too\nready to open the gates to the enemy at his own price. Look at the\nproprietors! Did any one suppose there were fifty proprietors in\nParis who would not cry _Capitulons_! before one week was out?\n\n\u201cWell, let the proprietors be taken down to their own cellars, and\nkept there under lock and key, and let them sit on their money-bags\ntill the siege is over!\u201d suggested the advocate of the siege.\n\n\u201cThen you must lock up half the National Guard and the Mobiles,\u201d\nresumed the other, \u201cfor they are full of those money-loving\ntraitors.\u201d\n\nThis was not very reassuring. I kept repeating to myself that\npublic opinion at a moment like this was always an alarmist, and\nthat the wisest plan would be to read no papers and to consult\nnobody, but just wait till events resolved themselves, as they\ninfallibly do, sooner or later, to those who have patience to wait\nfor them, and then act as they decided; but it was no use. I went\nhome in dire perplexity, and began to wish myself in Timbuctoo or\nthe Fiji Islands, or anywhere out of the centre of civilization\nand the fashions and chronic alarm and discontent. Things went on\nin this way for another week, the tide advancing rapidly, but so\ngradually that it was difficult for those on shore to note its\nprogress and be guided by it. No one would own to being frightened,\nbut it was impossible to see the scared faces of the people,\nas they stood in groups before every new placard setting forth\neither a fresh order from the H\u00f4tel de Ville or some dubious and\ndisheartening despatch from the seat of war, without feeling that\nthe panic was upon them, and that the complicated problems of the\ngreat national struggle had resolved themselves into the immediate\nquestion: Shall we stay, or must we fly? When you met a friend in\nthe street, the first, the sole, the supreme salutation was: \u201cDo\nyou believe in the siege? Are you going to stay?\u201d The obduracy of\nthe Parisians in refusing to believe in the siege up to the very\nlast moment was certainly one of the strangest phases of the siege\nitself. They were possessed by a blind faith in the sacredness\nand inviolability of their capital, and they could not bring\nthemselves to believe that all Europe did not look upon it with the\nsame eyes; they thought that Prussia might indeed push audacity\nso far as to come and sit down before the gates, but beyond that\nBismarck would not go; he would not dare; all Europe would stand\nup and cry shame on him, not out of sympathy for France, but out\nof sheer selfishness, for Paris was not the capital of France,\nbut of Europe. So the walls were white with proclamations and\nadvertisements and invitations to non-combatants to withdraw, and\npractical advice to the patriotic citizens whose glorious duty\nit was soon to be to defend the city; and the great exodus of\nthe so-called poltroons and strangers had begun to pour out, and\nthe much more inconvenient sort of non-combatants, the homeless\npopulation of the neighboring villages, poured in--a sorry sight it\nwas to see the poor little _m\u00e9nages_, the husband trundling the few\nsticks of furniture on a hand-cart, with the household cat perched\non the top of the pile, while the wife carried a baby and bundle,\nand a little one trotted on by her side, carrying the canary bird\nin its painted cage--and still the real, born Parisian said in the\nbottom of his heart: \u201cIt will never come to a siege, they will\nnever dare; England will interfere, Europe will not allow it.\u201d\n\nOn the morning of the third of September I went out to make some\npurchases on the Boulevards. Coming back, I saw the Madeleine\ndraped in black, and a number of mourning-coaches drawn up in\nghastly array on the Place. The solemn cort\u00e9ge was descending the\nlast steps. I stood to let it pass, and then cast a glance round\nto see if there was any one I knew in the crowd. To my surprise\nI saw Berthe in the midst of a group of several persons who had\nbroken away from the stream, and were standing apart in the space\ninside the rails; she was talking very emphatically, and the others\nwere listening to her apparently with great interest, and seemed\nexcited by whatever she was telling them. When the crowd had nearly\ncleared away, I beckoned to her. She ran out to me at once.\n\n\u201cYou are the very person I wanted to see,\u201d she said, clutching\nme by the arm in her vehement way. \u201cI was going straight to your\nhouse. I have just been to the Etat Major, and met General Trochu\nthere. He came down on account of despatches that had just come in,\nand have put them all in a state of terrible consternation. There\nis not a doubt of it now; the city will be blockaded in ten days\nfrom this. The Prussians are within as many days\u2019 march from us. I\nthought of you immediately, and I asked the general what you ought\nto do; he said by all means to go, and within forty-eight hours;\nafter that the rails may be cut from one moment to another; he was\nvery emphatic about it, and said it would be the maddest imprudence\nof you to remain; there is a terrible time before us, and no one\nshould stay in Paris who could leave. Of course, you will leave at\nonce.\u201d\n\nI was too much taken aback to say what I would do. The news\nwas so bewildering. I had never looked upon the siege as the\nimpossible joke it had been so long considered, neither did I\nshare the infatuation of the Parisians about the inviolability\nof Paris in the eyes of Europe, and for the last fortnight we\nhad come to expect the siege as almost a certainty, that was now\nonly a question of time, and yet we were as much startled by this\ncool official announcement of it as if the thing had never been\nseriously mentioned before.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know what I will do,\u201d I said; \u201cif we had nerves equal to\nit, it would be the most fearfully interesting experience to go\nthrough.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo doubt,\u201d assented Berthe; \u201cbut it is an experience that will\ntax the strongest nerves; of that you may be sure; and unless one\nhas duties to keep one here, I think it would be mad imprudence, as\nthe general said, to run the risk.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou mean to leave, of course?\u201d I said.\n\n\u201cNo; I mean to stay. I am pretty sure of my nerves; besides, as\na Frenchwoman, I have a duty to perform; I must bear my share of\nthe common danger; it would be cowardly to fly; but with you it is\ndifferent. I don\u2019t think you would be justified in remaining for\nthe interest of the thing. Only if you mean to go, you must set\nabout it at once. Have you got your passport?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; I had not gone that far in believing in the siege.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was very foolish,\u201d said Berthe; \u201call the foreigners we know\nhave got theirs.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will go for it now,\u201d I said. \u201cCome on with me, and let us talk\nit all over. Are you on foot?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; but I shall be glad of the walk home; I will send away the\ncarriage.\u201d\n\nShe did so, and we went on together.\n\n\u201cIt is like death,\u201d I said; \u201cno matter how long one is expecting\nit, it comes like a blow at the last; I can hardly realize even now\nthat the siege is so near. Why, it was only the other day we were\nlistening to those people joking about it all!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was a sorry joke,\u201d said Berthe; \u201cbut that is always the way\nwith us; we go on joking to the end. I believe a Frenchman would\njoke in his coffin if he could speak.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you really mean to stay, Berthe?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do. I shall be of some use, I hope; at any rate, I will try my\nbest. But we can talk of that presently. First about you; are you\ndecided?\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot say; I feel bewildered,\u201d I replied. \u201cI long to stay, and\nyet I fear it; it is not the horrors of the siege that would deter\nme, at least I don\u2019t think it is that; it is the dread of being\ntaken up as a spy.\u201d\n\nShe burst out into one of her loud, merry laughs.\n\n\u201cWhat a ridiculous idea! Why on earth should you be taken for a\nspy?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is no why or wherefore in the case,\u201d I said, \u201cthat is just\nthe alarming part of it; the people are simply mad on the point;\nthey have barked themselves rabid about it, and they are ready to\nbite every one that comes in their way. Twice on my way into town\nthis morning I heard a hue and cry raised somewhere near, and when\nI asked what was the matter, a mad dog, or a house on fire, the\nanswer was, \u2018Oh, no; it\u2019s an _espion_ they\u2019ve started, and he\u2019s\ngiving them chase!\u2019 One man said to me, half in joke, half in\nearnest: \u2018Madame would do well to hide her fair hair under a wig;\nit\u2019s dangerous to wear fair hair these times.\u2019 I own it made me\nfeel a little uncomfortable.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, that is not very comforting for me,\u201d said Berthe, laughing,\n\u201cmy hair is _blond_ enough to excite suspicion.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! your nationality is written on your face,\u201d I said; \u201cthere is\nno fear of you ever being mistaken for anything but a Frenchwoman.\u201d\n\nOn arriving at the Embassy, we found a throng of British subjects\nwaiting for their passports, and considerably surprised at being\nkept waiting, and expressing their surprise in no measured terms.\nSurely they paid dear enough for the maintenance of their embassies\nabroad to be entitled to prompt and proper attendance when once in\na way they called on their representatives for a service of this\nkind! The attach\u00e9s were so overworked that it was impossible to\navoid the delay? Then why were there not special attach\u00e9s put on\nfor the extra press of work? And so on. Some nervous old couples\nwere anxious to have the benefit of his excellency\u2019s personal\nopinion as to the prudence of leaving their plate behind them,\nand, if he really thought there was a risk in so doing, would\nhe be so kind as to suggest the safest mode of conveying it to\nLondon? Also, whether it was quite prudent to leave their money\nin the Bank of France and other French securities, or whether it\nwould be advisable to withdraw it at once at a loss? Also, whether\nit would be a wise precaution to hang the Union Jack out of the\nwindow, those who had furnished apartments in Paris, or whether the\npresent state of feeling between England and France was such as to\nmake such a step rather dangerous than otherwise? It was not for\noutsiders to know how things stood between the two countries so as\nto be able to guide their course in the present crisis, but his\nexcellency being a diplomatist was well informed on the subject,\nand they would rely implicitly on his judgment and advice, etc.\n\nBerthe and I were so highly entertained by the na\u00efve egotism and\ninfantine stupidity displayed by the various specimens of British\nnature around us, that we did not find it in our hearts to grumble\nat being kept waiting nearly two hours.\n\nOn reaching the Rond Point of the Champs Elys\u00e9es, our curiosity\nwas attracted by a silent, scared-looking crowd collected on\nthe sidewalk in front of the H\u00f4tel Meyerbeer. The blinds of the\nhouse were closed as if there were a death within, and a few\n_sergents-de-ville_ were standing at intervals with arms crossed,\nstaring up at the windows. The owner of the hotel had been\narrested with great noise the night before, on the strength of\nsome foolish words which had escaped him about the possible entry\nof the Germans into Paris; but we neither of us knew anything of\nthis, and I asked the nearest sergeant if anything had happened.\nThe man turned round, and, without uncrossing his arms, bent two\npiercing eyes upon me--piercing is not a figure of speech, they\nliterally stabbed us through like a pair of blades--and, after\ntaking a deliberate view of my person from head to foot, he growled\nout: \u201cYes, something has happened. A spy has been found!\u201d There was\nsomething so diabolical in the tone of his voice and his expression\nthat it terrified me, and I suppose my terror got into my face\nand gave it a guilty hue, for another _sergent-de-ville_ who had\nturned round on hearing his colleague speak, strode up to me, and\nsaid nothing, but drove another pair of eyes into me with fierce\nsuspicion. The crowd, attracted by the incident, turned round and\nstared at me, and I felt as if I had that morning posted a despatch\nto Bismarck or Bismarck\u2019s master betraying every state secret in\nFrance. Despair, however, that makes cowards brave, came to my\nrescue, and, putting a bold face on it, I said, with extraordinary\npluck and coolness:\n\n\u201cHas he been arrested?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe has.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, it is well!\u201d I observed. And in abject fear of being pounced\nupon there and then, and done equally well by, I walked away.\n\nWhen we had got to a safe distance, I looked at Berthe. She was as\nwhite as ashes. Indeed, if I looked half as guilty, it is nothing\nshort of a miracle that we were not both seized on the spot and\ncarried off to the _Pr\u00e9fecture de Police_.\n\n\u201cLet this be a lesson to us never to speak to any one in the street\nwhile things are in this state,\u201d said Berthe. \u201cIndeed, the safest\nway would be not to speak at all, especially in a foreign language,\nfor whatever they don\u2019t understand they set down as German, and to\nbe a German is of course to be a spy.\u201d\n\nAfter this we walked on in silence. Evidently Berthe no longer\nlooked on my fears as chimerical or matter for laughter, and,\npuerile as the incident was, I believe it put an end to my\nhesitation, and decided me to leave Paris with as little delay as\npossible. She had not realized as much as I had, but the spy-fever\nhad spread so alarmingly within the last few days that what had\nfirst been merely a recurring panic was now a fixed idea that had\ngrown to insanity. You might read suspicion and fear written on\nthe faces of the people as you went along. They walked in twos and\nthrees without speaking, glancing timidly on every side, and trying\nto carry it off with an air of indifference or preoccupation. Every\none was in mortal fear of being pointed at and hooted off to the\nnearest _poste_. No nationality was safe. A few Englishmen who\nhad fallen victims to the popular mania, and been subjected to a\nnight\u2019s hospitality at the expense of the government, had published\ntheir experiences, and described the sort of entertainment prepared\nfor casual visitors, and it was anything but enticing: a _salle_\ncrammed full of every kind and degree of sinner, from the imaginary\nspy whipped up on the pavement without proof or witness, to the\nlowest vagrants of the worst character, all put in for the same\noffence, and huddled up together without a chair to sit on or air\nto breathe. Those who were lucky enough to be set free after a\nshort term of durance vile were warmly congratulated by their\nfriends, and retired into private life without further _\u00e9clat_.\nSome English subjects were simple enough to venture a protest\nagainst the unceremonious proceeding on the part of the police, and\nwere politely reminded that the gates of the city were still open\nand trains ready to convey them to many places of more agreeable\nmanners where the sacred person of a British subject ran no risk of\nbeing mistaken for a common mortal, but that, while they choose to\nremain within the gates, they must take the consequences. And this\nwas, after all, the best answer they could make, and it behooved\nall sensible British subjects to abide by it. I parted from Berthe\nat the corner of her own street, and went home to pack up and start\nthe next day by the twelve o\u2019clock train.\n\nI stopped on my way to the station to take leave of her. It was\nnear eleven o\u2019clock. Contrary to my expectations, I found her up\nand dressed, instead of lolling in dishabille on her couch. But\nthis was not the only surprise awaiting me. The whole appearance\nof the house was changed. The _porti\u00e8res_ and curtains were taken\ndown; the two salons were emptied of their furniture, and four iron\nbeds placed in the large one and two in the small one. A young\nwoman was busy cutting out bandages with a great basket of linen\nbeside her in Berthe\u2019s room--that soft, Sybarite room, so unused\nto such company and such occupation. Her face was concealed by\na broad-frilled Vendean cap, but on hearing us enter she turned\nround, and I recognized the bride-widow of the Br\u00e9ton volunteer.\n\n\u201cWe are going to work very hard together,\u201d said Berthe, putting\nher hand on the girl\u2019s shoulder. \u201cJeannette is to teach me to\nmake poultices, and to dress wounds, and to do all kinds of useful\nthings that one wants to know how to do for the wounded. She is\nquite an adept in the service, it seems, so I hope our little\nambulance will be well managed and comfortable for the dear\nsoldiers.\u201d\n\nJeannette\u2019s eyes filled with tears, and she took Berthe\u2019s hand\nand kissed it. Just at this moment Fran\u00e7ois came in to say there\nwere some _S\u0153urs de Charit\u00e9_ who wanted to speak to madame. Berthe\nand Jeannette went out to meet them, and as they left the room\nAntoinette came in through the dressing-room. She threw up her\narms when she perceived me, and looked toward the salon with blank\ndespair in her face.\n\n\u201cThe world is upside down,\u201d she said, \u201ceverything is going\ntopsy-turvy; what between the war, and the siege, and the rest of\nit, one doesn\u2019t know what to expect next; but of all the queer\nthings going, the queerest is what is happening in this house. To\nthink of _le salon de la comtesse_ being turned into a hospital!\nThat I should live to see such things! Madame does well to go away;\npeople are all going crazy in this country, and they say it\u2019s\ncatching.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo it is, Antoinette,\u201d I said, \u201cand the best thing I can wish you\nis that you may catch it yourself.\u201d\n\nBerthe wanted to come with me to the station, but I would not let\nher. I preferred to carry away my last impression of her as I saw\nher now. She was dressed in a plain dark silk, with a white apron\nbefore her, and a soft cambric handkerchief tied loosely round\nher head; the quaint, half-nunlike dress seemed to me to become\nher more than the most artistic of M. Grandhomme\u2019s combinations,\nand as I watched her going from room to room with a duster in her\nhand, changing the chairs and tables, and working as deftly as\nan accomplished housemaid, her face flushed with the exercise\nand bright with a new-found joy, I thought I had never seen her\nlook so beautiful. So we parted in that blue chamber that was\nhenceforth to have a new memory of its own to both of us. Before\nI had started from my own house, the news of Sedan had come in,\nand spread like wild-fire. All that I had previously witnessed of\npopular excitement was cold and calm compared with what I beheld on\nmy way to the station. The city was like a galvanized nightmare,\nelectrifying and electrified into hubbub and madness. Rage and\ndespair were riding the whirlwind with suspicion tied like a\nbandage on their eyes. The cry of _Treason!_ out-topped all other\ncries; every man suspected his brother and accused him; the air\nwas filled with curses and threats, and there was no voice strong\nenough to rise above the popular tumult and subdue it. If there\nhad been, what might not have come of it? If at that moment there\nhad been a voice loud enough to speak to the hurricane, and compel\nthose millions of tongues to be silent and listen to the truth, and\nthen gather them into one great voice that would lift itself up in\na unit of harmony and power that would have been heard, not only\nto the ends of Paris, but to the ends of France, What might not\nhave been done? what might not have been saved? But it was not to\nbe. Nothing came of the discord but discord. The strong hand that\nmight even then have welded all these suicidal elements of hate,\nand fury, and suspicion into a vigorous bond of action was not\nforthcoming; the strife was to go on to the bitter end, till the\nsoil of fair France was drenched with blood, and all her energies\nspent, and her youth and chivalry laid low in bootless butchery.\n\nThe blocks that stopped our progress in every street made it a\ndifficult matter to get to the railway, and when we eventually did\nget there we were a quarter of an hour behind our time. But, as it\nhappened, this was of no consequence; we had to wait another hour\nbefore the train started. Meantime the confusion was indescribable.\nSeveral wagons full of wounded had arrived by the last train, and\na regiment of the line was waiting to start by the next. The Place\nwas filled with soldiers, some were lying at full length fast\nasleep under the hot noon sun, others were smoking and chatting\nnear their arms that were stacked here and there; some of the poor\nfellows had been out before, and were only just recovering from\ntheir wounds; they looked worn and weak as if hardly able to bear\nthemselves; women were clinging to them, weeping and lamenting;\ninside the station, travellers were rushing frantically from bureau\nto bureau; then in despair at ever getting through the crowd that\nbesieged every wicket, they would seize some unlucky porter with\na band on his hat, and implore him in heart-rending tones to help\nthem to a ticket, and, when he protested that such a service was\nnot in his power they would belabor him vindictively with hard\nwords, and make another rush at the bureau.\n\nAt last we were off. It was an exciting journey, such as I hope\nnever to make again. The lines were encumbered with trains full of\nwounded coming and troops going, and our pace was regulated with a\nview to avoid running into those ahead or being run into by those\nbehind. Now we darted on at a terrific speed, the engine wriggling\nfrom rail to rail like a snake gone mad; then we would pull up\nspasmodically and crawl almost at a foot-pace, then off we flew\nagain like a telegram. Trains flashed past us on either side every\nnow and then with a tremendous roar, and soldiers sang out snatches\nof war-songs, and we cheered them and waved hands and handkerchiefs\nto them in return. We had started an hour and a quarter behind our\ntime, and we arrived three hours after we were due. For two hours\nbefore we reached Boulogne, the danger lights were flashing ahead,\nred and lurid in the darkness, and it was with something like the\nfeeling of being rescued from a house on fire that we set foot at\nlast on the platform. Once in safety, I was able to look back more\ncalmly on the history of the last fortnight. It seemed to me that\nI had been standing on a rock, watching the tide roll in, creeping\ngradually higher and nearer to my standpoint till I felt the cold\ntouch of the water on my feet, and leaped ashore.\n\nAnd Berthe? She stood out like a bright star transfiguring the\ndense darkness of the picture. The change I had witnessed in her\nappeared to me like the promise of other changes, wider, deeper,\nuniversal. I had ceased to wonder at the choice she had made; the\nmore I thought of it, the more I felt that she was worthy of it as\nit was of her, and the only wish I could form for her now was, that\nshe might be strong to persevere unto the end. The course she had\nadopted was the noblest and the only true one for a Frenchwoman\nwhile France was suffering, and struggling, and bleeding to death.\nWhile the war-cry and the battle psalm were clanging around, it\nwas not meant for the women of France to sit idly in luxurious\nease, and watch the death-struggle of the nation in indifference\nor mere passive sympathy. We may none of us stand aloof from our\nbrethren in such a crisis, or take refuge in cowardly neutrality.\nNeutrality in the brotherhood of Freedom is desertion, treachery.\nWe have each our appointed post in the battle, and we cannot\ndesert it without being traitors. We must all fight somehow. Not\nof necessity with iron or steel, but we must fight. Moses had\nneither bow nor arrow nor javelin when he got up on the mountain\nand watched with uplifted arms the conflict in the valley below,\nbut yet he was not neutral. So to the end of time it must be with\nall of us. We must fight somehow; we may never abide in selfish\npeace or a sense of isolated security while the brethren around\nare at war; whithersoever the battle goes, to victory or defeat,\nto glory or humiliation, we must take our share in it, and let\nour hearts go on fighting faithfully to the end. We must love the\ncombatants through good and evil alike; through the smoke and din\nwe must discern every ennobling incident of the struggle, such\nas there abounds on every battle-field in every land, seeing all\nthings in their true proportions, shutting our hearts inexorably\nto despair, making them wide to endless sympathy with the good, to\ninexhaustible pity for the wicked. The smoke must not blind us;\nthe crash and the roar must not deafen us; through the agony of\nsouls, despair, and hate, and sin, we must have our vision clear\nand strong to recognize the loveliness of virtue, the divine beauty\nof sacrifice, the infinite possibilities of repentance, the joy\nof the conquerors, the sweetness of the kiss of peace. Loving all\nlove. Hating all hate. We must see angels outnumbering fiends in\nincalculable degree, light triumphing over darkness, and the breath\nof purity healing the blue corruption of the world.\n\n                         TO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CLERKE OF OXENFORDE.\n\n\n    At his beddes hed\n    Twenty bokes clothed in blake or red,\n    Of Aristotle and his philosophie,\n    Than robes riche, fidel or sautrie,\n    For al be that he was a philosopher\n    Yet hadde he but litel gold in coffer,\n    And all that he might of his frendes hente\n    On bokes and on learning he it spente,\n    And besily gan for the soules praie\n    Of them that gave him wherewith to scholaie.\n                                      --_Chaucer._\n\n\n\n\nA BAD BEGINNING FOR A SAINT;\n\nOR, THE EARLY LIFE OF FATHER CHAUMONOT, A CELEBRATED MISSIONARY IN\nCANADA.\n\n\nLives of saints are somewhat discouraging reading at times to poor\nmortals, who feel that they have a good deal of human nature in\nthem, and that somehow human nature is more disposed to play the\npart of mistress than of handmaiden to grace.\n\nThese holy souls seem from the cradle so innocent, so faithful,\nthat they appear a higher creation than ourselves, and accordingly\nit is no less consoling than encouraging at times to find early\nshortcomings overcome by a tardy fidelity to grace, and sanctity\nattained.\n\nIn the early annals of Canada, there are few names more revered\nthan that of Father Peter Mary Joseph Chaumonot, whose impassioned\neloquence gathered round him at Onondaga the braves and sachems of\nthe Iroquois, wondering to hear their unlabial language flow so\nsmoothly from the lips of a white man--who founded at Montreal the\nSociety of the Holy Family, which has been such a potent instrument\nin maintaining in Canadian homes the true family spirit of\nCatholicity and devotion--and who founded near Quebec a new Loretto\nin this Western world for the Huron Indians, whom he so long\ndirected and guided, after he saw himself deprived of the martyr\u2019s\ncrown which so many of his fellow-laborers won near the shores of\nLake Huron.\n\nYet good Father Chaumonot, we are sorry to say, began life as a\nyoung scamp; and to encourage those who sometimes despair of\n_mauvais sujets_ whom Providence has placed under their charge,\nwe will give the story of his early years in Chaumonot\u2019s own\ninimitable language. Late in life, by command of his superiors, he\nwrote an autobiographical account, and from it we extract:\n\n\u201cFor my father I had a poor vine-dresser and for mother a poor\nschoolmaster\u2019s daughter. At the age of six, they placed me with\nmy grandfather, five or six leagues from our village, that I\nmight learn to read and write. They then took me home, but\nonly for a short time, one of my uncles, a priest residing at\nCh\u00e2tillon-sur-Seine, having had the kindness to take me to his\nhouse, so that I might study in the college in that place.\n\n\u201cWhen I had made some progress in Latin, my uncle wished me to\nlearn plain chant, under one of my class who was a musician. This\nfellow persuaded me to leave Ch\u00e2tillon and follow him to Beaune,\nwhere we were to study under the Fathers of the Oratory. As I did\nnot wish to undertake this journey without funds, I stole about a\nhundred sous from my uncle while he was in the church. With this we\ntook flight.\n\n\u201cWe travelled by by-ways to Dijon, whence we made our way to\nBeaune. There we put up with a townsman, but as my finances were\nshort, I wrote to ask my mother to have the goodness to supply\nme with money and clothes, so that I might pursue my studies\nat Beaune, where I hoped to make more rapid progress than at\nCh\u00e2tillon. The letter fell into my father\u2019s hands, and he answered\nme that he would send me nothing; that I must return; and that he\nwould make peace with my uncle for me.\n\n\u201cThis reply filled me with dismay. To return to my uncle was to\nexpose myself to be pointed at as a thief, and yet to stay any\nlonger at Beaune was out of the question. So I resolved to run\naround the world as a vagabond, rather than bear the shame my\nrascality deserved. I started from Beaune with the intention of\ngoing to Rome, though I had not a sou or a change. I travelled\nalone for half a day; then I fell in with two young men of\nLorraine, who saluted me and asked me whither I was going. \u201cTo\nRome,\u201d quoth I, \u201cto gain the pardons.\u201d They applauded my design,\nand entertained me with the object of their own journey to Lyons.\n\n\u201cMeanwhile I was thinking what was to become of me, and what I was\nto live on, if I continued my journey. Begging was in my ideas too\ndegrading, I could not bring myself to work for my living, and\nthere was little chance of my doing it, for I was unaccustomed to\nlabor and knew no trade. Fortunately, my two Lorrainers, who were\nno better stocked with money than I was, began to beg from door to\ndoor in the first town we came to. Who was dumfounded to see them\nply this trade? Myself, who, after some deliberation, concluded to\nimitate them rather than starve, so powerfully had their example\nmade easy what had previously appeared impossible. Such was my\napprenticeship as a beggar, but as I was only a beginner at the\ntrade, I gained but a wretched livelihood. However, I flattered\nmyself that on reaching a city so large as Lyons, some good fortune\nwould turn up. But, alas! I was astonished to find myself arrested\nby the sentinels, who let my companions pass on account of their\npassports, and detained me because I had none.\n\n\u201cI did not know what was to become of me, or even where I was to\nget shelter. I saw many large buildings, but I durst not ask the\nleast corner there to pass the night in. At last, spying a wretched\nshed opposite a glass furnace, I crept under it. Would to heaven\nI had then had sense enough to take my sufferings as an expiation\nof my sins, and united my poverty to that of my Saviour lying in a\nstable!\n\n\u201cNext morning, seeing at the river-side a boat where people were\nembarking to cross the Rhone, I begged the boatman to give me a\npassage out of charity. This he did, because in fact the city paid\nhim to carry beyond the river all the beggars who were refused\nentrance into the city.\n\n\u201cWhen I got to the other side, I met a young man who promised to\nmake the tour to Italy with me.\n\n\u201cWe had just started off together when we met a priest returning\nfrom Rome. He did his best to persuade us to forego our projected\npilgrimage and return home. Among other reasons, he told us that\nour want of passports would prevent our getting entrance into\nany city on our way. I asked him whether he had one, and he had\nno sooner shown it to me than I begged him to allow me to make a\ncopy of it, which I did on the spot, inserting my own name and my\ncompanion\u2019s instead of his.\n\n\u201cOh! why did I not then offer to God the hardships of nakedness,\nfatigue, heat, cold, and the thousand other miseries I suffered\non that journey! I should have had the happiness of drawing down\nupon me the blessings of heaven. Our common Father would not have\nrefused them to me, beholding in me some traits of the poverty\nand sufferings of his Son, but alas! my pride and other sins,\nwhich rendered me more like the devil than I was to our Lord by\nmy poverty, were great obstacles to grace in me. Yet, O my God!\nthou hadst thy views in permitting me to commit fault on fault,\nfolly on folly! Thou didst deign to set me free from all inordinate\nlove to my parents, which, had I remained always with them, would\nhave prevented my consecrating myself entirely to thee. Thou didst\ndesign that when I grew up the remembrance of my trials should make\nme sympathize with more love and gratitude in the sufferings of thy\nSon.\n\n\u201cBut I should be tedious were I to recount all the faults I\ncommitted, and all the miseries that befel me on my way. I shall\ngive only the principal adventures.\n\n\u201cThe first that occurs to my mind is that, when in Savoy, I\nentered the court of our college at Chamb\u00e9ry, where I asked in\nLatin for alms. One of the fathers was so touched at my wretched\nstate that he gave me supper, and even promised to take me back to\nLyons, whither he was about to go, and send me from that point to\nCh\u00e2tillon. At first I thanked him as well as I could, and promised\nto follow him, but as soon as he left me I took flight, my money\nalways terrifying me from the thought of returning to my parents.\nWas I not out of my senses, and did I not well deserve all the\nevils that befel me, when I refused such kind offers for my own\nquiet, and the comfort of my poor family? How deplorable was the\nblindness of my proud spirit, to choose to face countless dangers\nand hardships, rather than undergo a wholesome reprimand!\n\n\u201cIn a village in Savoy we met a good parish priest, who took us to\nhis house, and, after giving us supper, allowed us to sleep on the\nbed of his servant, whom he had sent to Chamb\u00e9ry. This gentleman\nslept in a room over his valet\u2019s, which was entered by a ladder,\nat the top of which was a trap-door, which our host neglected to\nclose properly, so that about midnight a cat pursuing her prey\nthrew it down. The noise was sufficient to awake the priest, who\nimagined that we were trying to enter his room for no good purpose.\nSo he jumped out of bed and, attired as he was, rushed out on a\nbalcony, crying Murder! murder! murder! at the top of his voice. No\nless alarmed, I ran up the ladder and reassured him by explaining\nthe innocent cause of all the trouble. Fortunately for us, the\nneighbors were not awakened by their pastor\u2019s voice.\n\n\u201cHere is another adventure where we ran greater risk. In a town\nin the Valteline we found a French garrison reduced to a very\nsmall number of soldiers, so that the officers urged us strongly\nto enlist. I would have consented to get my bread every day in\nthis manner, in the hunger I suffered, but my wiser comrade would\nhear nothing of it. All they got from us was our consent to await\nthe arrival of the commissary, who was daily expected. They led\nus to hope that we should receive the same pay as real soldiers.\nMeanwhile, they wished to see what figure we would cut on parade.\nIt was easy enough to travesty into a soldier my comrade, who was a\nbig fellow; but as I appeared a mere boy, from my youth and small\nbody, there was some difficulty in finding a sword to suit me. That\nwhich they judged best suited to my size had an eel or snake skin\nscabbard, and for want of belt or baldric they tied it around with\nan ass\u2019 halter. I appeared so ridiculous in this that they resolved\nto put me to bed as sick when the commissary came. While awaiting\nthat event, we lived on the king\u2019s bread, and my comrade was in a\nconstant shiver lest we should be regarded as interlopers or be\ndetained there in spite of ourselves. He made the danger out so\ngreat that I yielded to his urging. Bent on pursuing our pilgrimage\nto Rome, we started one fine morning, but had not travelled more\nthan a mile and a half when we were arrested by some soldiers, who\nhad orders to seize all deserters they found and take them back to\ntheir officers. \u2018Alas!\u2019 I cried with tears, \u2018have I the look of a\nmilitary man? I am a poor student, who has taken a vow to go to\nRome.\u2019 So pathetic was my accent that it touched them, and they let\nus go. If God had not given them compassion for us, what would have\nbecome of us? He saved us from another danger after we had entered\nItaly.\n\n\u201cTowards nightfall we reached a hostelry by the roadside, where we\nproposed to sleep, but we counted without our host. We had scarcely\neaten our wretched supper, which he made us pay for as dearly as\nhe wished, when, in spite of all our demands that he would at\nleast give us shelter in one of his stables, he barbarously drove\nus out. It would not have been so bad could we have slept by the\nlight of the stars, but there were none, and the weather, which was\novercast, soon poured down on us a drenching rain. Our clothes were\nall soaked, and, to cap the climax, the road was full of holes and\nditches that we did not see, so that we made almost as many tumbles\nas steps.\n\n\u201cWe were well-nigh used up when a gleam of light enabled us to make\nout a stable. As we crawled towards it, we found a great stack of\nstraw quite near it. We climbed up on it and made a hole in the\ntop to creep in. As we were chilled through, especially our feet,\nwe put them under each other\u2019s arm-pits, lying so that my head was\nopposite my companion\u2019s. We were just beginning to get warm when\nsome large dogs, scenting us, came running up barking furiously. At\nthis noise the people ran out of the farm-house and tried to drive\nus off with stones. This new kind of hail did not suffer us to\nremain in our quarters, and fear of the dogs prevented our leaving\nthem. I then thought it high time to speak, and my skill in getting\nup tears served my turn here as it had already done in getting us\noff when arrested as deserters. So I began to shout out in Latin:\n_Nos sumus pauperes peregrini_. As the last word is Italian also,\nit informed these good people who we were. They took pity on us,\ncalled off their dogs, and left us to pass the rest of the night in\npeace.\n\n\u201cAfter many hardships and sufferings we reached Ancona. Alas! who\ncan express the wretched condition to which my vagabond life had\nreduced me! From head to foot, everything about me inspired horror.\nI was barefooted, having been obliged to throw away my shoes,\nwhich were broken and galled me. My shirt was rotting, my tattered\nclothes swarmed with vermin, my uncombed head was filled with so\nhorrible a disease that it swarmed with worms and matter of most\nloathsome stench.... It was only at Ancona that I was aware of the\nextent of this disease, when on scratching it I found a worm on my\nhand. At the sight of this my consternation was unspeakable. \u2018Must\nI, then,\u2019 I said to myself, \u2018in punishment of my villanies, be\neaten alive by worms and vermin? I no longer wonder that when I\ntake off my hat before people, they show wonder and horror at the\nsight. What is to become of me? Am I not a sickening sight to all\nthe world? O sad chastisement of my pride!\u2019\n\n\u201cAfter all, I resumed courage as I approached the Holy House of\nLoretto. Perhaps the Blessed Virgin, who performs so many miracles\nin this sacred spot in favor of the wretched, will take pity on\nmy misery! Ah! why had I not then the knowledge I subsequently\nacquired of the wonders wrought by her in that sanctuary in favor\nof soul and body? I should have had a far different confidence in\nher power and goodness!\n\n\u201cAlthough I invoked her coldly enough, she showed me that,\nindependently of our merit and disposition, she is pleased to\nexercise towards us the duties of a real mother; and as one of\nthese duties is to see to the cleanliness of their children, thou\ndidst regard me in that light, O Blessed Virgin! unworthy as I was\nand am to be adopted by thee as thy son. Thou didst inspire a young\nman whom I was never able to discover with the will and power to\nheal my head. Thou knowest better than I how it was accomplished.\nYet I will not omit in token of gratitude to set down what I know.\n\n\u201cOn leaving the Holy House of Mary, an unknown person, who seemed\nto be a young man and who was perhaps an angel, said to me with an\nair and tone of pity: \u2018My dear boy, what a wretched head you have!\nCome, follow me, I will try to apply some remedy.\u2019 I followed him:\nhe took me outside the church, behind a large pillar, where no one\npassed. Having reached this retired spot, he made me sit down,\nand bade me remove my hat. I obeyed. He cut off all my hair with\nscissors, rubbed my poor head with a white cloth, and, without my\nfeeling any pain, entirely removed all trace of the disease and\nits hideous accompaniments. He then put my hat on again. I thanked\nhim for his charity; he left me, and I am yet to see a better\nphysician or experience a more wretched disease.\n\n\u201cIf the least lady had done me this service by her lowest valet,\nshould I not render her all possible thanks? And if, after such a\ncharity, she had offered always to serve me in the same way, how\nshould I not feel bound to honor, obey, and love her all my life!\nPardon, Queen of angels and of men! pardon me, that after receiving\nfrom thee so many marks convincing me that thou hast adopted me as\nthy son, I have been so ungrateful as for whole years to act more\nas a slave of Satan than the child of a Virgin Mother. Oh! how\ngood and charitable art thou, since, in spite of the obstacles my\nsins have raised to thy graces, thou hast never ceased to draw me\ntowards good; till thou hast caused me to be admitted into the holy\nSociety of Jesus, thy Son.\n\n\u201cMy comrade and I resumed the road to Rome, after spending three\ndays at Loretto; but God stopped me at Terni, in Umbria, to change\nmy beggar life for a place as valet. I was begging from door to\ndoor as usual, when a venerable old man, a doctor of laws, invited\nme to stay with him to attend him in the house and accompany him to\ntown. I was so weary of my beggar\u2019s trade that I readily accepted\nthe citizen\u2019s offer to become his lackey; I even did the lowest\ntasks, for there was nothing that did not seem sweet and honorable\ncompared to the hardships and humiliations which had made me loathe\nmy mendicant life.\n\n\u201cI had been some time at Terni, but as I had not picked up enough\nItalian to confess in that language, I made my confession in\nLatin to a father of the Society of Jesus. After my confession, he\nquestioned me as to my studies. I told him that I was in rhetoric\nwhen I allowed myself to be led astray. He manifested the regret\nhe felt to see me reduced to so low a condition after starting\nso well in my education. He urged me to resume my studies; and\nto facilitate this he proposed, if I chose, to have me received\ninto the college, where I would advance in science and virtue. I\ntook his proposal ill, imagining he wished to make a Jesuit of me;\nbut in the sequel I had every reason to believe that this wise\nreligious merely wished to give me at first the place of a young\nsecular who taught the lowest class in the college. Would to God I\nhad then commenced to do so! How many sins I should have avoided!\nI did indeed go two days after to see the father and remind him of\nit, but as I did not know his name, I was stupid enough to ask for\n\u2018the father who heard my confession.\u2019 The scholars in the college\nyard to whom I put this question roared at my folly, and that was\nenough to send me back quicker than I came. However, I asked the\ndoctor whom I served what kind of people the Jesuits were. He\nanswered me carelessly that they received only persons of rank and\ntalent, that their order was less austere than others, and that you\ncould leave it even after taking the vows. These last traits with\nwhich he described them did not displease me. I would willingly\nhave entered among them for a time. I was not yet fit for the\nkingdom of God, as I looked behind me before putting my hand to the\nplough.\n\n\u201cAs I began to understand Italian, I read devotional books in that\nlanguage, and among the rest one, _The Lives of the Fathers of\nthe Desert_, inspired me with the desire of becoming a hermit.\nThereupon, without consulting any one, I left my master\u2019s house\nwith the view of going to bury myself in some wilderness in France\nafter I had visited Rome.\n\n\u201cAs I left the city I met my doctor\u2019s daughter, and explained my\nintention to her, so that they should not be alarmed at my sudden\ndisappearance. After I had travelled a few leagues, I thought I\nwould try whether I could live on herbs like the anchorites. I took\nsome growing wheat, put it in my mouth, chewed it, but could not\nswallow it, so I fell back on my trade of beggar, which did not\nprevent my suffering considerably from hunger, even in Rome, for I\ndid not know the religious houses where alms were given at stated\ndays and hours. The novitiate of the Jesuits at St. Andrew\u2019s is\none of these charitable places, and the only one I knew. Although\nmy would-be vocation to the eremitical life was somewhat shaken, I\nstarted from Rome intending to return to France. Retracing the same\nroad I came by, I reached Terni, but not daring to return to my\nmaster, I retired to a soap-maker of my acquaintance, where I spent\nthe night. The next morning he told the doctor, who was good enough\nto invite me back to his service. I at once accepted his offer,\nrenouncing for ever beggary, for which I had now a greater horror\nthan ever.\n\n\u201cMy good master had an intimate friend called Il Signore Capitone,\nwho some time after my return to Terni told my doctor that he\nwould like to have me at his house as tutor to his two sons, who\nwere studying at the college of the Society of Jesus. My master\nconsented, and, after speaking to me, sent me to his friend. I was\nreceived with open arms, and presented the next day to our fathers,\nwho put me in rhetoric. I was not long studying under them without\nfeeling stimulated to imitate the virtues which I admired in these\nworthy servants of God. One thing prevented openness with my\nconfessor, and it was that I could not bring myself to acknowledge\nmy low birth, for up to this time I had boasted that my father was\na _procureur du roi_ (district attorney), and I was ashamed to\nunsay it or keep on saying it. Several months rolled on in this\ncombat of nature and grace, the latter pressing me to declare my\nvocation, the former preventing it. However, God, wishing me to be\nreceived into the Society, prepared the occasion.\n\n\u201cA young ecclesiastic paid by the fathers taught one of the lower\nclasses, but, getting tired of it, asked to be relieved. They cast\ntheir eyes on me, and promised me the same salary. The gentleman\nwith whom I dwelt consenting, I became regent or teacher. God gave\nme grace to economize my earnings, and when I had a pretty good sum\nI divided it between the churches and the poor. I even tried to\nimitate at least in something the great St. Nicholas, by throwing\nsome money one night into a house where there was a girl in want.\n\n\u201cOur Lord rewarded me well for these liberalities by the great\ngrace he did me by calling me strongly to the religious state.\nOne day among others, while they were celebrating in the church\nthe feast of Blessed Francis Borgia, not then canonized, I was\nso touched by the sermon of the Jesuit father that, to follow as\nfar as I could the example of the blessed Francis, I made a vow\nto leave the world and enter religion either among the Jesuits,\nif they were willing to receive me, or, in case they deemed me\nunworthy of that favor, among the Capuchins or Recollects.\u201d\n\nWe will not follow his account of some interior struggles that\nfollowed. When the provincial of the order arrived at Terni, the\naccounts given were so favorable that Chaumonot was received and\nsent with good letters to the novitiate of St. Andrew\u2019s at Rome. \u201cI\nwas twenty-one years old,\u201d says he, \u201cwhen I entered the novitiate\nMay 18, 1632.\u201d But he did not finish it there. A nobleman had\nfounded a novitiate at Florence, and young Chaumonot with others\nwas sent there six months after his entrance. The master of novices\nhere, less austere than his former one, encouraged him to reveal\nthe great deception that troubled his conscience.\n\n\u201cOne of the first things I asked this second master of novices was\nthat, to punish my pride, he should question me in public as to\nthe condition of my parents, my coming into Italy, and how I had\nbeen employed. I hoped thus to expiate to some extent my faults,\nand especially the falsehood I had uttered to conceal my low birth.\nHe consented. One day, when all the novitiate was assembled, he\nquestioned me on all these points. God gave me grace to practise\nthe humiliation which he had inspired, and I publicly declared\nwho I was, how and why I had left France, and what had been my\nadventures in Italy. The holy man added to my avowal as I had\nproposed making it, another act of mortification that I had not\ncounted on. He told me to sing one of my village songs, and for\nthis purpose made me mount on a trunk as my stage. I tried to obey,\nbut the music was not long. My memory could bring up only a dancing\ntune. I started it. After the first couplet, the father stopped me,\ncrying: \u2018Shame! what a ridiculous song! If you don\u2019t know a better\none, never sing again.\u2019\u201d\n\nHis joy in the abode of religion was unbounded. To find himself\nadmitted among young men so far superior to him in all that the\nworld esteems, gave him constant occasions for zeal and fervor. Yet\nhis trials were not ended. The health which had stood the hardships\nof his gipsy life now became so impaired that there was some\nhesitation whether he should be allowed to take his vows.\n\nBut heaven favored his desires. He returned to Rome, and was thence\nsent to the college at Fermo, to his intense delight; for it was\nbut a short distance from that Holy House which was to his last\nbreath the one beloved spot of earth to his warm heart, throbbing\nwith love for the Holy Family.\n\nHe easily won permission to make a pilgrimage to that shrine; and\nthe young French runaway of former days, a spectacle to excite\npity and horror, would not now be recognized in the talented young\nItalian Jesuit, Calmanotti. His mother tongue even was lost, but\na French father at Loretto gave him some books in his native\nlanguage, and urged him to recover it. After a time it came back,\nand he could read with ease.\n\nAs a teacher, he won the favor of his pupils and his superiors, for\nhe seemed to possess the _donum fam\u00e6_, that singular gift which\nconstitutes popularity, and wins its way with men of all nations\nand places.\n\nWhile pursuing his theology at Rome, he became acquainted with\nFather Poncet de la Rivi\u00e8re, a Parisian Jesuit just completing his\ndivinity course in the Holy City, destined at a later day to be\nhurried through Northern New York by savage captors and to reach\nthe Mohawk amid torture and suffering.\n\nOne day this father placed in the hands of his young and brilliant\ncountryman one of those Jesuit _Relations_ our bibliomaniacs now\nprize so highly. Chaumonot read with wonder and excited interest\nthe narrative of the heroic Br\u00e9beuf and his call for religious to\nlabor with him in converting the Indians of New France. To him it\nwas a personal call, and he responded. There were obstacles, but he\napplied for everything, permission to abridge his course of study,\npermission to be ordained, permission to start as early as possible\nfor France to catch the ships on their annual voyage.\n\nYet with all his eagerness and haste, he clung to one spot of\nItaly. He could not leave it without kneeling once more as a\npilgrim in the Santa Casa, and bearing it in his heart of hearts\nto the New World, till he could erect there a Loretto on the model\nof that he so revered. His devotion to the Holy Family led him to\nadopt the name of Joseph and Mary, and to choose for saying his\nfirst Mass the Loretto Chapel, erected after the model of the Santa\nCasa by Cardinal Pallotti.\n\nAn unfortunate hiatus in his autobiography prevents our following\nhim through France, and witnessing his meeting with his family\nand his long farewell. The uncle, we can well believe, readily\npardoned the escapade of one who was now showing such devotion and\nself-sacrifice; while the mother must have pressed to her heart the\nson now more than ever dear to her.\n\nThe Canada fleet sailed from Dieppe, and thither Chaumonot and\nPoncet bent their way. The fleet and its voyage are historical. As\nthe old chronicle remarks, it bore \u201ca College of Jesuits, a House\nof Hospital Nuns, and an Ursuline Convent,\u201d the last accompanied\nby Madame de la Peltrie, the foundress and Mother Mary of the\nIncarnation, as first superior. Of the Hospital Nuns--whose\ncontemplated establishment was endowed by Richelieu\u2019s niece, the\nDuchess d\u2019Aiguillon, and the great cardinal himself--Mary Guenet of\nSt. Ignatius had in chapter been appointed to assume direction. The\npassage of the ocean was not without its risks. Richelieu\u2019s attempt\nto create a French navy, and his motto, so adroitly alluding to the\narms of France:\n\n    \u201cFlorent quoque lilia pronto\u201d\n    (E\u2019en on the waters lilies bloom),\n\nhad excited jealousy, and cruisers, privateers of all kinds, were\nready to sweep away the cargoes destined for the colonies the\nfar-sighted minister sought to create.\n\nBut fearless of this danger the fleet swept out of Dieppe on the\n4th of May, 1639, and the convent life, with almost daily Masses,\nmade the flagship vie in its regularity with the time-honored\nmonasteries of the Old World.\n\nBut if the danger of hostile cruisers did not alarm them, the feast\nof the Holy Trinity came with a new peril. Dense fogs hung over the\nbosom of the ocean while the Masses were offered. Just as they had\nrisen from their adoration, a sailor on the deck shrieked: \u201cMercy!\nmercy! we are all lost!\u201d Through the lifting vapors he caught,\nwithin two fathoms of the ship\u2019s side, the flash and the glitter of\nice. While all sank in prayer, offering vows and Masses, and the\nUrsuline Sister St. Joseph began to chant the Litany of Loretto,\nthe vanishing mist showed them the fearful extent of their danger.\nThe iceberg towered high above their topmast, its summit still\nwreathed in a cloud of mist, while far and wide it extended over\nthe sea. \u201cYou would have called it a city,\u201d says Mother Mary of the\nIncarnation, \u201cand there are cities which are far less extensive\nthan this berg,\u201d with turrets and spires, streets and dwellings,\nas it were of crystal.\n\nThe sails were straining, the wind being full in their favor, and\nthe iceberg advancing. All passed in a moment. Captain Bontems\u2019\nvoice rang out, but providentially the man at the wheel, appalled\nby terror, gave a wrong movement, the wind suddenly changed, and\nthe vessel was saved, as the ice fairly grazed it, and bore away\nfrom the magnificent object that so recently sent a thrill through\nevery heart--even the best pilots averring that it was a miracle,\nas no human skill could have saved them.\n\nStill storms and fogs delayed the ships, and it was not till the\n15th of July that they entered the port of Tadoussac on the lower\nSt. Lawrence. Transferred to a fishing-smack, the whole party\nwere here detained several days, but at last on the 1st of August\nreached the lower town of Quebec.\n\nThe gallant Knight of Malta, Huault de Montmagny, Governor-General\nof Canada, received them at the wharf, and the city made it a\ngeneral holiday. As the nuns stepped on the American soil which was\nto be the scene of their labors for God and the Indians, they knelt\nto kiss the earth. All then proceeded to the church, where a Te\nDeum was chanted.\n\nFather Chaumonot was not to linger long at Quebec. A letter of\nAugust 7th announces that he with three other fathers was about\nto start for the Huron country. His stormy sea voyage of three\nmonths was followed by a month\u2019s journey over the rivers and lakes\nand through the vast forests of the New World. On the 10th of\nSeptember, the six Hurons ran their bark canoe ashore at the end of\nLake Tsirorgi, where Father Jerome Lalemant was at the moment in a\nrude cabin he had recently thrown up.\n\nChaumonot was on the field of his labor. Strange indeed was all\naround him. \u201cOur dwellings are of bark, like those of the Indians,\nwith no partitions except for the chapel. For want of table and\nfurniture, we eat on the ground and drink out of bark. Our kitchen\nand refectory furniture consists of a great wooden dish full of\n_sagamity_, which I can compare to nothing but the paste used for\nwall paper. Our bed is bark with a thin blanket; sheets we have\nnone, even in sickness; but the greatest inconvenience is the\nsmoke, which, for want of a chimney, fills the whole cabin.\u201d\n\n\u201cOur manner of announcing the Word of God to the Indians is not to\ngo up into a pulpit and preach in a public place; we must visit\neach house separately, and by the fire explain the mysteries of our\nholy faith to those who choose to listen to it.\u201d\n\nThe superior soon recognized in the young father--to whom the\nHurons gave the name of Oronhiaguehee (the Bearer of Heaven)--a\ngreat facility for languages, as well as zeal, courage, and\nperseverance.\n\nFather Chaumonot began his Huron labors at a critical moment. The\nmission among the Wyandot tribes, renewed by the great apostle\nBr\u00e9beuf soon after the restoration of Canada to France, had been\nfruitful in crosses and gave little to encourage the ministers of\nreligion.\n\nMost of these Indians, obdurate in their errors and superstitions,\nnot only turned a deaf ear to the teachings of the missionaries,\nbut, regarding them as powerful sorcerers, attributed to them every\nmisfortune that befel the tribe or any individual. In those wild\ncommunities, every one rights his own wrongs, real or imaginary.\nHence the fearless Jesuits actually carried their lives in their\nhands, never free from danger, or without the probability of being\ntomahawked.\n\nThe flotilla that brought up Father Chaumonot and Poncet carried\nalso the deadly small-pox. As it devastated town after town, the\nmissionaries were compelled to bear the responsibility of this\nnew scourge. Their very efforts to reach the sick, to baptize and\ninstruct, were resisted with superstitious terror; they were driven\nfrom cabins; and often, on reaching a town, would find every lodge\nclosed against them.\n\nTheir crosses were cut down, the crucifix torn from their necks,\nthe tomahawk often menaced their lives while on their errands of\nmercy or at prayer in their cabins.\n\nIt was a position to appall the stoutest heart. Yet Chaumonot\nentered on his work with alacrity and courage, fit associate\nfor those who had already braved all the risks and perils. None\nfaltered or hesitated.\n\nThey took, however, at this time an important step. To enable them\nto act more independently and give them at all times a place for\nretreats, as well as a centre of mission work, they established St.\nMary\u2019s, the first mission settlement in the West. It was on the\nriver Wye, easy of access from all the towns where they had been\nlaboring. From it the fathers, generally two together, proceeded to\nthe towns assigned as their field of labor.\n\nThe large fortified town of Ossossane was entrusted to Father\nRagueneau, and Chaumonot was named his assistant. Here the\nopposition and obduracy were such that they had actually driven out\nthe missionaries. The young Jesuit went forth bravely into this\nhardened field--Ossossane and twelve neighboring towns.\n\nIn St. Teresa, as the missionaries styled one of these villages,\na young man solicited instruction and seemed to hear it with\npleasure. While Father Ragueneau was speaking, another Indian\nrushed furiously in and ordered the two missionaries to be gone. As\nFather Ragueneau rose, the young man whom he had been instructing\nsprang upon him, tore his crucifix violently from his neck, and,\nbrandishing his tomahawk, bade him prepare to die. \u201cI fear not\ndeath,\u201d said Ragueneau; \u201cyou should thank me for what I have just\ntaught you. If you wish to kill me I shall not fly, for death will\nplace me in heaven.\u201d His tomahawk was raised, and he dealt the\nblow. \u201cFather Chaumonot and I thought that we that moment beheld\nour long-cherished desire gratified,\u201d but the blow was averted--how\nthey knew not. As he raised his hatchet again his arm was caught.\n\nOne day the two fathers were passing near a cabin full of sick\nHurons, whom they were not permitted to see. A bright little boy\nran out and welcomed them with kind words. His danger of taking the\nepidemic touched them. Father Ragueneau felt impelled not to lose\nthe opportunity which Providence seemed to offer them to baptize\nhim, and he asked our young missionary to baptize him secretly.\nFather Chaumonot took up a handful of snow, and, melting it in\nhis hand, poured it upon his head. The little fellow smiled, and\nthen, as though he had accomplished his errand, ran back to his\ndeath-stricken home. A few days later they heard that he had sunk\nunder the fatal malady.\n\nThe next year he was sent to the Arendaenronnon with Father Daniel.\nAs the great object was to learn the language, his experienced\ncompanion made him daily visit a certain number of cabins and\npick up all the words he could, writing them down. \u201cSo great a\nrepugnance had I to making these visits,\u201d he tells us, \u201cthat every\ntime I entered a cabin I seemed to be going to the torture, so much\ndid I shrink from the railleries to which I was subjected.\u201d\n\nAfter this rude apprenticeship he set out with the great Father\nBr\u00e9beuf to attempt to establish a mission among the Attiwandaronk,\na tribe lying on both sides of the Niagara, or, as they called it\nand one of their towns near the Senecas, Onguiaahra. This tribe,\nfiercer and more brutal than the Hurons, had hitherto observed a\nneutrality between them and the Iroquois--a fact which led the\nFrench to call them the Neutral Nation. A journey of four days and\nnights through the woods from Teananstayae on the Huron frontier\nbrought them to Kandoucho, the first of the Neuter towns.\n\nIn the beginning they were well received, and all awaited the\nreturn of the great chief Tsohahissen from war, there being no\none in his absence to treat with them; but gradually pagan Hurons\ncame, and represented the missionaries as great magicians who\nsought their ruin. Then every door was closed against them, and\nthey often nearly perished at night, deprived of all shelter. After\nvisiting eighteen towns, they sadly turned back towards Kandoucho,\nbut the snow came on so rapidly that they could not proceed beyond\nTeotongniaton. There they found a charitable woman who not only\nwelcomed them to her cabin, but during their twenty-five days\u2019\nstay was their patient and intelligent instructor in her language,\nenabling them to adapt the dictionary and grammar of the Huron\nlanguage to that of this nation.\n\nYet even this good woman could not protect her guests from all\ninjury. A crazy fellow in her cabin spat upon Father Chaumonot,\ntore his cassock, and kept up such a din that they could not sleep,\nand tore from their persons any object that took his fancy.\n\nAfter a stay of four months and a half they finally abandoned this\nfield, and the Neuter Nation rejected its last call, for it was\nsoon after destroyed by the Iroquois.\n\nStill greater suffering awaited him. With the early summer he\njoined Father Daniel once more. They entered the cabin of a dying\nwoman in the town of St. Michael to baptize her; one of her\nrelatives, incensed at this, awaited them without, and as Father\nChaumonot issued forth tore off his hat with one hand, and with\nthe other dealt him a terrible blow with a stone. \u201cI was stunned\nby the blow,\u201d says he, \u201cand the assassin seized his tomahawk to\nfinish me, but Father Daniel wrested it from his hands. I was\ntaken to our host\u2019s cabin, where another Indian was my charitable\nphysician. Seeing the large tumor I had on my head, he took another\nsharp stone to make some incision, through which he endeavored to\npress out all the extravasated blood, and then bathed the top of my\nhead with cold water, in which some pounded roots were steeped. He\ntook some of this infusion into his mouth and squirted it into the\nincisions. This treatment was so successful that I was soon well.\nGod was satisfied with my desire of martyrdom, or rather deemed\nme unworthy to die a victim to the hatred of the first of our\nsacraments.\u201d\n\nAmid such men, with all the horrors of war--for the Iroquois from\nNew York were gradually conquering the land--Chaumonot labored on,\nsuffering in health but undaunted and unappalled, even when, in\n1648, Father Daniel perished in his village, and in the following\nMarch Father Br\u00e9beuf and his young associate Gabriel Lalemant\nunderwent the fearful torture which gave them the highest crown\namong our martyrs.\n\nA general panic seized the Hurons after this last blow. \u201cAt the\ntime of this greatest defeat of the Huron nation,\u201d says Father\nChaumonot, \u201cI had charge of a town almost entirely Christian.\nThe Iroquois, having attacked the villages about ten miles off,\ngave our braves a chance to sally out and attack them; but the\nenemy were in greater force than they supposed, and our men\nwere defeated. Two days after their defeat news came that all\nour warriors were killed or taken. It was midnight when the\nintelligence came, and at once every cabin resounded with wailing,\nsobs, and piteous cries. You could hear nothing but wives bewailing\ntheir husbands, mothers mourning for their sons, and relatives\nlamenting the death or captivity of those nearest to them.\nThereupon an old man, justly fearing lest the Iroquois might dash\non the town, now deprived of its defenders, began to run through\nthe town crying: \u2018Fly! fly! let us escape; the hostile army is\ncoming to take us.\u2019\n\n\u201cAt this cry I ran out and hastened from cabin to cabin to\nbaptize the catechumens, confess the neophytes, and, arm all with\nprayer. As I made my round I saw that they were all abandoning\nthe place, to take refuge with a nation about thirty-three miles\ndistant. I followed these poor fugitives with the view of giving\nthem spiritual aid, and as I did not even think of taking any\nprovisions, I made the whole journey without eating or drinking or\never feeling any fatigue. While marching on, I thought only and\nbusied myself only with administering consolation to my flock,\ninstructing some, confessing others, baptizing those who had not\nyet received that sacrament. As it was still winter, I was forced\nto administer baptism with snow-water melted in my hands. What\nshowed me clearly that my strength in flight was given me from on\nhigh, is that a Frenchman in the party, a man incomparably stronger\nin constitution than I, almost perished on the way, spent with\nweariness and overexertion.\u201d\n\nHe was with the surviving missionaries when they committed to\nthe grave at St. Mary\u2019s the bodies of Br\u00e9beuf and Lalemant; and\nwhen tidings came of Garnier\u2019s heroic death, and of Chabanel\u2019s\ndisappearance, he accompanied the Hurons who fled to St. Joseph\u2019s\nIsland in Lake Huron. There is nothing in the annals of the\nmissions more touching than Father Chaumonot\u2019s letters describing\nthe fearful sufferings of the fugitives there.\n\nWhen they at last resolved to seek a refuge at Quebec with their\nallies the French, Father Chaumonot bore them company, bidding\nadieu to the land which for eleven years had been the constant\nscene of his labors.\n\nNo missionary had more thoroughly entered into the Indian character\nor identified himself with them in thought. To him, therefore, they\ngave the name which the illustrious Br\u00e9beuf had borne, that of\nHechon; and he was naturally the one to whose direction they were\ncommitted on Isle Orleans.\n\nHis labors on the Huron language were now probably completed. He\nhad thoroughly mastered it, and drew up a grammar and dictionary,\nwhich continued for years to be the guide, not only for Huron,\nbut for all the kindred Iroquois languages. \u201cIt pleased God,\u201d he\nsays, \u201cto give my work so much benediction, that there is no\nturn or subtlety in Huron, nor manner of expression, that I am\nnot acquainted with, or have not, so to say, discovered.\u201d This\nknowledge he attributed as much to prayer as to his natural talent\nand assiduity.\n\nHis grammar was published some years since in the second volume of\nthe _Collections_ of the Quebec Literary and Historical Society,\nand is one of the most important of those linguistic treasures\nwhich American ethnology owes to the early Catholic missionaries.\n\nFather Chaumonot had scarcely organized his Huron church on Isle\nOrleans when he was summoned to a new field. The Iroquois, their\nhands reeking with the blood of Goupil, Jogues, Daniel, Br\u00e9beuf,\nLalemant, Garnier, asked for missionaries. They began to respect\nthe faith which gave such heroes, able to read the grandeur of\nChristianity in the virtues of its apostles.\n\nFather le Moyne had led the way to Onondaga. Dablon and Chaumonot\nfollowed. In a general assembly of the cantons, Father Chaumonot\nproclaimed the faith with such eloquence, and in a style so\nadapted to reach the Indian mind, that the Indians lost their cold\nindifference, and applauded loudly, while Father Dablon himself\nlistened in wonder to the language of his fellow-missioner. The\nmission was established. Huron captives formed a nucleus, around\nwhich gathered Iroquois converts, warriors and matrons, sachems and\norators.\n\nThere was no sparing of vice. Amid all the suspicion that lurked\nin the Indian mind against the motives of the missionaries,\nand compelled constant discourses and apologies, the fearless\nmissionaries rebuked them for their evil life.\n\nOnce, when accusations were made that the blackgowns came to\ndiminish their numbers and blight their race, Father Chaumonot\nboldly retorted the charge on the men, and showed them that, by\ntheir infidelity and harshness to their wives, their divorces,\nabandoning them, and overtasking their strength, they caused the\ndeath of their children, and were forced to adopt captives to fill\ntheir cabins. Christian marriage alone, he showed them, could save\nthe race from extermination.\n\nThis advocacy of woman\u2019s real rights closed the mouths of his\nassailants, and so won the women of Onondaga to the cause of\nChristianity that they wished to render public thanks to the\nfearless missionary. They gave him a great banquet, to which they\ncame adorned in all their finest ornaments, to dance to the cadence\nof two native minstrels, while they sang his praises and thanked\nhim for his advocacy.\n\nStrange that alarmed statisticians in this country point now to the\nsame causes as producing the rapid decline in the birth-rate of the\nAmericans as a people, while the church, echoing Chaumonot\u2019s sermon\nof two centuries ago, points to the sacrament of matrimony as the\nonly sure hope for the country.\n\nThe Onondaga mission of 1655 is full of beautiful details. Its end\nwas strange and romantic. A plot formed for the destruction of all\nthe French was baffled by a secret flight, so adroitly managed that\nthe Indians believed that the French had become invisible.\n\nMontreal was the next field of our missionary. Here, in 1663, with\nthe aid of Madame d\u2019Ailleboust, Margaret Bourgeoys, foundress of\nthe Congregation Sisters, Mother de Br\u00e9soles, of the H\u00f4tel Dieu,\nand other pious persons, he founded a society which has for its\nmodel the Holy House of Nazareth, to which he was so devoted,\nand which has for two hundred years been the instrument of\nincalculable good in Canada--one of the mighty aids in maintaining\nthe family faith and family piety--the Society of the Holy Family.\nAmid our great wants is such a society, to sanctify Christian\nfamilies, by modelling them on that of Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.\n\nThe remnant of his Huron flock had gathered beneath the fort of\nQuebec, but before he returned permanently to them he was sent as\nchaplain to Fort Richelieu, at the mouth of the Sorel. Adapting\nhimself to any life, he labored among those committed to him with\nhis habitual zeal. He soon gained the hearts, not only of the\nprivate soldiers, but of the officers; and established among them\nregular practices of piety. One officer, touched by his words\nand example, hung up his sword at the altar, and, receiving in\ndue time holy orders, was for many years a devoted missionary in\nNova Scotia; while a soldier, formed by Father Chaumonot, devoted\nhimself to the service of the missionaries, and became an excellent\nteacher.\n\nAt last he is with his Hurons, never to leave them. He reared for\nthem the Chapel of Notre Dame de Foye, so called after a celebrated\nshrine of Mary near Dinan. A copy of the miraculous statue there\nvenerated excited the devotion of his flock, and was the instrument\nof God\u2019s blessings and favors. To commemorate these, the Hurons,\nthrough Father Chaumonot, sent to the Old World shrine a wampum\nbelt with the inscription, \u201c_Beata qu\u00e6 credidisti_,\u201d and this\ntoken of Indian homage was laid before the altar of Our Lady with\nthe offerings of kings and princes. Others followed the example,\nand to this day celebrated shrines in Belgium, France, and Italy\npreserve the wampum belts sent from the depths of our forests by\nthe converts of our early missionaries.\n\nSix years later, the wants of the Indians compelled them to select\na new site, where unbroken land and fuel were abundant. When it\nwas chosen, Father Chaumonot carried out a long-cherished design,\nand with the alms of the Children of Mary in Europe and America\nerected a brick chapel of the exact dimensions and arrangement of\nthe Santa Casa of Loretto. It soon became a renowned pilgrimage for\nthe supernatural favors obtained there. And here in this favored\nsanctuary the servant of Mary spent nearly a quarter of a century,\ngiving his time to God and his neighbor. He rose at two, spent four\nor five hours in prayer or contemplation, recited his office, said\nMass, preaching almost daily, then attended to the affairs of the\nmission, instructing some of his colleagues in Huron, catechising\nchildren; after a slight repast at noon, he again spent some time\nin prayer, and visited some cabins to give special instructions. At\nnightfall, his chapel was filled for evening prayer, and with his\nprivate devotions he closed his day.\n\nIn 1689, he celebrated at the Cathedral of Quebec the fiftieth\nanniversary of his first Mass, being the first one who had ever\nthere attained such years of ministry. The Governor and Intendant,\nwith many other persons of distinction, sought the privilege of\nreceiving at the hands of the venerable priest on this day.\n\nAt the close of the year 1692, he began to sink under a\ncomplication of disorders, and was conveyed to Quebec. He rallied\nfor a time, but after suffering intense pains, which he bore\nwith unshaken patience and admirable piety, he died the death\nof a saint. As such, his austerities, his mortifications, his\nuninterrupted union with God, his zeal and love for his neighbor,\nhad long caused him to be regarded. All gathered around his\nvenerated remains seeking some relic, and many afflicted in soul\nor body sought his intercession--as documents show, not without\neffect. His funeral was the most imposing yet seen in Canada.\nSuch was the repute of his sanctity that even Frontenac, the\nGovernor-General, bitter and fanatical in his hostility to the\nJesuits, attended, as well as the Bishop of Quebec, who had long\nrevered the aged missionary.\n\nNone who beheld his unpromising start in life could have dreamed of\nsuch a career or of such a close.\n\n\n\n\nPROTESTANT MISSIONS IN INDIA.[190]\n\n\nThe contents of this book, put forward with all the apparent\nsanction possible of the sect that employs Mr. Butler, may be\nlooked upon as the quintessence of all that has been or can be\nsaid on the subject of missions in Hindostan, by a writer who\nfeels that he has a claim to challenge our attention and command\nour belief. That it is orthodox in character, according to the\nnotions of his class, cannot be doubted in view of the official\nposition of the author, and the innumerable extracts from the\nOld and New Testaments, particularly the former, with which its\npages are interspersed; quotations the frequency of which, if not\nreflecting much credit on the reverend doctor by their charity or\nappositeness, give to the work an air of ponderous learning and\nholiness that must be highly relished by his brother Methodists.\nBut in justice to the author, it must be said that he does not\naltogether confine himself to the sacred writers. When the grandeur\nof the pagan temples or the horrors of Mohammedanism become too\ngreat even for his descriptive powers, he freely draws on that\nprofane child of the muses, Tom Moore, whose merits, however, he\nis careful, in his clerical capacity, to depreciate by assuring us\nthat the author of _Lalla Rookh_ \u201cwas for a good part of his life a\n_Romanist_\u201d; an objection which he seems to forget might be urged\nwith equal truthfulness against the majority of the gifted minds of\nthe past eighteen centuries, and even against the inspired penmen\nof the New Testament and the fathers of the church.\n\nHowever, aside from the attractions of the work in an artistic\npoint of view, we do no injustice in selecting it as a very\nfavorable specimen of this sort of literature, and, recognizing its\nauthor as a tried and approved servant of the Methodist Episcopal\nChurch, we shall proceed to gather from its veritable pages a\nhistory of his labors, sufferings, and triumphs in the cause of\nProtestant Christianity.\n\nIndia, as our readers are aware, is one of the most densely peopled\nand, in one sense, highly civilized of Asiatic countries. Its\npopulation numbers considerably more than two hundred millions,\nor about one-sixth of the whole human race, speaking many\nlanguages and professing various forms of faith. The Hindoos,\nthe original inhabitants, forming the mass of the people, are\npolytheists, worshipping according to the _Vedas_ and other books\nconsidered sacred, their priests being known to the Western world\nas Brahmins--an hereditary religio-social aristocracy, the most\nancient, and at one time considered the most learned, body of\nmen in existence. The Mohammedans, who are said to amount to\nsome twenty-five millions, are the descendants of the conquerors\nof the eleventh century, and follow more or less strictly the\nteachings of the Koran. The Brahminical classes or castes, which\nare numerous, though not enjoying their full immunities since the\nadvent of Europeans on their shores, are still ardently devoted to\nlearning, and indeed, in common with all their countrymen, may be\nsaid to develop remarkable mental acuteness and quick perception,\nthough still unfortunately strongly attached to the grossest forms\nof idolatry. To wean them from these degrading practices, and to\nintroduce in their stead the pure teaching of the Gospel, has\nbeen the professed object of the Protestant sects of Europe in\nsending out crowds of missionaries and innumerable Bibles since the\ncommencement of the century--a work in which some of their brothers\nin this country have not been behindhand. But American Methodism,\nuntil 1856, had no representative in the \u201cland of the Veda,\u201d and\nthe Indians up to that time were ignorant of its peculiar and\nmanifold blessings till Dr. Butler was despatched from Boston to\nenlighten them. He sailed in April, and arrived at Bareilly in\nthe autumn of that year, where, as he tells us, \u201chis appearance\ncaused a great deal of talk and excitement.\u201d He was accompanied\nfrom Allahabad by a native named Joel, wife and child, and, having\nhis own wife and two of his children with him, he commenced his\nlabors. This Joel, who is frequently mentioned in the book, was,\nit seems, already converted, and when transferred to Dr. Butler\nby his spiritual guardians they \u201cplayfully intimated that Joel\nhad been trained a Presbyterian, knew the Westminster Catechism,\nand was sound on the five points of Calvinism, and that they\nwould naturally expect him to continue in the faith even though\nhe was going with a Methodist missionary; but,\u201d continues the sly\ndoctor, \u201cI felt assured that these things would regulate themselves\nhereafter\u201d--and he was right, for, as he tells us in another place,\nhis faithful helper \u201cwas destined to become the first native\nminister of the Methodist Episcopal Church in India.\u201d He became in\na manner the corner-stone of the vast edifice that was about to be\nerected on the ruins of heathenism.\n\nWe have often heard the anecdote of lending a congregation, but\nthis is the first instance, within our knowledge, of borrowing, not\nto use a harsher term, a convert; still, we can sympathize with\nhonest Joel in the confusion of mind he must have experienced in\ndiscriminating between the Christianity of John Calvin and that of\nJohn Wesley, and his mystification at receiving as the Word of God\ntwo different and distinct versions of the same law, not to speak\nof his trying to expound them to his audience in his capacity of\nfirst native pastor. Still, he was a beginning, the nucleus of\nthat great conglomeration of religion and intelligence about to be\ncalled into existence by the potent spells of the grand magician.\nNor was he long left alone. There was a Christian girl, it seems,\nnamed Maria, who had formerly been converted by the Madras\nBaptists, but whom Dr. Butler speedily reconverted to Methodism.\n\u201cThis precious girl,\u201d says the author, \u201cwho, of her race and sex\nin Bareilly, alone loved us for the Gospel\u2019s sake, seemed raised\nup to encourage and aid us in our new mission;\u201d and with this\nencouragement, and two such followers, he forthwith set about the\nconversion of Rohilcund, having first secured \u201ca furnished house,\nand began to study the language.\u201d\n\nIf there is something absurd in the commencement of a Methodist\nchurch with only a Presbyterian and a Baptist, the idea conveyed\nin the last sentence is excessively ridiculous. Can we imagine a\nheaven-appointed minister, filled with holy energy, so eager to\nchristianize the heathen and elevate his mind that he leaves his\ndistant home and two of his (four) children in tears, penetrates\ninto the heart of the enemy\u2019s country, and, having made his\n\u201ccomfortable arrangements,\u201d established his wife and family, and\nprocured two ready-made helpers, quietly sits down for the first\ntime to learn the language of the highly astute and observant\npeople to whom he is sent to preach, and consequently ignorant of\nthe prejudices and doctrines against which he would have to combat?\nWe are not surprised therefore to hear that for several months\nafter the establishment of the mission Mr. Butler\u2019s congregation,\nas he delights to call it, did not increase perceptibly. Says Dr.\nRussell, a Protestant and the correspondent of England\u2019s leading\njournal: \u201cSo long as a Christian minister can argue with a Moulvie\nor a pundit with patience and ingenuity, he will be listened to\nwith interest and respect; he will be permitted to expound the\nScriptures, and to warn his hearers against the errors of their\nfaith, provided that he refrains from insulting, contemptuous,\nand irritating language; but if he be a mere ignorant, illiterate\nzealot, without any qualification (temporally speaking) except a\nknowledge of Hindostanee and good intentions, he may be exposed\nto the laughter, scorn, and even abuse of the crowded bazaar in\nconsequence of his manifest inability to meet the subtle objections\nof his keen and practised opponent. From what I have heard I regret\nto state my conviction is, that no considerable success, so far\nas human means are concerned, can be expected from the efforts of\nthose who are like the ancient apostles in all things but their\ninspiration and heavenly help.\u201d[191]\n\nIn May, 1857, the Sepoy rebellion, caused to a great extent by the\nconduct of just such \u201cilliterate zealots\u201d and the criminal neglect\nof the East India Company, broke out, and the terror extending to\nBareilly, the foreign women and children were ordered to be sent\nto the mountains for safety, Dr. Butler being advised to accompany\nthem. After \u201cprayerfully considering\u201d this message, he resolved\nnot to go, not to abandon his post in the hour of danger; but,\nwith the inconsistency of poor weak human nature, from which even\nmissionaries, it would appear, are not exempt, he tells us that\n\u201cbefore going to bed we arranged our clothes for a hasty flight\nshould any alarm be given.\u201d As the doctor is an advocate of the\nsuperiority of married over single missionaries, we give literally\nhis own account of the domestic scene that followed the warning,\nwhich, to say the least, is very complimentary to his amiable\nspouse:\n\n   \u201cAs soon as the adjutant had gone, I communicated the message\n  to Mrs. Butler. She received it with calmness, and we retired\n  to our room to pray together for divine direction. After I\n  had concluded my prayer, she began, and I may be excused in\n  saying that such a prayer I think I never heard; a martyr might\n  worthily have uttered it, it was so full of trust in God and\n  calm submission to his will. But when she came to plead for the\n  preservation of \u2018these innocent little ones,\u2019 she broke down\n  completely. We both felt we could die, if such were the will\n  of God; but it seemed too hard for poor human nature to leave\n  these little ones in such dreadful hands or perhaps to see them\n  butchered before our eyes! We knew that all this had been done\n  on Sunday last at Meerut, and we had no reason to expect more\n  mercy from those in whose power we were should they rise and\n  mutiny. But we tried hard to place them and ourselves, and the\n  mission of our beloved church, in the hands of God, and he did\n  calm our minds and enable us to confide in him. On arising from\n  our knees, I asked her what she thought we ought to do? Her reply\n  was that she could _not_ see our way clear to leave our post; she\n  thought our going would concede too much to Satan and to these\n  wretched men; that it would rather increase the panic; that it\n  might be difficult to collect again our little congregation if\n  we suspended our services; and, in fact, that we ought to remain\n  and trust in God. I immediately concurred, and wrote word to the\n  commanding officer.\u201d\n\nBut all flesh is weak. Notwithstanding the result of this combined\nappeal for \u201cdivine direction,\u201d the doctor knew better, and, instead\nof imitating his wife\u2019s brave determination in that trying hour, he\nhearkened to the counsel of a _Moonshee_, and Methodism, while it\nretained its missionary, lost its first and, it may be surmised,\nits only chance of having a martyr. \u201cBeing a Mohammedan,\u201d he\nsays, \u201cwith more worldly wisdom than consistency, and having a\npecuniary loss in the suspension of my lessons in the language,\nhis warning had much weight with me. I had then to settle the\nquestion raised by the commanding officer whether our resistance\nto going, under those circumstances, was not more a tempting of,\nrather than a trusting in, Providence? I hated to leave my post,\neven for a limited time. Yet to remain looked, as he argued, should\nan insurrection occur and I become a victim, like throwing away my\nlife without being able to do any good by it; and the Missionary\nBoard would probably have blamed me for not taking advice and\nacting on the prudence which foreseeth the evil and takes refuge\n\u2018till the indignation is overpast.\u2019\u201d Was there ever as prudent\nan apostle or one so entirely anxious to avoid (after death) the\nreproach of his superiors by the exhibition of too much courage?\nNot that he cared for his personal safety, by no means, but the\nthought of the censure he would have incurred for not having taken\nmore care of his precious life could not be endured. \u201cStill,\u201d\ncontinues this intrepid contemner of \u2018wifeless priests,\u2019 \u201chad I\nbeen _alone_, or could I have induced Mrs. B. to take the children\nand go without me (a proposition she met by declaring that she\nwould never consent to it, but would cling to her husband and\ncheerfully share his fate, whatever it might be), I would have\nremained. But then, to all the preceding reasons, the reflection\nwas added that Mrs. B.\u2019s situation required that if moved at all\nit must be then, as a little later flight would be impossible,\nand she and the children and myself must remain and take whatever\ndoom the mutineers chose to give us.\u201d What one of the \u201cwifeless\npriests\u201d would have done amid similar circumstances, those at all\nconversant with the history of Catholic missions in every portion\nof the world--and there is no part of it but has been hallowed by\ntheir footsteps--can be at a loss to determine; but then, those\nshort-sighted celibates have never allowed family or other human\nties to come between them and their manifest duty to their Master.\nThe result of the lady\u2019s sickness, so indelicately introduced, we\nthink, as a cloak for her husband\u2019s cowardice and hypocrisy, was,\nwe subsequently learn, the increase of the Methodist \u201ccongregation\u201d\nof India by one member known by the sobriquet of the \u201cmutiny baby,\u201d\nand it is pleasant to consider that, despite the disasters of the\ntimes, the conversion of the country was thus progressing, even\nthough slowly.\n\nMoved by all these considerations, the author left Bareilly\nwith his family, and proceeded to the assigned refuge in the\nmountains, some seventy miles distant, with surprising alacrity,\nconsidering that for many days after everything remained quiet in\nthe neighborhood. But what a hegira was that, so full of perils,\nadventures, and even miracles, performed, of course, by him alone!\nIn his narration of the journey he rises above himself, and becomes\nalmost apocalyptic in style. At one time, when the bearers showed\nan unwillingness to carry Mrs. B. and the children further, this\nwas his noble device:\n\n\u201cBut in spite of urging, there stood my men. It was an awful\nmoment. For a few minutes my agony was unutterable; I thought I had\ndone all I could, but now everything was on the brink of failure.\nI saw how \u2018vain\u2019 was the \u2018help of man,\u2019 and I turned aside into\nthe dark jungle, took off my hat, and lifted my heart to God. _If\never I prayed, I prayed then._ I besought God in mercy to influence\nthe hearts of these men, and decide for me in that solemn hour.\nI reminded him of the mercies that had hitherto followed us, and\nimplored his interference in this emergency. My prayer did not last\ntwo minutes, but how much I prayed in that time!\u201d\n\nNo wonder that his heart was glad at the result, particularly\nat the fact that the men not only took up their valuable burden\ncheerfully, but forgot to ask for their hire when their task\nwas accomplished, which to any one acquainted with that class\nof men in the East certainly savors of the supernatural. \u201cThe\ndivine interposition in the case will appear more manifest,\u201d\nhe modestly continues, \u201cwhen I add that even the \u2018bucksheesh\u2019\nfor which the bearers were contending they started off without\nstaying to ask for or receive.\u201d The ladies who met the party at\nthe first halting-place were astonished, and one of them, Miss Y.,\nasked: \u201cWhy, what could have happened to Mrs. Butler\u2019s bearers\nthat they started so cheerfully, and arrived here so soon without\ngiving her the least trouble?\u201d \u201cAh! she knew not,\u201d ejaculates the\nself-contained missionary, \u201cbut I knew, there is a God who heareth\nand answereth prayer!\u201d But let not this remark be misunderstood.\nThat initial lady, if at all in the flesh, was a Christian, and\nmust have believed in the efficacy of prayer. The true meaning is\nthat she did not know what a holy man Dr. Butler really was, and of\nwhat special graces he had became the favored recipient. Poor Miss\nY., how we commiserate her ignorance!\n\nWhile the civil war lasted, the refugees remained in the mountains\nat Nynee Tal, a pleasant summer resort, where, for a rent of\n$225, our missionary and family had no difficulty in securing the\ninevitable \u201cfurnished house,\u201d and, save an occasional scarcity of\nmilk for the baby, suffered no great inconvenience from want of\nthe necessaries and even luxuries of life. Food was readily and\ncheaply supplied by the natives, and the Nawab of Rampore, though\nan infidel, generously furnished them with food and money. Still,\nin this comfortable shelter, and while his brother missionaries\nwere exposed to all sorts of dangers, our hero was rivalling Nana\nSahib in the fierceness of his denunciation and maledictions;\nfor, while the rebellious Peishwa was petitioning his tutelary\ngods to destroy the English, and send them _en masse_ to the\ninfernal regions, the American Christian was invoking the Deity,\nin all the forms peculiar to Methodist camp-meeting exhorters, to\nweed out, root and branch, the very people to whom he had been\ncommissioned, and upon whose hospitality and forbearance so many of\nhis co-religionists depended for safety. The utter want of decency\nand common humanity exhibited by many of the Protestant ministers\nduring and subsequent to the war cannot better be illustrated than\nby transcribing the following gratuitous account given in this book\nof a visit to the deposed Emperor of Delhi while _in prison_:\n\n  \u201cA day or two previously, my friend, Rev. J. S. Woodside,\n  missionary of the American Presbyterian Church, was here. He\n  went to see the emperor, and took the opportunity of conversing\n  with him about Christianity. The old man assented to the general\n  excellence of the Gospel, but stoutly declared that it was\n  abrogated by the Koran--as Moses and the law were abolished by\n  Christ and the Gospel--so, he argued, Mohammed and the Koran had\n  superseded Christ and every previous revelation. Brother Woodside\n  calmly but firmly told him that, so far from this being the case,\n  _Mohammed was an impostor and the Koran a lie_, and that, unless\n  he repented and believed in Christ alone, without doubt he must\n  perish in his sins. He then proceeded to enforce upon his bigoted\n  hearer the only Gospel sermon which he had ever heard; and\n  Brother Woodside _was the very man to utter it_!\u201d\n\nSurely this Woodside, who could thus wantonly insult a feeble\nold man, the fallen monarch of two hundred millions of subjects,\nheathen though he was, must have been one of the ignorant zealots\nalluded to by Mr. Russell; and the writer who could mention him\nwith unctuous satisfaction runs the risk of being considered little\nbetter.\n\nFor nearly a year the missionary toils of Dr. Butler were\nsuspended; but when all danger was passed, he returned to his\nformer scene of action, or rather inaction, this time reinforced\nby two \u201cbrothers\u201d from America, who, having been lately ordained,\nknew as little of the language, religion, and disposition of the\nnatives as he did on his arrival. The reunion took place at Agra,\nand the trio, with their respective families, of course, proceeded\nto Nynee Tal, \u201cas we could there best devote ourselves,\u201d says\nthe author, \u201cto the acquisition of the language, and be ready to\ndescend to Bareilly and our other stations, where God had prepared\nour way, after the reoccupation of Rohilcund by the English\nGovernment\u201d--rather a strange precursor, we should suppose, for the\nservants of the Prince of Peace; but tastes, particularly Methodist\ntastes, cannot always be accounted for. The \u201cChurch in India\u201d also\nreceived at this time another valuable member (number four) in the\nperson of a small boy, the orphan of a deceased sepoy officer,\nwho had been found on the battle-field by Lieutenant Gowan, and\n\u201cmade over\u201d--to use his own expression to the superintendent--by\nthat officer. \u201cNo man in the East or in America,\u201d observes the\nmatter-of-fact missionary, \u201chas given half as much money to\ndevelop our work in India as Colonel Gowan has contributed.... His\nliberality to our mission work, up to the present, cannot be much\nless than $15,000.\u201d\n\nEncouragement also came from other official sources. His next step\nwas taken in the direction of Lucknow, \u201cwhere he was assured that\nhouses could at once be obtained by the assistance of Sir Robert\nMontgomery,\u201d Governor of Oude, and thither he bent his steps,\n\u201cescorted by relays of _sowars_ (cavalry), the general considering\nthe precaution necessary.\u201d Of the subsequent history of the\nmissions established in that city, Meradabad, near Nynee Tal, and\nthe old one at Bareilly, the book before us relates little. War,\nfamine, and pestilence, the three great scourges of mankind, seem\nto have been more effectual proselytizing agencies than the Bible\nand preaching. The first child in the orphanage established at\nthe latter place was, as we have seen, a waif from the rebellion,\nand when, in 1860, a dreadful famine occurred in Northern India,\n\u201cso decided and quick was the calamity, that before the English\nGovernment ascertained its extent, and could originate public works\nto arrest its severity, large numbers of the people had died of\nwant,\u201d and their children were left an easy prey to whoever cared\nto snatch them up. This specious excuse for the government brings\nto our mind the history of another famine which happened some\nyears previously nearer home, and which the same rulers failed to\nalleviate even to the extent of affording free transport for the\nfood provided for the sufferers by the generous people of this\ncountry. Though in the latter-mentioned case the victims were\nCatholics, not Hindoos, the advantage sought to be taken of the\ncalamity by a similar class of men was the same. \u201cThe idea came\nto us,\u201d says Dr. Butler, \u201cthat this emergency might be turned to\ngood account by our missionaries seizing on the opportunity thus\npresented,\u201d and it was therefore agreed among them to solicit the\nbodily possession of three hundred boys and girls. \u201cI wrote,\u201d he\ncontinues, \u201cto the Government; they were only too glad to consent\nand have the children off their hands.\u201d Of course they were, and\ndoubtless if he had asked for as many thousands, he would have got\nthem as readily. Nor was money wanting for the support of these new\n_prot\u00e9g\u00e9s_. \u201cResponses came pouring in from schools and individuals\nin America.... Individuals in India also, and government itself,\u201d\nsays the doctor, \u201ccame to our help.\u201d Even the Nawab of Rampore, \u201ca\nMohammedan sovereign in the vicinity\u201d--who, by the way, owed his\nposition to the English authorities--was put under contribution to\nthe amount of five hundred dollars. Still it was found difficult\nto introduce Methodism even among these destitute children; for\nelsewhere he acknowledges that out of nearly one hundred and fifty\ngirls, only about forty have been \u201csoundly converted.\u201d But no\neffect whatever could be produced on the children not actually\nstarving, even by the free use of money. Here is his own emphatic\nacknowledgment of the fact, on page 520:\n\n  \u201cEvery effort was made by our missionary ladies to obtain even\n  day-scholars from among the people, but such was then their\n  bitter prejudice against educating girls that they generally\n  treated the proposal with scorn. The ladies of our Bareilly\n  mission made a vigorous effort in that city to obtain even a few\n  scholars. They went from house to house, hired a suitable place\n  in which to hold a school, bought mats and necessary equipments,\n  offered even to _pay the girls_ some compensation for the time\n  expended, if they would only attend; but at the end of three\n  months they had only succeeded in inducing two children to come,\n  and one of these was unreliable. At length, tired out, they had\n  to abandon the effort as hopeless, until some change would come\n  over the minds of the people in favor of female education.\u201d\n\nThe system adopted towards the adult population was more\nquestionable, though equally unsuccessful. Rohilcund and Oude,\nthe scenes of the labors of the American Methodists, were also,\nit appears, great recruiting depots for the company\u2019s officers,\nwho, as the term of their sepoys expired, formerly allowed them\nto return home and enjoy liberal pensions, so that a large\nportion of the male population of those provinces were actually\ndependent on the company for the necessaries of life. The failure\nof the rebellion not only caused the breaking up of the sepoy\narmy, but the innocent were made to suffer with the guilty,\nfor the allowance that was paid to the superannuated soldiers\nfor past services ceased and general destitution prevailed. Of\nthis circumstance, the result of base ingratitude, the worthy\nmissionaries were not slow in taking advantage, hoping that, since\nprayer and exhortation had failed, the more tangible arguments of\nmeat and dollars might at least partially succeed. Previous to the\nwar the \u201cconverted\u201d native held, and as we shall presently see\nfor good reasons, a very unenviable position in the community.\nAccording to the author, \u201che was cut off and proscribed by his\nfriends, looked down upon too often by European officials,\u201d and\n\u201crefused all employment under government.\u201d But this was all changed\nby Montgomery, the local ruler of Oude, and Governor-General\nLawrence, who were favorable to the encouragement of native\nChristians. \u201cOther officials,\u201d we are told, \u201cdid the same.\nMerchants and traders also sought them, for they saw they could be\ntrusted. _Their value rose at once._\u201d \u201cAnd,\u201d adds Dr. Butler, \u201cthe\nrapid growth of the Christian church in India since that time, and\nespecially of the native ministry, will be fully exhibited in the\nstatistical tables which follow the next chapter.\u201d\n\nWe regret that he has not favored us with the details of this\nastonishing increase in the number of the faithful which so closely\nfollowed the distribution of government patronage and pecuniary\nrewards; but to our chagrin the indefatigable and sanguine\nmissionary, whom we have followed from Boston to the Himalayas,\nprayed with, in spirit, in the \u201cdark jungles,\u201d and moaned with in\nunison over the combined sins of the heathen and the _Romanist_,\nparts from us abruptly, leaving us the prey of a cruel suspicion\nthat, notwithstanding the generous donations of American friends,\nthe efficient aid of British officials, and, above all, his own\nsanctified character and wonderful intrepidity, his mission, like\nso many others undertaken in the same spirit, was, after all, a\nmelancholy failure. In winding up his long history, he tells us:\n\n  \u201cThe organization of the missions into an annual conference,\n  at the close of 1864, terminated my superintendency, while the\n  toil and care to which body and mind were subject during these\n  scenes, and in such a climate, were so exhausting that release\n  from further service there became indispensable. This release was\n  kindly granted by the bishop and the missionary board.\u201d\n\nNow, what were our reverend friend and his co-laborers doing\nduring the six years that followed the establishment of the three\nmissions which still manage to exist in India? Surely a lively and\nscriptural account of those toils and cares of which he speaks\nwould, particularly when told in his glowing style, be highly\ninteresting to the public. Chapters of his voluminous book are\ndevoted to descriptions of temples and tombs of the past ages, and\nsome hundreds of pages to a detailed account of the massacres,\nbattles and disasters incident to the civil war, but not a line\ndo we find in which may be traced the efficacy of the gospel as\npreached by such pious expounders, nor is mention made of a single\ngrown-up convert won to Methodism during the whole time, save\nthrough the agency of filthy lucre, the root of all evil. For our\nfurther information, it is true, he refers us to certain tables\nwith which he supplements his work, but that is small consolation,\nfor, though we believe in the old saying that figures cannot lie,\nwe are satisfied from an examination of the tables referred to\nthat this veracious character does not strictly apply to those who\ncollated them.\n\nFrom Table I. we gather that the Methodist Episcopal Church in\nIndia, in 1872, had no less than eighteen male and nineteen\nfemale missionaries of foreign birth in Rohilcund and Oude, and\neighty-six native assistants, with church-members, amounting in the\naggregate to five hundred and forty-one, so that every fourteen\nand a half members had one foreign missionary, or, counting the\nlocal preachers and exhorters, every _four_ converts may now enjoy\nthe sole solicitude of one spiritual guide at least! But in Table\nII., on the next page, the foreign missionaries are increased to\nforty-six, or one to every dozen actual Christians, and, taking\nthe entire force of foreign missionaries, native pastors, local\npreachers, exhorters, and teachers, the whole number of \u201claborers,\u201d\nmore or less dependent on the missionary fund for a livelihood, are\nreported at the handsome figure of _three hundred and sixty-six_,\ntwo laborers for every three members! But if we deduct the number\nof teachers returned at two hundred and thirty-four in Table II.\nfrom the whole number of members, we find that for every _thirty_\nmembers who are not laborers, and consequently derive no official\nbenefit from the church connection, there are _twenty-three_ who\ndo. Should matters go on as prosperously as they seem to have done\nfor a few years more, we hope to hear that every native convert who\nis not a pastor, exhorter, or teacher himself will be able to have\nthe sole and separate use of a missionary or an assistant for his\nown benefit. We expect, also, to find that the exhausting duties\nof the foreign missionaries in taking charge each of at least one\ndozen of converts, including the native preachers, exhorters, and\nteachers aforesaid, will be duly considered by the board, and\nthat reinforcements will be sent to them forthwith. What the\neighty-six native pastors and catechists, as returned in Table\nII., find to do except to preach to each other, we are at a loss\nto surmise. Perhaps, however, they look after certain individuals\nclassified as probationers and non-communicant adherents, and by\nthe help of which, and the children of the schools, the compiler\nendeavors to make out a show of figures. The former class he\ncounts at five hundred and twenty, and the latter at seven hundred\nand thirty-five, which, with nearly twelve hundred children and\nthe helpers, make the sum-total of the officers and rank and\nfile of the church three thousand and sixty-five, \u201call won for\nChrist since the rebellion closed.\u201d Now, taking these figures as\ncorrect in every particular, we arrive at the following curious\ncalculation, to which we respectfully call the attention of the\nadmirers of Protestant, and particularly Methodist, missions.\nAccording to their own showing, there is in India one missionary\nfor every _seventy-seven_ men, women, and children in the remotest\ndegree connected with the Methodist Church; leaving out the\nchildren, there is a foreign missionary for every forty native\nadults, and taking the _bona-fide_ church-members there is one\nduly commissioned American missionary for every _twelve_ converts!\nTaking the whole number of Christians at three thousand, we find\nthe annual conversions to have averaged two hundred and thirty,\nwhich amount being divided by forty-six makes the exact number of\n_five_ persons converted every year by each of our countrymen in\nIndia. If we leave out the children who as we have already seen,\nare simply given away by the authorities,[192] we reduce the whole\nnumber of yearly gains to one hundred and forty-five, or an average\nof _three_ annual converts for each foreign missionary; but when we\nonly count the actual church-members, we discover that forty-two\nnative persons are actually converted every year by forty-six\nAmerican missionaries, and this calculation agrees very nearly with\nthe statement of Dr. Butler, who says in a note to the very table\nto which he calls our attention, \u201cConversions during last year,\n56.\u201d How many years, missionaries, native pastors, and catechists\nwould be required at this rate to christianize the two hundred\nmillions of heathens in Hindostan is a problem too difficult for\nour solution.\n\nSo much for the wonderful progress of Methodism in India. Let us\nnow glance for a moment at the _personelle_ of the brands thus\nsnatched from the burning.\n\nThe ingenious attempt to make the public believe that any form\nof Protestantism has at length gained a foothold in Asia is more\ncommon than honest, and has been repeatedly exposed and censured\nby sectarian writers of all classes and degrees, many of whom have\nlived as missionaries in India, and know the truth by painful\nexperience. A few extracts from their works and speeches will\nsuffice to show at once the deficiencies of the would-be apostles,\nthe character of their neophytes, and the absolute falsity of such\nstatistics as we find in Butler\u2019s tables:\n\n  \u201cMissionaries have gone out from this country (England) who have\n  dishonored their great cause, and rather confirmed than shaken\n  the superstitions of the people they visited.\u201d--Cunningham\u2019s\n  _Christianity in India_, p. 147.\n\n  \u201cFrom the want of superintendence, it is painful to observe\n  that the characters of too many of the clergy are by no means\n  creditable to the doctrines they profess, which, together with\n  the unedifying contests that prevail among them even in the\n  pulpit, tend to lower the religion and its followers in the eyes\n  of the natives of every description.\u201d--Lord Valentia\u2019s _Travels_,\n  vol. i. p. 199.\n\n  \u201cA large portion of the sterility of our missions may be\n  attributed to that discord which Christianity (Protestantism)\n  exhibits in the very sight of the unbeliever.\u201d--Rev. Dr. Grant\u2019s\n  _Brompton Lectures_.\n\n  \u201cThe numerous missionaries, although they waste years and words,\n  and even money, have converted very few; yet when they have\n  induced one or two apparently to adopt their particular tenets,\n  it is their fashion to make a clamor in the newspapers and by\n  pamphlets, although too frequently they are not sure of their new\n  converts for any length of time.\u201d--Mackenna\u2019s _Ancient and Modern\n  India_, p. 516.\n\n  \u201cMissionaries announcing the conversion of a solitary Hindoo\n  among thousands of unbelievers are themselves frequently members\n  of some straggling sect, and too often the instruments of\n  fanatical bigotry.\u201d--_Travels in India and Kashmir_, p. 195.\n\nIt is needless to multiply further such sketches of the unfitness\nof the shepherds, for the reader will easily find them, and\ngenerally much more strongly drawn, in any impartial work on\nBritish India. Let us, however, take a glance at the moral and\nsocial status of the spiritual flocks, whose members, before the\narrival of Montgomery and Lawrence, found it so difficult to\nobtain situations. Captain Hervey, in his _Ten Years in India_,\ntells us that, whenever a native convert wishes employment as a\nservant, \u201che is not taken, because all Christians, with but few\nexceptions, are looked upon as great vagabonds, drunkards, thieves,\nand reprobates.\u201d A writer in the _Edinburgh Review_, vol. xii.,\nassures us that \u201cwhoever has seen much of Christian Hindoos must\nperceive that the man who bears that name is very commonly nothing\nmore than a drunken reprobate who conceives himself at liberty\nto eat or drink anything he pleases.\u201d The Baptist \u201cconverts,\u201d we\nare assured by Rev. John Bowen, in his _Missionary Incitement_,\netc., are accused of wallowing in every crime that \u201cdegrades human\nnature,\u201d and deserve the accusation. The Rev. Mr. Schneider,\nwriting from Agra, in Dr. Butler\u2019s neighborhood, assures us that\nthe \u201cmotives of the Hindoos for embracing Christianity were chiefly\nthe desire of employment and to have their bodily wants provided\nfor.\u201d \u201cIt is a fact,\u201d he adds, \u201cthat many new converts have, after\ntheir baptism, not adorned their Christian profession, and so have\never proved great offences and stumbling-blocks to the cause of\nChrist.\u201d Of the Baptist converts in the same place, we learn from\ntheir _seventieth report_ (1862), that \u201cwhat with members who\nhave left the station, and others (including paid catechists) who\nhave been cut off for immoral conduct, our loss has been heavy;\nwhile in the city of Delhi in the same year sixty-six persons\nwere baptized and _seventy-five_ excluded from the churches.\u201d\nThe author of _India and the Gospel_, a Protestant missionary of\nCentral India, candidly says: \u201cI have met with native Christians\nwho have been baptized, some on the eastern, some on the western\ncoast, and others at some southern stations--lamentable to say,\nthey were not to be known from the heathen but in name.\u201d Mr. Marsh\ndeclared some years ago in the English House of Commons, speaking\nof Indian converts generally: \u201cThey are drawn from the Chandalahs,\nor Pariahs, or outcasts--a portion of the population who are shut\nout from the Hindoo religion, and who, being condemned to the\nlowest poverty and most sordid occupations, are glad to procure by\nwhat the missionaries call conversion whatever pittance they are\nenabled to dole out for their subsistence.\u201d But it appears that the\nbad character of the Protestant converts has even a more disastrous\neffect than that produced on the reputation of their sponsors.\nMr. David Hopkins, of the Bengal Medical Establishment, in his\nwork on India, asserts, in reply to some overzealous advocate of\nProtestantism, \u201cthe outcasts have indeed joined the missionaries,\nand have appeared as of their faith; but the conduct of these\noutcasts has generally proved that they professed what they did not\nfeel, and has considerably influenced the higher orders in their\nprejudices against Christianity.\u201d\n\nIf we proceed still further, we will find from these reiterated\ncomplaints of the influence of Protestantism in the East, how much\nit perverts whatever sense of natural justice may remain in the\nheathen, and, by appealing to his basest passions, renders him\nan object of contempt and mistrust even to his less enlightened\nfellows--for there are few of the Indian population so mentally\nobtuse as not to recognize the rankest hypocrisy and mendacity,\nthough they be covered with the garb of religion. How far such\nmen as Dr. Butler is justified in claiming three hundred and\nfifty thousand native _Christians_ (Protestants) as the result of\nsectarian teaching and zeal in India is not easily determined.\nIn 1850, General Briggs noticed that the missionaries reckoned\nbut one in every six nominal converts as church members; the Rev.\nMr. Ward, a missionary, states that of the number of converts\nof every sort reported to the home societies not one in ten is\nactually converted.[193] A writer in the _United Service Gazette_,\nwho had served as an officer in India in 1856, declared that,\nthough the missionaries reported their disciples by thousands,\nan omnibus would hold all the sincere native Protestants then in\nthe peninsula, while a later authority, Rev. E. Storrow, in his\nbook on _Indian Missions, etc._, is not willing to claim more than\none-fifth of all the so-called converts as Christians even in his\nindefinite sense of that term. Following the Storrow method of\ncomputation, therefore, and applying it to the doctor\u2019s tables,\nwe arrive at the following results: There are at the present day\nthree hundred and fifty thousand men, women, and children in\nIndia claimed to belong to the various denominations, seventy\nthousand of whom Mr. Minturn, in his _From New York to Delhi_,\nemphatically says \u201care mostly of the most degraded classes,\u201d and\nno less than two hundred and eighty thousand who disgrace the name\nof Christianity by debauchery, theft, hypocrisy, and immorality of\nevery sort in its most degrading shapes. Of the former we freely\naccord to Methodism six hundred, and of the latter four times the\nnumber.\n\nBut Dr. Butler has many arrows in his quiver to be discharged\nagainst that target of sectarian animosity, _Romanism_, and\nother claims to public sympathy and patronage broadly set forth\nin his manifold tables. It is the question of education, and on\nthis his figures assume a prodigious magnitude. The Methodist\nday-schools in India, he tells us, number one hundred and sixteen,\nthe teachers two hundred and thirty-four, and the pupils four\nthousand four hundred and sixty-two. If these children were all\nProtestants, it might indeed be a source of some congratulation\nto his friends, but unfortunately only a little over a thousand\nof them attend Sunday-school, and the balance, considerably over\nthree thousand, are being \u201ceducated\u201d to stigmatize the Methodists\nthemselves as infidels, and to deny the first principles upon\nwhich all religion is founded. That this, though a startling\nview to some persons, is nevertheless a correct one, we have the\nmost indisputable Protestant evidence, and what applies to the\nMethodists in particular, is general to all the sects in Hindostan;\nwho, collectively, are said in Table II. to be educating one\nhundred and thirty-seven thousand children, of whom more than _one\nhundred thousand_ are not brought up in any form of faith known\nto Christianity. \u201cThe colleges of India,\u201d says Major H. Bevan,\n\u201creceive fanatical idolaters, they disgorge only hypocrites.\u201d[194]\nThe author of _Tropical Sketches_ avers, in allusion to the same\ninstitutions, \u201cthe results have been great intellectual acuteness\nand total want of moral principle; utter infidelity in religion,\netc.\u201d According to the Parliamentary reports, out of over seventeen\nthousand pupils educated at the public expense, only three hundred\neven professed the religion of the state. At Benares, where there\nare fourteen missionary schools, not one conversion is reported;\nand the Rev. Mr. Percival, in his _Land of the Veda_, goes the\nlength of saying that \u201cin almost every part of India the spread\nof the English language and literature is rapidly altering the\nphases of the Hindoo mind, giving it a sceptical, infidel cast,\u201d\nwhile the Rev. Mr. Clarkson goes further, and adds: \u201cSome have\nargued that the Indians, by receiving an education which undermines\ntheir superstitions, are being prepared for the reception of\nChristianity. We believe that they are being prepared for occupying\na position directly antagonistic to it. Several documents from\nmissionaries at Bombay, Poonah, Surat, Calcutta, Delhi, Madras, and\nBenares _corroborate all that I have stated_.... None can doubt\nthat infidelity in its most absolute sense is on the increase.\nThere is no connection between the natives ceasing to be Hindoos\nand becoming Christians.\u201d[195] Dr. Grant also gives his testimony\nof the effects of missionary schools: \u201cIt is the universal\nconfession,\u201d he says, speaking for his brother missionaries, \u201cthat\nbut very few of the children so educated embrace the Christian\nfaith\u201d; and even the orphans, we are told by Count Warren, \u201cwhen\nthey grow up, all return to the religion of their ancestors.\u201d\nLastly, the Indian correspondent of the leading organ of public\nopinion in England thus sums up the whole question:\n\n  \u201cMissionary schools do not make more converts to Christianity\n  than Government schools. A most zealous missionary in India\n  assured me, with tears in his eyes, that, after twenty-five\n  years\u2019 experience, he looked upon the conversion of the Hindoos\n  under present circumstances to be hopeless, without the\n  interposition of a miracle.\u201d[196]\n\nWe pause here, for the subject becomes too deeply painful for\ncontemplation, even at a distance. To think that, in this age of\nboasted civilization and religious progress, one of the fairest\nportions of the habitable globe, filled with millions and millions\nof our fellow-men, in many respects at least our equals in natural\ngifts, should still not only be ignorant of the worship of the\ntrue God, but that, through the instrumentality of the ministers\nof the discordant, jarring Protestant sects, and from their desire\nto forward their own selfish ends, the natives, instead of being\ntaught the beauties of Christianity, are actually led to deny even\nthe existence of a superior power, and by the miserable examples\nset before them, are forced to despise and hate the very name\nof Christ\u2019s followers. We arraign Protestantism of this great\ncrime, and we ask the serious attention of every candid man, no\nmatter what may be his religious opinions, to the authorities\nabove cited in support of our indictment. The British Government,\nthrough its armed mercenaries and no less corrupt civil officials,\nhave doubtless inflicted dire and manifold cruelties on the\nIndians, but the evils perpetrated by the sectarian missionaries\nof this country and Europe on those unfortunate people are\nbeyond all comparison greater, for they are more far-searching\nand permanent. Human laws and agencies may strip a conquered\nnation of its wealth and liberties, but it requires the aid of\nthe missionary and _colporteur_ to rob it of even the semblance\nof religion and morality, and by the means of what is so falsely\ncalled \u201ceducation,\u201d to plunge it into the depths of unbelief and\ncomplete spiritual degradation. This is what Protestant England\nis endeavoring, and, as we have seen, with some success, to do in\nHindostan, and in what the generous but easily-duped people of\nAmerica are endeavoring to rival it. To christianize, in any sense,\nthe Hindoos has been found an impossibility by the well-paid and\nwell-fed sectarian missionaries, so they are now trying to earn\ntheir salaries by utterly demoralizing the people they have failed\nto convert.\n\nThey are aided in this by the active countenance of the dominant\npower, by no less than twenty-seven distinct societies, and have\nat their disposal unlimited funds; a great portion of which is\nmade up of the annual contributions of the people of the United\nStates. Of the five and a quarter millions subscribed by the\nvarious Protestant societies of the world in 1871, considerably\nover a million and a half of dollars came out of the pockets of\nAmericans, as we learn from Table IV., and doubtless money will\ncontinue to flow into the coffers of these organizations as long\nas they can continue to delude the charitable by false hopes and\nbombastic reports of missionary successes. We are not of those who\nare disposed to consider the conversion of souls from a commercial\npoint of view; on the contrary, we are rather in favor even of the\nlavish expenditure of money, if by that means we can win men to\nChrist and to the inheritance of his kingdom; but when it becomes\nan instrument to rob the parent of his child, to convert the\nheathen not through his mind but his stomach, to bring Christianity\ninto disrepute by sustaining the dissolute and degraded, to pervert\nthe mental gifts of Providence by teaching the heathen that all\nreligion is imposture,[197] and by supporting and sustaining\nthousands of lay and clerical officials who are as destitute of\nreal sympathy for the pagan as they are ignorant of the first\nprinciples of Christian charity and responsibility--all of which it\nhas done and is doing in India--we consider that it may justly be\nasserted that what was meant for a blessing becomes a curse to the\ndonor as well as the recipient.\n\nDr. Butler in one of his tables shows that the Catholic Church\nmissions, embracing nearly nine millions of Christians, expend less\nthan a million dollars annually, while those of the Protestant\nsects, ostensibly counting about a third of that number, cost five\nand a half times that amount, and would have us believe from this\nthat Protestantism exhibits more vitality and zeal in the cause\nof religion than does the church. But the contrary is the fact.\nUnlike the sectarian, whose inducement arises out of and is in\nproportion to the amount of his salary, the Catholic missionary\ngoes forth into the pagan world, without money, friends, or family\nencumbrances; he forsakes all comforts and material pleasures to\npreach Christ crucified; his energy is not of the earth, earthy,\nhis inspiration is from a power higher than that of man, and as his\nlife is one long-continued sermon on temperance, forgiveness, and\nself-abnegation, his success is always in proportion, not to the\nmoney employed, but to the sanctity of the preacher. He does not\ndistribute badly translated and often unreadable copies of the Word\nof God, \u201cin thirty-seven languages\u201d as claimed for the Protestants\nby Dr. Butler, to persons who can neither read nor appreciate\nthem; but, living sparingly, dressing humbly, and conforming in\nall respects his daily practice to his clerical professions, he\nwins to the standard of Christ the rich as well as the poor, the\nignorant _pariah_ as well as the learned and disputatious pundit.\nEven Protestants, missionaries at that, have seen through their\nprejudices, the uniform success of the Catholic teachers, and while\ntheir system does not allow them to imitate their example, they\nhave nevertheless borne unwilling testimony, and therefore more\nvaluable, to the superiority in point of morality and ability of\nthe servants of the church. In India to-day, even Dr. Butler is\nforced to admit there are close on a million actual practical\nCatholics, with hundreds of churches, and a ministry of foreign and\nnative priests amounting to seven hundred and seventy-nine, who\nare supported at an expense to the Society _de Propaganda Fide_\nof twenty-eight thousand dollars, while their schools, numbering\naccording to the _Catholic Register_ of 1869 one thousand, contain\nover thirty thousand native pupils. Dr. Butler has called our\nattention to his tables, we have given them serious attention, and\nhave even taken his own figures as thoroughly exact, and we have\ncome to the conclusion that he must either have had a very limited\nappreciation of the perspicacity of his readers, or recklessness of\ncharacter in thus exposing the hollowness of Protestant professions\nof progress, superinduced by the complete failure of himself and\nhis co-laborers to vitalize in the far East the decaying body of\nProtestantism, which is so fast degenerating into materialism and\nscepticism in the West.\n\nThere are one or two points more, overlooked in passing, of which\nwe wish to take note. Dr. Butler has included that part of Farther\nIndia in his tables, which will help him to swell the number of\nhis converts, and excluded that part of it in which the Catholic\nreligion flourishes. Include the whole, and you add 500,000 to\nthe number of native Catholics in India. Again, he repeats the\nunmeaning, silly twaddle which we hear without ceasing from\nwriters of the same sort, that Protestant missionaries make real\nChristians, Catholic missionaries only nominal ones. Methodist\nreligion consists in emotion and excitement, the most unreal of all\nthings. So far as it is worth anything, there is far more sensible\ndevotion, although of a more quiet and sober kind, among Catholics\nthan among any class of Protestants. But this is not the essence of\nreligion. To be a Christian is to believe the revelation and keep\nthe commandments of God. Whoever says that Catholic missionaries\ndo not carefully instruct their converts in the doctrines of the\nfaith and in sound morals, and endeavor to make them both pious\nand virtuous, is either a slanderer or the dupe of some slanderer.\nLet every one who wishes to know the truth read the work of Dr.\nMarshall, and ponder the evidence he has collected. Dr. Butler\u2019s\neffort to weaken its influence, like every other attempt of the\nsame sort, has proved abortive.\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[190] _The Land of the Veda._ Being Personal Reminiscences of\nIndia, etc. By Rev. William Butler, D.D. New York: Carlton &\nLanahan. 1872.\n\n[191] _The_ (London) _Times_, March 17, 1859.\n\n[192] Alluding to the famine season, Baron von Schonberg says: \u201cSix\nhundred children were purchased for eighteen hundred rupees, which\ncertainly was not an exorbitant price.\u201d--_Travels in India and\nKashmir_, vol. i. p. 193. This was at the rate of a dollar and a\nhalf a head.\n\n[193] _India and the Hindoos_, p. 337.\n\n[194] _Thirty Years in India_, p. 239.\n\n[195] _India and the Gospel_, p. 279.\n\n[196] _The_ (London) _Times_, 1858.\n\n[197] \u201cThey [the pupils of the secular and missionary schools] have\nno more faith in Jesus Christ than in their own religion. They\nbelieve the Jesus of the English and the Krishna of the Hindoos to\nbe alike impostors.\u201d--_Six Years in India_, vol. iii. p. 277.\n\n\n\n\nON THE MISTY MOUNTAIN.\n\n\nROUTE I.\n\nIt was in the by-gone days of the Misty Mountain Stage and Express\nCompany--only a few years ago by actual chronological computation,\nit is true; but at least a half a century by the change effected in\nthe less than demi-decade which has passed.\n\nDo you know that at times, when I contemplate this change, I can\nscarcely realize that I have lived long enough to have lived\nthrough it? I often feel as if the memory of the things that were\nis the reflection of experiences in a former state of existence, so\ndifferent is the _what is_ from the _what was_. I feel burdened by\ngreat personal antiquity, and cannot help considering myself a sort\nof Methusalem le Petit. I have seen the great plains spanned by the\nrail and the wire. The smoking, shrieking steed of steam drinks the\nwaters of the fork of the Misty Mountain, sacred but a year or two\nago to the pony of the red man. The journey which occupied weeks to\naccomplish ten years past is now made in a few hours, and lightning\nwhispers are interchanged between the Atlantic and the Pacific.\n\nMy good old Uncle Joe, an old-time leather-dealer in the \u201cSwamp\u201d\nin New York City--who, a bachelor, had adopted me, an orphan, and,\nhaving educated me, had assigned me a desk in the dingy old office\nwith the leathery smell--told me one day, without any previous\nwarning, that he wished me to start without delay for the Stony\nSierra to look after some of his business interests in that region.\nThat was my Uncle Joe\u2019s way of doing things. His engagements\ndid not permit his leaving New York at the time. Besides, he had\ncrossed the great plains more than twice or thrice, and had had\nenough of them. But as I had not had any of them, a little, he\nthought, would do me good, and he proposed to give it me.\n\nMy journey to the (then) end of railroad communication was\nremarkable only for the general railway decadence which, commencing\nat Chicago, increased \u201cin inverse ratio to the square of the\ndistance from our objective point,\u201d as the elegant English of\nthe telegraph would phrase it. The conductor grew familiar with\nthe passengers, who grew fewer. The various characters of the\n\u201cnewspaper boy,\u201d the vegetable-ivory notion vender, the \u201cice-cold\nlemonade\u201d boy, the candy-seller, the cigar boy, the bookseller,\nthe apple and orange boy, were all performed by one and the same\nprotean youngster. The passengers had dwindled so that it would not\npay to invest two boys in that dramatic business. At length, the\nThespian youth, tired of playing a dozen different characters to\nempty cars, threw off all his disguises at once, and subsided into\na mere passenger like the rest of us.\n\nA sudden shock brought a slight nap in which I was indulging\nto a timely end. The train had stopped. The pitiful account of\npassengers were on their feet, some leaving the car, others looking\nabout them with an expression of interrogative imbecility, when the\nbrakeman shouted out:\n\n\u201cDevil\u2019s Landing--end o\u2019 track!\u201d\n\nNo danger of taking a wrong train now. So we passengers, four in\nnumber, left the car. We concluded a hasty agreement to stick\nto each other as fellow-men and fellow-passengers, we four\nwaifs washed on the shore of barbarism by the advancing tide of\ncivilization. A fellow-feeling of lost-sheepiness made us wondrous\nkind to each other.\n\nI accosted a small, dried-up, hard-featured old fellow of eighteen\nor nineteen:\n\n\u201cAny hotels here?\u201d\n\nAnswer (in an intensely contemptuous manner): \u201cNo!\u201d\n\n\u201cAny restaurants--eating-houses?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, four on \u2019em: the \u2019Merik\u2019n House, the Mansh\u2019n House, the\nPacific S\u2019loon, and Jack Langford\u2019s dug-out.\u201d\n\nFinding the old juvenile so communicative, and having more\nquestions to propound, we propitiate him by offering a cigar in\nrecognition of his social and chronological equality, and in proof\nthat we are not \u201cstuck-up snobs from the East.\u201d He takes the cigar\nbrusquely without oral signification of acceptance or expression\nof thanks. He bites the end off wolfishly, and places the cigar as\nnear his ear as possible. We offer him a match. He takes it, puts\nit into his vest-pocket, saying:\n\n\u201cGuess I\u2019ll take a dry smoke.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich is the best of the hotels or eating-houses?\u201d\n\n\u201cAll doggoned bad.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich is the cleanest?\u201d\n\n\u201cAll doggoned dirty.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich is the cheapest?\u201d\n\n\u201cAll doggoned dear.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich is the quietest?\u201d\n\n\u201cDoggoned row goin\u2019 on in all of \u2019em most o\u2019 the time. Man killed\nat some one on \u2019em \u2019most every night, and a brace or more on\ndance-nights.\u201d\n\nWe requested him to direct us to the \u201cAmerican\u201d or the \u201cMansion\nHouse.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t need to go far. That,\u201d said he, indicating by a movement of\nhis cigar and his lower jaw a partially finished \u201cballoon-frame\u201d\nhouse about thirty yards to the right, \u201cis the \u2019Merik\u2019n; and that,\u201d\nindicating in like manner a canvas shed to the left, \u201cis the\nMansh\u2019n House.\u201d\n\nDevil\u2019s Landing consisted of about a dozen mushroom edifices and\nabout as many \u201cdug-outs.\u201d On reflection, we concluded to try the\n\u201cAmerican House.\u201d\n\nA small space cut off by an unpainted counter served for an office,\nbut no \u201cregister\u201d was displayed. The establishment had only very\nrecently been moved up, the official behind the counter informed\nus, from the last resting-place by the way of runners with the\nrails.\n\nA look at the \u201csleeping apartments\u201d was sufficient for me. I\ndetermined not to sleep in any of them if I could possibly help it.\n\nI went back to the functionary at the counter, and asked the time\nof departure of the Misty Mountain coach, and learned that a coach\nleft the same afternoon, and that there was one place vacant. I\nengaged the seat at once, glad to escape the horrors of a night in\nthe American House and Devil\u2019s Landing. My fellow-passengers wished\nme to wait for the next day\u2019s coach, but I declined. When we agreed\nto stick together, I knew nothing of the American House.\n\nWe had dinner. It consisted of very fat and very rusty bacon, putty\nbiscuits, and mud coffee without milk.\n\n\u201cThe cows have not come in,\u201d said one of the greasy waiters, when I\nasked for milk.\n\n\u201cThe cows never do come home here,\u201d whispered a neighbor, evidently\nan _habitu\u00e9_.\n\nIt was toward the close of August, and the heat was excessive. The\nsun shone mercilessly on us through the partially glazed and wholly\nuncurtained windows. Yet we ate and perspired, and perspired and\ndrank mud coffee, with a persistency which astonished me when after\nthinking on these matters.\n\nThe flies were terrible. They swept around the room in buzzing\nclouds. Some of them were nearly large enough to offer a fair\nmark for a shot-gun; the smaller ones insinuated themselves\neverywhere--into your nose, ears, eyes--aye, even into your mouth.\nThey immolated themselves in the frowzy, oily butter; and their\nremains studded the reeking mass like currants in a pudding.\n\nSuch a wonderful effect has the pure prairie air--it doth so whet\nthe edge of appetite--that, though our eyes were shocked, we ate\nand ate, and our sense of taste was not offended. The meal only\ncost us two dollars apiece.\n\nAfter dinner, I lit a fifty-cent Devil\u2019s Landing cigar, and walked\n(literally) around town--a perambulation which did not quite occupy\nfive minutes. As I finished my walk, a shot was fired at the\nother end of town--that is, within fifteen or twenty rods. Other\nshots followed. A long-haired, slouched-hatted, and red-legginged\nindividual dashed past on a pretty good horse. Evidently he was the\nmark at which the firing was directed. As he passed, an armed man\nor two rushed out of every house and shot at him. The proprietor\nof the Oriental Saloon came forth, armed with a Henry rifle, and\ndeliberately blazed away at the long-haired fugitive. The latter,\nfinding bullets in front of him, bullets to left of him, bullets\nbehind him, after several miraculous escapes from close shots, had\nno course open but to turn to right of him, around the corner of\nthe American House, which would afford him some cover. But just\nas he turned, his horse was hit in the off fore-leg and brought\nto in a moment. Immediately he was hemmed in by the muzzles of\ntwenty repeating-rifles. He had emptied his six-shooter. Flight\nwas impossible. There was no course but surrender--not even\nsuicide--left. He jumped from his horse, and sat down cross-legged\non the ground. He was quickly seized and pinioned. His horse was\ntaken in charge by a citizen. No words were wasted on either side.\nHis lariat of horse-hair furnished a deadly loop, which was placed\naround his neck. He was marched about a mile to the only tree in\nsight--an old cottonwood.\n\nWhile the crowd was going to the tree, the clerk of the American\nHouse told me in a few words the history of the long-haired victim.\nHe was a half-breed Choctaw, frequently employed as a scout by\nthe government. There were several of these scouts in the region.\nThey called themselves \u201cwolves,\u201d and prided themselves on their\ndestruction of human life. When any of them came into town citizens\nwere sure to be shot at. Their favorite way of leaving town was,\nhaving first filled themselves with \u201cfighting whiskey,\u201d to dash\nthrough at full speed, discharging their revolvers at anything\nhuman that chanced to appear in their path. The citizens had\ndetermined not to stand this sort of thing any longer. \u201cJohnny\nHenshaw\u201d--so our \u201cwolf\u201d was called--had been drinking rather freely\nof late. He had declared his intention of shooting three prominent\nmen of the town, mentioning them by name. Hence the measures about\nto be taken.\n\nJohnny Henshaw seemed to be about twenty years old--indeed rather\nunder than over that age. There was nothing in his features to show\na trace of Indian blood. His hair was light brown, his eyes a soft,\nlight blue, his skin fair, and his cheeks rosy. The expression of\nhis face was gentle and pleasing. It made me heart-sick to look at\nthe young fellow, even though he was a wolf and deserved a wolf\u2019s\nfate, and to think that in the midst of health and strength and\nyouth he was marching to a speedy death. As we came near the fatal\ntree, I tried to imagine what thoughts were passing in the outlaw\u2019s\nmind by mentally putting myself in his place. The effort made me\ndizzy and sick. I felt as if I were about to fall senseless.\n\nWhen we had reached the cottonwood tree, the cort\u00e9ge halted. A\nwagon was hauled up to the tree, and Johnny caused to mount it. One\nend of his lariat was made fast to a branch of the tree. Three or\nfour men jumped on the wagon. Some confusion occurred in properly\nadjusting the noose about the victim\u2019s neck. Johnny pushed the men\nfrom him, saying:\n\n\u201cGet out o\u2019 here! I\u2019ll show ye how a man can die!\u201d And, fixing with\nhis own hands the noose about his neck, he jumped into eternity!\n\n\nROUTE II.\n\nPoor wolf! His time to howl was over.\n\nI felt sick and faint from witnessing the scene, and had to take\nsome of the \u201cfighting whiskey\u201d of Devil\u2019s Landing to keep me from\nfainting. It did so. It was as good--or as bad--as a galvanic\nshock. I was glad, therefore, when the Misty Mountain coach drove\nin front of the American Hotel to take up its passengers. The\nstage had seven inside: a congressman, a divine, an Indian agent,\nthree ladies, and a small boy. The gentlemen looked at me in such\na dog-in-the-mangerish fashion when I popped my head in at the\ndoor to see what prospect there was of an inside seat, that I\nimmediately withdrew it and took my seat on the box between the\ndriver and the conductor.\n\n\u201cPassengers for the Stony Sierra! All aboard!\u201d And off we go behind\nsix good mules.\n\nThe country we travelled through was flat and uninteresting. Not a\ntree or shrub within the circular boundary of the horizon. Little\nof life, animal or vegetable, to be seen; only a stray hare--vulgo,\njackass rabbit--a prairie-dog, with its sentinel owl, a prairie\nwolf or coyote, and an occasional hawk.\n\nAfter a run of nine or ten miles, we stopped at a \u201cdug-out\u201d to\nchange animals. While the change was being effected, a man in a red\nbuggy with a white horse arrived from the west. He was evidently\nexcited, and his horse was covered with foam.\n\n\u201cHow d\u2019e do, general? You seem kinder flurried. Anything happened?\u201d\nasked the stage-driver.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said the person addressed as \u201cgeneral\u201d (by the way, you\ncould have bought generals there as they buy hobnails) \u201cI have had\na pretty sharp run. Ten or fifteen Indians began running me after\ncrossing the Blue Fork. They fired three or four shots at me.\nHere\u2019s the mark of one,\u201d he continued, pointing to a bullet-hole\nin the body of the red buggy. \u201cThey came mighty near getting me.\nAnd they would have got me were it not for Old Whity here.\u201d And he\npatted the white horse affectionately.\n\nThus the INDIAN QUESTION, at the very outset, was brought home\nto the bosoms of the passengers by the Misty Mountain coach. They\nasked many questions of the \u201cgeneral.\u201d The Indian agent--who\nhad never seen an Indian of the wild tribes in his life--made a\npretence of experience, and offered a few suggestions. But a few\nremarks from the stock-tenders at the dug-out stable raised a laugh\nat his expense, and he \u201cwas squelched for the rest of the trip,\u201d as\nthe conductor expressed it.\n\nThe conductor and the driver looked to their Henry rifles, and\nhurriedly inventoried the arms in the party. The Indian agent had\na double-barrelled shot-gun--both barrels unloaded--no ammunition;\nthe congressman had a diminutive five-shooter which would scarcely\nhave tickled a papoose--five barrels unloaded, one round of\ncartridges on hand, no reserve ammunition; the divine, the ladies,\nand the small boy were unarmed; the reader\u2019s humble servant had\none six-shooter--Colt\u2019s navy pattern--with half-a-dozen rounds of\nammunition for the same. This weapon he had never yet used. He\nwas not fully enlightened as to the _modus_ of loading it. It was\nin the reader\u2019s humble servant\u2019s trunk at the bottom of the pile\nof baggage which towered behind the coach. Of course, he didn\u2019t\nwish to give the conductor or the driver the trouble of changing\nthe luggage. With remarkable good nature, he preferred going out\ndefenceless to troubling these gentlemen. Like most human feelings,\nhowever, this one was perhaps not quite pure. It must be owned the\nidea crossed his mind that it was as well not to introduce the\nfactor of premature explosion into the quantity of danger to which\nhe was about to be exposed.\n\nWe changed mules and started. Everybody saw Indians for the\nfirst few miles. But the objects appearing as Indians to our\nexcited vision had been so often pronounced by the conductor to be\n\u201csoap-weeds,\u201d \u201cold buffalo carcasses,\u201d etc., that the number seen\nbegan greatly to diminish. Once we thought there was no doubt about\nit. They came dashing along in \u201cIndian file,\u201d fifteen or twenty in\nnumber, directly toward us. I felt \u201cvery queer.\u201d Here were Indians\nnow, not a doubt about it. I was seized by a sudden desire to have\nsomething to shoot with. I mentally resolved, if I got out of this\nscrape alive, never again to travel unarmed in an Indian country.\n\n\u201cAntelope,\u201d remarked the conductor.\n\nAntelope it was; a herd of fifteen or twenty. They crossed the road\na few hundred yards in front of us.\n\nWe had travelled about five miles without an incident or a sight\nto break the monotony of the waste around us, when above a rising\nground before us the Stars and Stripes, relieved against the sky,\ngladdened our eyes. How that sight revived us! We remembered that\n\u201cthe home of the brave\u201d was our home; and I think that, if Indians\nhad appeared at that moment, or within five minutes thereafter,\nwe would have received them in heroic attitudes. But they did not\nappear.\n\nAs we ascended the ridge between us and Fort Jones, that post came\ngradually into view. It looked to us like a collection of very\nmiserable \u201cshanties\u201d dropped down haphazard on the prairie.\n\nA large stone building--the hospital, the conductor informed\nme--was in course of erection. It seemed larger than all the\nrest of the post put together. The officers\u2019 quarters were such\nconstructions as we have seen inhabited by the squatters on the\nvacant lots up-town in New York or in \u201cJackson\u2019s Hollow\u201d in\nBrooklyn.\n\nThe \u201cFort\u201d disappointed me very much. I expected to enter the\nguarded precincts over a drawbridge and under an arched portcullis.\nBut Fort Jones was destitute of ditch, rampart, or parapet, and\nuninclosed by stockade, palisade, or even by a common board fence.\nThe coach drove up to the sutler\u2019s store--there the post-office was\nestablished--without let or hindrance from warder or sentinel.\n\nSome half-dozen officers were in the store awaiting the\ndistribution of the mail. The congressman, the Indian agent, and\nthe divine soon discovered who was the officer in command of the\nfort. They immediately approached him on the subject of an escort.\n\nThe officer said he had comparatively few men; his small force was\nscattered along the stage-road for two hundred miles; he had only\ntwenty men present for duty; but he would try to furnish three or\nfour men. \u201cAn officer and a sergeant,\u201d he said, \u201cwere going up on\nthe coach to see to the defences of the station-guards along the\nroad.\u201d The conductor here put in his oar, and said it would be\nimpossible for him to take four men more. This settled the question\nof an escort. The congressman, the divine, and the Indian agent,\nhaving ascertained that they could be accommodated with bed and\nboard at the sutler\u2019s, concluded \u201cto stay over for the present.\u201d\n\nThe conductor and the driver did not seem to regret this\ndetermination. The former remarked that this lightening of our load\nhelped us much, and we should now be able \u201cto pull through\u201d in good\ntime.\n\nWhile we were waiting to have the mail made up, a mounted man came\nin at full speed with news that a government wagon train had been\nattacked by Indians on one of the roads leading to the post--that\nthe teams were very much scattered--that some of the mules were\nalready in the hands of the Indians. This caused a flutter among\nthe officers. A company of infantry was ordered at once to the\nrelief of the train.\n\nAs we left the fort we could see the infantry going over the rise\nat a double-quick and in skirmish order.\n\nWe stopped for a moment, in rear of the officers\u2019 quarters, to take\nup the officer and the sergeant. The officer\u2019s wife and little\nchild came out to see him off. He kissed them both affectionately,\nand took his seat with us on top of the coach. The sergeant, also,\nrode on the roof. Both were well armed. Much to my delight, the\nofficer, finding me unarmed, furnished me with a spare musket he\nhad brought with him.\n\nAt first, I was rather disappointed in this officer. He was very\nplainly dressed. He had just enough gold lace about him to indicate\nhis rank, and no more. I had supposed that regular officers always\nwore epaulets and white kid gloves. However, the lieutenant--for\nsuch was our new passenger\u2019s rank--was evidently a gentleman. He\nhad a certain quiet, unobtrusive affability which charmed me very\nmuch. I was glad he had come. His easy self-possession inspired me\nwith confidence.\n\n\u201cIf we meet any Indians, lieutenant,\u201d said the conductor, an old\nhand who had driven stage for ten years along the Great Sandy,\n\u201cwe\u2019ll have to do the work from out here; there\u2019s nobody below\n(pointing downwards) to help us.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you think we may be attacked by Indians?\u201d I ventured to ask.\n\n\u201cThink it most probable we shall see some, at the least,\u201d answered\nthe officer. \u201cThey have shown themselves at several points along\nthe line. The Great Alamos, which we have to pass, is a favorite\ncrossing-place, when they go south in the spring or north in the\nfall.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is about as bad a place for Injuns as there is in the whole\nroute,\u201d said the conductor.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said George, the driver; \u201cand though I\u2019m a white man, an\u2019\nagin an Injun all the time, I must say that we owe the badness of\nthat there place to a white man.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cThe Great Alamos,\u201d answered the driver, \u201cwas a great buryin\u2019-place\nof the Flat Noses. It was quite a large grove once--considerable of\na rarity on these here plains. You know,\u201d he continued, \u201cthat the\nFlat Noses bury their dead high up in the trees, or, where there\nare no trees, stick \u2019em up on trestles made with long poles.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey bury them in the air instead of in the ground,\u201d I said,\nintending the remark as a sort of semi-joke, at which I designed\nsmiling if any one else smiled, and, if not, to let it go for a\nserious observation. It was probably not new in either phase to my\ncompanions, who took no notice of it. So to break silence, I asked\nwhy the Indians of the plains sought these elevated resting-places\nfor their dead.\n\n\u201cTo keep \u2019em from being eaten up by the ki-o-tees.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo the ki-o-tees devour the dead of other tribes?\u201d I asked,\nhorrified at the thought.\n\n\u201cThe ki-o-tees is the wolves,\u201d the conductor explained.\n\nThe lieutenant informed me of the orthography of the word--coyote.\n\nAbout sunset we reached a house built of loose stones, and\ntherefore known as \u201cThe Stone Ranch.\u201d There were fifteen or twenty\nmen about the ranch--all of them armed.\n\nGeorge pulled up before the door--there was only one, by the bye,\nand no windows--and exchanged a friendly greeting with Jake, Ike,\nEd, _et hoc genus omne_.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s the word?\u201d asked George. \u201cHow is hay-cutting comin\u2019 on?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe ain\u2019t cut a blade of hay to-day,\u201d said one of the men. \u201cThem\ncussed Injuns kep\u2019 us corralled here all day.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhew!\u201d whistled George.\n\n\u201cHow many were they?\u201d the lieutenant inquired.\n\n\u201cSomewhere\u2019s about thirty or forty.\u201d\n\n\u201cMany guns among \u2019em?\u201d asked the conductor.\n\n\u201cSome of \u2019em had rifles; all of \u2019em as I seen had six-shooters.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow long did they remain about?\u201d\n\n\u201cPretty nigh all day. They kep\u2019 shootin\u2019 at us at long range, and\nwe returnin\u2019 their fire, until about ten minnits before the coach\nkem.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid yer git any on \u2019em?\u201d\n\n\u201cJake thinks as he hit one, and Mac says he saw another fall sure.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell! we must be goin\u2019. Git-e-p!\u201d\n\n\u201cKeep yer eye skinned, George.\u201d\n\n\u201cHold on to that old skelp o\u2019 yourn!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou bet! I\u2019ll freeze to it.\u201d\n\nA mile further on we reached the Great Alamos. Darkness was\novercoming the twilight as we struck a deep sandy hollow which\nextended for five or six miles. A slow walk was the only gait\npossible here. The road for miles ran close under a ridge about\ntwenty feet in perpendicular height. It seemed to me about as bad\nan \u201cIndian place\u201d as it was possible to find. My Indian weakness\ncame on again as in the morning. The snail-like pace at which we\nwere compelled to move was almost intolerable. There is some\nsensation of security, or, rather, some suggestion of escape,\nin a fast gait when danger is impending. Its source is probably\nthe initial instinct of the human breast when danger first\nthreatens--to run from it.\n\nI consulted my companion, the lieutenant, on the possibilities or\nprobabilities of an attack.\n\n\u201cAn attack,\u201d he answered, \u201cis possible. It is very probable that\nthere are Indians watching us now. They may fire into us at any\nmoment, as in our position they have the chance of hurting us\nwithout being exposed to hurt themselves; for your Indian always\nruns from a fair fight. He is only \u2018brave\u2019 when he has his enemy\nat a disadvantage, and sees, or thinks he sees, what is called\nout here \u2018a sure thing.\u2019 It is only their very recent presence,\nhowever, that causes me to apprehend trouble, as ordinarily they\ndo not attack at night, and they rarely attack a stage-coach: for\nthe reason that they are sure to get a pretty tough fight. Even if\nsuccessful, their gain is very small; three or four mules at most,\nperhaps a gun or two. They do not consider the investment a paying\none, as a general thing. In any event,\u201d he concluded, \u201cif I were\nyou, I should take off that white duster. It offers quite a shining\nmark for them, if they feel like shooting.\u201d\n\nThe rapidity with which I followed this friend\u2019s advice must have\ngiven him a pleasing proof of my confidence in his counsels.\n\nWe had now entered the bed of the Great Alamos. It was quite dark.\nSilence fell upon us. Every man held his loaded rifle, full-cocked,\nand finger on trigger--peering into the darkness, and seeking\nin every sage-bush an Indian contour. Every now and then the\nconductor\u2019s rifle went up and down with a nervous twitch.\n\nThe evening had become quite cold. I had felt it keenly before we\nreached the Stone Ranch; but as we crept along in the heavy sand,\nthrough the darkness, looking every moment for the flash of an\nIndian rifle, I felt all in a glow. I did not think of cold. No\ndoubt, the reason was that I could think only of Indians, and felt\nthat I was in a pretty warm place.\n\nAt last! We are out of the sand. The mules strike a good trot. It\nis only four miles now to Artesian Wells, and then we shall have\nsupper, I am informed. I feel quite light-hearted over the recent\npast and the close future. Strange to say, with the decrease of\nmy fear of Indians, the glow subsides and I feel cold again. The\nstrain is over; we begin to talk once more. George, the driver, has\nwon my admiration by his cool and calm attention to his team while\nwe passed through the \u201cbad Injun place.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf we\u2019re attacked,\u201d George had said, \u201cyou others must do the\nshootin\u2019. I\u2019ll have all I can do to manage this team.\u201d\n\nGeorge was the beau ideal of a good stage-driver in an Indian\ncountry--so the lieutenant told me.\n\n\u201cIt is a driver\u2019s duty to attend to his team under fire, as George\nvery properly says, as much as it is a surgeon\u2019s to cure the\nwounded, when necessary, under like circumstances. It requires a\ngood deal more coolness, and it is much harder for him to watch and\ncontrol his team while bullets are grazing him, than it would be to\nthrow down the reins and begin firing. It takes all his strength\nand coolness to manage the excited and terrified animals. Shooting\ngives needed excitement at such a time, but then the mules run off,\nthe stage is upset, and broken legs or necks and certain capture\nare the result. George is a good driver, and, had he not one great\ndefect, would be a very good man.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is the defect?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cDrinking,\u201d whispered the lieutenant.\n\n\u201cHe does not look in the least like a drinking man.\u201d\n\n\u201cTrue; yet he is as drunk as he can be now. He has not been sober\nfor years. George is one of your white-faced drinkers. He is always\nas you see him now. I have been two years on this line, and I have\nnot seen George sober yet. Look at his eyes when we get to supper,\nand you will see they are not the eyes of a man in his normal\ncondition.\u201d\n\n\u201cI heard him refuse a pull at the Indian agent\u2019s flask, between\nDevil\u2019s Landing and Fort Jones.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo doubt. That is George\u2019s gnat. He makes it a point never to\ndrink while driving. But he had swallowed his camel before he took\nthe ribbons at Devil\u2019s Landing, and he will swallow another when\nhe reaches Artesian Wells, where his route ends. Aye! and keep\nswallowing camels every time he wakes up during the night, and\nuntil he mounts the box for his return trip to-morrow.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat a fearful life for a man to lead!\u201d I said.\n\n\u201cYes, indeed,\u201d said the lieutenant, \u201cand the ending is still\nmore fearful. George\u2019s team will bring him in some fine morning\nstone-dead on the box, with the ribbons still in his stiffened\nfingers.\u201d\n\n\u201cI can imagine,\u201d I answered, \u201chow a man who is excited by strong\ndrink may find pleasure in it, though it may tempt him to break\nthings and get him into many a fight. But I cannot for the life of\nme imagine why those dead-alive drinkers continue the habit.\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose they can\u2019t stop it,\u201d said the lieutenant. \u201cThey have\ngone too far to turn back. Death is behind them as well as before.\u201d\n\nOur conversation was interrupted by a series of prolonged howls\nfrom George:\n\n\u201cHi-hi-hi-hi,\u201d etc., _ad libitum_.\n\nI was very much startled by these vocal efforts. I thought \u201cit was\nIndians.\u201d Next it struck me that George\u2019s last fit of _delirium\ntremens_ had commenced, and he was about to become dangerous. My\nmilitary companion, noticing my astonishment, kindly explained\nthat this was the usual signal to the station-keeper. The drivers\ncommence their howls of warning when they arrive within a mile or\nso of the station. Their peculiar cry can be heard quite a long way\noff.\n\nWhen we were quite near the station, we overtook an ox-wagon with\nits solitary driver walking by the side of his animals, and giving\nthe talismanic \u201cwhoa haws!\u201d and \u201cgees\u201d by which the movements of\nthese clumsy beasts of draught are directed.\n\n\u201cHallo! Tommy John!\u201d said the driver, bringing his team down to a\nwalk.\n\n\u201cThat you, George?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is left of me, my son. Where are you bound for, Tommy?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe old Sandy, as usual.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow far did you come to-day, Tommy?\u201d\n\n\u201cFrom the Stone Ranch.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou must have left there mighty early.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes! I started afore daylight. I nooned at the Wala Hole, and\nwatered my stock and cooked my supper at the Great Alamos.\u201d\n\nThe conductor then informed \u201cTommy John,\u201d whose real name was John\nThompson, as I learned, of the state of things at the Stone Ranch\nwhen the coach passed there.\n\n\u201cSo, friend Tommy,\u201d he concluded, \u201cyou have got through by a\nscratch.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! pshaw!\u201d said Tommy John, laughing; \u201cInjuns won\u2019t hurt me. I\u2019ve\nbeen through the mill too often to be scared.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said the lieutenant, \u201cas you have been fortunate enough to\nget thus far safely, you had better remain at the Wells until some\ngovernment train with an escort comes up.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat you, lieutenant? How d\u2019e do? Much obliged. But I\u2019m agoin\u2019\nto Snake Spring before my next stoppage. I want to get on home as\nsoon as I can. It\u2019s some time since I\u2019ve seen the old lady and my\nhalf-dozen babies over on the Sandy.\u201d\n\n\u201cI tell you, Tommy,\u201d said the lieutenant, \u201cyou are very foolish to\ngo on from the Wells alone.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! no Injuns will trouble me, lieutenant. There\u2019s nothing to\ntake. The investment wouldn\u2019t pay.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s your scalp to take,\u201d said George, \u201cand I shouldn\u2019t wonder\nif you lost it.\u201d\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t be afeard about my scalp, George,\u201d said Tommy John,\ngood-humoredly. \u201cI have a notion to go after some ha\u2019r myself this\ntrip.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood-night!\u201d\n\n\u201cGood-night, my son!\u201d\n\n\u201cGee!\u201d\n\n\u201cGet aup! ye critters.\u201d And off we go, leaving poor Tommy John to\npursue his lonely route.\n\n\u201cThat thar Tommy,\u201d said George, \u201cis one of the kind-heartedest,\ngood-naturedest fellows as travels this road. An\u2019 he\u2019s churful,\ntoo; always in for a joke and a laugh. He\u2019s drove team--ox and\nmule--on this line for nigh on to four year. He never carries no\narms, and always travels alone. He\u2019s had some mighty close shaves\nhas Tommy, but I shouldn\u2019t wonder if they got him yet. He takes too\nbig risks.\u201d\n\n\u201cDoes it often happen that you have no passengers, George?\u201d I\nasked.\n\n\u201cOnce in a while,\u201d said George.\n\n\u201cIt seems to me that on those occasions you take as big a risk as\nyour friend Tommy.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot by a durned sight,\u201d replied George. \u201cI have a good team,\nand can give a party of Indians a lively run at any time. I have\ngenerally a conductor or express-messenger with me, and a good\nrifle well handled will keep off a power of Indians for awhile.\nWhile he amuses them, I keep lightin\u2019 out for the next station.\nBefore the company got stingy--when there was a swing-station every\ndozen miles where you got a fresh team--I could have got away from\nInjuns all the time, either by runnin\u2019 back to the station I had\nleft or pushin\u2019 out for the one ahead of me, accordin\u2019 to whichever\nwas the nearest. I takes no risk that I ain\u2019t obliged to.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you call a \u2018swing-station\u2019?\u201d I asked.\n\nGeorge looked at me with an expression of mixed pity and contempt,\nand replied:\n\n\u201cA swing-station is where you changes teams; a home-station is the\nend of a route, where you gits meals.\u201d\n\nIt was after midnight when we reached the Artesian Wells. I had\nfound the Sandy Hollow of the Great Alamos a pretty warm place,\nbut after I got out of it I felt cold again, and when I reached\nthe wells I was chilled through. Notwithstanding George\u2019s warning\ncry, everybody was asleep at the station. It took some time to\nwake the people up, to get a fire kindled, and a meal prepared. I\ntook advantage of the delay to get at my trunk, whence I took my\nrevolver and some woollen clothing. The latter, with the consent of\nthe cook (a male specimen of the culinary tribe), I put on in the\nkitchen.\n\nThe station was out of fire-wood, and was now endeavoring to\neffect its cooking with the remaining chips of departed logs and\nthe chips of the passing buffalo. It took a long time to get\nbiscuits baked and meat stewed, thus I had a good nap by the not\nvery bright, though very aromatic, fire. The lieutenant, as soon\nas the door was opened, had thrown his blankets on the floor and\nhimself upon the blankets; and slept the sleep of the brave until\nhe was waked for supper, or breakfast, as you please.\n\nIt was about half-past three o\u2019clock in the morning when we started\nagain. The poor ladies and the child had remained in the coach all\nthis time, notwithstanding our efforts to induce them to alight.\nNor could they be induced to accept even a cup of tea or coffee.\nWith what a power of endurance these weak, gentle creatures--our\nsisters--are endowed!\n\n                         TO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n\n\nDECISION AGAINST THE ST. JAMES\u2019 MISSION CLAIM AT VANCOUVER--ITS\nAPPRECIATION.\n\n\nWe reprint, at the request of Bishop Blanchet, the following\narticle on this subject, taken from the _Catholic Sentinel_ of\nMay 25. For a further exposition of the attitude assumed by the\ngovernment towards our struggling missionary church in that region,\nwe refer the reader to the February (1872) number of this magazine:\n\n_Editor Catholic Sentinel_:\n\nThe case of the St. James\u2019 Mission Claim, which for the last\ntwelve years has been pending in the office of the General Land\nDepartment, and that of the Secretary of the Interior, has at last\nbeen taken into consideration, and decided, as reported a few weeks\nsince. To Hon. W. H. Smith, Assistant Attorney-General, was given\nthe commission to examine the case and give his opinion. He did so\nin a document dated January 29 last.\n\nIn his report, transmitted to the Department of the Interior, we\nsee that he had to solve these two questions:\n\n1. Who are included within the proviso of the first section of the\nact of Congress of the 14th of August, 1848, which proviso is in\nthe following language: \u201cThat the title to land, not exceeding 640\nacres, now occupied as missionary stations among the Indian tribes\nin said Territory (Oregon Ty.), together with the improvements\nthereon, be confirmed and established in the several religious\nsocieties to which such missionary stations respectively belong\u201d?\n\n2. What is confirmed by said proviso to missionary stations?\n\nThe hon. gentleman, after an attentive examination of the first\nquestion, says: \u201cI am of opinion that the proviso of the first\nsection of the act of 1848 conferred an immediate title right\nupon all the societies then within its provisions. Here is a\nconfirmation of title immediately operating _proprio vigore_\nfor the benefit of all who should at that date be within its\nprovisions.\u201d\n\nFor the construction of the law he refers to the opinion of\nAttorney-General Bates, May 27, 1864, of Secretary Harlan, and the\nCommissioner of the General Land Office in his instructions to the\nSurveyor-General, which opinion has never been anywhere seriously\nquestioned. His final conclusion is: \u201cI am satisfied that on the\n14th of August, 1848, there was existing a missionary station of\nSt. James.\u201d\n\nThis opinion is so well established by the documentary evidence\nand the opinion of the gentlemen above quoted that there cannot\nreasonably be the least doubt in the mind of any candid man as to\nthe existence of the St. James\u2019 Mission on the 14th of August,\n1848--a fact acknowledged by all, irrespective of party or creed.\n\nLet us now come to the second question, about what is confirmed by\nthe proviso.\n\nHere the hon. gentleman experiences some uneasiness in regard to\nthe words _land now occupied_ of the proviso. He knows not exactly\nwhat they mean. He is not ready to say whether in _every case_ \u201call\nthe land claimed ought to have been enclosed, cultivated, built\nupon, or the like.\u201d Then he speaks of \u201cstakes or other marks,\u201d and\nsays that \u201cfor the liberal purposes of the proviso (?) he would\ngive the language the most liberal construction, but knows of no\nrule so liberal as to hold _land occupied_ which has never been\nincluded in any inclosure, etc.\u201d (He had a little before said he\nwas not ready to require in every case enclosure of the land; it is\nonly a trifling contradiction!) Why should he be so troubled about\n\u201cenclosure, stakes, etc.\u201d? Had he not before his eyes the following\nrules, given by the Commissioner of the General Land Office to the\nSurveyor-General in 1853, to direct him?\n\n\u201c1. Such provision is understood to grant 640 acres to each\nseparate and distinct missionary station referred to.\n\n\u201c2. In order to comply with the terms of the grants, ... it will\nbecome necessary to cause to be made a special survey of a square\nmile, which _shall include the land occupied_ with the buildings,\nand improvements in the centre, as nearly as may be.\u201d\n\nThese rules are undoubtedly plain and clear, and no candid man\ncan deny that the intentions of Congress in granting 640 acres to\neach missionary station were as well, if not better, known to the\ncommissioner in 1853, as they can now be known after twenty years.\nHe knew that it was not as an alms, but in consideration of the\nservices rendered by the missionaries in laboring to civilize and\nchristianize the Indians, that the grant was made by Congress.\nThe same view has been invariably taken by all his successors in\noffice, by all the occupants of the Department of the Interior,\nand all the Attorney-Generals from 1853 to 1872. Accordingly, all\ncases of missionary stations have been settled whether they were\nfenced or not. The Methodist Mission at the Dalles in Oregon,\nreceived from the government $20,000 for a portion of its claim,\nwhich was not fenced in 1849, and had never been before. The title\nof the Presbyterian Mission at Walla Walla, and many others which\nwere in the same condition, were readily acknowledged and granted.\nShould not all these incontrovertible facts have convinced the Hon.\nAssistant Attorney of the true meaning of the words \u201cthe land now\noccupied\u201d? But they did not.\n\nYet notwithstanding his apparent disposition \u201cfor the charitable\npurpose of the proviso to give the language the most liberal\nconstruction,\u201d he cannot go so far as went all the secretaries,\nthe attorney-generals, and the commissioners in office during\nthe course of the twenty previous years. He seems to have been\nsent to teach them that they all have erred in the interpretation\nthey have given to the proviso, and accordingly he sets himself\nup as a reformer. Therefore, grounded on his far superior legal\nacquirements, he hesitates not to say: \u201cI am unable to see how\nCommissioner Wilson reached the conclusion in his instructions to\nthe Surveyor-General. It is in my opinion an erroneous construction\nof the proviso.\u201d The Hon. Mr. Wilson, as well as all the other hon.\ngentlemen who approved his construction, will no doubt be much\nflattered by the compliment.\n\nThe Hon. Assistant Attorney-General continues: \u201cOn the 14th day of\nAugust, 1848, the mission of St. James was _in actual possession_\nof a small piece of land upon which had been erected a church,\nin which the priests there stationed held religious worship. The\nmission at that date had never asserted any claim whatever\u201d (would\nthe Hudson Bay Company, wrongfully claiming possessory rights to\nthe land, have allowed it?) \u201chad no enclosure, and was therefore\nonly in occupancy of the land covered by the church edifice, and\nsuch land as was appendant to it. This it occupied in my opinion as\na missionary station among the Indians. The society to which said\nmission belongs has therefore a vested title in the land upon which\nthe church edifice extends, and as much appurtenant thereto as at\nthe passage of the act was within the enclosure or used for church\npurposes.\u201d\n\nSuch, therefore, has been the generosity of the Congress of the\nUnited States, in his opinion!\n\nAs an acknowledgment of the previous efforts of the missionaries\nto civilize and christianize the Indians, Congress grants the\nland covered by the church, and a few feet more. What wonderful\nliberality! _Obstupescite coeli super hoc!_\n\nThis opinion has been submitted to the Hon. Attorney-General\nWilliams, although he has an interest in a portion of the claim.\nHe has written a letter on the subject which may be considered\nas approving it, from the fact that the Hon. Mr. Cowen, acting\nSecretary, has declared that he himself concurs in the opinion of\nthe Hon. Mr. Smith. The legists will here please remember that\nthe old axiom, _favores sunt ampliandi_, is no longer in fashion!\nHereafter they must say: _Favores sunt restringendi_; and, _odiosa\namplianda_, as in the present case.\n\nBy such a decision, if it could stand, the first Catholic mission\nestablished among the Indians in Washington Territory, the mission\nwhich before 1848 incontestably labored more than any other for\nthe civilization of the Indians, would have only a few feet of\nland, while all other similar missions have received 640 acres,\nand one $20,000 for the land occupied by the government for a\nmilitary post. Why such glaring partiality in the administration?\nThere cannot be any other reason for such a decision but that the\nland claimed is considered as of too great a value, and that some\nmilitary officers but already too well known here covet the land in\nwhole or in part. There is no doubt that by their influence they\nhave been in a great measure the cause of this long procrastination\non the part of the government in the past, and have in the present\ncontributed their share in the rendering of the foregoing adverse\ndecision.\n\nWe have now, Mr. Editor, given a true report of the decision and\nthe ground upon which it is founded. We therefore present it to an\nenlightened public in order that it may form its opinion upon the\nmerits and demerits of the case, and that it may know that all the\nreligious societies do not stand on the same footing of equality in\nthe eyes of the liberal government of the United States in the year\nof grace 1872.\n\n                                                        A CATHOLIC.\n\nVANCOUVER, W. T., May 23,\n\nPapers whose motto is \u201cequal justice to all\u201d are requested to\nreproduce the above.\n\n\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\n  THE LIFE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. By Ward H. Lamon. Illustrated.\n      Boston: James R. Osgood & Co. 1872. Pp. 547.\n\nThis newest biography of the late President, in which are\nrelated all the incidents of his career \u201cfrom his birth to his\ninauguration,\u201d is simply one of the multitudinous dull books of the\nperiod, the design or necessity of which is far from obvious to\nany person other than the author and bookseller. Compiled by \u201can\nadmirer\u201d mainly from materials supplied by a quondam partner of the\ndeceased, it sadly realizes the truthfulness of the old saying that\nan indiscreet friend is more dangerous than an avowed enemy. We\ndefy any one, no matter how charitable, who may have the patience\nto wade through its exaggerated accounts of the family, friends,\nboyhood, and manhood of Mr. Lincoln, not to feel, on closing\nthe book, a tinge of that self-abasement which usually follows\nassociation with vulgar and commonplace characters. What has the\nworld got to do with the private history of the \u201cHanks\u201d family or\nthe disgraceful bar-room and \u201click\u201d fights of a semi-barbarous\nsettlement, in which the young man was no doubt but an involuntary\nand disgusted participant? Then, as to his religious views,\nthough important as an index to his mental and moral qualities,\nwe consider it bad taste and worse judgment to expatiate on his\nunbelief with all the minuteness and unction which distinguish the\nlong chapter devoted to their discussion. A cloud of witnesses and\ndocuments are brought up to prove what?--that he did not frequent\nchurches or meeting-houses, and that the expressions of devotion\nand reverence in his speeches and public correspondence were used\nonly to gratify his supporters. This may be true or it may not be,\nbut we \u201chold it not well to be so set down,\u201d particularly by a\nfriend. It is generally acknowledged that Lincoln was a temperate\nand merciful man, a warm friend, patient, if not affectionate, in\nhis family relations, and devotedly attached to his children; but\nhaving strong intuitive powers and a keen sense of the ridiculous,\nhe could not help despising and laughing at the narrow-minded and\nignorant \u201chard-shell\u201d Baptist and Methodist preachers of his day\nand neighborhood. Though by no means of a very profound mind, he\nwas too good a lawyer not to know that there was no logical medium\nbetween implicit obedience to an infallible authority and a denial\nof all revelation. Had he enjoyed in early life the advantages of\na proper religious training, there can be little doubt but that,\nhumanly speaking, he would have added to his domestic virtues those\ncardinal ones which the church inculcates. We are sorry for his own\nsake that he did not; and we regret, for the honor of the republic\nwhose chief magistrate he once was, that his memory should thus be\nheld up to the reprobation of his and our countrymen, without, so\nfar as we can see, any adequate resulting good.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE RUSSIAN CLERGY. Translated from the French of F. Gagarin,\n      S.J. By C. D. Makepeace, M.A. London: Burns & Oates. 1872.\n      (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\nF. Gagarin is a Russian prince, and, of course, knows what he is\nwriting about. This book is a very curious one, and will make some\npeople open their eyes if they read it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE CHRISTIAN \u00c6SOP. Ancient Fables teaching Eternal Truths. By W.\n      H. Anderdon, D.D. London: Burns, Oates & Co. (New York: Sold\n      by The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\nDr. Anderdon in this little book teaches us spiritual truths by\nmeans of the old and familiar fables that for years have been used\nto teach the world natural truths; and it is a beautiful thought,\nfor truth cannot be presented in too many ways, and this mingling\nof the homely lessons of the fables with spiritual instruction\ngives a peculiar charm to the book that will not be found in other\nspiritual writings. The many quotations from the Holy Scriptures,\ntoo, give it a special interest.\n\nThe fables are all beautifully illustrated.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  LIFE OF THE CURE D\u2019ARS. From the French of the Abb\u00e9 Monnin. New\n      York: P. O\u2019Shea. 1872.\n\nWe welcome most kindly a new edition of the charming life of this\nmost wonderful man, and take occasion to recommend it again to all\nour readers. Mr. O\u2019Shea has purchased the plates from the former\npublishers, and, we trust, will find a ready sale for his edition.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  LEGENDS OF ST. JOSEPH. Translated by Mrs. Sadlier. D. & J.\n      Sadlier. 1872.\n\nThis collection of historical narratives and pious legends makes\na pleasing volume, and is published in a pretty style. It is a\nbook likely to be especially interesting to young people, for whom\nthe accomplished authoress has a particular gift of making her\ninstructive and pious writings entertaining.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  SAUNTERINGS. By Charles D. Warner, author of _My Summer in a\n      Garden_. Boston: James R. Osgood & Co.\n\nTime was, in the United States, and within the memory of man too,\nthat to have travelled in Europe entitled the American tourist to\nset up for a lion in his native town. It was once something to have\nseen London and Paris, which are now mere American starting-points\nfor the grand tour of to-day. England, France, Germany, and Italy\nno longer count. Every one has seen them, and even little New York\nand Boston boys and girls yet at school, or who ought to be there,\nhave their own discussions as to the relative merits of London and\nParis, Berlin and Vienna. In short, the old ordinary European tour\nno longer counts. Its tracks are all beaten until they are dusty,\nand one must now do Spain, Russia, Palestine, and Egypt, at least,\nto obtain the smallest capital wherewith to set up as a tourist.\n\nMr. Warner\u2019s _Saunterings_ take us among the well-known paths,\nchatting and gossiping at random concerning what strikes him, and,\nas the subject-matter is already an old story to every one, it is\nmerely a pleasant way of reviving pleasant reminiscences.\n\nSaving and excepting a few of the usual Protestant misconceptions\nrepeated by the author, most probably without malice, the book\nmakes very agreeable summer reading.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  NOTES ON ENGLAND. By H. Taine. Translated with an Introductory\n      Chapter by W. F. Rae. New York: Holt & Williams.\n\nMr. Rae\u2019s introduction is a well-written chapter. Mr. Taine\u2019s notes\nare the recorded impressions of a traveller in England. They are\ncharacteristically vivacious, picturesque, and frequently amusing,\nwith a tendency to be as often wrong as right in the judgments he\npronounces. The author discusses all the subjects that usually\nfall under the observation of an intelligent visitor in a strange\ncountry--government, religion, amusements, schools, universities,\nhomes, hospitals, manners, morals, the clubs, the family, etc.,\netc. Here is a passage which we can commend as being as applicable\nto the latitude of Washington as that of Greenwich: \u201cIn Hyde\nPark, on Sunday, the exaggeration of the dresses of the ladies or\nyoung girls belonging to the wealthy middle class is offensive;\nbonnets resembling piled-up bunches of rhododendrons, or as white\nas snow, of extraordinary smallness, with baskets of red flowers\nor of enormous ribbons; gowns of shiny violet silk with dazzling\nreflections, or of starched tulle upon an expanse of petticoats\nstiff with embroidery; immense shawls of black lace, reaching down\nto the heels; gloves of immaculate whiteness or bright violet; gold\nchains; golden zones with golden clasps; hair falling over the neck\nin shining masses. The glare is terrible. They seem to have stepped\nout of a wardrobe, and to march past to advertise a magazine of\nnovelties--not that even; for they do not know how to show off\ntheir dresses.\u201d\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  INDULGENCES, ABSOLUTIONS, TAX TABLES, ETC. By Rev. T. L. Green,\n      D.D. London: Longmans. 1872.\n\nSome low, dirty fellow in London, named Collette, has been serving\nup the disgusting mess of lies about the topics designated in the\ntitle of Dr. Green\u2019s book, of which even the most unscrupulous\nenemies of the church in this country, who have any regard for\ntheir reputation, are ashamed to avail themselves. Dr. Green has\nexposed him and brought him to deep and inconsolable grief without\ndifficulty, and in an able and lively manner.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  DIVINE LIFE OF THE MOST HOLY VIRGIN MARY. Being an Abridgment of\n      the Mystical City of God. By Mary of Jesus of Agreda. By F.\n      B. A. De C\u00e6sare, N.M.C., Cons. Sac. Cong. Index. Translated\n      from the French of the Abb\u00e9 J. A. Boullan, D.D. Philadelphia:\n      Cunningham. 1872. With the imprimatur of the Bishop of\n      Philadelphia.\n\nAt length we have this celebrated and remarkable book in English.\nThe abridgment is even preferable to the original, which is\ntediously prolix in style. Among many Catholic books recently\npublished in very attractive style, this one is among the most\ntasteful and beautiful. The work itself is both edifying and\ndelightful to those who have the spirit of Catholic devotion.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE MERCHANT OF ANTWERP. A Tale from the Flemish of Hendrick\n      Conscience. Translated by Revin Lyle. Baltimore: Kelly, Piet\n      & Co. 1872.\n\nThe merits of Hendrick Conscience as a natural, graceful, and\noriginal writer of fiction are so generally recognized, that\nit is almost needless to say we welcome the appearance of this\nbook with great satisfaction. In design it is artistic, in moral\nunexceptionable, and its characters have the rare merit of being\nfew, distinctly drawn, and lifelike. The book itself is well and\nneatly bound, and the paper is excellent, but here its mechanical\nattractions, we regret to be obliged to say, end. The type, the\nprinting, and the ink are simply execrable; and the presswork\nseems to have been done on one of those old-fashioned cylinder\npresses now generally devoted to \u201cstriking off\u201d street ballads and\nplay-bills.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE WITCH OF ROSENBURG. A drama in three acts. By His Eminence\n      Cardinal Wiseman. New York: P. O\u2019Shea.\n\nLong and favorably known, this charming drama requires no eulogy\nfrom our pen. We merely note the appearance of this new edition to\nchronicle the change of proprietorship from Kelly, Piet & Co. to\nthe present publisher.\n\n\n\n\n                        THE CATHOLIC WORLD.\n\n                VOL. XV., No. 90.--SEPTEMBER, 1872.\n\n  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by Rev.\n   I. T. HECKER, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at\n                         Washington, D. C.\n\n\n\n\nINTELLECTUAL CENTRES.\n\n\nA thought struck us the other day--a thought that was half a\nmemory--of the interest we should feel in Geneva at the present\nmoment were we to be there as long as the Treaty arbitration lasts.\nThis led us to reflect upon Geneva as we knew it--one of the most\ndelightful, intellectual, and interesting places we ever came\nacross. Thought, like art, has its centres, its headquarters, and,\nlike politics, its changes of dynasties and capitals. In these\ncentres, a person might live undisturbedly a whole generation,\nand, never stirring ten miles beyond the city gates, not miss\nany one novelty, person, discovery, or theory worth hearing or\nseeing. All great personages, whether of royal birth or, what is\nmore important, of intellectual fame, will sooner or later pass\nthrough this favored place; all new modes of thought, from theology\nto unbelief, from Spiritism to Darwinism, will find there a ready\nfield of battle.\n\nOf these centres of thought in modern times, Geneva is not the\nleast. We can speak from experience of the quiet, unpretending\nold town, standing, in the pride of its antiquity and of its\nsuperior taste, aloof from the more frivolous Parisian suburb\nthat commercial enterprise has caused to grow up beside it on the\nopposite side of the Rhone. It has a population of _savants_ and\n_dilettanti_; its _salons_ are \u201cblue-stocking,\u201d and its young\nmen not mere butterflies, but men with a work to do or perchance\nalready begun. Music has a home there, too--grave, classical,\ninstrumental music, such as you can fancy the _d\u00e9lassement_ of a\nnation of sages should be. Conversation is hardly brilliant among\nthe Genevese (though the use of the French language renders it far\nfrom heavy), but it is solid, and words are put for ideas, not\nstrung together to hide nonsense. Theatres are feebly patronized,\nand are left to the summer visitors of foreign countries, whose\nexclusive society creates another Geneva by the side of the old\nhistorical town--a Geneva that has nothing Genevese about it\nbut the name. Lectures are very prominent, almost as much so as\nin America, and they are generally upon scientific subjects. Men\nof fortune give a course of them free, for the enlightenment of\nthe humbler classes, and young men of good family and position\nspend their time in literary trials, hunting up references and\nstudying abstruse systems of forgotten philosophy. To be uneducated\nin Geneva brands a man with a worse mark than to be poor among\nmercantile communities. Frivolity in man or woman is equivalent\nto dishonor. There is little display in Genevese society--a\nsimplicity far more republican than anything America can point\nto reigns in domestic affairs; and the people do not court nor\ntake any pains to allure the _pot-pourri_ of foreign princes,\nmerchants, gentlemen, and gamblers that fill the gay quays on the\nmodern side of the river. It is told of one of the highest civil\ndignitaries of Geneva in the last century--a man of good descent\nand comfortable means--that he received the envoy of the King of\nFrance (it was before the French Revolution), on some diplomatic\nmission, with one maid-servant holding a lantern. The guest having\nalighted from his state-coach, and groped his way into the modest\nhouse, inquired in surprise: \u201c_Mais, monsieur, o\u00f9 sont vos gens?_\u201d\n(\u201cBut, sir, where is your household?\u201d) \u201c_Mes gens!_\u201d repeated the\nGenevese, with undismayed good-nature; \u201c_c\u2019est Jeanne!_\u201d (\u201cMy\nhousehold consists of Jane!\u201d) The French magnifico, whose only idea\nof power lay in profuse display, and who counted his lackeys by\nthe score, was dumfounded at these Spartan barbarians, whose chief\nunblushingly declared that a kitchen-maid was all his retinue!\nYet the chief was probably a _savant_, while the Frenchman at\nbest was most likely nothing more than a wit. The writer of this\narticle, eager to see something of the home-life of the Genevese,\nsucceeded in making a few acquaintances among these most exclusive\nof literati. On one occasion we were dining at the primitive hour\nof five with a charming family, the De la Rives, people of the\nmost polished manners, quick perceptions, and inexhaustible fund\nof interesting conversation. The meal was plain and frugal, well\ncooked, yet without a trace of art--what one might have expected\nat a farmer\u2019s or tradesman\u2019s table; but what in the most modest\nof gentlemen\u2019s houses in France, England, or Germany would have\nbeen an impossibility. The governess and the little children\ndined with us, the former joining heartily and cleverly in the\nconversation, which never by any chance fell upon trivialities.\nThe knives and forks were not changed throughout dinner, to our\ngreat perplexity; and for the purpose of keeping them from soiling\nthe table during the change of plates, there were provided little\nglass rests, like thick, short bars. These quaint details seemed\nquite matters of course, and, strange to say, there was nothing\nvulgar or repulsive about them, the _personnel_ of the hosts being\nenough to stamp all belonging to them with the hall-mark of true\nand unostentatious refinement. There was no dressing for this\nfamily dinner, as there would have been in England, nor, indeed,\nis there much dressing at all among the Genevese women. To tell\nthe truth, they are rather what our fastidious taste would call\ndowdy in their toilette and appearance; but then, what a solid\nbackground of true and deep education lies behind their exterior\ncarelessness! It is the same with their parties, which are rather\nlike family gatherings, and where the old-fashioned habit is still\nkept up of having the tea served on a large table, round which\nthe guests unceremoniously seat themselves. Men of mark in the\nliterary world are there; inventors of machines that have changed\nthe destiny of commerce, and originated or obliterated this or\nthat trade; botanists who have inherited their talent with their\nfathers\u2019 name and experience; women who have written treatises that\nmen of science read with approval--and all of them so unaffectedly\nenjoying themselves, all of them so truly refined and so childlike\nin their simple manners. Looking at this kind of assemblage, is\nit wonderful that it should have made its native city a capital\nof the world of thought? Bad men as well as good pass through\nit; Mazzinist and International fraternize and plot; Legitimist\nand Catholic meet, and hold congresses; outsiders from another\ncontinent, as at this moment, agree to settle their disputes on its\nneutral soil. All philosophies, from De Maistre and Cousin down\nto Darwin and Renan, find their exponents there; their upholders\nlecture there; their theories are more closely looked into if they\nstart from there. The church is more active at Geneva than almost\nanywhere in Europe; unbelief is more rampant and more unblushing;\ndissent more earnest, and, if blinded, yet more sincere. Thirty\nor forty years ago, a body of Genevese ministers of the \u201cNational\nChurch\u201d did what no other Protestant body corresponding in numbers\nand influence has ever done in modern times--they voluntarily gave\nup their benefices, and threw themselves with their families,\nutterly destitute, on the generosity of such among their flocks as\nwould follow their conscience. And why? Because the National Church\nwas becoming more and more Socinian, and dechristianizing the\npopulation of Geneva. These dissenters, headed by the Malan family,\npersevered in their sacrifice, and succeeded in founding a \u201cFree\nChurch,\u201d which is now very prosperous, and counts among its members\nall the best people of the town. Outside the Catholic Church, it\nwould be difficult to find a parallel to this act of renunciation\nfor the sake of principle. Speaking of Geneva from a religious\npoint of view, we do not know but what we might most decidedly call\nit a centre of active religion, since its bishop, Mgr. Mermillod,\nis one of its best known and most distinguished native citizens,\nand the church under his guidance is making rapid conquests in the\nformer stronghold of Calvinism; but this is beside our subject,\nwhich is simply to reckon Geneva as first and foremost in the\npresent tournament of restless intellect.\n\nRome naturally suggests itself as another of these centres. We put\nit second in the intellectual scale and in the wide sense in which\nwe are speaking, although in religion it stands more than first,\nthat is, perfectly unequalled. Still, when Byron called it \u201ccity\nof the soul,\u201d he made that delicate shade of a distinction that\nmarked it as a spiritual capital more than an intellectual centre.\nFor the spirit of Rome is too calm for agitation, too conservative\nfor creation. Yet in a secondary sense to volcanic Geneva, and in\na contrasting sense too, Rome is a wonderful rendezvous of the\ntalent and thought of Europe. A life spent in Rome would include\na sight of almost all the distinguished men and women of both\nhemispheres. Unbelievers go to Rome to scoff, and often remain to\npray; curious idlers go to see the old man of the Vatican, and\noften stay to ask his blessing; antiquarians find enough work for a\nlifetime in digging up a few square feet of ground; artists have a\nrange of subjects before them so vast that, if they had a thousand\nlives to live, they could not exhaust it; men of science go to\nmeet their kin and discuss things in quiet congresses, which it is\nimpossible to end otherwise than peaceably, for the curious and\nunique charm of Rome is its subtle power of harmonizing the minds\nof its guests with the traditions of its own mysterious existence.\nIt has a faculty of spiritual alchemy, and changes the visitor for\nthe time being into a different creature. All its lessons seem to\nbe taught in silence, and for argument it has but little sympathy.\nIntrinsically, it is a centre of love; accidentally, a centre of\nthought. Men with wearied hearts are its \u201cchosen few,\u201d for its\npower is rather recuperative than creative. It is most difficult\nto say what we mean, and yet not to seem to speak in disparagement\nof this wonderful \u201ccity of the soul\u201d; and perhaps a description\nof its society, though that would be the easiest way to make our\nmeaning clear, would be tedious, because so familiar. We all of us\nseem to know Rome as if each one had been there; and so perhaps\nafter all we may trust to be better understood than we had hoped to\nbe at first. A short walk on the \u201cPincio\u201d will show us the utmost\ncosmopolitanism possible; the Polish exile secure while within a\nfew paces of the Russian official; the Anglican minister, with his\ntrained Oxford refinement, calmly discussing with the energetic,\npassionate, and voluble Italian ecclesiastic; the Mazzinist bowing\ninvoluntarily to the cardinal whose generosity raised him from\nthe poor-house; the French philosopher and the German artist; the\nAmerican sculptor, with his prejudiced yet not unkindly view of\nRome; the English convert, enthusiastic and interested; and the\nlanguid Italian, taking everything as a matter of course--such\nare a few of the common types one jostles against every minute.\nThese things, however, are too well known; and from this strange,\nperplexing city, so dearly loved and so well hated, so prominent in\nthe world\u2019s annals that no dark future can obscure her ever-real\nand ever the same present--this city whose Christian fame overrides\neven her glorious heathen past of unlimited power and unchecked\nC\u00e6sarism--we will go forward to the land of those \u201cbarbarians\u201d\nwho regenerated Europe and materially helped to build the church.\nBut how changed is the brightest city of that land, Munich, the\nundoubted centre of the highest intellect, but now also the unhappy\ncradle of a new perversion of that very intellect!\n\nThough we are less conversant with Munich than with the two\nforegoing places, we shall yet attempt to say a few words on its\ninfluence in modern times.\n\nIt is perhaps a more recent focus of thought than any other of\nthe present day, yet it is none the less powerful for that. The\nBavarian royal family has preserved for two or three generations\nthe traditions of a modern Medici dynasty; they are the declared\nchampions of talent, the protectors of innovations of any kind.\nAs long as there is genius, originality, vitality, in a thing or\nidea, no matter what its tendency, good or bad, it is sure of\npatronage and help. Intensely national in its leanings, Munich\naspires to make Germany paramount, to impose her ways of thought\nupon the world, to mould Europe according to a German standard,\nand set up in a new Rome of the north a new ideal that might be\nexpressed in these words, _Le g\u00e9nie c\u2019est moi_. If Christianity\nhad not yet appeared, the plan would have been magnificent, and\nthis Roman Empire of absolute intellect a far grander conception\nthan Plato\u2019s Republic, but now God has reserved universality as a\nmark of his church alone; and the power that would tear this badge\nfrom her to crown itself therewith, in opposition to her, cannot\nhope to succeed any better than the great angel of light succeeded\nin his gigantic rebellion. Still, notwithstanding this blot upon\nthe otherwise fair system of intellectual supremacy of which\nMunich is the headquarters, the fact of this practical supremacy\nremains, and is the more felt and the better tested now since\nPrussia has attempted to establish herself in opposition to it.\nThe story of ancient Greece and Rome is being enacted anew--matter\nand mind are face to face; and the military machine which is\ncalled the North German Empire, and which has proved itself so\npolitically resistless, stands baffled before the more Attic and\nrefined organization of the capital of thought and art. Impossible\nto transplant to the alien atmosphere of iron-bound Berlin the\ndelicate grace and play of intellect that distinguishes Munich;\nimpossible to make philosophy accept the trammels of officialism,\nor persuade artists to wait the nod of bureaucrats. The intangible\ncharm of cosmopolitan life belongs to the Bavarian city, the\nfreemasonry of intellectual activity vivifies it. Napoleon carried\nhalf the marbles of Rome to his palace of the Louvre, and yet he\ncould not make the Louvre a Vatican, and Belshazzar, though he\nrobbed the temple of its golden cups and drank from them at his\nbanquets, could not make himself high-priest of the Hebrew faith.\n\nThe world goes to Munich for art, instruction, and artistic models;\nGermany goes there for philosophical and scientific theories.\nForeigners would rather leave Berlin and Vienna unvisited than\nmiss a week at Munich; and a stay among its galleries, libraries,\nand museums, is part of the education of every travelled man. It\nhas its literary, its fashionable, and its diplomatic circles,\nand, strangely enough, each of these pronounces it an equally\nagreeable resort. The cultivated world filters through it all the\nyear round, and, like Geneva and Rome, though perhaps in a lesser\ndegree than either, one might stay there a lifetime and yet see the\nwhole panorama of intellectual Europe unrolled at intervals before\none\u2019s eyes. Although Munich possesses a learned and important\nuniversity, it is not to that alone she owes her supremacy, for\nit is a fact worthy of notice that in our days the sovereignty\nof thought is more the attribute of an aggregate of independent\nthinkers, than the exclusive privilege of certain bodies trained\nin the same traditions, and cast in much the same mould. Whether\nor no this is an advantage, is a question we need not enter into\nhere; it is beside our subject. We hope subsequently to be able to\ndraw a companion picture of that ancient state of things which made\nthe intellectual centres of the past, both in their growth and in\ntheir influence, so widely different from our own. Certain it is,\nhowever, that that influence was less ephemeral formerly than now.\n\nFrom Munich we have not far to go to another of the world\u2019s\nvolcanoes, Paris, the modern enigma. Like a witch\u2019s cauldron,\nalways seething, never safe, Paris is playing an uninterrupted game\nof political conjuring. Unlike other cities whose intellect is\ndistinct from their politics, Paris cannot help giving a political\ntinge to its literary and philosophical creations. Social questions\nare violently joined to intellectual problems; and _savants_ or\n_beaux-esprits_ will eschew a brother philosopher or wit who wears\nalien colors and belongs to another camp. The talent that rides\nuppermost in Paris is identified with socialism, and from literary\nBohemianism soon lapses into political outlawry. Victor Hugo is its\napostle, Alfred de Musset its poet. On the one hand, a frantic,\ndestructive vigor urges it to assert its self-assumed and imperious\nsovereignty; on the other, a maudlin, opium-like languor soothes\nits sensuality and bids it revel in momentary luxury. Sybarites are\nalways tyrants; Nero crowned with roses and singing to his lute\nwhile Rome was helplessly burning by his orders, is a fit image of\nmodern Paris displaying her world-alluring softness while Europe\nis in flames through her baneful principles. We speak of Paris\nin her zenith; but it is to be feared that the spirit which made\nher the rose-entwined firebrand of the world, will not long be\nquelled even by her own unparalleled misfortunes. In her deepest\nhumiliation, when the sympathy of the universe was hers, did she\nnot find strength enough to turn on her true friends, and, by her\nfiendish attempts on law and order, to alienate the shocked and\ninsulted instincts of a world that had been ready to take up arms\nin her defence? It may be said that _that_ Paris was not the real\none; yet it is the one that rules--rules _sourdement_, as the\nFrench so expressively say, when she is herself ruled by an iron\nhand, rules through her infidel press, her immoral literature,\nher unwholesome poetry, her rotten philosophy, her frivolous and\nheedless society. True it is that in Paris, which proudly calls\nitself \u201cthe capital of the world and the heart of humanity,\u201d there\nare circles of quiet literary men--_coteries_ of harmless exiles\nfrom other lands; men whose lives are bounded by the Biblioth\u00e8que\nImp\u00e9riale and the Th\u00e9\u00e2tre Fran\u00e7ais; and men, too, whose one aim is\ncharity and one ambition, heaven. True, France can boast as many\nmissionaries as communists, as many martyrs as soldiers, almost as\nmany religious as unhung miscreants. But how many Montalemberts,\nhow many Dupanloups, how many Lacordaires, beside the innumerable\nspawn of Dumases, George Sands, Balzacs, Michelets, Taines, and\nRenans? No doubt in the records of the Almighty there are to be\nfound in this modern Sodom the ten just men that will save it from\nspiritual destruction, but we are speaking of it principally in the\nintellectual sense, and surely, from this point of view, where are\nits saviors? A centre of intellect it is most undoubtedly and most\nunfortunately, but a centre such as a powder magazine might be. The\nstreams it pours over Europe\u2019s world of thought are lava-streams,\nscorching the purer air of principle to make way for the poisonous\ngases of self-indulgence. If Paris were sovereign, peace would\nbe no more, and truth would leave the earth, dismayed. The very\nopposite, of Rome, its spirit is one of fever, catching even to\nthe calmest pulse of a law-abiding and metaphysical northerner--a\nspirit that broods over one like the blast of a furnace, and\nbewilders like the breath of a coming simoom. We have experienced\nit ourselves in days long before the last great judgment that\nhas crushed the unhappy city; we have marvelled at its obtrusive\nactivity, so fatiguing to the eye, because, unlike that of London\nor New York, it denotes only the frivolous search after empty\npleasure, not the calm plodding after necessary business; we have\nwondered at its frothy show, where the greatest display is a sure\nsign of the worst depravity; we have longed to be out of its\nunwholesome, oppresive spell, that seemed to paralyze the mind and\ndarken the understanding. To think that this possessed city should\nbe the pioneer of the nineteenth century, and have more influence\nover the moral destinies of the world than Napoleon ever had over\nthe kingdoms of Europe, or than Bismarck can ever have over the\nfuture of Paris itself! What have we done to deserve it? What has\nbrought this Egyptian plague upon us, the Nile of the intellect\nturned into blood, the fertilizer become poison?\n\nThere is a wider difference than the mere width of the Channel\nbetween Paris and Oxford. What calm, scholarly, refined\nassociations come to our mind when we name the Alma Mater of so\nmany of England\u2019s greatest men! It is like a refreshing ocean\nbreeze after the scorching blast of a volcano. We feel at home\nhere. Gladstone, Pusey, Keble, Newman, were sons of this English\ncentre of thought--Stanley for a long time was identified with it,\nall the intellectual movements of this century sprang from it, and\nto represent it in Parliament is accounted the highest political\nhonor. All schools of thought have started from it; \u201cHigh Church,\u201d\n\u201cLow Church,\u201d and \u201cBroad Church\u201d have all found their headquarters\nthere, and recruits from these several camps have left it to bring\ntheir various gifts to that other and wider university over which\nthe Holy Ghost presides everlastingly. If one might use words\nthat must seem a paradox, Oxford, once made and fashioned by the\nchurch, has in our days herself influenced the church. We mean\nthat the university has given to the Catholics of England that\nunrivalled body of priests who stand alone in Europe for their\nindomitable energy, their self-sacrificing earnestness, and their\ngentle and truly Christian refinement. Among Protestants, it is\nonly the strict truth to say that Oxford has created the Church\nof England, and vivifies her now even more than state protection,\nor the universal adoption extended to her by usage and courtesy\namong the educated classes. Most truly has Oxford been called the\nRome of English Protestantism. It is sad for us to think of the\nperverted influence of a system essentially Catholic, of traditions\nand customs that have lost their meaning while they have kept their\nform, and yet it is also a proud thought to dwell upon, that such\nas this matchless seat of intellect is, and such as its absolute\nidentification with English national thought and national character\nmakes it certain ever to be, it owes it to the church of Alfred, of\nLangton, of Scotus--the church of Peter--alone.\n\nWe have said that, in modern times, universities as such have\nless influence than the aggregate of independent thinkers. This,\nhowever, hardly applies to England, for the mass of enlightened men\nin that country forms, practically, the true university. Cambridge,\nas a seat of equal learning, yet scarcely of equal brilliancy or\ninfluence, is of course included. The social and intellectual\ntraining of both is the same, the traditions practically so. The\nwhole body of able men in England belongs to either one or the\nother of these universities, and, never unlearning their modes\nof thought and unconsciously stamping their impress deeper on\neach succeeding work undertaken or effort accomplished, therefore\nnever cease to belong to them. England is thus one university,\nand Oxford is the epitome of educated England. Very national and\njealous of foreign irruption is this vast and compact body; its\nmembers will taste and examine very closely before an alien theory\nbe admitted among them, but, once admitted, it is adopted with\neagerness, nationalized, and so embodied in a thoroughly English\nshape that its origin becomes undistinguishable. The spirit of\nOxford, unlike that of Paris, is the very reverse of cosmopolitan;\nthere is no versatility in its essence, no straining after effect,\nnovelty, nor even domination; it does not care to impose itself on\nothers, and thus it differs ever from the national-minded spirit of\nMunich, but it vigorously resents anything being imposed upon it.\nIdeas grow slowly, and systems ripen there before they are tried;\na school of thought goes out whole and calm, not upon tentative\nexcursions, but to certain conquest. Foreigners are more curious to\nsee Oxford than they are to examine any other English institution;\nforeign _savants_ look with pride or longing on the rare gift of\nits honorary degrees. Its buildings are the only palaces known in\nEngland, and excel in nobility of architecture every modern public\nerection and almost every private residence. It keeps up customs of\nhospitality, of generosity, of courtesy, that seem lost amid the\ndwarfishness of modern politeness; its grand solemnity of demeanor\nand stateliness of etiquette shame our puny and impudent code of\nmanners; the freedom of later behavior seems by its side a stunted\npollard when compared to the magnificent oak of bygone centuries.\nOxford keeps up the ideal among Englishmen, or rather it is the\nideal personified. It is a standing protest against the levity of\nmodern and _fast_ life--a city of sanctuary for learning, art,\necclesiasticism, \u00e6sthetics, philosophy, and taste. Those who have\nlived all their lives in it as fellow-tutors or professors, love it\nto idolatry; those who have gone forth to their several professions\nand been knocked about by the vicissitudes of the world, love it\nas the Garden of Eden of their lost peace; those who have left it\nfor the Catholic Church, love it with the most mournful and deepest\nof loves, even as Gregory loved the fair-haired heathen boys that\nwere Angles, but whom he longed to see angels. The greatest mind\nin England--John Henry Newman--loves it with this sorrowful love,\nwhich has prevented him from ever seeing it again since he severed\nhimself from it, and suffered more in this severing than the loss\nof friends or the wilful misconception of enemies; and in his room\nat Edgbaston, where his retired life is now entirely spent, there\nhangs a view of the beautiful English university town, with this\nsignificant motto in illuminated characters beneath: \u201cSon of man,\ndost thou think these dry bones shall live?\u201d (Ez. xxxvii. 3).\n\nFrom Oxford we must cross the Atlantic to find our last\nintellectual centre in this age. It is the youngest, though not\nthe least vigorous, and it stands alone on the Western continent,\nwhere it has not inaptly been called--as Edinburgh once was--the\nModern Athens. Boston is also more or less the product of a\nuniversity, but here, as elsewhere, the taint is on the fruit of\nthe tree of knowledge. Infidelity and cynicism make their home\nthere in the midst of the luxuriant growth of intellect. Pride\nof mind has ended in riot of soul, and amid the intoxicating\ncreations of its own strong vitality, the genius of New England\nhas spiritually lost its way. But humanly speaking, what a fair\nfield of intellect is here displayed! It is through Boston that\nAmerica is best known to Europe. Longfellow, Emerson, Hawthorne,\nWhittier, Holmes, are household words wherever the English language\nis spoken; and the dignified history of New England, no less\nthan her weird and fascinating literature, is as interestingly\nfamiliar to English as to American minds. Boston is New England\ncrystallized, the representative city of America, the channel of\ncommunication between the Old and the New World, the crucible of\nevery new theory and the test the successful passing of which\nis, as it were, a \u201cdegree\u201d in itself. Boston stands forth as the\nchampion of science against commerce, and the breakwater which\nstrives to save America from the imputation--thrown on England by\nthe French--of being \u201ca nation of shopkeepers.\u201d The West, with\nits gigantic future roughly mapped out, and its raw material\ninconveniently spread over the whole land, looks with uneasy and\nhalf-dismayed contempt at the scholarly capital of New England; the\nNorth, with its sleek prosperity and organized system of elegant\nlife, steals a look askance, in which envy is but thinly concealed\nbehind an affectation of patronage. Of the South we cannot speak,\nsince its naturally true instincts of appreciation and intellectual\ndiscernment have been cruelly and rudely shaken by the great\nconvulsion whose effects will long remain but too prominent; but\nif ever there rises a rival, friendly yet altogether dissimilar,\nto the New England Athens, it will be in the gifted South, among\nthe descendants of the cavaliers, that we shall turn to look for\nit. Such a one there should be, for this vast continent, in whose\nbosom the whole of Europe would lie like an island, must have more\nthan one species of intellectual life, and ought to have more\nthan one acknowledged exponent of it. In the South we should find\nthe ardor of Paris, the ambition of Munich, and the refinement of\nOxford, mingled and harmonized; and let us trust that in the lands\ndiscovered by Catholic missionaries, and colonized by Catholic\ngentlemen, we might at least escape the ban that clings to the\nolder centres of intellectual life in Europe, the revolutionary and\nantichristian tendencies of France, and the unhappy heresies of\nEngland and Germany.\n\n\n\n\nOLD BOOKS.\n\n\n    For out of old fields, as men sayth,\n      Cometh all this new corn from yere to yere,\n    And out of old books, in good faith\n      Cometh all this new lore that men lere.\n                                       --_Chaucer._\n\n\n\n\nDANTE\u2019S PURGATORIO.\n\nCANTO THIRD.\n\n\n(For Cantos I. and II. of this Translation, see CATHOLIC WORLD for\nNovember, 1870, and January, 1872.)\n\n\n    Though round the plain their quick flight scattered them,\n      Bent for that Hill where reason turns our tread,[198]\n    My faithful mate close at my garment\u2019s hem\n      I kept: how _could_ I without him have sped?\n    Who else had o\u2019er that mountain marshalled me?\n      He seemed, methought, as inly touched with shame:\n    O noble conscience, void of stain, to thee\n      How sharp a morsel is the smallest blame!\n    Soon as his feet the hurried movement checked\n      Which every action\u2019s dignity destroys,\n    My mind, till now restrained and circumspect,\n      Expanded with new strength, as \u2019twere of joy\u2019s.\n    My face I fixed upon that Hill to gaze\n      Towards highest heaven which springeth from the wave.\n\n    The sun behind me redly flamed; its rays\n      Broke by the shadow which my figure gave.\n    When I perceived before me that the ground\n      Was darkened only by myself, in dread\n    Of being there deserted, I looked round\n      And fronting me in full, my Comfort said:\n    \u201cWhy this distrust? believ\u2019st thou not that I\n      Am with thee still, thy leader to the last?\n    \u2019Tis evening now already where on high\n      My body lies, which once a shadow cast,\n    Buried at Naples, from Brundusium brought.\n      Now, if no shade before me meet thy sight\n    It need wake no more wonder in thy thought\n      Than why one heaven checks not another\u2019s light.\n    Omnipotence to such forms hath assigned\n      The power of suffering torments--cold and heat--\n    But _how_, reveals not to created kind.\n      He is but mad who hopes this incomplete\n    Reason of ours may track the Infinite way\n      Which of three persons holds the substance one.\n\n    Rest, human race! contented when you say\n      Simply because: could ye the whole have known\n    No need had been for Mary to have borne;\n      And ye have seen in hopeless longing those\n    Who now to all eternity must mourn\n      Desire for which they vainly sought repose.\n    Of Aristotle and of Plato now\n      I speak, and many others\u201d: he remained\n    Silent at this, and stood with bended brow\n      And troubled look: meantime the Hill we gained.\n    We found the cliff here sloping so steep down\n      That nimblest legs had there been useless quite.\n    The wildest way betwixt Turb\u00eca\u2019s town\n      And L\u00e8rici, the roughest, were a flight\n    Compared with this, of open, easy stairs.\n      \u201cWho knows,\u201d my Master said--and stayed his pace--\n    \u201cWhere this Hill slopeth, so that one who wears\n      No wings may climb it?\u201d Then his earnest face\n    Directed closely to the ground as if\n      Making in mind a study of the way.\n    Meantime I gazed up round about the cliff,\n      And on the left hand came to my survey\n    A band of spirits, moving on towards us,\n      That seemed not moving for they came so slow.\n    \u201cLift up thine eyes\u201d--I to the Master thus--\n      \u201cIf of thyself thou art not certain, lo!\n    Yon souls our footsteps may direct perchance.\u201d\n      Thereat he looked, then frankly made reply:\n    \u201cGo we tow\u2019rds _them_--so gently they advance--\n      And thou, my sweet son! keep thy hope up high.\u201d\n\n    That people seemed as far, when we had gone\n      A thousand steps, I say, or thereabout,\n    As a good flinger might have cast a stone;\n      When all at once, like one who goes in doubt\n    And stops to look, their moderate march they checked\n      And close to that high bank\u2019s hard masses drew.\n    \u201cO ye peace-parted! O ye spirits elect!\n      Ev\u2019n by that peace which waits for each of you\n    As I believe\u201d--thus Virgil them bespake:\n      \u201cInform us where this mountain slopeth so\n    That its ascent we may essay to make;\n      _For they mourn Time\u2019s loss most, the most who know_.\u201d\n\n    Like lambs that issue from their fold--one--two--\n      Then three at once (the rest all standing shy,\n    With eye and nostril to the ground)--then do\n      Just what the foremost doth, unknowing why,\n    And crowd upon her back if she but stand,\n      Quiet and simple creatures, thus the head\n    I saw move towards us of that happy band,\n      Modest in face, and of a comely tread.\n\n    Soon as their leaders noticed that the light\n      On my right side lay broken at my feet,\n    So that my shadow reached the rocky height,\n      They stopped and drew a little in retreat.\n    And all the others following, though they knew\n      Not why they did so, did the very same.\n    \u201cWithout your question I confess to you\n      That here you see a living human frame:\n    Hence on the ground the sunlight thus is riven:\n      Marvel not at it, but believe ye all\n    Not without virtue by the Most High given\n      This man hath come to scale your Mountain\u2019s wall.\u201d\n    My Master thus, and thus that gracious band:\n      \u201cTurn then and join us, and before us go\u201d:\n    And while some beckoned us with bended hand\n      One called--\u201cWhoe\u2019er thou art there journeying so,\n    Turn! Think--hast ever looked on me before?\u201d\n      I turned and gazed upon the one who spoke.\n    Handsome and blond, he looked high-born, but o\u2019er\n      One brow appeared the severance of a stroke.\n    When I had humbly answered him that ne\u2019er\n      Had I beheld him--\u201cLook!\u201d he said, and high\n    Up on his breast showed me a wound he bare;\n      Then added smilingly, \u201cManfred am I,\n    The Empress Constance\u2019 grandson: in such name\n      Do I entreat, when back thou shalt have gone,\n    To my fair daughter hie, of whose womb came\n      Sicily\u2019s boast and Aragon\u2019s renown,\n    And tell her this--if aught but truth be said\n      That after two stabs--each of power to kill--\n    I gave my soul back weeping ere it fled\n      To Him who pardoneth of His own free will\n    My sins were horrible: but large embrace\n      Infinite Goodness hath whose arms will ope\n    For every child who turneth back to Grace;\n      And if Cosenza\u2019s bishop, by the Pope\n    Clement set on to hound me to the last,\n      That page of Holy Writ had better read,\n    My bones had still been sheltered from the blast\n      Near Benevento, by the bridge\u2019s head,\n    Under their load of stones: but now without\n      The realm they lie, by Verde\u2019s river--bare--\n    For winds and rains to beat and blow about,\n      Dragged with quench\u2019d candles and with curses there.\n\n    Yet not by their poor malediction can\n      Souls be so lost but that Eternal Love\n    May be brought back while hope hath life in man.\n      \u2019Tis true that one who sets himself above\n    The Holy Church, and dies beneath its ban\n      (Even though he had repented at the last),\n    Outside this Mount must unadmitted rove\n      Thirty times longer than the term had been\n    Of his presumptuous contumacy past,\n      Unless good prayers a shorter penance win.\n    See now what power thou hast to make me glad:\n      Report of me to my good Constance bear,\n    How thou saw\u2019st me, and what I\u2019ve told thee add;\n      For much it profits us what they do there.\u201d\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[198] _Dante_ means the Hill of Purgatory, to the ascent of which\nwe are turned no less by the right reason that is in us than by\nour contrition for an erroneous course, from which we are happily\npassing.\n\n\n\n\nON MUSIC.\n\n\nHarmony and melody--which have an equal share in the effects\nproduced by sound--find their original type, it may be, in the\ndouble nature of the universe, and of human destiny considered\nsocially and individually. Harmony, like the external world and\nits moving masses, presents us with various parts, linked together\nand arranged so as to subserve one and the same end. Regular and\nmeasured in its movement as the celestial orbs, no deviation is\nallowable even in its boldest flight. An almighty will seems to\nhave bound it to magnificence and grandeur, restricting its freedom\nto the latitude of the laws whose expression it is. But melody\nis thoroughly moral, and consequently free. It is the heart\u2019s\nutterance, and follows and renders its emotions faithfully. When\nbrilliant, it recalls our joys; when sweet and lingering, it\nportrays our rare and delicious intervals of repose. It sighs for\nour disquietudes and sways beneath our sorrows, like a friend\nwho shares them. Would it reproduce the sad and vague yearnings\nwhich by turns agitate and soothe the soul of man?--its songs are\nas dreamy as his chimeras. Melody is but one thought at a time,\nbut--mobile and rapid--it renders all thoughts in succession\nand tells the tale of a complete destiny. Harmony, with its\ngrand effects, seems made to appeal to assembled men; melody, to\ntransport the memory in solitude. Words may of course be adapted to\na piece of pure harmony; but they are only accessory. When melody\nis associated with human speech, they rival one another in charm\nand in power. Speech is, indeed, the heart\u2019s expression; but melody\nremains its accent.--_Madame Swetchine._\n\n\n\n\nFLEURANGE.\n\nBY MRS. CRAVEN, AUTHOR OF \u201cA SISTER\u2019S STORY.\u201d\n\nTRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH, WITH PERMISSION.\n\n\nPART SECOND\n\nTHE TRIAL.\n\n\nXXVIII.\n\nMore than twenty-four hours had elapsed. Fleurange was already far\naway, and the incidents of the preceding days only seemed like a\nsuccession of troubled dreams. The conversation she heard on the\nterrace between the count and his mother, that which she herself\nhad with the latter, her interview with George at San Miniato, the\nmysterious bouquet in the evening, and the sudden reappearance of\nFelix the next day--all these remembrances came back, one by one,\nbut were all effaced by that of the farewell which succeeded them.\n\nYes, she had bidden him adieu for ever; whereas he smilingly said,\n\u201cA rivederla!\u201d and his mother, giving her hand graciously to her\nyoung _prot\u00e9g\u00e9e_, continued to the last to play her part in this\ndrama of two characters, which she and Fleurange alone understood.\n\nThe young girl also sustained hers without exhibiting any weakness;\nbut in kissing the princess\u2019 hand she gave to the words \u201cAddio,\nprincip\u00e9ssa!\u201d an accent the latter fully comprehended the meaning\nof. She embraced her in return with involuntary tenderness, and\neven with an emotion that might have been considered surprising for\nso short an absence. George observed it, and felt more reassured\nthan ever. Therefore, after Fleurange\u2019s departure, what he felt\nwas not so much sadness, as the need of some distraction powerful\nenough to relieve the insupportable _ennui_ caused by her absence.\n\nAs to her, alone with Julian in the coup\u00e9 of the vetturino, while\nClara, her child, and a young Italian waiting-maid occupied the\ninterior, she could not give herself up to the thoughts that were\nsuffocating her. She must still continue the effort of concealment,\nand assume a cheerfulness she was far from feeling, which was more\nantipathic to her nature than anything else. She was to turn off to\nSanta Maria at the small village of Passignano, where they expected\nto arrive on the morning of the third day, and she did not intend\nannouncing to the Steinbergs her intention of accompanying them to\nGermany till they stopped at the monastery on their way back from\nPerugia. By that time all her plans for the future would be more\ndefinitely arranged. There were some vague intentions floating\nin her mind as well as some irresolution, which she scarcely\ncomprehended herself. She wished for the penetrating eye of her\nmaternal friend to aid her in deciphering the confused condition\nof her mind and soul. Until then she was resolved to remain silent.\n\nHer conversation with Julian dwelt principally on their unexpected\nmeeting with their unhappy cousin.\n\n\u201cAfter serious reflection,\u201d said Steinberg, \u201cit seems to me\nimpossible to do anything without running the risk of injuring the\nunfortunate man.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt appears he is now leading a respectable life,\u201d said Fleurange.\n\n\u201cYes; and for that very reason it is important to him that the past\nshould not be made public. As Count George avails himself of his\nservices, he must, I suppose, have had good recommendations.\u201d\n\nFleurange made no reply. She did not venture to say she had often\nheard George reproached for his indifference to the position\nor reputation of many he employed in his collections, or the\nresearches in which he was interested. \u201cWhat have I to do with\ntheir private lives,\u201d he would sometimes say, \u201cin the kind of work\nI require of them? If they are intelligent and capable, that is\nsufficient. When I have an inscription to be copied, or a passage\nin a manuscript to be transcribed, I rather employ a capable rogue\nthan an honest blockhead.\u201d\n\nWithout knowing precisely why, this connection between Felix and\nGeorge inspired Fleurange with involuntary terror, and, much as\nshe wished it, she could not put the latter on his guard without\nbetraying Felix\u2019s real name and position. In short, the fatal\nremembrances connected with the cousin were now changed into a\npainful presentiment which added a darker shade to the sadness she\nsought to conceal.\n\nAfter a long silence she resumed: \u201cThe Marquis Adelardi seemed to\nknow the person who was with Felix the evening we met him?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; and to have a poor opinion of him.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you question him afterwards on the subject?\u201d\n\n\u201cI was desirous of doing so, and in the course of that evening at\nthe princess\u2019 I tried to introduce the subject. But he appeared to\nanswer with repugnance. I was also cautious in my questions, so I\nwas able to obtain very little information.\u201d\n\nJulian stopped, but after a moment\u2019s reflection continued:\n\n\u201cThe Marquis Adelardi, from what I learned at Bologna, was once\nconnected with a conspiracy.\u201d\n\n\u201cConspiracy!\u201d--exclaimed Fleurange with alarm. \u201cThe excellent and\nagreeable marquis? What are you saying, Julian?\u201d\n\nJulian smiled. \u201cCome, Gabrielle, you need not be so frightened.\nI do not mean to imply he is a criminal, but I think that during\none period of his life he was connected with some revolutionary\nagitation in Italy, and was brought in contact with more than one\nsuspicious character, and Felix\u2019s companion was probably one of\nthem.\u201d\n\nThe conversation was not prolonged, and Fleurange remained silent\nfor a time. Julian\u2019s last words added a new fear to all the painful\nimpressions--some definite and others vague--which already weighed\non her mind and heart. She pitied Felix, but she was more afraid\nof him. She now regarded his strange billet as a bold attempt to\nfrighten her or excite her interest--an irresistible temptation to\naim at effect, which he yielded to at the risk of being discovered.\nGeorge\u2019s connection with this bold and restless spirit filled her\nwith greater anxiety than ever. It seemed at last as if so many\nthings at once had never weighed upon her young heart, and that\nclouds were gathering on all sides around her.\n\nAt Passignano she left her travelling companions, and took a small\nvehicle for the monastery. All the dresses and ornaments the\nprincess had added to her modest wardrobe were left in Barbara\u2019s\ncare during her supposed short absence, and the only luggage she\nbrought with her from Florence was a small valise. This was at once\ndeposited beside the driver, and, as soon as the young girl was\nseated, the cal\u00e8che immediately started off.\n\nThe road gradually ascended, but this was only perceptible from\nthe increasing beauty of the prospect which became more and more\nextensive. Afar off lay Lake Thrasimene, gleaming in the sun like\na brilliant sheet of silver; nearer, a small stream, whose name,\nafter twenty-two centuries, still recalls the memorable battle\nthat ensanguined its waters, wound through the plain where it was\nfought.[199] It is stated in history that, during that famous day,\nneither the Romans nor Hannibal\u2019s soldiers noticed the earthquake\nwhich rocked the ground beneath their feet. It might have trembled\nanew, and our poor Fleurange would perhaps have been equally\ninsensible, so greatly absorbed was she in a struggle of another\nkind--between her will to do right and the violent inclinations of\nher heart.\n\nShe was now completely alone for the first time for a long period,\nand seemed to have regained her liberty of thought. Freed from\nthe necessity of struggling against the softening emotions that\nwould have enfeebled her courage, she could now yield without\nrestraint to the pleasure of living over the past six months of\nher life. She leaned her weary head back, closed her eyes, and\nallowed her memory to recall all those dear but vain remembrances.\nShe saw him once more whom she never expected to behold again; she\nlistened anew to the voice she would hear no more; she allowed\nherself to tell him all she had so often repressed. It was a\nprolonged and dangerous dream, followed by a sorrowful awakening.\nAnd it profoundly troubled the peace of her soul, which, with her\nfirmness, she had preserved only by a constant effort during the\nperiod of trial her youth had just passed through. \u201cAnd it is\nended!--ended!\u201d she exclaimed, with a cry almost of despair, hiding\nher face in her hands. \u201cI shall never behold him again!\u201d\n\nSuddenly she heard the mellow sound of a distant bell which revived\na whole world of past impressions. She hastily raised her head\nand looked around. She was passing through a grove of acacias\nthat shaded the winding road. Beyond were some large pines and a\nfew rustic dwellings. Passing by one of them, she heard a voice\nexclaim, \u201cEvviva la Signorina!\u201d--and further on: \u201cLa Madonna vi\naccompagna!\u201d Shortly after she passed under a half-ruined arcade\nwhich looked like a vestige of antiquity. The bell was still\nringing, but its sound was more distinct, for they were approaching\nthe chapel.\n\n\u201cWhat, so soon!\u201d she cried, clasping her hands. \u201cHave we arrived?\u201d\n\nAt the end of the avenue the carriage turned to the left, passed\nby the chapel, and at length stopped before a small gate-way of\nsculptured stone, surmounted by a statue of our Saviour, at whose\nfeet the following words in relief were distinctly legible: VENITE\nAD ME OMNES QUI LABORATIS ET ONERATI ESTIS, ET EGO REFICIAM VOS.\n\nFleurange sprang from the carriage and eagerly rang. The gate\nopened: a soft expression of surprise and welcome greeted her. She\nreplied with a smile, but did not stop, for at the farther end of\nthe cloister she perceived her whom she sought.\n\nIt was noon: the children were just being dismissed from school,\nand Madre Maddalena stood looking at them as they went out, now\nand then saying some kind word. Fleurange, suddenly appearing in\ntheir midst, threw the little procession into disorder. Mother\nMaddalena, astonished, looked reprovingly towards the person who\nhad unexpectedly disturbed the order of the time and place. She\nlooked again--again hesitated--then at length her arms opened with\nan exclamation of joy:\n\n\u201cFior angela mia!--Dear lamb returned to the fold!\u201d\n\nAnd the returned wanderer, falling into the arms of her mother,\nforgot in a moment all the fatigue, the dangers, the sufferings\nshe had endured on the way, and all the thorns that had left their\ntraces on her wounded feet.\n\n\nXXIX.\n\nThe chapel was dim, cool, and filled with the odor of the fresh\nflowers on the altar and the incense used at the morning service.\nThe nun and the young girl knelt for a few moments to offer up\nthanks to God as the preliminary obligation of their reunion, and\ninvoke the Friend above all others who is not only the great _I\nam_, but LOVE itself. Fleurange soon rose up at a sign from the\nmother, and followed her into a well-known apartment on the ground\nfloor called the garden parlor.\n\nLike all convent parlors, it had no other furniture but a square\ntable in the middle of the room, some straw-bottomed chairs\nranged around, a book-case with a large crucifix on the top, and\na statue of the holy Madonna on the other side, at the foot of\nwhich stood a vase full of flowers. What distinguished this parlor\nfrom all others of the kind was the view through the broad arched\nwindow on one side, and on the other through the open garden\ndoor. The beautiful landscape we have already described, bounded\non the distant horizon by the sublime but graceful outline of\nthe mountains, had in the foreground an abundance of flowers\nmore carefully cultivated than is usually the case in convent\ngardens. At the right, the eye caught a glimpse of the arches of\nthe cloister, and on the left the dense shade of a small grove of\norange-trees now in bloom, beyond which was an orchard with vines\ninterlacing the fruit-trees, and a carefully cultivated vegetable\ngarden--the principal resource of the convent larder. Some doves\nwere flying between the cloister and the garden, and during the\nhours of conventual silence there was no other sound within the\npeaceful enclosure but the noise of their cooing. But at recreation\ntime the cloister, as well as the garden, resounded with the voices\nand laughter of the children, and Mother Maddalena\u2019s parlor was not\nalways as quiet as when she ushered Fleurange into it.\n\nThe door was scarcely closed when the nun took the young girl\u2019s\nface between her hands, and attentively examined it, as if she\nwould read the depths of her soul.\n\nMother Maddalena was about fifty years of age at this time. She\nhad been uncommonly beautiful in her youth, and there was still\na regularity and nobleness in her time-worn features which were\nset off by the white bandeau and guimpe that encircled her face\nlike a frame to a picture. A long black veil fell in deep folds\nnearly to the ground. Her black eyes were uncommonly large and\nmild, and had an extraordinary expression sometimes seen in eyes\ndevoid of any other beauty, and is exclusively peculiar to those\nwhich reflect that mysterious and ineffable joy which Bossuet\ncalls \u201c_incompatible_,\u201d and says, to be tasted, \u201cil faut qu\u2019elle\nsoit go\u00fbt\u00e9 _seule_.\u201d Such was the look, full of divine joy and\nsuperhuman peace, now fastened on Fleurange, whose limpid eyes\ndid not avoid the scrutiny, but remained fastened on those of the\nMadre. Only her pale face flushed and then grew paler than before.\n\n\u201cPoor child! poor child!\u201d said Mother Maddalena at length after a\nlong and silent examination. \u201cAlas! how much she has suffered.--But\nno evil has tarnished her heart.\u201d With her right hand she made the\nsign of the cross on Fleurange\u2019s pure brow, and then pressed her\nlips to the same spot, adding, with a smile of satisfaction: \u201cThe\nAngel Gabriel, to whom I confided her at parting, has restored\nher to me, like a faithful guardian whose inspirations have been\nobeyed.\u201d\n\nWhether Fleurange now lost her customary self-control, or did not\ntry to conceal her feelings in Mother Maddalena\u2019s presence, while\nthe latter stood looking at her silently, she burst into tears.\n\n\u201cYes, I understand,\u201d said the mother--\u201ca great effort was required\nto overcome the natural tendencies of the heart, to act and to\nspeak without the relief of weeping!--But my poor child succeeded,\nand is weary from the exertion--\u201d She continued in a softer tone:\n\u201cBut it is the weary and heavy laden that have the promise of\nfinding rest, and it is in this house especially that this rest\nawaits those who ask it of him who has promised it, and who alone\ncan give it!--Come,\u201d continued she in a firmer tone, after allowing\nFleurange to weep some time in silence--\u201ccome, my dear Gabrielle,\nlift up your heart--the heart so susceptible of pain! Try to rise a\nlittle above your sufferings--sufferings which enfold the germ of\nso great a joy!\u201d murmured she to herself, \u201cwhereas the joys of the\nworld contain the germ of so much suffering!--Come, my child, come\nwith me.\u201d\n\nThe last words were uttered in a tone of mild authority. Fleurange\nunhesitatingly rose, and followed her across the garden, now\nexposed to the ardor of the sun\u2019s says, into the small grove where\nthe foliage was so dense that it was cool at mid-day. A flight of\nsteps led to a little oratory in this peaceful solitude, where\nthe pupils assembled towards sunset for prayers; but now it was\nentirely empty.\n\nMother Maddalena seated herself on a bench in front of the oratory,\nand Fleurange took a place near her.\n\n\u201cNow tell me, not only what I already know, but what I am still\nignorant of.\u201d\n\nIt was hardly necessary to articulate these words, for Fleurange\nhad not come with the intention of concealing a single thought.\nShe therefore began her account, and, at the mother\u2019s request,\nwent back to the very day she left the monastery with her father.\nShe gave an account of her travels in Italy, with all her first\nimpressions: her residence at Paris, and all her sufferings there;\nher life in Germany, with all its pleasures: then the ruin of her\nfamily and their separation; and, finally, of Florence--Florence\nwith all its emotions, its joys, its dangers, its acute pains, and\nits fearful temptations.\n\nFor the first time in her life she uttered Count George\u2019s\nname without hesitating, and related without any reticence or\ncircumlocution all his name revived--everything! from the wild\ndreams that preceded their first interview to the reverie of the\npresent day from which the convent bell roused her. She related\neverything simply, clearly, firmly, and in a tone which, as she\nproceeded, revealed more and more clearly to the ear attentively\nlistening that her rectitude of soul was not changed or its vigor\nenfeebled.\n\nClearness of perception and energy of action were the two germs, as\nwe have already said, that induced Madre Maddalena to believe, if\nsown in the heart and watered by the dews of divine grace, without\nwhich all our perceptions become dim and all strength fails, would\nenable this child, in spite of her youth, her beauty, and all the\ntendencies of a tender heart and an ardent temperament, to walk\nwith a firm and sure step in the path of life.\n\nShe now saw her hopes realized, and thanked God for it. But she\nlooked, nevertheless, with inexpressible compassion at Fleurange\u2019s\nyouthful face. Life was still so long before her, and from the very\nbeginning the combat had been so arduous! It is true, her courage\nhad thereby been tempered, but the day of rest was yet so far\noff! so many storms might yet rise, so many perils gather around\nher! From the safe port that sheltered her own life, she looked\noff over the sea of the world, on which floated this frail bark,\npraying in her heart to Him who commandeth the ocean and ruleth the\nstorm to snatch her from the threatening waves and land her safely\non the shore.\n\n\u201cI was not deceived,\u201d said she, when the account was ended.\n\u201cNo, my child, you have not mistaken the path of duty, but have\ncourageously followed its leadings. I could not be otherwise than\nsatisfied with you. Fleurange, I give you my blessing, and God will\nbless you also.\u201d\n\nSaying these simple words, she softly laid her hand on the young\ngirl\u2019s head. This act, and the words accompanying it, increased\nthe sensation of inexpressible comfort and solace, which was the\nnatural effect of the complete unburdening of her mind. A divine\npeace, as it were, descended upon her, and enveloped her as a\ngarment.\n\n\u201cOh! madre mia!\u201d she exclaimed, \u201clet me abide here with you--never\nleave you again, nor this peaceful asylum!\u201d\n\nMother Maddalena smiled, and was about to reply when the bell gave\nfour strokes.\n\n\u201cWe will talk about this another time,\u201d said she. \u201cThe bell calls\nme away now, and I must leave you. We shall see each other again at\nthe evening hour of recreation. I suppose you have not forgotten\nthe way to your room. And you still remember the rule, I hope, and\nhow the day here is divided. The bell rings at the same hours as\nbefore. Nothing is changed here.\u201d\n\n\nXXX.\n\nIt would not be easy for those who have never had this sweet\nexperience, to realize the effect of being suddenly transported\nfrom the affairs and pleasures of the world, with all its cares and\nsorrows, to such an atmosphere as now surrounded Fleurange.\n\nBut if every one does not feel the need of pausing thus on the way\nthrough life, we cannot understand the astonishment and ironical\ndisdain with which some, unwilling to make the trial, speak of\nthese temporary retreats from the world, so customary in former\ntimes, and somewhat so in ours. Do they find life, then, always\nso pleasant and easy to bear? Does joy succeed so surely to joy\nin the happy succession of their days? and have these days so\nassured a duration that it would be useless to regulate their\ncourse or reflect on their end? Or have these persons such perfect\ncontrol over their thoughts that no distraction ever disturbs their\nequilibrium, and the need of pausing for reflection and rest is\nnever felt? We do not know. But what seems indubitable to us is\nthat, for a great number, this rest is as refreshing as pure water\nand a shady spot of repose to the weary and thirsty traveller. And\nthere is no doubt that our poor heroine belonged to this number.\nAnd this is why, in leaving Madre Maddalena, she returned to the\nchapel instead of going up to her room, and there, in the profound\nsilence of the sanctuary, passed a whole hour in tasting the\nsweetness of an unburdened heart, and the sense of divine security\nwhich does not depend solely on the temporary shelter of the body,\nbut on that deeper feeling of a permanent shelter of the soul which\nnothing earthly can affect.\n\nIf we consider all the sufferings this young girl had so recently\npassed through--if we remember that the enthralling influences of\nlove had surrounded without tarnishing her, but still not without\nlending a disenchantment to every other but the object of her love,\nwe shall not find it very surprising that in this spot, at this\nhour, she should have thought of cutting short her worldly life,\nand, without going any further in search of happiness, henceforth\nimpossible, or a destiny that must ever remain imperfect, of\ndevoting herself to the highest of all aims--that whose object is\nGod alone, and the welfare of those whom he loved most while on\nearth--children and the poor.\n\nEven at Florence, during the period of so much anguish, the\ncloister of Santa Maria appeared like a refuge, and more than once\nthe idea of never leaving it had occurred to her then, as well as\nwhile listening to Madre Maddalena. But now the idea became more\ndecided, and took possession of her imagination with an intensity\nstronger than ever before. She welcomed it, and gave herself up to\nit with a kind of pious intoxication. She tasted beforehand the\nbitter pleasure of sacrifice; she accepted with interior transport\nthe perspective of absolute renunciation of all the joys of life;\nand when at length she brought her long meditation to an end, and\nprepared to leave the chapel, it seemed to her as if she had just\nreceived a supernatural inspiration.\n\nShe would have sought an interview with Mother Maddalena at\nonce, but she knew it was a time when she was occupied in the\nschool-room, after which she devoted a whole hour, towards the\nclose of the day, to the poor who from far and near came to consult\nher about their affairs or relate their sorrows. The morning was\ngiven to the distribution of food, medicine, and assistance of all\nkinds of material wants, and the evening was consecrated to the\nexercise of charity under another form, the recipients of which\nwere often more numerous than the others.\n\nFleurange was not unaware of this, and she decided to remain\nquietly in her room without attempting to see the superior again\ntill after supper. But when, at the close of school, she saw\ntwo nuns taking the children to the oratory in the grove of\norange-trees, she went down to join in the prayers that ended\ntheir day. The vine blossoms in the orchard united their sweet and\ndelicate odor to that of the orange-trees, and, when this little\nperfumed grove resounded with the hymns of the children, it seemed\nas if all nature united with them in offering heaven the incense of\npraise. Prayers over, Fleurange joined the nuns and their pupils,\nand for awhile it seemed as if the peaceful days of her childhood\nhad returned. Then came the silence of the refectory. But when\nsupper at length was ended, she went in pursuit of Madre Maddalena.\nShe knew she should not find her in her parlor, but on the terrace\nover the cloister which commanded a view of the country around. It\nwas there she loved to remain in fine weather till the very close\nof day.\n\nWhat Fleurange was so eager to say we know already. To think aloud\nwas natural to her, and required no effort with Madre Maddalena\nespecially. Besides, she only wished to resume the conversation\ninterrupted in the morning, and make known all she had thought, and\nfelt, and resolved upon during the time she passed in the chapel.\n\nMother Maddalena stood with her arms folded, and listened this time\nwithout interrupting her. Standing thus motionless in this place,\nat this evening hour, the noble outlines of her countenance and the\nlong folds of her robe clearly defined against the blue mountains\nin the distance, and the violet heavens above, she might easily\nhave been taken for one of the visions of that country which have\nbeen depicted for us and all generations. The illusion would not\nhave been dispelled by the aspect of her who, seated on the low\nwall of the terrace, was talking with her eyes raised, and with an\nexpression and attitude perfectly adapted to one of those young\nsaints often represented by the inspired artist before the divine\nand majestic form of the Mother of God.\n\n\u201cWell, my dear mother, what do you say?\u201d asked Fleurange, after\nwaiting a long time, and seeing the Madre looking at her and gently\nshaking her head without any other reply.\n\n\u201cBefore answering you,\u201d replied she at last, \u201clet me ask this\nquestion: Do you think it allowable to consecrate one\u2019s self to God\nin the religious life without a vocation?\u201d\n\n\u201cAssuredly not.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd do you know what a vocation is?\u201d said she very slowly.\n\nFleurange hesitated. \u201cI thought I knew, but you ask in such a way\nas to make me feel now I do not.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am going to tell you: a vocation,\u201d said the Madre, as her eyes\nlit up with an expression Fleurange had never seen before--\u201ca\nvocation to the religious life is to love God more than we love\nany creature in the world, however dear; it is to be unable to\ngive anything or any person on earth a love comparable to that;\nto feel the tendency of all our faculties incline us towards him\nalone; finally,\u201d pursued she, while her eyes seemed looking beyond\nthe visible heavens on which they were fastened, \u201cit is the full\npersuasion, even in this life, that he is _all_--our all--in the\npast, the present, and the future; in this world and in another,\nfor ever, and to the exclusion of everything besides!--\u201d\n\nFleurange, accustomed to Madre Maddalena\u2019s habitual simplicity of\nlanguage, looked at her with surprise, and was speechless for a\nmoment, struck by her tone and her unusual expression, no less\nthan the words she had just uttered. A deep blush suffused the\nyoung girl\u2019s cheeks and mounted to her forehead.\n\n\u201cMy dear mother,\u201d said she at length, casting down her eyes,\n\u201cdoubtless it is not given to all to feel such love for God;\nespecially to love him thus to the utter exclusion of all else here\nbelow; but,\u201d she continued with emotion, \u201cis not the voluntary\nsacrifice of all the affections and joys of the world a holocaust\nlikewise worthy of being offered him?\u201d\n\nMother Maddalena\u2019s eyes resumed their usual expression of\nmildness: \u201cYes, assuredly, my poor child. I did not wish to\ninsinuate a doubt as to that. How could I, in this house, open to\nall who suffer, and where among our sisters--and not the least\nholy--are several who have brought hearts crushed by the sorrows\nof life? But still, that is not the irresistible call of God which\nwe consider a genuine vocation. And what I wish you to understand,\nmy dear Gabrielle, is this: if I know you--and who knows you as\nwell?--you are one of those whom God would have called thus, had\nit been his will your life should be consecrated to him in the\ncloister. It is not for one like you to vow yourself to him through\ndiscouragement or disgust of the world, or because its happiness\nhas lost its enchantment. The struggle has been severe, I know,\nbut on that account would you have it ended? No. Gabrielle, on the\ncontrary, you must resume your strength to continue the contest.\u201d\n\nTears came into Fleurange\u2019s eyes, and she bent down her head with\nan expression of sadness.\n\n\u201cOh! my poor child,\u201d resumed the mother, \u201cit would be much easier\nfor me to tell you to remain and never leave us again! It would\nbe sweeter for me to preserve you thus from all the sufferings\nthat yet await you. But believe me, the day will come when you\nwill rejoice you were not spared these sufferings; and you will\nacknowledge that she who is now speaking to you knew you better\nthan you knew yourself.\u201d\n\nThe stars were now beginning to appear in the dim azure of the\nheavens, and the last gleams of daylight were fading away. It\nwas the hour of the Ave Maria. The bell soon announced it, and\nthey said the familiar prayer together before going down to the\ncloister.\n\n\nXXXI.\n\nAfter this conversation, Fleurange resolved not to reconsider the\nsubject, but to renounce for ever the thought she had clung to for\na moment with so much ardor. This submission, the effect of her\nsimplicity and decision of character, did not prevent her from\nfeeling it would require a great effort to begin a new life once\nmore. And life would seem new to her, even in the Old Mansion,\nfor she was no longer the same. An abyss separated her from the\npeaceful, happy days she passed there. But the Old Mansion was now\nlike a dream that had vanished, and it was to an unknown place she\nwas to direct her steps. The friends who would welcome her were\ncertainly dear, and sometimes the thought of seeing them again\nmade her heart beat with joy; but this feeling was frequently\noverpowered by stronger and more recent remembrances, and, in spite\nof all her efforts, regret--a continual, poignant regret--made\nher indifferent to everything except this great sacrifice, which\nwould have been a sublime consolation, but which henceforth she was\nforbidden to think of.\n\nThe days did not pass, however, one by one, without infusing into\nher soul the benefit of retirement. It seemed to her as if the past\nand the future were suspended.\n\nRecollections and anticipations ceased to preoccupy her, and, as\nif in a bark equally remote from these two shores--too far off to\nhear a sound from either side--she allowed herself to be rocked\non the waves as on the ocean in serene weather, giving herself up\nto the calmness and silence of her present life, with no other\nfeeling but the infinite peace that surrounded her, and seeing\nnothing above her but the ever smiling heavens! Such days cannot\nlast, but they do not pass away without leaving some trace, were\nit only a remembrance full, not of regret, but of encouragement.\nThe momentary sense of exquisite sweetness soon evaporates; but its\nstrengthening influences remain, and develop in the soul that has\ntasted it once--even for an instant in life!\n\nIt was necessary, however, to begin to think of her departure, and\nof some pretext to offer the princess which would not appear like\nan arrangement. For this she awaited the return of the Steinbergs.\nThough it would be painful to reveal to them the real motive of\nher decision, she preferred to do it rather than give them also an\nimaginary reason.\n\nBut a sad, unforeseen event occurred which spared her any\nconcealment or such an act of frankness. She had been at the\nconvent about ten days when she was informed that the travellers\nhad arrived an hour before at a neighboring inn, and her cousin\nwas waiting in the garden parlor to see her. The sight of Clara\u2019s\ncharming face always afforded her pleasure, and it was now\nincreased by the satisfaction of presenting to Madre Maddalena one\nof the daughters of Ludwig Dornthal, whose opportune appearance\nin her life was regarded by the mother as a striking proof of the\nintervention of the glorious archangel whom she had given her as a\nprotector, and Clara Steinberg\u2019s arrival at the convent had been\nanticipated as a _festa_.\n\nBut this festival was destined to be saddened. Fleurange was to\nlearn sad news from the letters awaiting her cousin at Santa Maria.\nThe young girl\u2019s friend--so faithful and ready to aid her--the\nexcellent Dr. Leblanc, was no more! He had sunk under the effects\nof an accident met with while taking a drive with Professor\nDornthal in the environs of Heidelberg.\n\nWhen Madre Maddalena appeared, she found the two cousins in tears,\nand her sweet smile of welcome was changed into anxious inquiries.\nSome moments were necessary for the explanations she asked for, and\nit was only after her soothing words and the peace that emanated\nfrom her presence had somewhat calmed Fleurange\u2019s agitation that\nshe had courage enough to open a letter from Clement containing\nthe details of the cruel accident that had cost her old friend his\nlife--the friend to whom her thoughts had so often turned during\nher recent perplexities, and who was taken from her in the very\nhour of her life when his aid and advice seemed most essential.\n\nClement wrote: \u201cIn returning from a drive to Stift-Neuburg, the\ncarriage was upset and broken, and they were thrown violently to\nthe ground. At first my father seemed the more injured of the\ntwo. He was entirely unconscious, and did not recover his senses\nfor some hours. We are now, however, relieved from nearly all\nanxiety concerning him. His friend, whose senses never left him\nfor a moment, declared from the first he had received some grave,\ninternal injury from which he could not recover. Nevertheless, he\nprescribed all the necessary remedies himself, but at the same\ntime made all his arrangements with admirable firmness: wrote to\nhis sister, sent for a priest, and this at a time when we did not\nthink him in danger. But on the third day his anticipations were\nverified--his case grew more serious. His poor sister had just\narrived the day before yesterday, when he died in her arms.--\n\n\u201cDear cousin,\u201d Clement continued, \u201cI have one request to make\nbefore I close, and this not in my own name, but on the part of\nmy mother: Return, Gabrielle; if possible, return at once; at\nall events come soon. The sacrifice you imposed on yourself is\nno longer necessary, and your presence here is indispensable. My\npoor father is continually asking for you, and cannot be made to\nunderstand your absence. No wish to convince you, my dear cousin,\nwould make me think deception excusable. You may believe me, then,\nwhen I repeat that the aid you so generously afforded us is now\nsuperfluous. You can without any scruple return home--your home,\nunless, which God forbid! your own choice leads you to prefer\nanother. Poor Mademoiselle Josephine has but one wish--to see you\nagain. She says it is the only consolation she looks forward to.\nHilda is now with us; it is unnecessary to say she desires your\nreturn, and equally so to tell you _your brothers_ beg and expect\nit.--\u201d\n\nFleurange no longer needed a pretext. She would neither be obliged\nto reveal nor conceal anything--everything was arranged for her\nby the overruling force of circumstances, and her letter to\nthe Princess Catherine became all at once easy to write. It was\ndespatched that very day, and as soon as the sun began to gild the\nmountain-tops the next day but one, Madre Maddalena for the second\ntime saw the child she so truly loved cross the threshold of her\nconvent home to encounter once more the dangers of the world.\n\nWould she again return?--return like the dove, beaten by the\ntempest, who has found no rest for the sole of her foot, to take\nrefuge once more in this asylum of peace? Or was she gone to\nreturn no more? and would she now find the world smiling, and its\nfreshness renewed, and her pathway smoothed before her and strewn\nwith flowers? She did not seek to know. Mother Maddalena, as we\nare aware, did not consider such anticipations very important. She\nonly hoped her feet might be guided by light from on high, and her\ncourage in pursuing life\u2019s journey unfaltering. She asked no more.\n\nBesides, the ardor of the sun has its dangers as well as the storm,\nand the clearness of the soul\u2019s heaven may be obscured in pleasant\nas well as in tempestuous weather. Let us, therefore, leave to\nGod the appointment of every incident of our lives, and be solely\nsolicitous of fulfilling our course well, without being anxious as\nto the way.\n\n\u201cAnd then--the way is short, however long it may seem, and it leads\nto that true life where we shall for ever live together, dear\nGabrielle--where all your poor heart has vainly wished, sought,\nand hoped for here below will be given in full measure, pressed\ndown, and running over; where all it has suffered here will bear no\ncomparison with the radiant joys of eternal life! God is faithful.\nLet us wait. And what is it to wait--to wait thus, with sure faith\nin his promises for eternal reunion with God?\u201d\n\nSuch were the last words of Mother Maddalena. She gave her blessing\nto Fleurange, who knelt to receive it, closed the convent gate\nbehind her, and ascended to the terrace to follow her as long as\nshe could with her eyes. Then she went down to the chapel, and\nthere on her knees tenderly wept and prayed for her. For there\nis no affection equal to that of such large hearts expanded and\nfilled with the love of God. And we shall be convinced of this if\nwe recall the excessive devotedness of which they are capable--and\nthey alone--through love for the most unknown of their brethren.\nThen we shall see what such hearts are to the objects of their\naffection, that they are kindled with a flame which purifies and\ntempers all that is noble and worthy of being developed, but prompt\nto extinguish and consume all that is frail, frivolous, impure, and\nof no permanent value.\n\n\nXXXIII.\n\nThe Princess Catherine, in an elegant morning n\u00e9glig\u00e9, was alone\nwith the Marquis Adelardi in her small salon when a letter was\nbrought her on a silver salver. She glanced at the address.\n\n\u201cAh! from Gabrielle,\u201d she exclaimed. \u201cThe very letter I was\nexpecting to-day.\u201d\n\nShe opened it and hastily ran over its contents. \u201cVery well done,\nvery,\u201d she said. \u201cNothing could be more natural. She hit upon the\nvery best thing to say. It would be impossible for me to refuse\nwithout cruelty, as George himself would acknowledge. Here,\nAdelardi,\u201d continued she, throwing him the letter, \u201cread it. It\nmust be owned that this Gabrielle is reliable and true to her word.\nMoreover, she has a good deal of wit.\u201d\n\nAdelardi attentively read the letter.\n\n\u201cWhat you have just remarked, princess, is very true, but this time\ncircumstances have favored you. This letter was not written for the\noccasion; it is sincere from beginning to end. This young girl can\nkeep a secret, but is incapable of prevarication. This is not the\nkind of a letter she would have written, if the contents were not\nabsolutely true.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you think so?\u201d said the princess. \u201cIt is of no consequence,\nhowever, as to that, though it would simplify everything still\nmore. But in that case--Ah! _ciel!_ let me look at the letter\nagain.\u201d\n\nShe now read it entirely through, instead of merely glancing at the\ncontents.\n\n\u201cBut in that case I have lost my physician--and the only one who\never understood my case. This, _par exemple!_ is a real misfortune.\nIf he had had time, at least, to answer my last letter, and tell me\nwhat springs I should go to this year! Whom shall I consult now?\nMay is nearly gone, and next month I ought to be there. Really, I\nam unlucky!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you expect, princess?\u201d said the marquis in a tone\nimperceptibly ironical. \u201cOne cannot always have good luck. On the\nother hand, you have just had your very wish!\u201d\n\n\u201cI acknowledge it, and, to come back to Gabrielle, I must confess\nI have no reason to be otherwise than satisfied with her. Yes, we\nhave had a lucky escape, Adelardi. But I can hardly forgive her\nfor the fears she caused me, and the anxiety I still have.--What\nof George since yesterday? What humor will he be in for the news I\nhave for him?--But what are you brooding over, Adelardi? You make\nme uneasy with your look of anxiety. I hope you do not think he is\nin danger of any new folly?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat kind of folly?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know very well--the only one to be dreaded at present. Are we\nto have another of the scenes we have already witnessed?--Will he\nelude us, and follow her?--Or--how shall I express it?--will he, by\nway of diversion, do worse, and go from Scylla into Charybdis? One\nnever knows what to expect from him.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, princess, I acknowledge I wish I were sure this young girl,\nin sacrificing herself--for you do not imagine, I suppose, that she\nis indifferent to George\u2019s attractions--\u201d\n\n\u201cIt does not seem very probable,\u201d said the princess; \u201cbut I hope\nyou do not imagine I take into consideration the effect George\nwould naturally produce when he takes pains to captivate a young\ngirl of twenty, and especially one in Gabrielle\u2019s position.\u201d\n\nAdelardi made no reply, but his face, already grave, grew still\ndarker.\n\n\u201cOnce more, Adelardi, what is the matter? One would really think\nyou in love with her yourself.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy no means, though I fancy she might, in her turn, easily\ncaptivate anybody. Nevertheless, I have used all my efforts to\nwithdraw George from the charm I fully saw the danger of before\nyou. But to return to what I was saying: I wish I felt sure of\nnever regretting the time when this noble girl\u2019s influence seemed\nso formidable.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, princess, I assure you I wish she were here to-day, that the\ncharm of her presence might retain him every evening in this salon,\nfrom which, without speaking to her, or scarcely looking at her,\nhe could not tear himself away when she was present. You see how\ndifferent it is already, now she is gone; and why? Because these\ndays, that seem so long, and the evenings so dreary and vacant,\nhave revived a passion as dangerous to him as play or love. Pardon\nme, princess, I know his affection for you and his friendship for\nme; but we are both aware he cannot endure _ennui_, and should\nnot be astonished that Gabrielle\u2019s absence has left a void in his\nexistence whose effect produces the greatest, the most intolerable\n_ennui_ in the world. I feel it myself, and, were it not for the\nabsorbing interests that preoccupy you, you yourself would endure\nwith ill grace the sudden disappearance of this ravishing creature,\nthe very sight of whom--\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, come, Adelardi, be calm, or I shall again say--\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, princess, I am not in love with her, you may rest assured; but\nas for George, I doubt this moment if it were not better for him to\nbe, and remain so, whatever might be the result, rather than--\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, do finish; you terrify me to death.\u201d\n\n\u201cRather than be again seized with this mania for politics--a\npassion fatal to him, you know, and which may lead to the greatest\nimprudence.\u201d\n\nThe princess became thoughtful.\n\n\u201cYes, I am indeed aware of it. I know it but too well; but since\nhis return I have found him so much calmer on this subject that it\nhas not worried me.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt was because he was taken up with something else; but, owing\nto an encounter which unfortunately coincided with Gabrielle\u2019s\ndeparture, and diverted his attention at the very moment he had\nabsolute need of distraction, he is now so absorbed and led away\nthat I truly regret, instead of her indefinite absence, we cannot\nannounce the immediate return of her who, better than any one\nelse--perhaps the only one in the world--could really save him from\nthis new danger.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you, my dear friend. That, _par exemple_, is a regret I can\nhardly sympathize in.\u201d\n\n\u201cI venture to say, moreover,\u201d said Adelardi, \u201cthat, sure of the\nfuture as he believes himself to be, thanks to your admirable\ndiplomacy, we shall find him much more resigned to this news than\nmight have been supposed.\u201d\n\n\u201cI really hope so,\u201d replied the princess, smiling, \u201cespecially as\nanother fancy has taken possession of his mind, as to which, I must\nconfess, I do not feel very anxious at present. \u2018_Un\u2019 alla volta\nper Carit\u00e0!_\u2019--We had to rally to the weakest point first; the\nenemy was at hand, and that enemy--love! Every means had to be used\nto rout him. Now the subject of politics is threatening to engross\nhim. We will take that in hand later. The only thing that seems to\nme of real importance at present is to efface as fully as possible\nthe remembrance of this beautiful Fleurange, for, among other\ndiscoveries, I find that to be Gabrielle\u2019s real name. To this end\nI even welcome politics as an ally to be accepted for a time for\ncertain reasons, but to be turned upon as an enemy the moment its\nservices are no longer required.\u201d\n\nAt this moment a servant appeared to ask the princess\u2019 wishes\nrespecting a picture just brought. She left the room a moment, and\nreturned laughing.\n\n\u201cGuess what picture it was?\u201d said she.\n\n\u201cProbably some new acquisition; some wonderful discovery you have\nmade in your rounds, like that picture by Cigoli you got thrown\ninto the bargain the other day when you bought the frame it was in.\u201d\n\n\u201cBy no means; this is a modern picture representing Cordelia at the\nfeet of her father, and the original--\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, princess, are you in earnest? Has George really given you\nthat picture?\u201d\n\n\u201cGiven?\u201d said the princess, her eyes twinkling as she played\nwith her long necklace of pearls. \u201cNo; at least that was not his\nintention. But could he refuse to lend a picture that affords me so\nmuch pleasure during the absence of--_Cordelia_? It was the whim\nof an invalid suddenly deprived of her nurse! which, with some\npersistence on my part, could not be refused! and after giving,\nmoreover, such a proof of indulgence to him and of condescension\ntowards her!--\u201d\n\n\u201cAh! princess, what a consummate diplomatist you are!\u201d\n\n\u201cTo be serious,\u201d said she, \u201cdo you know I had never noticed this\nresemblance at all, having seen the picture only once, then I did\nnot examine it particularly, and I had never seen Gabrielle? You\nknow George\u2019s cabinet is a sanctuary I rarely invade, and, besides,\nthe picture has had a curtain over it the past year.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what inspired you with the idea of looking at it now?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe himself by the delightful tale he related to me the other\nevening.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd where have you hung it now?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn my dressing-room, where he never steps his foot,\u201d replied the\nprincess with a peal of laughter.\n\nMarquis Adelardi, as we are aware, had deplored George\u2019s\ninfatuation as much as the princess herself, but he now felt\ndissatisfied with her and himself, and he soon left her to go in\nsearch of his friend. He felt anxious about him, for he knew he\nwas tempted by a dangerous curiosity and was unwilling to lose\nsight of him. They had made arrangements to meet and dine together\nat a kind of casino then popular, and he hoped to retain him the\nremainder of the evening. But arriving at the place of rendezvous\nhe did not find him as he expected. George was gone, but had\nleft a note which drew from Adelardi an energetic exclamation of\ndisappointment. The note ran thus: \u201cOnce is not a habit. I have\naccepted Lasko\u2019s invitation for this evening. Dini will accompany\nme. But be easy, I am not going under my own name, and shall not be\nknown by any one.\u201d\n\n\u201cLasko!\u201d muttered the marquis, stamping his foot. \u201cThat is his\nname now! Confound him! why is he not still in the dungeons of\nSpielberg--the only place fit for him!\u201d\n\n                         TO BE CONTINUED.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[199] This stream is called the Sanguinetto.\n\n                      \u201cBut a brook hath ta\u2019en--\n    --A name of blood from that day\u2019s sanguine rain,\n    And Sanguinetto tells ye where the dead\n    Made the earth wet, and turned the unwilling waters red.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE PAPACY.\n\n\n    That such a power should live and breathe, doth seem\n    A thought from which men fain would be relieved,\n    A grandeur not to be endured, a dream\n    Darkening the soul, though it be unbelieved.\n    August conception! far above king, law,\n    Or popular right; how calmly dost thou draw\n    Under thine awful shadow mortal pain,\n    And joy not mortal! Witness of a need\n    Deep laid in man, and therefore pierced in vain,\n    As though thou wert no form that thou shouldst bleed!\n    While such a power there lives in old man\u2019s shape,\n    Such and so dread, should not his mighty will\n    And supernatural presence, Godlike, fill\n    The air we breathe, and leave us no escape?\n                                                --_Faber_\n\n\n\n\nTHE CATHOLIC CHURCH IN THE UNITED STATES:\n\nA RETROSPECT--CONCLUDED.\n\n\nThe inveterate hostility of the Florida Indians to the whites was\nfurther illustrated a few years later, when a vessel bound from\nVera Cruz to Spain struck upon their shores, and the survivors,\nthree hundred in number, including five Dominican religious,\nendeavored to escape through that territory to Mexico. They were\nso unrelentingly pursued by the natives, and suffered so many\nhardships on the route besides, that only one reached Tampico alive\nto tell the story of their fate. Father John Ferrer, however, one\nof the Dominicans, and a most holy man, who had predicted this\nfate of himself before he had even set sail from Vera Cruz, was\ncaptured by the Indians west of the Rio del Norte. If the remainder\nof his prediction held equally good, he must have survived among\nthem in good health for several years; but nothing was ever heard\nof him afterwards. The bearer of these tidings, and the sole\nrepresentative of the thousand souls who had set forth from Vera\nCruz a few months before, was the Dominican lay-brother, Mark de\nMena, whose escape, though he had been terribly wounded, and left\nto die on the road, was truly marvellous.\n\nSuch persistent barbarity needed a check, and Don Tristan de\nLuna was sent in 1559 to subdue the country. The expedition\nunder his command numbered fifteen hundred men in thirteen\nvessels: missionaries, as usual, accompanied him. Again they were\nDominicans, six in number. Again, also, storms and shipwrecks on\nthose difficult shores played their part, and many lives were lost,\namong them one of the Dominicans. The aggressive character of the\nexpedition was doubtless seriously affected by this early mishap,\nfor but one portion of the survivors settled down at Pensacola\nBay, calling their colony the mission of Santa Cruz, while the\nremainder, attended by two of the fathers, accompanied Don Tristan\ninto \u201cCoosa,\u201d the territory of the Creeks. Don Tristan was kindly\nreceived by these Indians, formed an alliance with them, marched\nwith them against their enemies, the Natchez tribe, and remained\nwith them about two years. In this interval, however, the zeal\nof the two missionaries was rewarded only by the baptism of a\nfew dying infants and adults. Don Tristan returned to Pensacola\nBay, where the new governor arrived from Mexico shortly after,\nwith eight more Dominicans. When the governor beheld how little\nhad been accomplished, and heard the discouraging accounts of the\nmissionaries besides, he resolved to abandon Florida, and to take\nthe whole party back with him to Mexico. Don Tristan, however,\npersisted in remaining, and Father Dominic de Salazar, one of those\nwho had been with him among the Creeks, together with Matthew, a\nlay-brother, and a few men besides, shared his solitude. But this\ncourageous persistence was not destined to be crowned with any\npermanent result, for the Viceroy of Mexico despatched a vessel\nto the little colony with peremptory orders for all its members\nto return. Thus Florida was again left without the succors of a\nChristian mission. Father Dominic ended his life of zeal and labor\nas Bishop of Manila, in the Philippines.\n\nAt last, Pedro Melendez de Aviles, the first naval commander of\nhis day, received from Philip II., together with the title of\nAdelantado of Florida, the command of a fleet of 34 vessels,\nconveying 2,646 men. Melendez had also a personal interest in this\nexpedition, inasmuch as he hoped to recover a son, who, having\nbeen shipwrecked on the Florida coast, might still be alive and\nin the hands of the Indians, or have been captured by French\ncruisers, France and Spain being then at enmity with one another.\nHe carried missionaries with him, chiefly Franciscans and Jesuits.\nThe usual storms and shipwrecks intervened, and one vessel was\ncaptured by French cruisers, so that only a small force came\nto anchor off the mouth of the St. John\u2019s River. Here a French\nfleet was found already riding, and a fort had been erected on\nshore. Melendez pursued the French vessel to sea, was in turn\npursued by them, entered St. Augustine\u2019s River while the French\nwere wrecked outside, attacked their fort, and put all to the\nsword--a proceeding which the usages of war at that time might have\npalliated, but could never justify.\n\nSt. Augustine, the oldest of our American cities, was now (1565)\nfounded by Melendez, and detachments were sent out to throw up\nforts along the coast. At his solicitation, St. Francis Borgia,\nthen General of the Society of Jesus, sent three other Jesuits,\none of whom, F. Peter Martinez, the superior, was killed by the\nnatives, into whose hands he fell in consequence of having been\nshipwrecked. Others of the Society were afterwards sent, and the\nmission was erected into a vice-province, with F. John Baptist\nSegura as superior. It is impossible, in reading Mr. Shea\u2019s\n_History of the Missions_, to follow the exact order of events.\nSuffice it to say--not to linger upon details at this point--that\nmany Indian youths were taken to Havana and instructed by Father\nJohn Roger and Brother Villareal, the two companions of Father\nMartinez; that the vice-provincial and the other Jesuits sent with\nhim were stationed at various points within the thus extensive\nlimits comprehended as Florida; that missions were established\namong the Creeks and among another tribe superior to them (and\nsupposed to have been the Cherokees), all of which were most meagre\nin result; that the Pope St. Pius V. addressed a letter (1569) to\nthe governor of Florida, urging the repression of scandals among\nthe whites, so that no obstruction should be offered to the work of\nconversion among the Indians; and that, finally, the working force\nof the Society was most seriously reduced, first, by the loss of\nFather Martinez, already mentioned, next by that of Brother Baez,\nwho died from the effects of the climate, at his station on Amelia\nIsland, and subsequently by the massacre in Virginia (or possibly\nMaryland) of Fathers Segura and Quiros, with four lay-brothers, at\nthe instigation of a pretended Indian convert who had inveigled\nthem thither. Father Segura\u2019s party on this occasion included also\nseveral Indian youths who had been educated in Havana, and of\nthese only one escaped with his life. From him the details of the\nmartyrdom of his companions were gathered. Thus as early as 1570\nwas the region bordering on the Chesapeake, which was then called\nSt. Mary\u2019s Bay, sanctified by the blood of its martyrs.\n\nThe loss of so many valuable members in a field so sterile of fruit\nforced the Jesuits, in a manner, to abandon it, \u201cto abandon it as\nthey had abandoned no other, without being driven from it,\u201d remarks\nShea, and in the following year the survivors were recalled to the\nmore inviting field of Mexico. In 1572, Melendez, who had visited\nSpain meanwhile, set out thence to make pursuit for the murderers\nof Father Segura and his companions. He captured eight of them,\nand these, under the instructions of Father Roger, who accompanied\nMelendez, embraced Christianity before their execution and died\nin the best dispositions. The apostate \u201cchief of Axican,\u201d who had\npromoted the massacre, had escaped to the woods and could not be\ntaken. Melendez, on his return to Spain, was appointed to command\nthe great Armada, which Philip was then preparing for the invasion\nof England, but he died before its completion. After his death, the\nnorthern limits of Spanish colonization in Florida were gradually\npushed south to the line of St. Mary\u2019s River.\n\nThe missions of Florida were now left entirely to the Franciscans,\nwhose headquarters were at the convent of St. Helena, at St.\nAugustine, the venerable walls of which are still standing. Besides\nsome who arrived in 1573, twelve Franciscans were sent thither\nin 1592. The accession of so considerable a number enabled the\nfather guardian of St. Helena\u2019s to station missionaries at various\npoints where, from information received, there was a prospect of\nsome success; and indeed, for the first time in the history of\nthe missions of Florida, villages of Christian neophytes began to\nbe formed. For the Yemassees, Father Francis de Pareja, a native\nof Mexico, drew up in their language his abridgment of Christian\ndoctrine, the first work in any of our Indian languages that was\never issued from the press. The missions made peaceful progress for\ntwo years, when, in 1597, a sudden outbreak of Indian fickleness\nand perfidy occurred which spread havoc far and wide among them.\nFather Peter de Corpa, whose mission of Tolemato occupied the\npresent site of the cemetery at St. Augustine, had found himself\nobliged to administer a public rebuke to the cacique\u2019s son, who,\nfrom having been a fervent convert, fell at last into most vicious\ncourses. The latter, filled with resentment, appealed to the\nnational and religious prejudices of his followers, and, assembling\na body of them, rushed to the chapel of Father Corpa, and slew him\nwhile he was on his knees before the altar.\n\nThence they repaired to the mission of Father Blas Rodriguez\nat Topoqui, and, warning him of his fate, bade him prepare for\ndeath. He entreated that he might be allowed first to say Mass,\nand by a strange condescension his murderers quietly awaited the\ntermination of the holy sacrifice, and then despatched him as he\nknelt to make his thanksgiving. Fathers Badajoz and Aunon at Guale\nor Amelia Island were the next victims; but the latter, made aware\nof their approach and of their designs, had time to say Mass and\ncommunicate his companion. Then followed the massacre of Father\nFrancis de Velascola, the most distinguished of the missionaries,\nat Asao. The assailants met with a repulse at St. Peter\u2019s Isle,\nthe seat of another mission, against which they had advanced with\na flotilla of forty war-canoes; but before attacking this point\nthey had fallen upon the mission of Father Francis de Avila at\nOspa. He fled, was captured, grievously wounded, and was condemned\nto die. They finally concluded to sell him into a heathen village\nas a slave, and here for a whole year he was compelled to perform\nthe most menial offices. At the end of this time his task-masters,\ngrowing weary of him, resolved to put him to death. He was fastened\nto a stake, the fagots were piled around him, and he was offered\nhis life on condition that he should renounce his God and marry\ninto their tribe. Spurning the proposal, he looked to receive the\nmartyr\u2019s crown, but on the demand of an old woman he was released,\nand given to her that she might exchange him against her son who\nwas held a prisoner at St. Augustine. The exchange was effected,\nand the father was restored, but so changed in appearance from the\neffects of his hardships that he was not recognized by his friends.\n\nThe missions were now reduced to a feeble state indeed, and the\ngovernor of Florida applied himself to their restoration, in\nconjunction with the Bishop of Cuba, who visited the colony for\nthe purpose. They began to revive from the year 1601, and in a\nfew years the increase was very rapid, no less than forty-three\nFranciscans being sent thither in the three years 1612, 1613, and\n1615, who aided in establishing on the coast and in the interior\nas many as twenty convents or residences. During the hundred years\nof peace that followed the revival of the missions under the\nFranciscans, towns of converts grew up along the Appalachicola,\nFlint, and other rivers; and the Appalaches, Creeks, Cherokees,\nAtimucas, and Yemassees responded to the cares bestowed upon them.\nPensacola was founded in 1693.\n\nAt last, however, the encroachments of the colonists of Carolina\nbegan to grow serious. Under the auspices of the English\ngovernment, a body of colonists heterogeneous in character, but\nof one mind in their hatred of the Spaniards and their religion,\nhad been drawn to the shores claimed by the latter as belonging to\nFlorida. They were composed of immigrants from Old and New England\nand the Low Countries, of French Huguenots, Scotch, and others.\nCharleston was founded by them in 1680, and they penetrated the\ncountry in various directions. They gained over the Yemassees\nfrom the Spanish; and in conjunction with them plundered and\ndestroyed the mission of St. Catharine\u2019s, as early as 1684. All the\nstations between the Altamaha and Savannah rivers, now a portion of\nGeorgia, were broken up, and the Indians were killed, or captured\nand carried off by hundreds, the survivors taking refuge in the\npeninsula.\n\nIn 1702, the animosities of the European war of the Spanish\nsuccession extended hither, and war aggravated the hostility of\nthe English colonists. In that year they made an attack on St.\nAugustine, but without capturing its fort, and fell upon the\n\u201cIndian converts of the Spanish priests,\u201d on Flint River, killing\nor capturing six hundred of them; and all captives of the English\nat this time suffered the hard fate of being sold as slaves in\nCharleston and other ports. The principal mission of the Appalaches\nat St. Mark\u2019s was destroyed, and three Franciscans taken there\nwere put to a cruel death. This tribe, in fact, was reduced within\nfour years from seven thousand to four hundred. The Atimucas on\nthe Appalachicola were invaded, and driven east of the St. John\u2019s\nRiver. In short, ruin and desolation were spread on every side.\n\nIn 1730, the Yemassees turned upon their recent allies, the\nEnglish, and were joined by the Creeks, Cherokees, and other\ntribes. They were defeated, as the Tuscaroras had been the\nyear before; but while the latter were driven north and united\nthemselves with the Five Nations, the former were compelled to take\nrefuge in the peninsula. The treaty of Utrecht, the same year, at\nthe close of the war of the Spanish succession, while it contracted\nthe limits of the Spanish possessions in Florida, had also its\neffect in lessening the acts of hostility from which they had\nsuffered. But the missions remained a mere shadow of what they had\nformerly been, and Spain was too feeble to guarantee the complete\nprotection even of those that subsisted. Finally, the cession\nof Florida to England by the treaty of Paris in 1763 proved the\ndeath-blow of all of them. Most of the Spanish settlers left, and\nthe Franciscans departed with them. England restored the country\nto Spain twenty years after; but, meanwhile, the Christian Indians\nhad been expelled from the two towns they occupied under the walls\nof St. Augustine, and deprived of the soil they had cultivated and\nthe church they had erected. They became Seminoles, which in their\nlanguage signifies \u201cwanderers.\u201d Under Catholic influence, they had\nbecome a quiet, orderly, industrious race, living side by side with\nthe Spaniards in peace and comfort. The English drove them back\ninto barbarism and paganism. Even in their everglades they were\nnot left in peace, for the government of the United States, which\nacquired Florida by purchase in 1821, expelled them from their\nwretched patrimony, but at a cost to the country of a thousand\nlives and fifteen millions of dollars. Its troops have, ever since\nthe acquisition of Florida, made use of the ancient convent of St.\nHelena, at St. Augustine, as barracks. A remnant of the Indians is\nstill left, and measures have been recently taken by the Bishop of\nSt. Augustine, whose see was erected only in 1870, to revive the\nfaith among them.\n\nAs in Florida, so in New Mexico, the missionaries were chiefly\nif not entirely Franciscans. We have already referred to the\nexpedition of Coronado, and to the two missionaries, F. Padillo,\nand the lay-brother, his companion, who were left behind at their\nown request, and who became the first martyrs of the missions of\nNew Mexico (1541). Little inducement presented itself for sending\nnew missionaries in the field, but in 1581 the solicitations of\na pious lay-brother, Augustin Rodriguez, engaged in the Mexican\nmissions, caused the formation of a party consisting of Fathers\nFrancis Lopez and John de Santa Maria, and himself, attended by ten\nsoldiers and six Mexican Indians. After proceeding seven hundred\nmiles, they found themselves among the tribe of Tehuas, who,\nunlike the Indians of the plains, lived in houses and dressed in\ncotton mantles. The soldiers now persisted in returning, but their\ndeparture seemed a less serious misfortune since the mission gave\npromise of success. So much so, indeed, that F. de Santa Maria was\ndespatched to Mexico for auxiliaries, but on the third day out was\nsurprised and killed by roving Indians. In an attack made on the\nTehuas by their enemies not long after, F. Lopez fell by the hand\nof the assailants. Brother Rodriguez, left alone, subsequently fell\na victim to his zeal in inveighing against the vices of those for\nwhose conversion he was laboring; growing weary of his reproaches,\nthey put him to death. Two other Franciscans in attendance on a\nsubsequent expedition suffered the fate of martyrs, and thus the\nfoundations of the New Mexican missions were laid in blood.\n\nIn 1597, Juan de O\u00f1ate led a colony to the Northern Rio Grande.\nSeveral Franciscans accompanied him, and the first Spanish post\nin this region, that of San Gabriel, was established. After a\nyear, the commander sent a favorable report by the hands of two\nfathers and a lay-brother, who were returning to Mexico to solicit\nadditional missionaries. One of the three, F. Christopher Salazar,\ndied on the way, and was buried in the wilderness. The missionaries\nasked for were sent, five or six at one time, and six at another.\nSo great was the success subsequently achieved that by the year\n1608 eight thousand of the Indians of New Mexico had been baptized,\nand many of them were taught to read and write, before the Puritans\nset foot in New England (1620).\n\nA report made to the crown in 1626 enumerates twenty-seven\nmissions that had been established up to that time, six convents\nor residences, and four sumptuous churches built. Many of of these\nmissions and residences, and three of the churches (those at Santa\nF\u00e9, Pecos, and Jemez), are recognizable in the account of the\ndiocese furnished in _Sadliers\u2019 Catholic Almanac_ for 1872. One of\nthe missions was among the Zu\u00f1i, over against whose town of Cibola\nFriar Mark had planted his prophetic cross in 1539. The missionary\nat this post, F. John Letrado, lost his life in endeavoring to\nevangelize a neighboring tribe. F. Martin de Arbide perished in a\nlike attempt.\n\nHeaven itself seemed to come to the assistance of the missionaries\nby a miraculous intervention,[200] for a tribe which none of the\nfathers had previously met or visited was found fully instructed\nin Christian doctrine.\n\nSome reverses occurred, owing to causes not clearly stated by\nMr. Shea. They were probably due to the persistent hostility of\nthe pagan portion of the population. In 1680, great devastations\nwere committed by them, many missionaries were killed, and some\nchurches destroyed which were never after rebuilt; but a period\nof comparative peace succeeded, which was disturbed finally only\nby the incursions of the Apaches. A mission was established among\nthe latter in 1733, but without fruit. Nine years afterwards,\nsome converts were made among the Moquis and Navojoes. A report\namong the United States Executive documents of 1854--and which\ncorresponds with the statements published by Villase\u00f1or, so long\nago as 1748--bears testimony to the happy moral and industrial\ncondition of the Christian Indians of New Mexico. The Puebla\nIndians, as they are now called, number in the diocese of Santa F\u00e9\n12,000.\n\nThe history of the missions of Texas need not greatly prolong\nour narrative. Shortly after the discovery of the mouth of the\nMississippi by La Salle in 1691, who made no permanent settlement\nin Texas, the Spanish authorities sent thither a number of\nFranciscans. By them, eight missions were established, which\nprospered until a failure occurred in the crops which the Indians\nhad been taught to raise. The cattle with which the missions had\nbeen stocked died at the same time, and moreover the soldiers, of\nwhom there was a small guard at each post, had rendered themselves\nobnoxious to the natives. In consequence, the missions fell into\ndecay. Their restoration began in 1717, and by 1746 they embraced\nposts among five different tribes. Visits were also made to the\nOsages and Missouris, in one of which expeditions a father lost his\nlife and another was long retained as a prisoner.\n\nThe missions subsisted and flourished until 1812, when they were\nsuppressed by the Spanish government. Even then, the Indians,\nthough deprived of spiritual succor, remained faithful to the\nreligious teachings they had received. Father Diaz was sent to them\nby the Bishop of Monterey, in 1832, and after laboring for a year\nat Nacogdoches, was killed by wandering Indians. Soon after this\nthe whites began to pour into Texas, and by 1836 grew powerful\nenough to declare and to maintain the independence of the state.\nThe demoralization and dispersion of the Indians followed, as a\nnatural consequence. Father Timon, afterwards Bishop of Buffalo,\nwas appointed in 1840 Prefect Apostolic of Texas, and, despatching\nthither Father Odin as Vice-Prefect, followed him shortly after.\nBy an act of justice, of which modern governments rarely afford\nso striking an example, the old ecclesiastical property was\nrestored to the church by the Texan legislature. Father Odin was\nmade bishop in 1842, and his see became the diocese of Galveston\nin 1847, two years after the annexation of Texas to the United\nStates. The biography of this eminent prelate (who subsequently\nbecame Archbishop of New Orleans), in Clarke\u2019s _Deceased Bishops_,\nfurnishes much interesting matter regarding the history of the\nchurch in Texas. The report of the diocese for 1871 supplies no\ninformation in regard to the Indian population, if indeed any\nChristians are still to be found among them within the limits of\nthe state. Many relics remain of the churches, aqueducts, and other\npublic works erected by the Franciscans and their neophytes during\nthe prosperous period of the missions.\n\nThe first expedition to any portion of California, which was\naccompanied by missionaries, was that under Vizcaino, in 1596, to\nthe peninsula, but no permanent footing was made at the time. In\n1601, three Carmelite fathers visited that portion now included in\nthe United States, and made a temporary stay, and no more, at what\nare now Santa Barbara, Monterey, and San Francisco. The Jesuits\nbegan their missions south of the Gila in 1642, and gradually\nextended them north, until, in 1697, they had entered the limits\nof our present territory. The success characteristic of their\nmissions everywhere--for their failure in Florida was something\nabnormal--followed them here. All was proceeding well, when that\nextensive conspiracy arose in Europe against the Society which the\nhistory of the age subsequently shows to have been directed quite\nas much against the church as against the Jesuits. The King of\nSpain, having been drawn into the plot as other sovereigns were,\nordered the Jesuits to be torn in a single day from all their\nmissions throughout his wide domains. On the 3d of February, 1768,\nevery Jesuit was carried off from California a prisoner. Accused of\nno crime, condemned without a trial, the missionaries were dragged\nfrom amid their neophytes, who in grief and consternation deplored\ntheir loss.\n\nSpain was, however, not yet prepared to cut loose entirely from her\nreligious traditions, and she sent Franciscans to take the place\nof the banished Jesuits. The vessel that landed the latter at San\nBlas returned to California with twelve Franciscans, at the head of\nwhom was Father Junipero Serra, an experienced Indian missionary.\nAfter placing priests at the vacated missions, Father Serra went\non to found others, San Ferdinand, San Bonaventura, and San Diego\nbeing established in 1769, that at Monterey in 1770--at the news\nof which foundations all the bells in the city of Mexico were\nrung--San Gabriel the same year, St. Anthony of Padua in 1771, San\nLuis Obispo in 1772, San Juan Capistrano in 1774, San Francisco in\n1776, Santa Clara in 1777. In this interval many more of the sons\nof St. Francis came to join in the labors of their brethren, or to\nreplace those who were worn out with toil. At Monterey, in 1771,\nwhen the feast of Corpus Christi was celebrated with a pomp such as\nthe wilderness had never before seen, twelve priests joined in the\nsacred procession. The Dominicans, moreover, applied for a share in\nthe work of the missions, and in 1774 were assigned to all those\nstations formerly served by the Jesuits, the Franciscans retaining\nonly those that had been founded by themselves, except San\nFerdinand, which was also given to the Dominicans. As the missions\nthus transferred were chiefly in Old California (the peninsula),\ntheir history does not enter within the scope of this narrative.\n\nIn 1775, the mission at San Diego was attacked by a large force of\npagan Indians, led on by two apostates of their own race. Father\nLouis Jayme, one of the two priests stationed here, was awakened\nby the flames, and, supposing the fire to be accidental, came to\nthe door with his usual salutation, \u201cLove God, my children.\u201d He was\nimmediately seized, dragged off, pierced with arrows, and hacked to\ndeath by blows with swords made of hardened wood. The other father\nhappily escaped. When Father Serra heard what had occurred, he\nexclaimed, \u201cThank God, that field is watered,\u201d rebuilt the mission,\nafter some opposition from the civil authorities, and went on\nwith his labors in founding others. Father Crespi, the principal\nassistant of Father Serra, died in 1782, after a missionary career\nof thirty years, of which fourteen had been spent in California.\nFather Serra himself expired two years after. Although seventy-one\nyears of age at the time of his death, his zeal was undiminished\nand his faculties were unimpaired. Under his administration,\nas Prefect Apostolic of California, ten new missions had been\nestablished, and ten thousand Indians baptized. Yet death found him\nbusy with plans of still other foundations.\n\nBy a Papal Bull of June 16th, 1774, the power of administering\nconfirmation was granted to the prefect apostolic. This privilege\nwas of course shared by Father Serra\u2019s successors in the same\noffice. The first of these was Father Palou, under whom the\nfollowing new missions were founded: Santa Barbara in 1786, La\nPurisima Concepcion, near San Luis Obispo, in 1787, Santa Cruz near\nBranciforte, and Nuestra Se\u00f1ora de Soledad, near Monterey, in 1791.\nFather Palou then returned to Mexico, where he became superior\nof the convent of San Fernando. He was succeeded as prefect by\nFather Lazven, who remained in office until his death in 1803.\nIn the interval, Father Lazven founded three great missions, San\nJos\u00e9, San Miguel, and San Fernando, all in the year 1797. San\nLuis, Rey de Francia, was founded in the following year. St. Louis\nof France was thus honored in this remote wilderness at a time\nwhen the nation over which he had ruled rejected alike his faith,\nhis institutions, and his family. The celebrated Father Peyri,\nwhose portrait is given in Mr. Shea\u2019s _History of the Missions_,\nsuperintended the foundation of this greatest of the Californian\nreductions. In front of the church, which is ninety feet in length,\nof stone, and rises at one end in a beautiful tower and dome (says\nMr. Shea), \u201cextends a colonnade not without architectural beauty,\nand nearly five hundred feet long, while in depth it is almost of\nequal proportions.\u201d Three thousand five hundred Indian converts\nwere soon gathered together, occupying twenty ranches around this\nabode of peace and plenty.\n\nFather Mariano Payeras succeeded Father Lazven as prefect, and\nfounded the mission of Santa Inez in 1804. At this time Spain\nbecame unable, amid the distractions which arose from the French\nRevolution--for which she herself had assisted in preparing the\nway by the share she took in the persecution of the Jesuits--to\nextend the aid which new foundations required, and, therefore, none\nwere made. The missions already in existence were not affected to\nany great extent by the difficulties of the mother country, for\nthey were self-supporting. In 1817, however, it became possible to\nfound the mission of San Rafael, and this proved to be the last\nfoundation under Spanish auspices. Others were projected, but the\npower of Spain in the western world was already tottering to its\nfall. In 1821, Iturbide\u2019s short-lived empire replaced the authority\nof the Spanish crown in Mexico, and two years after, Santa Anna\u2019s\nsuccessful revolt changed the empire into a republic. Father\nSanchez was now prefect, and in 1823 established the mission of San\nFrancisco Solano, the first and last erected under Mexican rule.\n\nEchandia, the governor sent out by the Mexican authorities,\narrived in California in 1824. Then began the robbery and\ndestruction of the missions, the first step in which was the\nsubstitution of government agents in the temporal rule of the\nmissions for that of the fathers, who had always exercised this\nauthority to the great advantage of the Indians, and without\ndrawing thence any profit for themselves, since they were both\nby habit of life and by religious vow poor men. Father Peyri was\ndriven from his mission of San Luis Rey which he had founded\nmore than thirty years before, and had directed ever since with\nadmirable skill; nor could the tears and entreaties of his\nneophytes move the stony-hearted governor to retain him. At\nthis populous mission, many of the Indians had been taught the\ntrades, and were blacksmiths, carpenters, and mechanics in various\ndepartments; they also owned sixty thousand head of cattle, and\nraised thirteen thousand bushels of grain yearly. At San Luis\nObispo, Father Martinez had in like manner formed his flock to\nindustry; they wove and dyed ordinary cloth and fine cotton\nfabrics, and could have always maintained a state of prosperity\nand happiness had their possessions and their beloved director\nbeen left to them, but the former were wrecked, and the latter was\nbrutally expelled.\n\nFive other fathers were driven from their missions, and a regular\nsystem of robbery commenced: ranch after ranch was taken, cattle\nwere swept off, and the minds of the Indians were endeavored to\nbe poisoned against the missionaries by Echandia, through wilful\nrepresentations, so that in one case they attempted to take the\nlife of a priest. Other missionaries, after having spent thirty\nor forty years in civilizing the Indians, and raising them to a\nstate of comfort and plenty, found themselves obliged, by the\nill-treatment they suffered, to leave the country. The prefect,\nFather Sanchez, was the special object of this persecution on the\npart of Echandia, and died of grief in 1831, consoled only by\nthe momentary peace which reigned at the time under Echandia\u2019s\nsuccessor, Don Manuel Victoria, who during the few months he was in\noffice restored the missions so far as he was able; but after his\nremoval the pillage progressed as before.\n\nFather Francisco Garcia Diego was appointed prefect in 1832, and\narrived in California in January of the following year, taking\nup his residence at Santa Clara. The number of missionaries was\nnow so reduced that Father Garcia found it necessary to take with\nhim ten fathers to recruit their ranks. The new prefect did what\nhe could to ward off the ruin which threatened the missions, but\nthey were doomed, and the decree of secularization passed by the\nMexican Congress in 1834 and enforced in 1837 only completed their\ndestruction. Thus, this wretched republic, which is and always\nhas been unable amidst the contentions of its rival chiefs, with\ntheir ever recurring _pronunciamentos_, to preserve domestic peace,\nand which has suffered the great public works erected in Mexico\nby the crown to fall into decay, carried spiritual and temporal\nruin to the fair regions which had been consecrated to religion\nand peace, to industry and innocence, and overthrew the noblest\nmonuments which the zeal and the faith of Spain had bequeathed to\nher colonies.\n\nFather Garcia\u2019s heart was wrung with anguish at the spectacle\nof desolation which surrounded him, and to which, with all his\nefforts, he was able to interpose only a feeble barrier. He\nrepaired to Mexico to intercede with the government in behalf of\nhis oppressed and helpless people. Through his influence the law\nof secularization was repealed, and an act passed restoring the\nproperty of the missions. But the reparation came too late; the\nplunderers were in full possession of their ill-gotten property,\nand no power could wrest it from them. Meanwhile, a severe illness\nat the capital, and the affairs of his order in Zacatecas,\nretained him in Mexico, where, in 1840, he received notice of his\nappointment to the bishopric of the Californias. He was consecrated\nin the same year, but was unable to take possession of his diocese\nuntil December, 1841.\n\nOn arriving at San Diego, he found the mission and the church in\nruins. At San Gabriel, where extensive vineyards had been in full\nbearing, and to protect which the father was in negotiation with an\nAmerican house for iron fences, even the vines were pulled up. This\nmission had loaded ships with its products, which were despatched\nregularly to San Blas and Lima. Amid its ruins, a traveller (Duflot\nde Mofras) describes in 1842 seeing the missionary Father Estenega\nseated in a field before a large table, with his sleeves rolled up\nkneading clay and teaching his Indians to make bricks. San Luis\nObispo was in the same condition, and Father Abella, the oldest\nmissionary in the country, whom La Perouse had seen here in 1787,\nstill survived in 1842. His only bed was a hide, his only food\ndried beef, and he divided among his poor and plundered Indians\nthe alms he received. At San Jos\u00e9, Father Gonzalez, prefect of the\nnorthern missions, subsisted on the scanty rations furnished him by\nthe officials. La Soledad, from having been an earthly paradise,\nwas now a wilderness of ruin and desolation. Its missionary,\nFather Serra, of whom an American says \u201cit was a happiness indeed\nto have known him,\u201d had died of hunger and wretchedness in 1838\non the spot where thousands had enjoyed his hospitality. He\nexpired in the arms of the Indians whom he had spent thirty years\nin instructing and protecting, falling at the foot of the altar\njust as he had begun Mass. At San Francisco Solano, everything\nhad been destroyed, and the materials of the mission-house and\nchapel sacrilegiously used in building the palace of Don Mariano\nVallejo. Santa Barbara still possessed its missions, the residence\nof the devoted prefect of the southern missions, Father Narcisso\nDuran, and at San Fernando, Santa Clara, and Santa Inez (where\nBishop Garcia afterwards erected a seminary) the missionaries had\nsucceeded in saving much. Everywhere else, ruin and desolation had\novertaken the missions.\n\nThe Indian population of the missions was reduced from 30,650 to\n4,450, their cattle dwindled from 424,000 to 28,000, and their\nother stock in proportion, for they had owned 62,500 horses and\n321,500 sheep besides. They had raised annually 122,500 bushels of\nwheat and corn.\n\nTheir agriculture was now destroyed, and they themselves were\nmostly scattered and demoralized. \u201cBishop Garcia Diego y Moreno,\u201d\nsays Mr. Clarke in his _Lives of Deceased Bishops_, \u201cstood in the\nmidst of desolation, and but for his apostolic zeal and robust\ncourage would have despaired.\u201d He saved what he could of the\nmissions, and rescued many souls from crime and barbarism; he made\nlong, difficult journeys throughout his devastated diocese, and\naddressed the most moving appeals to the Mexican government. At\nlast, after wearing himself out with labors that were far from\nfruitless, and which certainly stayed for a time the progress of\ndisintegration, he retired to Santa Barbara to die, and there\npeacefully gave up his soul to God, April 13, 1846.\n\nThirteen missionaries still survived amidst the relics of the great\nworks of charity and beneficence they had created or sustained,\nwhen in 1848 the soil of Upper California changed owners, and\nbecame attached to the domains of the United States. A new\npopulation overran the land, and the Indians of the missions have\nentirely disappeared. What is worse, they have been driven by the\nhostility of the Americans to the mountains, and provoked into acts\nof reprisal, the result of which will be that at no distant day the\ncareer of plunder and outrage of which they have been the victims,\nwill be crowned by their total extermination.\n\nWe shall give in a note an account collated from Mr. Shea\u2019s\n_History of the Catholic Missions in the United States_, of\nthe manner of living followed in the mission establishments of\nCalifornia, by the Indians, under the direction of the fathers.\n\nIn the history of the missions of Maryland we are presented with a\nremarkable example of the influence of pure bigotry in arresting\nthe most beneficent ministrations of religion towards both the\nwhite and Indian races. Under the mild and paternal administration\nof Lord Baltimore, the settlement, made so auspiciously on the\nfeast of the Annunciation, March 25, 1634, soon attached to it\nthe native tribes; for they were fairly dealt with, and were paid\nfor whatever lands were required of them. Father Andrew White, an\nEnglish Jesuit, and a confessor of the faith--for he had suffered\nexile abroad and imprisonment at home on account of it--was the\nspiritual director of the mission. Although fifty-five years of\nage, he had no sooner landed than he applied himself to the study\nof the Indian tongue. He and his companions then established\nthemselves at the more advanced posts, prepared catechisms, etc.,\nin the Indian language, and made good progress in the conversion of\nthe natives, the principal chief and his family being the first to\ndemand baptism.\n\nIn 1644, Claiborne, the persecuting agent of the persecuting\ncolony of Virginia, swooped down upon the peaceful settlements\nof Maryland, and among other outrages carried off the Jesuits\nas prisoners to England. Father White was never able to return,\nbut Father Fisher and others did after three years, and resumed\nthe work of the missions. The rise of the Puritan party in 1652\nafter the usurpation of Cromwell, and the subsequent accession to\npower of the Anglicans, who in 1692 made their religion the state\nchurch, effectually extinguished the Indian missions. What became\nof the poor Indians, we know not; but, judging from what this class\nof religionists have done elsewhere, their fate must have been\nfirst to be robbed, then demoralized, and finally to be exiled or\nexterminated.\n\nThenceforward, not only were the Catholics who had planted the\ncolony and who had invited thither the persecuted of other colonies\nto share with themselves in all the privileges of government\nand of perfect freedom of religion--not only were the Catholics\ndeprived of all share in the administration of public affairs, but\ntheir religion was proscribed and their priests were hunted down.\nGrasping and domineering as the Puritans have shown themselves to\nbe everywhere, never did they or their Anglican abettors display\na blacker ingratitude than in their transactions on the soil of\nMaryland, where those who bestowed upon them an exceptional\nreligious liberty were excluded from all share in its benefits.\n\nThe faith, though persecuted, was kept alive among the whites by\nthe Maryland Jesuits, who continued to adhere to their flocks.\nNor did the suppression of their Society in 1773 dissolve this\nbond, for by an association among themselves they retained their\nmissions; and as their property was not confiscated here as was\neverywhere done in Europe, they retained that also. In 1805,\nBishop Carroll, himself an ex-Jesuit, obtained from the superior\nin Russia, where the Society still subsisted, the privilege of\naffiliation with it for the late members of the order in Maryland.\nThe bishop then confirmed them in the possession of their missions,\nand thus the Society resumed its footing in Maryland nine years\nbefore it had been restored all over the world by Pius VII. Among\nthe young men who joined it in 1806 was the now venerable Father\nMcElroy, who, in his ninetieth year, retains the zeal and energy\nof younger days. The Jesuit province of Missouri was, as before\nstated, an offshoot from that of Maryland, and some fathers of\nthe western province are still living who made their novitiate\nin Maryland. Bishop Vandevelde, of Chicago, and subsequently of\nNatchez, where he died in 1855, was one of these. The present Vicar\nApostolic of Kansas, a Jesuit from Missouri, perpetuates amidst his\nIndians the traditions of the mother province.\n\nThe old Catholic families of Maryland, sustained and encouraged\nby their pastors, and preserving the faith amidst obloquy and\ndisfranchisement, have contributed their full share to the\ndistinguished laity of their country, to the ranks of the religious\nof various orders, male and female, the secular clergy, and the\nepiscopate. Their honorable record is too full to admit of a\nreference to individuals, were this even the place for it; but we\nmight recall, among prelates, the names of Archbishops Carroll\nand Neale of Baltimore, and Bishops Fenwick of Boston, Fenwick\nof Cincinnati, and Miles of Nashville. Archbishop Eccleston of\nBaltimore, although a Marylander by birth, was of Protestant\nfamily, and was himself a convert. Bishop Chanche of Natchez was\nalso a Marylander, but the child of refugees from San Domingo. The\nsees of Wheeling, Natchez, Chicago, and North Carolina are filled\nby sons of Maryland, the descendants of a later immigration. Even\nin colonizing other states, the faithful children of Maryland\nformed a nucleus of Catholicity, as in Kentucky, wherever they\nwent. By a happy dispensation, this colony, grown into a diocese,\nand governed by a scion of one of these old families, the late\neminent and beloved Spalding--gave him back to the archiepiscopal\nchair of his ancestral state.\n\nIn later, as in former times, Maryland has been the \u201cland of the\nsanctuary\u201d for the oppressed of other lands, and the trials and\ntriumphs in which her own children have borne part have been\nshared by the strangers who have taken refuge within her borders.\nWhen, in 1770, a solitary Jesuit from Whitemarsh in Lower Maryland\nvisited Baltimore, then an insignificant settlement, and so\npoorly provided as to Catholic worship that the priest brought\nhis own altar-furniture, and had to say Mass in a private house,\na large part of the flock in attendance was composed of Acadians\nwho had been cruelly transported from their homes by the British\ngovernment. Still later, the French Revolution threw upon her\nshores those devoted clergymen whose virtues and whose labors\nhave shed so much honor on the church of their adopted country.\nThe institutions of religion and of learning which they founded\nin Maryland have educated for civil life or for the church men\nwho have attained the highest eminence in one or the other. The\nfounders of or the preceptors in these institutions have filled\nsees in various portions of the country--Dubois at New York,\nDavid at Bardstown, Flaget at Louisville, Dubourg at New Orleans,\nMar\u00e9chal at Baltimore, and Brut\u00e9 at Vincennes, all now deceased,\nbesides the present Bishop of St. Augustine, among living prelates.\nSt. Mary\u2019s Seminary at Baltimore has seen advanced to the mitre,\nfrom among her Levites, Bishops Reynolds of Charleston, O\u2019Reilly\nof Hartford, and Portier of Mobile; while Mount St. Mary\u2019s, the\n\u201cmother of bishops,\u201d has given to the American hierarchy from among\nhers, Archbishop Hughes of New York, Bishops Quarter of Chicago,\nGartland of Savannah, Carrell of Covington, Young of Erie, and the\nliving archbishops of New York and Cincinnati--probably others.\n\nThe subsequent revolution in San Domingo drove hither also whites\nwho escaped with little more than life, and blacks whose fidelity\nto their masters and to their religion withstood the shock of\nthose terrible times. Among the former were the parents of Bishop\nChanche; also, young Joubert, who, after becoming a priest, devoted\nhimself to the blacks, that he might overcome his horror for the\nrace that had massacred his parents; in furtherance of this lofty\nact of self-renunciation, he formed a community of religious\nwomen of color, whose first members were creoles of San Domingo.\nThe Oblate Sisters of Providence still flourish, and impart the\nblessings of secular and religious education to the young of their\nsex and color. Finally--for we must hasten to a close--it is a\nnoticeable fact that New England, which sent forth its Puritan\ncolonists to harass the Marylanders and persecute the Jesuits, is\nnow a portion of the Jesuit province of Maryland.\n\nThe great length to which this paper has expanded will preclude\nthe possibility of giving any space to the history of the missions\nof France in Louisiana, and those extending from Canada into what\nis now New York and into the regions west of that state. This\nomission will be the more pardonable inasmuch as the history of\nthe French missions is better known to Catholic readers than much\nof our other remote ecclesiastical history. There is one page,\nhowever, in these annals, touching the Christian settlements on\nour northeastern border, that we cannot pass over without notice.\nThe town in the British Provinces now known as Annapolis was the\npoint where Catholicity made its first foothold in any portion of\nthe region north of us, at least the first since the time of the\nNorthmen. Here, in 1608, two Jesuit missionaries arrived, who in\n1613 were to be the pioneers of the Abnaki mission in Maine. The\nRecollects, a branch of the Franciscans, began their labors in\nQuebec in 1615. Other religious men, and some communities of pious\nwomen, came to their assistance. Notwithstanding wars between the\nvarious tribes, in the course of which the once powerful Hurons\nwere almost annihilated, the missionaries had gathered together,\nby 1685, a number of Christian villages of Indians on the St.\nLawrence, of which three still exist. Thence, missionaries were\nsent to the shores of Lake Superior, to the tribes south of the\nlakes, to Arkansas, and to the lower Mississippi. The heroic lives,\nthe sufferings, and the death of Jogues, Br\u00e9beuf, and Lalemant,\nand so many other holy men who consecrated their lives to these\nmissions, are almost familiar themes.\n\nOf the Abnaki mission referred to above, and which was established\non Mount Desert Island at the mouth of the Penobscot, nothing\nremained after a few years except a solitary cross guarding the\ngrave of a French lay-brother, who died from wounds received in\nan attack made on the mission by the English from Virginia. The\nfathers were carried off by them on this occasion, and narrowly\nescaped being put to death by the authorities of Virginia. Thus, as\nMr. Shea remarks, the first Abnaki mission was crushed in its very\ncradle by men who founded a colony in which the Gospel was never\nannounced to the aborigines.\n\nIn 1642, an Abnaki who had been rescued from death by a Christian\nIndian, in one of the forays made by the pagan Iroquois on their\nneighbors, extolled the virtues of the Christians so highly on\nhis return home that his people sent for black-gowns. Father\nDruillettes was sent to them in 1646, and the wonderful change\neffected by him in the few months of his stay excited even the\nadmiration of the English, whose countrymen in Massachusetts were\nat this time enacting cruel laws against the religion and the order\nto which F. Druillettes belonged. In 1650, he returned to the\nAbnakis, and was received by them at Norridgewock, their principal\nvillage, amidst volleys of firearms, and with every demonstration\nof delight. A banquet was spread in every cabin, and he was forced\nto visit all.\n\n\u201cWe have thee at last,\u201d they cried; \u201cthou art our father, our\npatriarch, our countryman. Thou livest like us, thou dwellest with\nus, thou art an Abnaki like us. Thou bringest back joy to all the\ncountry. We had thought of leaving this land to seek thee, for many\nhave died in thy absence. We were losing all hopes of reaching\nheaven. Those whom thou didst instruct performed all that they had\nlearned, but their heart was weary, for it sought and could not\nfind thee.\u201d\n\nAt the same time that Druillettes was planting the faith among\nthe Abnakis--who have preserved to this day the precious legacy\nbequeathed to them--Rev. John Eliot of Roxbury, certainly a\nwell-meaning man and a credit to the times and to the people\namong whom he lived, was endeavoring to christianize the Indians\nof Massachusetts--an attempt which the cruelty and rapacity of\nhis countrymen would have rendered abortive, even if his barren\ntheology had been able to affect anything in their behalf. So\nDrake, the Indian historian, admits that even among Eliot\u2019s nominal\ndisciples there was not the least probability that one-fourth of\nthem were sincere believers in Christianity. Eliot himself said,\nbefore his death, \u201cThere is a dark cloud upon the work of the\nGospel among the poor Indians.\u201d In King Philip\u2019s war even the\nIndian ministers threw off all disguise and took up arms against\ntheir white Christian neighbors. This last struggle against their\ndestroyers resulted in a total ruin of the Indians. The Puritan,\nimagining himself the chosen of God, and regarding the Indians as\nAmalekites and Canaanites whom he was to exterminate out of the\npromised land, fell upon them with fire and sword.\n\nEven the innocent son of King Philip, the last of the family of\nMassasoit, was sold into slavery to Bermuda by the men whose\nchildren have since lifted the finger of scorn at the population\nof the South, among whom England forced the institution that lately\nperished amid the throes of civil war--forced it by the aid, in\npart, of the vessels and the means of the pious fathers of New\nEngland. Father Druillettes, strange to say, visited Eliot, by whom\nhe was hospitably received and entertained, and who invited him to\npass the winter under his roof. But this visit to New England was\nprobably one of business, and the father was soon with his beloved\nIndians again.\n\nFather Rale was among the successors of Druillettes. An expedition\nof New Englanders destroyed his church and village in 1705, but\nthe cession of the territory to England by France in 1713 restored\ntemporary peace to the Abnaki mission. A deputation of their\nchiefs therefore visited Boston, and called upon the governor to\nsolicit means for the rebuilding of their church. As Protestantism\nis always ready to interfere with religious enterprises which it\ncould never itself have succeeded in, this exponent of the religion\nof New England offered to rebuild their church at his own expense\nif they would dismiss their missionary and take a minister of his\nown choice. The reply of the indignant spokesman of the Indians is\nworth quoting:\n\n\u201cWhen you first came here,\u201d said he, \u201cyou saw me long before the\nFrench governors, but neither your predecessors nor your ministers\never spoke to me of prayer or the Great Spirit. They saw my furs,\nmy beaver and moose skins, and of this alone they thought; these\nalone they sought, and so eagerly that I have been unable to supply\nthem with enough. When I had much, they were my friends, and only\nthen. One day my canoe missed the route; I lost my path, and\nwandered a long way at random, until at last I landed near Quebec,\nin a great village of the Algonquins, where the black-gowns were\nteaching. Scarcely had I arrived, when one of them came to see me.\nI was loaded with furs, but the black-gown of France disdained\nto look at them; he spoke to me of the Great Spirit, of heaven,\nof hell, of the prayer which is the only way to reach heaven. I\nheard him with pleasure, and was so delighted by his words that I\nremained in the village near him. At last the prayer pleased me,\nand I asked to be instructed: I solicited baptism, and received it.\nThen I returned to the lodges of my tribe, and related all that had\nhappened. All envied my happiness, and wished to partake it; they\ntoo went to the black-gown to be baptized. Thus have the French\nacted. Had you spoken to me of the prayer as soon as we met, I\nshould now be so unhappy as to pray like you, for I could not have\ntold whether your prayer was good or bad. Now I hold to the prayer\nof the French; I agree to it; I shall be faithful to it, even until\nthe earth is burned and destroyed. Keep your men, your gold, and\nyour minister: I will go to my French father.\u201d\n\nIn the unsettled condition of the boundaries, the New Englanders\ncontinued to make incursions upon the territory of the Abnakis.\nIn one of these expeditions, Father Rale barely escaped capture,\nbut his celebrated Abnaki dictionary was pounced upon and carried\noff, and now forms one of the treasures of the library of Harvard\nUniversity. In 1724, he fell a victim to the persistence of his\nenemies. Notwithstanding these cruelties, the Abnakis, in the war\nof the Revolution, took part in the defence of the soil against\nEngland with the people who had desolated their home and put to\ndeath their beloved pastor. Orono, the Penobscot chief, bore a\ncommission throughout the Revolution, and distinguished himself\nduring the war as much by his bravery as by his attachment to his\nreligion, never consenting to frequent Protestant places of worship.\n\nThese sketches, grown so much more lengthy than we had expected,\nand yet restrained with difficulty within their present bounds,\nmust now close. May they be read with the attention the _subject_\ndeserves, and thus serve to awaken the honest pride of our\nfellow-Catholics in the past history of their church on the soil of\nthe United States. May our men of culture, stimulated by the appeal\nthat shall be made to them by the reading classes, spread far and\nwide the affecting story of the church\u2019s triumphs and reverses in\nour land, with all the glorious details of the lives and deaths of\nits heroes and martyrs! May this history grow to be a familiar one\nto the generation that is rising and the generations that shall\nsucceed it. We love our country, and none dare question our love\nbut they who would have the statute-books bristle with laws against\nus such as the genius of our institutions forbids and the fathers\nof the Republic rejected. Let us show our love for it by mingling\nthe memories of all that is dear to us in the career of our\nreligion with all that is noble and inspiring in the civil history\nof our land, our fair heritage of political and religious freedom.\n\n\nNOTE.\n\n  THE MISSION ESTABLISHMENTS OF CALIFORNIA.--The plan of the\n  early missionaries in Florida and New Mexico had been to form\n  the converts into villages near the Spanish settlements, in\n  which they were trained to the usages of civilized life. In the\n  numerous Christian villages thus spread over the country, all\n  civil functions were exercised by the chiefs, the missionaries\n  confining themselves to those of a spiritual nature only. The\n  progress of the Indians under this system was slower than was\n  desirable, and experience led to an improvement in the manner of\n  conducting the missions that were subsequently established in\n  New Mexico and California. In the latter, the missionary went\n  in the first place attended by a small guard, with a colony of\n  Indian converts, herds of cattle, and a plentiful supply of\n  agricultural and other implements. Chiefly through the converted\n  Indians, the surrounding natives were drawn to the mission.\n  The next step was to proceed to the erection of the mission\n  building, a rectangular structure eighty or ninety yards square,\n  with a court-yard in the centre, which was adorned with trees\n  and fountains. The church and the pastor\u2019s residence occupied\n  one side, and galleries surrounded the court, opening upon the\n  rooms of the missionaries, stewards, and travellers, the shops,\n  schools, store-rooms, infirmaries, and the granary.\n\n  A part of the buildings entirely separated from the rest, and\n  called the monastery, was reserved for the Indian girls, where\n  they were taught by native women to spin and weave, and received\n  such other instruction as was suited to their sex. The boys\n  learned trades, and those who excelled were promoted to the rank\n  of chiefs, thus giving a dignity to labor which impelled all to\n  embrace it. Once in the mission, the native was instructed in\n  Christianity, and constrained to labor. Many of the missionaries\n  being skilled in mechanical art, the Indians were formed to every\n  trade, and the surplus products of their industry were exported\n  yearly in exchange for necessary European goods. The Indians were\n  apportioned into sections, each under a chief who led his party\n  to church or to labor, and who was not backward in enforcing\n  promptness. Against this the Indian at first rebelled: but, as\n  all his wants were satisfied, he soon became attached to his\n  manner of life, and would draw others of his countrymen in, whom\n  he easily persuaded to submit to the routine.\n\n  Many learned Spanish thoroughly, and all acquired a knowledge\n  of the Christian religion, which they faithfully practised.\n  Thus they gained two great benefits--peace and comfort in this\n  life, and means of attaining happiness in the next. Those\n  who visited the missions were amazed to see that with such\n  petty resources--most frequently without the aid of white\n  mechanics--the missionaries accomplished so much, not only\n  in agriculture, but in architecture and mechanics; in mills,\n  machines, bridges, roads, and canals for irrigation; and\n  accomplished it all by transforming hostile and indolent savages\n  into laborious carpenters, masons, coopers, saddlers, shoemakers,\n  weavers, stone-cutters, brickmakers, and lime-burners. Around the\n  mission building arose the houses of the Indians and of a few\n  white settlers; at various distances were ranches or hamlets,\n  each with its chapel. In a little building near the mission-house\n  was a picket of five horsemen, who were at once soldiers and\n  couriers.\n\n  The regulations of the mission were uniform. At daybreak, the\n  _Angelus_ summoned all to the church for prayers and Mass, after\n  which they went to breakfast. Then all joined their respective\n  bands, and proceeded to their regular labors. At eleven, they\n  returned to dine, and rested till two, when labor recommenced,\n  and continued until the ringing of the _Angelus_ bell, an hour\n  before sunset. After prayers and beads, they supped, and spent\n  the evening in innocent amusements. Their food was the fresh\n  beef and mutton plentifully supplied by their herds and flocks,\n  cakes of wheat and Indian corn, peas, beans, and such vegetables\n  as they chose to raise. The missionaries themselves, bound by\n  vows of poverty, received only food and clothing. The Indians of\n  a mission were not all of the same tribe, but perfect harmony\n  prevailed, and when the season of work was over, many paid\n  visits to their countrymen, and seldom returned alone. Sometimes\n  a zealous Christian would visit his own tribe as an apostle, to\n  announce the happiness which was attainable under the mild rule\n  of the Gospel. In this way the missions constantly received new\n  accessions, for the good missionaries had the art of making labor\n  attractive. All the men and women in the mission were, moreover,\n  well and completely dressed.\n\n  It will be seen that this discipline was strict, and the Spanish\n  government, at the time of the forcible withdrawal of the\n  Jesuits, wished to bring odium upon them in connection with this\n  system of administration of their origination. The Franciscans,\n  however, who succeeded the Jesuits, continued the method of their\n  predecessors, convinced of its expediency. An attempt on the\n  part of the government to alter it, in the establishment of a\n  mission near the mouth of the Colorado, on its own principles,\n  a few years after the expulsion of the Jesuits, only resulted\n  in cruel outrages upon the Indians by those who were placed in\n  the temporal administration in lieu of the Franciscans. These\n  outrages provoked rebellion, and led to the massacre of the civil\n  functionaries, and of the religious as well. The government did\n  not repeat the experiment.\n\n  Forbes, the author of a work on California, after commending\n  the labors of the California Jesuits, says of their successors,\n  \u201cThe best and most unequivocal proof of the good conduct of the\n  Franciscan fathers is to be found in the unbounded affection and\n  devotion invariably shown towards them by their Indian subjects.\n  They venerate them not merely as friends and fathers, but with\n  a degree of devotedness approaching to adoration.\u201d He adds,\n  \u201cExperience has shown how infinitely more successful the Catholic\n  missionaries have been than the Protestant.\u201d These and many other\n  testimonies from unprejudiced sources might be given to show\n  the state of happiness in which the Indians formerly lived. An\n  American traveller, Bartlett, who in 1854 visited the mission\n  of San Gabriel, to which at one time five thousand Indians were\n  attached, says, \u201cHumanity cannot refrain from wishing that the\n  dilapidated mission of San Gabriel should be renovated and its\n  broken walls be rebuilt, its roofless houses be covered, and its\n  deserted halls be again filled with its ancient industrious,\n  happy, and contented population.\u201d\n\n  Two classes of persons, therefore--as Marshal remarks in his\n  _History of Catholic Missions_--\u201chave been instrumental in the\n  irreparable injury inflicted on the Indian tribes: Mexicans who\n  had forfeited their birthright as Catholics, and Protestants\n  who had never possessed it. Affecting to follow the precedents\n  of modern European policy, of which the chief maxim seems to be\n  the exclusion of all ecclesiastical influence in the government\n  of human society, the Mexican civil authorities resolved to\n  secularize all the missions. The result has been as in every land\n  where the same experiment has been tried, a swift relapse into\n  barbarism, from which the church alone has saved the world, the\n  immediate decay of material prosperity, and a vast augmentation\n  of human suffering.\n\n   \u201cHistory might have taught the Mexicans to anticipate these\n  inevitable fruits. When England laid her hand on the possessions\n  of the church, which had been for centuries the patrimony of\n  the poor, she took her first step towards her present social\n  condition. Prisons and workhouses became the dismal substitutes\n  for monasteries, and jailers supplanted monks. England has not\n  profited much by the change. The new institutions are at least\n  ten times more costly than the old, and the benefits derived\n  from them have been in inverse proportion. They now receive only\n  prisoners, and disgorge only criminals; while a whole nation of\n  heathen poor, a burden on the present resources of the country\n  and a menace for her future destiny, have sunk down, as even\n  English writers will tell us, to the level of the most degraded\n  tribes of Africa or America, and are as utterly void of religion\n  or of the knowledge of God as the Sioux, the Carib, or the\n  Dahoman.\u201d\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[200] Those who are curious on this point are referred to the\n_Mystic City of God_, by the Ven. Maria de Agreda, a Spanish\nCarmelite nun.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PROGRESSIONISTS.\n\nFROM THE GERMAN OF CONRAD VON BOLANDEN.\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nHANS SHUND.\n\nHans Shund returned home from business in high feather. Something\nunusual must have happened him, for his behavior was exceptional.\nStanding before his desk, he mechanically drew various papers from\nhis pockets, and laid them in different drawers and pigeon-holes.\nThe mechanical manner of his behavior was what was exceptional,\nfor usually Hans Shund bestowed particular attention upon certain\npapers; his soul\u2019s life was in those papers. Moreover, on the\npresent occasion, he kept shaking his head as if astonishment would\nnot suffer him to remain quiet. Yet habitually Hans Shund never\nshook his head, for that proceeding betrays interior emotion,\nand Shund\u2019s neck was as hardened and stiff as his usurer\u2019s soul.\nThe other exceptional feature of his behavior was a continuous\ngrowling, which at length waxed into a genuine soliloquy. But Hans\nShund was never known to talk to himself, for talking to one\u2019s self\nindicates a kindly disposition, whilst Shund had no disposition\nwhatever, as they maintain who knew him; or, if he had ever had\none, it had smouldered into a hard, impenetrable crust of slag.\n\n\u201cStrange--remarkably strange!\u201d said he. \u201cHem! what can it mean? How\nam I to account for it? Has the usurer undergone a transformation\nduring the night?\u201d And a hideous grin distorted his face. \u201cAm\nI metamorphosed, am I enchanted, or am I myself an enchanter?\nUnaccountable, marvellous, unheard of!\u201d\n\nThe papers had been locked up in the desk. A secret power urged him\nup and down the room, and finally into the adjoining sitting-room,\nwhere Mrs. Shund, a pale, careworn lady, sat near a sewing-stand,\nintent on her lonely occupation.\n\n\u201cWife, queer things have befallen me. Only think, all the city\nnotables have raised their hats to your humble servant, and have\nsaluted me in a friendly, almost an obsequious manner. And this has\nhappened to me to-day--to me, the hated and despised usurer! Isn\u2019t\nthat quite amazing? Even the city regent, Schwefel\u2019s son, took\noff his hat, and bowed as if I were some live grandee. How do you\nexplain that prodigy?\u201d\n\nThe careworn woman kept on sewing without raising her head.\n\n\u201cWhy don\u2019t you answer me, wife? Don\u2019t you find that most\nastonishing?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am incapable of being astonished, since grief and care have so\nfilled my heart that no room is left in it for feelings of any\nother kind.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, well! what is up again?\u201d asked he, with curiosity.\n\nShe drew a letter written in a female hand from one of the drawers\nof the sewing-stand.\n\n\u201cRead this, villain!\u201d\n\nHastily snatching the letter, he began to read.\n\n\u201cHem,\u201d growled he indifferently. \u201cThe drab complains of being\nneglected, of not getting any money from me. That should not be a\ncause of rage for you, I should think. The drab is brazen enough\nto write to you to reveal my weaknesses, all with the amicable\nintention of getting up a thundergust in our matrimonial heaven. Do\nlearn sense, wife, and stop noticing my secret enjoyments.\u201d\n\n\u201cFie, villain. Fie upon you, shameless wretch!\u201d cried she,\ntrembling in every limb.\n\n\u201cListen to me, wife! Above all things, let us not have a scene, an\nunnecessary row,\u201d interrupted he. \u201cYou know how fruitless are your\ncensures. Don\u2019t pester me with your stale lectures on morals.\u201d\n\n\u201cNearly every month I get a letter of that sort written in the most\ndisreputable purlieus of the town, and addressed to my husband. It\nis revolting! Am I to keep silent, shameless man--_I_, your wedded\nwife? Am I to be silent in presence of such infamous deeds?\u201d\n\n\u201cRather too pathetic, wife! Save your breath. Don\u2019t grieve at the\nliberties which I take. Try and accustom yourself to pay as little\nattention to my conduct as I bestow upon yours. When years ago I\nentered the contract with you vulgarly denominated marriage, I did\nit with the understanding that I was uniting myself to a subject\nthat was willing to share with me a life free from restraints;\nI mean, a life free from the odor of so-called hereditary moral\nconsiderations and of religious restrictions. Accustom yourself to\nthis view of the matter, rise to my level, enjoy an emancipated\nexistence.\u201d\n\nHe spoke and left the room. In his office he read the letter over.\n\n\u201cThis creature is insatiable!\u201d murmured he to himself. \u201cI shall\nhave to turn her off and enter into less expensive connections. I\nam talking with myself to-day--queer, very queer!\u201d\n\nA heavy knock was heard at the door.\n\n\u201cCome in!\u201d\n\nA man and woman scantily clad entered the room. The sight of\nthe wretched couple brought a fierce passion into the usurer\u2019s\ncountenance. He seemed suddenly transformed into a tiger,\nbloodthirstily crouching to seize his prey.\n\n\u201cWhat is the matter, Holt?\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Shund,\u201d began the man in a dejected tone, \u201cthe officer of the\nlaw has served the writ upon us: it is to take effect in ten days.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is, unless you make payment,\u201d interrupted Shund.\n\n\u201cWe are not able to pay just now, Mr. Shund, it is impossible. I\nwished therefore to entreat you very earnestly to have patience\nwith us poor people.\u201d\n\nThe woman seconded her husband\u2019s petition by weeping bitterly,\nwringing her hands piteously. The usurer shook his head\nrelentlessly.\n\n\u201cPatience, patience, you say. For eight years I have been using\npatience with you; my patience is exhausted now. There must be\nlimits to everything. There is a limit to patience also. I insist\nupon your paying.\u201d\n\n\u201cConsider, Mr. Shund, I am the father Of eight children. If you\ninsist on payment now and permit the law to take its course, you\nwill ruin a family of ten persons. Surely your conscience will not\npermit you to do this?\u201d\n\n\u201cConscience! What do you mean? Do not trouble me with your\nnonsense. For me, conscience means to have; for you, it means you\nmust. Therefore, pay.\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Shund, you know it is yourself that have reduced us to this\nwretched condition!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t say I did! How so?\u201d\n\n\u201cMay I remind you, Mr. Shund, may I remind you of all the\ncircumstances by which this was brought about? How it happened that\nfrom a man of means I have been brought to poverty?\u201d\n\n\u201cGo on, dearest Holt--go on; it will be interesting to me!\u201d The\nusurer settled himself comfortably to hear the summary of his\nsuccessful villanies from the mouth of the unfortunate man with the\nsame satisfaction with which a tiger regales itself on the tortures\nof its victim.\n\n\u201cNine years ago, Mr. Shund, I was not in debt, as you know. I\nlabored and supported my family honestly, without any extraordinary\nexertion. A field was for sale next to my field at the Rothenbush.\nYou came at the time--it is now upwards of eight years, and said\nin a friendly way, \u2018Holt, my good man, buy that field. It lies\nnext to yours, and you ought not to let the chance slip.\u2019 I wanted\nthe field, but had no money. This I told you. You encouraged me,\nsaying, \u2018Holt, my good man, I will let you have the money--on\ninterest, of course; for I am a man doing business, and I make my\nliving off my money. I will never push you for the amount. You\nmay pay it whenever and in what way you wish. Suit yourself.\u2019 You\ngave me this encouragement at the time. You loaned me nine hundred\nand fifty florins--in the note, however, you wrote one thousand\nand fifty, and, besides, at five per cent. For three years I paid\ninterest on one thousand and fifty, although you had loaned me only\nnine hundred and fifty. All of a sudden--I was just in trouble at\nthe time, for one of my draught-cattle had been crippled, and the\nharvest had turned out poorly, you came and demanded your money.\nI had none. \u2018I am sorry,\u2019 said you, \u2018I need my money, and could\nput it out at much higher interest.\u2019 I begged and begged. You\nthreatened to sue me. Finally, after much begging, you proposed\nthat I should sell you the field, for which three years previous I\nhad paid nine hundred and fifty florins, for seven hundred florins,\nalleging that land was no longer as valuable as it had been. You\nwere willing to rent me the field at a high rate. And to enable me\nto get along, you offered to lend me another thousand, but drew up\na note for eleven hundred florins at ten per cent., because, as\nyou pretended, money was now bringing ten per cent. since the law\nregulating interest had been abrogated. For a long while I objected\nto the proposal, but found myself forced at last to yield because\nyou threatened to attach my effects. From this time I began to go\ndownhill, I could no longer meet expenses, my family was large,\nand I had to work for you to pay up the interest and rent. But for\nsome time back I had been unable to do as I wished. I could not\neven sell any of my own property; for you were holding me fast, and\nI was obliged to mortgage everything to you for a merely nominal\nprice. My cottage, my barn, my garden, and the field in front of\nmy house--worth at least two thousand florins--I had to give you a\nmortgage upon for one thousand. The rest of my immovable property,\nfields and meadows, you took. Nothing was left to me but the little\nhut and what adjoined it. With respects, Mr. Shund, you had long\nsince sucked the very marrow from my bones, next you put the rope\nabout my neck, and now you are about to hang me.\u201d\n\n\u201cHang you? Ha-ha! That\u2019s good, Holt! You are in fine humor,\u201d cried\nthe usurer, after hearing with a relish the simple account of his\natrocious deeds. \u201cI have no hankering for your neck. Pay up, Holt,\npay up, that is all I want. Pay me over the trifle of a thousand\nflorins and the interest, and the house with everything pertaining\nto it shall be yours. But if you cannot pay up, it will have to be\nsold at auction, so that I may get my money.\u201d\n\n\u201cFor heaven\u2019s sake, Mr. Shund, be merciful,\u201d entreated the wife.\n\u201cWe have saved up the interest with much trouble; every farthing\nof it you are to receive. For God\u2019s sake, do not drive us from our\nhome, Mr. Shund, we will gladly toil for you day and night. Take\npity, Mr. Shund, do take pity on my poor children!\u201d\n\n\u201cStop your whining. Pay up, money alone has any value in my\nestimation--pay, all the rest is fudge. Pay up!\u201d\n\n\u201cGod knows, Mr. Shund,\u201d sobbed the woman, wringing her hands,\n\u201cI would give my heart\u2019s blood to keep my poor children out of\nmisery--with my life I would be willing to pay you. Oh! do have\nsome commiseration, do be merciful! Almighty God will requite you\nfor it.\u201d\n\n\u201cAlmighty God, nonsense! Don\u2019t mention such stuff to me. Stupid\npalaver like that might go down with some bigoted fool, but it will\nnot affect a man of enlightenment. Pay up, and there\u2019s an end of\nit!\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it your determination then, Mr. Shund, to cast us out\nmercilessly under the open sky?\u201d inquired the countryman with deep\nearnestness.\n\n\u201cI only want what belongs to me. Pay over the thousand florins with\nthe interest, and we shall be quits. That\u2019s my position, you may\ngo.\u201d\n\nIn feeling words the woman once more appealed to Hans Shund.\nHe remained indifferent to her pleading, and smiled scornfully\nwhenever she adduced religious considerations to support her\npetition. Suddenly Holt took her by the arm and drew her towards\nthe door.\n\n\u201cSay no more, wife, say no more, but come away. You could more\neasily soften stones than a man who has no conscience and does not\nbelieve in God.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere you have spoken the truth,\u201d sneered Shund.\n\n\u201cYou sneer, Mr. Shund,\u201d and the man\u2019s eyes glared. \u201cDo you know to\nwhom you owe it that your head is not broken?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat sort of language is that?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is the language of a father driven to despair. I tell you\u201d--and\nthe countryman raised his clenched fists--\u201cit is to the good God\nthat you are indebted for you life; for, if I believed as little in\nan almighty and just God as you, with this pair of strong hands I\nwould wring your neck. Yes, stare at me! With these hands I would\nstrangle Shund, who has brought want upon my children and misery\nupon me. Come away, wife, come away. He is resolved to reduce us to\nbeggary as he has done to so many others. Do your worst, Mr. Shund,\nbut there above we shall have a reckoning with each other.\u201d\n\nHe dragged his wife out of the room, and went away without\nsaluting, but casting a terrible scowl back upon Hans Shund.\n\nFor a long while the usurer sat thoughtfully, impressed by the\nominous scowl and threat, which were not empty ones, for rage and\ndespair swept like a rack over the man\u2019s countenance. Mr. Shund\nfelt distinctly that but for the God of Christians he would have\nbeen murdered by the infuriated man. He discovered, moreover, that\nreligious belief is to be recommended as a safeguard against the\nfury of the mob. On the other hand, he found this belief repugnant\nto a usurer\u2019s conscience and a hindrance to the free enjoyment\nof life. Hans Shund thus sat making reflections on religion, and\nendeavoring to drown the echo which Holt\u2019s summons before the\nsupreme tribunal had awakened in a secret recess of his soul, when\nhasty steps resounded from the front yard and the door was suddenly\nburst open. Hans\u2019 agent rushed in breathless, sank upon the nearest\nchair, and, opening his mouth widely, gasped for breath.\n\n\u201cWhat is the matter, Braun?\u201d inquired Shund in surprise. \u201cWhat has\nhappened?\u201d\n\nBraun flung his arms about, rolled his eyes wildly, and labored to\nget breath, like a person that is being smothered.\n\n\u201cGet your breath, you fool!\u201d growled the usurer. \u201cWhat business had\nyou running like a maniac? Something very extraordinary must be the\nmatter, is it not?\u201d\n\nBraun assented with violent nodding.\n\n\u201cAnything terrible?\u201d asked he further.\n\nMore nodding from Braun. The usurer began to feel uneasy. Many\na nefarious deed stuck to his hands, but not one that had not\nbeen committed with all possible caution and secured against\nany afterclaps of the law. Yet might he not for once have been\noff his guard? \u201cWhat has been detected? Speak!\u201d urged the\nconscience-stricken villain anxiously.\n\n\u201cMr. Shund, you are to be--in this place--\u201d\n\n\u201cArrested?\u201d suggested the other, appalled, as the agent\u2019s breath\nfailed him again.\n\n\u201cNo--mayor!\u201d\n\nShund straightened himself, and raised his hands to feel his ears.\n\n\u201cI am surely in possession of my hearing! Are you gone mad, fellow?\u201d\n\n\u201cMr. Shund, you are to be mayor and member of the legislature. It\nis a settled fact!\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed, \u2019tis quite a settled fact that you have lost your wits. It\nis a pity, poor devil! You once were useful, now you are insane;\nquite a loss for me! Where am I to get another bloodhound as good\nas you? Your scent was keen, you drove many a nice bit of game into\nmy nets. Hem--so many instances of insanity in these enlightened\ntimes of ours are really something peculiar. Braun, dearest Braun,\nhave you really lost your mind entirely? Completely deranged?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not insane, Mr. Shund. I have been assured from various\nsources that you are to be elected mayor and delegate to the\nlegislative assembly.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then, various persons have been running a rig upon you.\u201d\n\n\u201cRunning a rig upon me, Mr. Shund? Bamboozle me--me who understand\nand have practised bamboozling others for so long?\u201d\n\n\u201cStill, I maintain that people have been playing off a hoax on\nyou--and what an outrageous hoax it is, too!\u201d\n\n\u201cI believe a hoax? Just listen to me. I have never been more\nclear-headed than I am to-day. Acquaintances and strangers in\ndifferent quarters of the town have assured me that it is a fixed\nfact that you are to be mayor of this city and member of the\nlegislative assembly. Now, were it a hoax, would you not have to\npresuppose that both acquaintances and strangers conspired to make\na fool of me? Yet such a supposition is most improbable.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour reasoning is correct, Braun. Still, such a conspiracy must\nreally have been gotten up. _I_ mayor of this city? _I?_ Reflect\nfor an instant, Braun. You know what an enviable reputation I bear\nthroughout the city. Many persons would go a hundred paces out of\ntheir direction to avoid me, specially they who owe or have owed me\nanything. Moreover, who appoints the mayor? The men who give the\nkeynote, the leaders of the town. Now, these men would consider\nthemselves defiled by the slightest contact with the outlawed\nusurer--which, of course, is very unjust and inconsistent on the\npart of those gentlemen--for my views are the same as theirs.\u201d\n\n\u201cSpite of all that, I put faith in the report, Mr. Shund.\nSchwefel\u2019s bookkeeper also, when I met him, smiled significantly,\nand even raised his hat.\u201d\n\n\u201cHold on, Braun, hold! The deuce--it just now occurs to me--you\nmight not be so much mistaken after all. Strange things have\nhappened to me also. Gentlemen who are intimate with our city\nmagnates have saluted me and nodded to me quite confidentially. I\nwas unable to solve this riddle, now it\u2019s clear. Braun, you are\nright, your information is perfectly true.\u201d And Mr. Shund rubbed\nhis hands.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t forget, Mr. Shund, that I first brought you the astounding\nintelligence, the joyful tidings, the information on which the very\nbest sort of speculations may be based.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou shall be recompensed, Braun! Go over to the sign of the Bear,\nand drink a bottle of the best, and I will pay for it.\u201d\n\n\u201cAt a thaler a bottle?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat quality isn\u2019t good for the health, my dear fellow! You may\ndrink a bottle at forty-eight kreutzers on my credit. But no--I\ndon\u2019t wish to occasion you an injury, nor do I wish to see you\ndisgraced. You shall not acquire the name of a toper in my employ.\nYou may therefore call for a pint glass at twelve kreutzers a\nglass. Go, now, and leave me to myself.\u201d\n\nWhen the agent was gone, Hans Shund rushed about the room as if out\nof his mind.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t tell me that miracles no longer occur!\u201d cried he. \u201c_I_, the\ndischarged treasurer--_I_, the thief, usurer, and profligate, at\nthe mere sight of whom every young miss and respectable lady turn\nup their noses a thousand paces off--_I_ am chosen to be mayor\nand assemblyman! How has this come to pass? Where lie the secret\nsprings of this astonishing event?\u201d And he laid his finger against\nhis nose in a brown study. \u201cHere it is--yes, here! The thinkers\nof progress have at length discovered that a man who from small\nbeginnings has risen to an independent fortune, whose shrewdness\nand energy have amassed enormous sums, ought to be placed at the\nhead of the city administration in order to convert the tide of\npublic debt into a tide of prosperity. Yes, herein lies the secret.\nNor are the gentlemen entirely mistaken. There are ways and means\nof making plus out of minus, of converting stones into money. But\nthe gentlemen have taken the liberty of disposing of me without\nmy previous knowledge and consent. I have not even been asked.\nQuite natural, of course. Who asks a dog for permission to stroke\nhim? This is, I own, an unpleasant aftertaste. Hem, suppose I were\ntoo proud to accept, suppose I wanted to bestow my abilities and\nenergies on my own personal interests. Come, now, old Hans, don\u2019t\nbe sensitive! Pride, self-respect, character, sense of honor, and\nsuch things are valuable only when they bring emolument. Now, the\nmayor of a great city has it in his power to direct many a measure\neminently to his own interest.\u201d\n\nAnother knock was heard at the door, and the usurer, taken by\nsurprise, saw before him the leader Erdblatt.\n\n\u201cHave you been informed of a fact that is very flattering to you?\u201d\nbegan the tobacco manufacturer.\n\n\u201cNot the slightest intimation of a fact of that nature has reached\nme,\u201d answered Shund with reserve.\n\n\u201cThen I am very happy to be the first to give you the news,\u201d\nassured Erdblatt. \u201cIt has been decided to promote you at the next\nelection to the office of mayor and of delegate to the legislative\nassembly.\u201d\n\nA malignant smile flitted athwart Shund\u2019s face. He shook his sandy\nhead in feigned astonishment, and fixed upon the other a look that\nwas the next thing to a sneer.\n\n\u201cThere are almost as many marvels in your announcement as words.\nYou speak of a decision and of a fact which, however, without my\nhumble co-operation, are hardly practicable. I thought all along\nthat the disposition of my person belonged to myself. How could\nanything be resolved upon or become a fact in which I myself happen\nto have the casting vote?\u201d\n\n\u201cYour cordial correspondence with the flattering intention of\nyour fellow-citizens was presumed upon; moreover, you were to be\nagreeably surprised,\u201d explained the progressionist leader.\n\n\u201cThat, sir, was a very violent presumption! I am a free citizen,\nand am at liberty to dispose of my time and faculties as I please.\nIn the capacity of mayor, I should find myself trammelled and no\nlonger independent on account of the office. Moreover, a weighty\nresponsibility would then rest upon my shoulders, especially in\nthe present deplorable circumstances of the administration. Could\nI prevail on myself to accept the proffered situation, it would\nbecome my duty to attempt a thorough reform in the thoughtless\nand extravagant management of city affairs. You certainly cannot\nfail to perceive that a reformer in this department would be the\naim of dangerous machinations. And lastly, sir, why is it that\nI individually have been selected for appointments which are\nuniversally regarded as honorable distinctions in public life? I\nrepeat, why are they to be conferred upon me in particular who\ncannot flatter myself with enjoying very high favor among the\npeople of this city?\u201d And there glistened something like revengeful\ntriumph in Shund\u2019s feline eyes. \u201cWhen you will have given a\nsatisfactory solution to these reflections and questions, it may\nbecome possible for me to think of assenting to your proposal.\u201d\n\nErdblatt had not anticipated a reception of this nature, and for a\nmoment he sat nonplussed.\n\n\u201cI ask your pardon, Mr. Shund, you have taken the words fact and\ndecision in too positive a sense. What is a decided fact is that\nthe leaders of progress assign the honorable positions mentioned\nto you. Of course it rests with you to accept or decline them. The\nmotive of our decision was, if you will pardon my candor, your\ndistinguished talent for economizing. It is plain to us that a man\nof your abilities and thorough knowledge of local circumstances\ncould by prudent management and, by eliminating unnecessary\nexpenditure, do much towards relieving the deplorable condition\nof the city budget. We thought, moreover, that your well-known\nphilanthropy would not refuse the sacrifices of personal exertion\nand unremitting activity for the public good. Finally, as regards\nthe disrespect to which you have alluded, I assure you I knew\nnothing of it. The stupid and mad rabble may perhaps have cast\nstones at you, but can or will you hold respectable men responsible\nfor their deeds? Progress has ever proudly counted you in its\nranks. We have always found you living according to the principles\nof progress, despising the impotent yelping of a religiously\nbesotted mob. Be pleased to consider the tendered honors as amends\nfor the insults of intolerant fanatics in this city.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour explanation, sir, is satisfactory. I shall accept. I am\nparticularly pleased to know that my conduct and principles are in\nperfect accord with the spirit of progress. I am touched by the\nflattering recognition of my greatly misconstrued position.\u201d\n\nThe leader bowed graciously.\n\n\u201cThere now remains for me the pleasant duty,\u201d said he, \u201cof\nrequesting you to honor with your presence a meeting of\ninfluential men who are to assemble this evening in Mr. Schwefel\u2019s\ndrawing-room. Particulars are to be discussed there. The\nultramontanes and democrats are turbulent beyond all anticipation.\nWe shall have to proceed with the greatest caution about the\ndelegate elections.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall be there without fail, sir! Now that I have made up my\nmind to devote my experience to the interests of city and state, I\ncheerfully enter into every measure which it lies in my power to\nfurther.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs you are out for the first time as candidate for the assembly,\u201d\nsaid Erdblatt, \u201ca declaration of your political creed addressed to\na meeting of the constituents would not fail of a good effect.\u201d\n\n\u201cAgreed, sir! I shall take pleasure in making known my views in a\npublic speech.\u201d\n\nErdblatt rose, and Mr. Hans Shund was condescending enough to reach\nthe mighty chieftain his hand as the latter took his leave.\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nELECTIONEERING.\n\nThe four millions of the balcony are at present standing before\ntwo suits of male apparel of the kind worn by the working class,\ncontemplating them with an interest one would scarcely expect from\nmillionaires in materials of so ordinary a quality. Spread out\non the elegant and costly table cover are two blouses of striped\ngray at fifteen kreutzers a yard. There are, besides, two pairs\nof trowsers of a texture well adapted to the temperature of the\nmonth of July. There are also two neckties, sold at fairs for six\nkreutzers apiece. And, lastly, two cheap caps with long broad\npeaks. These suits were intended to serve as disguises for Seraphin\nand Carl on this evening, for the banker did not consider it\nbecoming gentlemen to visit electioneering meetings, dressed in a\ncostume in which they might be recognized. As Greifmann\u2019s face was\nfamiliar to every street-boy, he had provided himself with a false\nbeard of sandy hue to complete his _incognito_. For Seraphin this\nlast adjunct was unnecessary, for he was a stranger, and he was\nthus left free to exhibit his innocent countenance unmasked for the\ngratification of curious starers.\n\n\u201cThis will be a pleasant change from the monotony of a banking\nhouse existence,\u201d said the banker gleefully. \u201cI enjoy this\nmasquerade: it enables me to mingle without constraint among the\nunconstrained. You are going to see marvellous things to-night,\nfriend Seraphin. If your organs of hearing are not very sound, I\nadvise you to provide yourself with some cotton, so that the drums\nof your ears may not be endangered from the noise of the election\nskirmish.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour caution is far from inspiring confidence,\u201d said Louise with\nsome humor. \u201cI charge it upon your soul that you bring back Mr.\nGerlach safe and sound, for I too am responsible for our guest.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I, it seems, am less near to you than the guest, for you feel\nno anxiety about me,\u201d said the brother archly.\n\n\u201cEight o\u2019clock--it is our time.\u201d\n\nHe pulled the bell. A servant carried off the suits to the\ngentlemen\u2019s rooms.\n\n\u201cMay I beseech the men in blouses for the honor of a visit before\nthey go?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou shall have an opportunity to admire us,\u201d said Carl. The\ntransformation of the young men was more rapidly effected than\nthe self-satisfied mustering of Louise before the large mirror\nwhich reflected her elegant form entire. She laughingly welcomed\nher brother in his sandy beard, and fixed a look of surprise upon\nSeraphin, whose innocent person appeared to great advantage in the\nsimple costume.\n\n\u201cImpossible to recognize you,\u201d decided the young lady. \u201cYou,\nbrother Redbeard, look for all the world like a cattle dealer.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe gracious lady has hit it exactly,\u201d said the banker with an\nassumed voice. \u201cI am a horse jockey, bent on euchreing this young\ngentleman out of a splendid pair of horses.\u201d\n\n\u201cFriend Seraphin is most lovely,\u201d said she in an undertone. \u201cHow\nwell the country costume becomes him!\u201d And her sparkling eyes\ndarted expressive glances at the subject of her compliments.\n\nFor the first time she had called him friend, and the word friend\nmade him more happy than titles and honors that a prince might\nhave bestowed. He felt his soul kindle at the sight of the lovely\nbeing whose delicate and bewitching coquetry the inexperienced\nyouth failed to detect, but the influence of which he was surely\nundergoing. His cheeks glowed still more highly, and he became\nuneasy and embarrassed.\n\n\u201cYour indulgent criticism is encouraging, Miss Louise,\u201d replied he.\n\n\u201cI have merely told the truth,\u201d replied she.\n\n\u201cBut our hands--what are we to do with our hands?\u201d interposed Carl.\n\u201cSoft white hands like these do not belong to drovers. First of\nall, away with diamonds and rubies. Gold rings and precious stones\nare not in keeping with blouses. Nor will it do, in hot weather\nlike this, to bring gloves to our aid--that\u2019s too bad! What _are_\nwe to do?\u201d\n\n\u201cNobody will notice our hands,\u201d thought Seraphin.\n\n\u201cMy good fellow, you do not understand the situation. We are on\nthe eve of the election. Everybody is out electioneering. Whoever\nto-day visits a public place must expect to be hailed by a thousand\neyes, stared at, criticised, estimated, appraised, and weighed. The\ndeuce take these hands! Good advice would really be worth something\nin this instance.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo a powerful imagination like your own,\u201d added Louise playfully.\nShe disappeared for a moment and then returned with a washbowl.\nPouring the contents of her inkstand into the water, she laughingly\npointed them to the dark mass.\n\n\u201cDip your precious hands in here, and you will make them correspond\nwith your blouses in color and appearance.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow ingenious she is!\u201d cried Carl, following her direction.\n\n\u201cMost assuredly nothing comes up to the ingenuity of women. We\nare beautifully tattooed, our hands are horrible! We must give\nthe stuff time to dry. Had I only thought of it sooner, Louise,\nyou should have accompanied us disguised as a drover\u2019s daughter,\nand have drunk a bumper of wine with us. The adventure might have\nproved useful to you, and served as an addition to the sum of your\nexperiences in life.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will content myself with looking on from a distance,\u201d answered\nshe gaily. \u201cThe extraordinary progressionist movement that is\ngoing on to-day might make it a difficult task even for a drover\u2019s\ndaughter to keep her footing.\u201d\n\nThe two millionaires sallied forth, Carl making tremendous strides.\nSeraphin followed mechanically, the potent charm of her parting\nglances hovering around him.\n\n\u201cWe shall first steer for the sign of the \u2018Green Hat,\u2019\u201d said\nGreifmann. \u201cThere you will hear a full orchestra of progressionist\nmusic, especially trumpets and drums, playing flourishes on Hans\nShund. \u2018The Green Hat\u2019 is the largest beer cellar in the town, and\nthe proprietor ranks among the leaders next after housebuilder\nSand. All the representatives of the city _r\u00e9gime_ gather to-day\nat the establishment of Mr. Belladonna--that\u2019s the name of the\ngentleman of the \u2018Green Hat.\u2019 Besides the leaders, there will\nbe upward of a thousand citizens, big and small, to hold a\npreliminary celebration of election day. There will also be \u2018wild\nmen\u2019 on hand,\u201d proceeded Carl, explaining. \u201cThese are citizens\nwho in a manner float about like atoms in the bright atmosphere\nof the times without being incorporated in any brilliant body of\nprogress. The main object of the leaders this evening is to secure\nthese so-called \u2018wild men\u2019 in favor of their ticket for the city\ncouncil. Glib-tongued agents will be employed to spread their\nnets to catch the floating atoms--to tame these savages by means\nof smart witticisms. When, at length, a prize is captured and\nthe tide of favorable votes runs high, it is towed into the safe\nhaven of agreement with the majority. Resistance would turn out\na serious matter for a mechanic, trader, shopkeeper, or any man\nwhose position condemns him to obtain his livelihood from others.\nOpposition to progress dooms every man that is in a dependent\ncondition to certain ruin. For these reasons I have no misgivings\nabout being able to convince you that elections are a folly\nwherever the banner of progress waves triumphant.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe conviction with which you threaten me would be anything\nbut gratifying, for I abhor every form of terrorism,\u201d rejoined\nSeraphin.\n\n\u201cVery well, my good fellow! But we must accustom ourselves to\ntake things as they are and not as they ought to be. Therefore,\nmy youthful Telemachus, you are under everlasting obligations to\nme, your experienced Mentor, for procuring you an opportunity of\nbecoming acquainted with the world, and constraining you to think\nless well of men than your generous heart would incline you to do.\u201d\n\nThey had reached the outskirts of the city. A distant roaring,\nresembling the sound of shallow waters falling, struck upon the\nears of the maskers. The noise grew more distinct as they advanced,\nand finally swelled into the brawling and hum of many voices.\nPassing through a wide gate-way, the millionaires entered a square\nornamented with maple-trees. Under the trees, stretching away into\nthe distance, were long rows of tables lit up by gaslights, and\ndensely crowded with men drinking beer and talking noisily. The\nmiddle of the square was occupied by a rotunda elevated on columns,\nwith a zinc roof, and bestuck in the barbarous taste of the age\nwith a profusion of tin figures and plaster-of-paris ornaments.\nBeneath the rotunda, around a circular table, sat the leaders and\nchieftains of progress, conspicuous to all, and with a flood of\nlight from numerous large gas-burners streaming upon them. Between\nSand and Schwefel was throned Hans Shund, extravagantly dressed,\nand proving by his manner that he was quite at his ease. Nothing in\nhis deportment indicated that he had so suddenly risen from general\ncontempt to universal homage. Mr. Shund frequently monopolized the\nconversation, and, when this was the case, the company listened to\nhis sententious words with breathless attention and many marks of\napprobation.\n\nMentor Greifmann conducted his ward to a retired corner, into\nwhich the rays of light, intercepted by low branches, penetrated\nbut faintly, and from which a good view of the whole scene could be\nenjoyed.\n\n\u201cDo you observe Hans there under the baldachin surrounded by his\nvassals?\u201d rouned Carl into his companion\u2019s ear. \u201cEven you will be\nmade to feel that progress can lay claim to a touching spirit of\nmagnanimity and forgiveness. It is disposed to raise the degraded\nfrom the dust. The man who only yesterday was engaged in shoving a\ncar, sweeping streets, or even worse, to-day may preside over the\ngreat council, provided only he has the luck to secure the good\ngraces of the princes of progress. Hans Shund, thief, usurer, and\nnightwalker, is a most striking illustration of my assertion.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat particularly disgusts and incenses me,\u201d replied the double\nmillionaire gravely, \u201cis that, under the _r\u00e9gime_ of progress, they\nwho are degraded, immoral, and criminal, may rise to power without\nany reformation of conduct and principles.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat you say is so much philosophy, my dear fellow, and philosophy\nis an antique, obsolete kind of thing that has no weight in\ntimes when continents are being cut asunder and threads of iron\nlaid around the globe. Moreover, such has ever been the state of\nthings. In the dark ages, also, criminals attained to power. Just\nthink of those bloody monarchs who trifled with human heads, and\nwhose ministers, for the sake of a patch of territory, stirred up\nhorrible wars. Compared with such monsters, Hans Shund is spotless\ninnocence.\u201d\n\n\u201cQuite right, sir,\u201d rejoined the landholder, with a smile. \u201cThose\nbloody kings and their satanic ministers were monsters--but\nonly--and I beg you to mark this well--only when judged by\nprinciples which modern progress sneers at as stupid morality and\nsenseless dogma. I even find that those princely monsters and\ntheir conscienceless ministers shared the species of enlightenment\nthat prides itself on repudiating all positive religion and moral\nobligations.\u201d\n\n\u201cThunder and lightning, Seraphin! were not you sitting bodily\nbefore me, I should believe I was actually listening to a Jesuit.\nBut be quiet! It will not do to attract notice. Ah! splendid.\nThere you see some of the \u2018wild men,\u2019\u201d continued he, pointing to\na table opposite. \u201cThe fellow with the bald head and fox\u2019s face\nis an agent, a salaried bellwether, a polished electioneer. He\nhas the \u2018wild men\u2019 already half-tamed. Watch how cleverly he will\ndecoy them into the progressionist camp. Let us listen to what he\nhas to say; it will amuse you, and add to your knowledge of the\ndevelopments of progress.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe want men for the city council,\u201d spoke he of the bald head,\n\u201cthat are accurately and thoroughly informed upon the condition\nand circumstances of the city. Of what use would blockheads be\nbut to fuss and grope about blindly? What need have we of fellows\nwhose stupidity would compromise the public welfare? The men we\nwant in our city council must understand what measures the social,\ncommercial, and industrial interests of a city of thirty thousand\ninhabitants require in order that the greatest good of the largest\nportion of the community may be secured. Nor is this enough,\u201d\nproceeded he with increasing enthusiasm. \u201cBesides knowledge,\nexperience, and judgment, they must also be gifted with the\nnecessary amount of energy to carry out whatever orders the council\nhas thought fit to pass. They must be resolute enough to break down\nevery obstacle that stands in the way of the public good. Now, who\nare the men to render these services? None but independent men\nwho by their position need have no regard to others placed above\nthem--free-spirited and sensible men, who have a heart for the\npeople. Now, gentlemen, have you any objections to urge against my\nviews?\u201d\n\n\u201cNone, Mr. Spitzkopf! Your views are perfectly sound,\u201d lauded a\nsemi-barbarian. \u201cWe have read exactly what you have been telling us\nin the evening paper.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course, of course!\u201d cried Mr. Spitzkopf. \u201cMy views are so\nevidently correct that a thinking man cannot help stumbling upon\nthem. None but the slaves of priests, the wily brood of Jesuits,\nrefuse to accept these views,\u201d thundered the orator with the bald\nhead. \u201cAnd why do they refuse to accept them? Because they are\nhostile to enlightenment, opposed to the common good, opposed to\nthe prosperity of mankind, in a word, because they are the bitter\nenemies of progress. But take my word for it, gentlemen, our city\ncontains but a small number of these creatures of darkness, and\nthose few are spotted,\u201d emphasized he threateningly. \u201cTherefore,\ngentlemen,\u201d proceeded he insinuatingly, \u201cI am convinced, and\nevery man of intelligence shares my conviction, that Mr. Shund\nis eminently fitted for the city council--eminently! He would\nbe a splendid acquisition in behalf of the public interests! He\nunderstands our local concerns thoroughly, possesses the experience\nof many years, is conversant with business, knows what industrial\npursuits and social life require, and, what is better still, he\nmaintains an independent standing to which he unites a rare degree\nof activity. Were it possible to prevail on Mr. Shund to take\nupon himself the cares of the mayoralty, the deficit of the city\ntreasury would soon be wiped out. We would all have reason to\nconsider ourselves fortunate in seeing the interests of our city\nconfided to such a man.\u201d\n\nThe \u201cwild men\u201d looked perplexed.\n\n\u201cRight enough, Mr. Spitzkopf,\u201d explained a timid coppersmith.\n\u201cShund is a clever, well-informed man. Nobody denies this. But do\nyou know that it is a question whether, besides his clever head, he\nalso possesses a conscience in behalf of the commonwealth?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe most enlarged sort of a conscience, gentlemen--the warmest\nkind of a heart!\u201d exclaimed the bald man in a convincing\ntone. \u201cDon\u2019t listen to stories that circulate concerning\nShund. There is not a word of truth in them. They are sheer\nmisconstructions--inventions of the priests and of their helots.\u201d\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon, Mr. Spitzkopf, they are not all inventions,\u201d\nopposed the coppersmith. \u201cIn the street where I live, Shund keeps\nup a certain connection that would not be proper for any decent\nperson, not to say for a married man.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd does that scandalize you?\u201d exclaimed the bald-headed agent\nmerrily. \u201cMr. Shund is a jovial fellow, he enjoys life, and\nis rich. Mr. Shund will not permit religious rigorism to put\nrestraints upon his enjoyments. His liberal and independent spirit\nscorns to lead a miserable existence under the rod of priestly\nbigotry. And, mark ye, gentlemen, this is just what recommends him\nto all who are not priest-ridden or leagued with the hirelings of\nRome,\u201d concluded the electioneer, casting a sharp look upon the\ncoppersmith.\n\n\u201cBut I am a Lutheran, Mr. Spitzkopf,\u201d protested the coppersmith.\n\n\u201cThere are hypocrites among the Lutherans who are even worse\nthan the Romish Jesuits,\u201d retorted the man with the bald head.\n\u201cConsider, gentlemen, that the leading men of our city have, in\nconsideration of his abilities, concluded to place Mr. Shund in the\nposition which he ought to occupy. Are you going, on to-morrow,\nto vote against the decision of the leading men? Are you actually\ngoing to make yourselves guilty of such an absurdity? You may, of\ncourse, if you wish, for every citizen is free to do as he pleases.\nBut the men of influence are also at liberty to do as they please.\nI will explain my meaning more fully. You, gentlemen, are, all of\nyou, mechanics--shoemakers, tailors, blacksmiths, carpenters, etc.\nFrom whom do you get your living? Do you get it from the handful\nof hypocrites and men of darkness? No; you get your living from\nthe liberals, for they are the moneyed men, the men of power and\nauthority. It is they who scatter money among the people. You\nobtain employment, you get bread and meat, from the liberals. And\nnow to whom, do you think, will the liberals give employment? They\nwill give it to such as hold their views, and not--mark my word--to\nsuch as are opposed to them. The man, therefore, that is prepared\nrecklessly to ruin his business has only to vote against Mr. Shund.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat will do the business, that will fetch them,\u201d said Greifmann.\n\u201cJust look how dumfounded the poor savages appear!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is brutal terrorism!\u201d protested Seraphin indignantly.\n\n\u201cBut don\u2019t misunderstand me, Mr. Spitzkopf! I am neither a\nhypocritical devotee nor a Jesuit!\u201d exclaimed the coppersmith\ndeprecatingly. \u201cIf Shund is good enough for them,\u201d pointing to the\nleaders under the rotunda, \u201che is good enough for me.\u201d\n\n\u201cFor me, too!\u201d exclaimed a tailor.\n\n\u201cThere isn\u2019t a worthier man than Shund,\u201d declared a shopkeeper.\n\n\u201cAnd not a cleverer,\u201d said a carpenter.\n\n\u201cAnd none more demoralized,\u201d lauded a joiner, unconscious of the\nimport of his encomium.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s so, and therefore I am satisfied with him,\u201d assured a\nshoemaker.\n\n\u201cSo am I--so am I,\u201d chorussed the others eagerly.\n\n\u201cThat is sensible, gentlemen,\u201d approved the bald man. \u201cJust keep\nin harmony with liberalism and progress, and you will never be the\nworse for it, gentlemen. Above all, beware of reaction--do not fall\nback into the immoral morasses of the middle ages. Let us guard the\nlight and liberty of our beautiful age. Vote for these men,\u201d and\nhe produced a package of printed tickets, \u201cand you will enjoy the\ndelightful consciousness of having disposed of your vote in the\ninterests of the common good.\u201d\n\nSpitzkopf distributed the tickets on which were the names of\nthe councilmen elect. At the head of the list appeared in large\ncharacters the name of Mr. Hans Shund.\n\n\u201cThe curtain falls, the farce is ended,\u201d said Greifmann. \u201cWhat you\nhave here heard and seen has been repeated at every table where\n\u2018wild men\u2019 chanced to make their appearance. Everywhere the same\narguments, the same grounds of conviction.\u201d\n\nSeraphin had become quite grave, and cast his eyes to the ground in\nsilence.\n\n\u201cBy Jove, the rogue is going to try his hand on us!\u201d said Carl,\nnudging the thoughtful young man. \u201cThe bald-headed fellow has\nspied us, and is getting ready to bag a couple of what he takes to\nbe \u2018wild men.\u2019 Come, let us be off.\u201d\n\nThey left the beer cellar and took the direction of the city.\n\n\u201cNow let us descend a little lower, to what I might call the\namphibia of society,\u201d said Greifmann. \u201cWe are going to visit a\nplace where masons, sawyers, cobblers, laborers, and other small\nfry are in the habit of slaking their thirst. You will there\nfind going on the same sort of electioneering, or, as you call\nit, the same sort of terrorism, only in a rougher style. There\nbeer-jugs occasionally go flying about, and bloody heads and\nrough-and-tumble, fights may be witnessed.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have no stomach for fisticuffs and whizzing beer-mugs,\u201d said\nGerlach.\n\n\u201cNever mind, come along. I have undertaken to initiate you into the\nmysteries of elections, and you are to get a correct idea of the\nlife action of a cultivated state.\u201d\n\nThey entered an obscure alley where a fetid, sultry atmosphere\nassailed them. Greifmann stopped before a lofty house, and pointed\nto a transparency on which a brimming beer-tankard was represented.\nA wild tumult was audible through the windows, through which the\ncry of \u201cShund!\u201d rose at times like the swell of a great wave from\nthe midst of corrupted waters. As they were passing the doorway\na dense fog of tobacco smoke mingled with divers filthy odors\nassailed their nostrils. Seraphin, who was accustomed to inhaling\nthe pure atmosphere of the country, showed an inclination to\nretreat, and had already half-way faced about when his companion\nseized and held him. \u201cCourage, my friend! wade into the slough\nboldly,\u201d cried he into the struggling youth\u2019s ear. \u201cHereafter,\nwhen you will be riding through woodland and meadows, the\nrecollection of this subterranean den will enable you to appreciate\nthe pure atmosphere of the country twice as well. Look at those\nsodden faces and swollen heads. Those fellows are literally\nwallowing and seething in beer, and they feel as comfortable as\nten thousand cannibals. It is really a joy to be among men who are\nnatural.\u201d\n\nThe millionaires, having with no little difficulty succeeded in\nfinding seats, were accosted by a female waiter.\n\n\u201cDo the gentlemen wish to have election beer?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d replied Gerlach.\n\nHis abrupt tone in declining excited the surprise of the fellows\nwho sat next to them. Several of them stared at the landholder.\n\n\u201cSo you don\u2019t want any election beer?\u201d cried a fellow who was\npretty well fired.\n\n\u201cWhy not? May be it isn\u2019t good enough for you?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, yes! oh, yes!\u201d replied the banker hastily. \u201cYou see, Mr.\nShund\u201d--\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s good! You call me Shund,\u201d interrupted the fellow with\na coarse laugh. \u201cMy name isn\u2019t Shund--my name is Koenig--yes,\nKoenig--with all due respect to you.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, Mr. Koenig--you see, Mr. Koenig, we decline drinking\nelection beer because we are not entitled to it--we do not belong\nto this place.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, yes--well, that\u2019s honest!\u201d lauded Koenig. \u201cBeing that you are\na couple of honest fellows, you must partake of some of the good\nthings of our feast. I say, Kate,\u201d cried he to the female waiter,\n\u201cbring these gentlemen some of the election sausages.\u201d\n\nGreifmann, perceiving that Seraphin was about putting in a\nprotest, nudged him.\n\n\u201cWhat feast are you celebrating to-day?\u201d inquired the banker.\n\n\u201cThat I will explain to you. We are to have an election here\nto-morrow; these men on the ticket, you see, are to be elected.\u201d\nAnd he drew forth one of Spitzkopf\u2019s tickets. \u201cEvery one of us has\nreceived a ticket like this, and we are all going to vote according\nto the ticket--of course, you know, we don\u2019t do it for nothing.\nTo-day and to-morrow, what we eat and drink is free of charge. And\nif Satan\u2019s own grandmother were on the ticket, I would vote for\nher.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe first one on the list is Mr. Hans Shund. What sort of a man is\nhe?\u201d asked Seraphin. \u201cNo doubt he is the most honorable and most\nrespectable man in the place!\u201d\n\n\u201cHa! ha! that\u2019s funny! The most honorable man in the place!\nReally you make me laugh. Never mind, however, I don\u2019t mean\nto be impolite. You are a stranger hereabout, and cannot, of\ncourse, be expected to know anything of it. Shund, you see, was\nformerly--that, is a couple of days ago--Shund was a man of whom\nnobody knew any good. For my part, I wouldn\u2019t just like to be\nsticking in Shund\u2019s hide. Well, that\u2019s the way things are: you know\nit won\u2019t do to babble it all just as it is. But you understand me.\nTo make a long story short, since day before yesterday Shund is the\nhonestest man in the world. Our men of money have made him that,\nyou know,\u201d giving a sly wink. \u201cWhat the men of money do, is well\ndone, of course, for the proverb says, \u2018Whose bread I eat, his song\nI sing.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cShut your mouth, Koenig! What stuff is that you are talking\nthere?\u201d said another fellow roughly. \u201cHans Shund is a\nfree-spirited, clever, first-class, distinguished man. Taken\naltogether, he is a liberal man. For this reason he will be elected\ncouncilman to-morrow, then mayor of the city, and finally member of\nthe assembly.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s so, that\u2019s so, my partner is right,\u201d confirmed Koenig.\n\u201cBut listen, Flachsen, you will agree that formerly--you know,\nformerly--he was an arrant scoundrel.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy was he? Why?\u201d inquired Flachsen.\n\n\u201cWhy? Ha, ha! I say, Flachsen, go to Shund\u2019s wife, she can tell you\nbest. Go to those whom he has reduced to beggary, for instance, to\nHolt over there. They all can tell you what Shund is, or rather\nwhat he has been. But don\u2019t get mad, brother Flachsen! Spite of all\nthat, I shall vote for Shund. That\u2019s settled.\u201d And he poured the\ncontents of his beer-pot down his throat.\n\n\u201cAs you gentlemen are strangers, I will undertake to explain this\nbusiness for you,\u201d said Flachsen, who evidently was an agent for\nthe lower classes, and who did his best to put on an appearance of\nlearning by affecting high-sounding words of foreign origin.\n\n\u201cShund is quite a rational man, learned and full of intelligence.\nBut the priests have calumniated him horribly because he will not\nhowl with them. For this reason we intend to elect him, not for\nthe sake of the free beer. When Shund will have been elected, a\nsystem of economy will be inaugurated, taxes will be removed, and\nthe encyclical letter with which the Pope has tried to stultify the\npeople, together with the syllabus, will be sent to the dogs. And\nin the legislative assembly the liberal-minded Shund will manage to\nhave the priests excluded from the schools, and we will have none\nbut secular schools. In short, the dismal rule of the priesthood\nthat would like to keep the people in leading-strings will be put\nan end to, and liberal views will control our affairs. As for\nShund\u2019s doings outside of legitimate wedlock, that is one of the\nboons of liberty--it is a right of humanity; and when Koenig lets\nloose against Shund\u2019s money speculations, he is only talking so\nmuch bigoted nonsense.\u201d\n\nFlachsen\u2019s apologetic discourse was interrupted by a row that took\nplace at the next table. There sat a victim of Shund\u2019s usury, the\nland-cultivator Holt. He drank no beer, but wine, to dispel gloomy\nthoughts and the temptations of desperation. It had cost him no\nordinary struggle to listen quietly to eulogies passed on Shund.\nHe had maintained silence, and had at times smiled a very peculiar\nsmile. His bruised heart must have suffered a fearful contraction\nas he heard men sounding the praises of a wretch whom he knew to be\nwicked and devoid of conscience. For a long time he succeeded in\nrestraining himself. But the wine he had drunk at last fanned his\nsmouldering passion into a hot flame of rage, and, clenching his\nfist, he struck the table violently.\n\n\u201cThe fellow whom you extol is a scoundrel!\u201d cried he.\n\n\u201cWho is a scoundrel?\u201d roared several voices.\n\n\u201cYour man, your councilman, your mayor, is a scoundrel! Shund is a\nscoundrel!\u201d cried the ruined countryman passionately.\n\n\u201cAnd you, Holt, are a fool!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are drunk, Holt!\u201d\n\n\u201cHolt is an ass,\u201d maintained Flachsen. \u201cHe cannot read, otherwise\nhe would have seen in the _Evening Gazette_ that Shund is a man\nof honor, a friend of the people, a progressive man, a liberal\nman, a brilliant genius, a despiser of religion, a death-dealer to\nsuperstition, a--a--I don\u2019t remember what all besides. Had you read\nall that in the evening paper, you fool, you wouldn\u2019t presume to\nopen your foul mouth against a man of honor like Hans Shund. Yes,\nstare; if you had read the evening paper, you would have seen the\nenumeration of the great qualities and deeds of Hans Shund in black\nand white.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe evening paper, indeed!\u201d cried Holt contemptuously. \u201cDoes the\nevening paper also mention how Shund brought about the ruin of the\nfather of a family of eight children?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s that you say, you dog?\u201d yelled a furious fellow. \u201cThat\u2019s a\nlie against Shund!\u201d\n\n\u201cEasy, Graeulich, easy,\u201d replied Holt to the last speaker, who was\nabout to set upon him. \u201cIt is not a lie, for I am the man whom\nShund has strangled with his usurer\u2019s clutches. He has reduced me\nto beggary--me and my wife and my children.\u201d\n\nGraeulich lowered his fists, for Holt spoke so convincingly,\nand the anguish in his face appealed so touchingly, that the\nman\u2019s fury was in an instant changed to sympathy. Holt had stood\nup. He related at length the wily and unscrupulous proceedings\nthrough which he had been brought to ruin. The company listened\nto his story, many nodded in token of sympathy, for everybody was\nacquainted with the ways of the hero of the day.\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s the way Shund has made a beggar of me,\u201d concluded Holt.\n\u201cAnd I am not the only one, you know it well. If, then, I call\nShund a usurer, a scoundrel, a villain, you cannot help agreeing\nwith me.\u201d\n\nFlachsen noticed with alarm that the feeling of the company was\nbecoming hostile to his cause. He approached the table, where he\nwas met by perplexed looks from his aids.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you perceive,\u201d cried he, \u201cthat Holt is a hireling of the\npriests? Will you permit yourselves to be imposed upon by this\nsalaried slave? Hear me, you scapegrace, you rascal, you ass,\nlisten to what I have to tell you! Hans Shund is the lion of the\nday--the greatest man of this century! Hans Shund is greater than\nBismarck, sharper than Napoleon. Out of nothing God made the\nuniverse: from nothing Hans Shund has got to be a rich man. Shund\nhas a mouthpiece that moves like a mill-wheel on which entire\nstreams fall. In the assembly Shund will talk down all opposition.\nHe will talk even better than that fellow Voelk, over in Bavaria,\nwho is merely a lawyer, but talks upon everything, even things he\nknows nothing about. And do you, lousy beggar, presume to malign a\nman of this kind? If you open that filthy mouth of yours once more,\nI will stop it for you with paving-stones.\u201d\n\n\u201cHold, Flachsen, hold! _I_ am not the man that is paid; you are the\none that is paid,\u201d retorted the countryman indignantly. \u201cMy mouth\nhas not been honey-fed like yours. Nor do I drink your election\nbeer or eat your election sausages. But with my last breath I will\nmaintain that Shund is a scoundrel, a usurer, a villain.\u201d\n\n\u201cOut with the fellow!\u201d cried Flachsen. \u201cHe has insulted us all, for\nwe have all been drinking election beer. Out with the helot of the\npriests!\u201d\n\nThe progressionist mob fell upon the unhappy man, throttled him,\nbeat him, and drove him into the street.\n\n\u201cLet us leave this den of cutthroats,\u201d said Gerlach, rising.\n\nOutside they found Holt leaning against a wall, wiping the blood\nfrom his face. Seraphin approached him. \u201cAre you badly hurt, my\ngood man?\u201d asked he kindly. The wounded man, looking up, saw a\nnoble countenance before him, and, whilst he continued to gaze hard\nat Seraphin\u2019s fine features, tears began to roll from his eyes.\n\n\u201cO God! O God!\u201d sighed he, and then relapsed into silence. But in\nthe tone of his words could be noticed the terrible agony he was\nsuffering.\n\n\u201cIs the wound deep--is it dangerous?\u201d asked the young man.\n\n\u201cNo, sir, no! The wound on my forehead is nothing--signifies\nnothing; but in here,\u201d pointing to his breast--\u201cin here are care,\nanxiety, despair. I am thankful, sir, for your sympathy; it is\nsoothing. But you may go your way; the blows signify nothing.\u201d\n\n                         TO BE CONTINUED.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SPANIARDS AT HOME.\n\n\nThere is something very pleasant in waking some morning in a\nstrange country, with strange faces around us, a strange language\nringing in our ears, strange costumes, strange institutions,\nstrange everything--something, we fancy, half akin to what Byron\nfelt when he woke one morning to find himself famous. It is\npleasant to step from New York to Cadiz, from the heart of the New\nWorld into an historic city, that was as historic before our nation\nwas born as it is to-day; that has not cared to march overmuch with\nthe age, yet has never drifted backward, and still stands there, as\nit did long ago, the \u201cwhite-walled Cadiz,\u201d rising sheer out of the\nwaters, with its long, straight streets and tall houses sleeping by\nthe golden bay.\n\nIt is pleasant, we say, to find ourselves here breathing awhile\nfrom the heat of the strife that beats over there for ever and\nknows no rest; to open our eyes upon \u201csomething new and strange\u201d;\nto miss for once the eternal stages and the rumble and the jingle\nof the cars, and the multiplicity of signs, and names, and glaring\nadvertisements, crowding in upon us at all times and in all places.\n\nIt is not unpleasant even to miss our dames for awhile with their\nexaggeration of wealth and extravagance, resting our eyes instead\non the modest black robes, nunlike in simplicity, crowned by the\nbewitching mantilla of the beauties whom Byron sang.\n\nAs you look into the street, the feeling grows upon you that you\nare gazing on a moving panorama pencilled by the old Spanish\npainters. There pass the blooming se\u00f1orita, fresh as a rosebud,\nside by side with the duenna, yellow and puckered: how they\nresemble _la Joven_ and _la Vieja_ of Goya. That little beggar-boy,\nwith those beautiful black eyes and a carnation in the olive cheek,\nsprawling in his picturesque rags on the pavement, is surely a\nbrother to that of Murillo, so studiously engaged in performing an\noperation on his person more necessary than elegant. Here saunters\na lazy soldier smoking his cigarette; there an old _padre_ totters\nwith bended head hidden under the large hat, snuff-box in hand, and\nan old calf-skin volume under his arm; he has just stepped out of\nhis gilded frame. The trappings of the mules, the brown faces and\nmerry eye of the muleteer, were known to us long ago on canvas. Nor\nare there wanting those pale ascetic countenances where religion,\nand intellect, and inspiration are so marvellously blended: you\nsee them in the pulpit and on the altar, in the cloister and the\nconvent walls. In our last article,[201] we ventured to assert that\nthe Spaniards were the purest race in Europe; and not the meanest\nproof of the truth of this assertion might be furnished by their\npaintings. Those who pride themselves on the blue blood that runs\nin their veins have their galleries filled with portraits of the\nfamily, where you may trace the same lineaments handed down from\nsire to son for generations, which no change of time or costume can\nefface. The Spanish painters have furnished us with the portraits\nof their nation, and a beggar to-day might point with pride to his\nprogenitor on the canvas of Murillo.\n\nHow different is the life here from ours!\n\nThere are only two meals, unless you choose to take what the\nSpaniards call \u201clonch.\u201d On rising, the boy brings you your bath,\nand, if you care for it, as you are sure to do, a cup of coffee.\nIf you have business to transact, you go to your office: if not,\nyou take a book or a newspaper, and saunter into the garden, while\nthe morning is fresh and a thousand delicious odors are around you.\nAt half-past ten or eleven the household meet at breakfast, when\nyou pay your respects to the \u201cse\u00f1orita,\u201d the dear little lady, as\nthe servants entitle your hostess, and inquire if she has passed\nthe night well. The breakfast is similar to the French _dejeuner_:\na variety of courses, with perhaps some delicious fruits, and a\ncup of _cafe con leche_ at the end. While we are breakfasting, a\nfriend or relative of the family may enter, and, as he sits and\njokes, he produces his cigarette, ignites and smokes away as only\na Spaniard can, with an ease and a grace and a thorough enjoyment\nthat are enviable. This may startle our lady readers, but remember\nwe are in Spain; the dining-room is spacious and lofty, the windows\nopen, and the pure clear air flower-scented, or, if in season,\nloaded with the breath of the orange blossom, gains rather than\nloses by the transient odor so faintly discerned of the delicious\nHavana leaf. The breakfast ended, your host hands a cigar around\nto each of the gentlemen: the ladies remain to chat them out, and\nthen everybody goes about his business. And here let us answer\nonce for all a ridiculous question that has often been put to us.\nLadies when speaking of their Spanish sisters are apt to say: \u201cOh!\nyes, I know they are very charming and graceful, and the mantilla\nis a love of a costume, and so becoming to a dark complexion; but\ntell me, now, is it not true that--they smoke?\u201d The astonishment\nof a Spanish gentleman on being asked by every foreigner he meets\nif his wife and daughters--for to such the question really reduces\nitself--indulge in \u201cthe weed,\u201d is just as great as our own would be\non a similar query being put to us regarding our ladies.\n\nWe meet again at dinner at six or seven o\u2019clock. Your host may\npossess a French cook--we beg his pardon--artiste; if not, you will\nhave a Spanish dinner unflavored, since we must confess it, by\nthe too fragrant garlic, which is confined to the mountaineers up\nin the Basque Provinces. You have some dishes cooked in oil, and\nit is so pure and good that you very soon get to like it. There is\ngenuine \u201cVino de Jerez\u201d on the table, undoctored for the market,\nclear as amber, ambrosial as nectar, delicious in bouquet and\nflavor. You will be astonished at the Spaniards taking so little\nof it; many never touch it at all. They prefer claret or pure\nwater, the climate not admitting of stronger drinks. \u201c_Borracho_,\u201d\ndrunkard, in Spain, as in most southern countries of Europe, is\nthe vilest title you can give a man. There are splendid olives and\nrare fruits, preserved, or as they dropped from the hand of nature.\nMore friends may call during dinner, ladies, perhaps, this time,\nand your hostess never disturbs herself with the thought that they\nhave come to see what is on the table. \u201cSe\u00f1or don Rafael, beso a\nUsted la mano,\u201d says the lady to her visitor--\u201cI kiss my hand to\nyou.\u201d \u201cBeso a Usted los pies, se\u00f1orita,\u201d responds the cavalier with\na bow--\u201cI kiss your feet, my dear lady.\u201d Dinner over, cigars are\nagain produced, and we all adjourn to the _patio_, it being too\nwarm for music or cards. The elders assemble and discuss the funds,\nor times, or the state of the country. Politics are very rife at\npresent, and the fire and animation of the speakers, the variation\nof their tones, the free and striking gesture--for with a Spaniard\nthe whole body speaks--are a pleasing novelty to us, accustomed\nto a tamer mode of conversation. The ladies nestle together, and\nare deep in the mysteries best known to themselves. The younger\ngentlemen gradually detach themselves from their elders, and leave\nthe country to go to ruin, while they indulge in less momentous\nbut far more interesting topics with the ladies, and give vent to\ntheir Andalusian wit.\n\nThe _patio_ is a feature in a Spanish house. It is a species of\ncourt, large or small, according to the dimensions of the mansion,\npaved with flags or marble, with perhaps a fountain playing in\nthe middle and cooling the atmosphere; in the marble basin silver\nand gold fish leap, and a few rare plants freshen around it. High\noverhead is a roof of glass, where a canvas screen keeps out\nthe sun when his rays are too powerful. The house, generally of\ntwo stories in the south, but very lofty, is built around this\nquadrangle, the upper floor reaching partly over it, supported\nby pillars, sometimes richly wrought and adorned. Paintings\nor engravings relieve the bare white walls. On the one side a\ndoorway, with a little convent grating to peer from, completely\nshuts out the view of the street; on the other, an iron gate opens\nto the garden, where you see the yellowing oranges clustering\nbright in their dark-leaved recesses, and brilliant flowers and\nodor-bearing shrubs gladden the eye and soothe the senses. From\nthe _patio_ we proceed to the _Alameda_ or _paseo_--park or\npromenade as we should call them. Here all the world assembles,\nseated in groups, sauntering up and down in little bands, small\nknots standing a little aloof to discuss some grave topic--nobody\nalone. Laughter resounds on all sides--laughter and the Castilian\ntongue everywhere: ringing out in music from the mouths of the\ndames, swelling and falling and adapting itself to every changing\nemotion in the very emotional breasts of those men, rippling over\nand enchanting our ears in the tiny mouths of these children. To\na stranger the scene is bewitching; the softness of the air and\nthe perfume that lingers on it; the animation in the countenances\nand gestures of all; the grace of the ladies\u2019 costume, the\never-fluttering fan which only a Spanish woman knows how to\nuse; the sallies of wit in tones that mock the best comedian; a\nfree-heartedness and union among all, springing undoubtedly from\nthe religion which makes all men brethren. At the very entrance\nof the _Alameda_ there is probably a tiny chapel of the _Virgen\nSantissima_, with ever-burning light, where men and women pause to\ndrop a prayer as they go to and from their diversion. Imagine such\na thing in Central Park!\n\nWe are in Andalusia, and of all the lovely spots in this lovely\nland we think it bears off the palm. Columbus, when the glories\nof the Antilles burst upon him after that dreary and momentous\nvoyage, compared the climate more than once to an April day in\nAndalusia. Everything it produces is of the best--corn, wine,\nfruits, cattle. The bread is the most delicious and whitest we have\never tasted or seen. The nights are most lovely. The sky deep and\nclear; all the stars of heaven seem to cluster above us, and the\nmoon shines with a startling brilliancy on the white houses of the\nsleeping town, on the brown cathedral that towers above all, on the\ndark thick clustering leaves of the orange-trees, on the silent\nstreets, narrow and straggling, showing every stone and pebble on\nthe one side with minute distinctness, while the other is buried\nin mysterious shadow. Not a sound is heard save the cry of the\n_sereno_ calling out the hour as he passes his lonely rounds.\n\nThe Andaluz is the embodiment of his climate. A child of the sun,\nof the clear free air, with wealth in his fields and the great\nocean smiling all around his coast, where the ships of all nations\ncome to lade and unlade, he yearns for the freedom which strangers\nhold so carelessly, and is ready to fight and to die for it. So\nAndalusia is the hotbed of revolution. As the Biscayan is famed\nfor his unyielding nature, the Gallego for his stupidity, so is\nthe Andaluz for his wit. He speaks rapidly and with many gestures,\nclipping his words--a grave sin against the sonorous Castilian.\nHe is handsome, quick, fiery, with a keen eye for ridicule, but a\ngood nature that can never resist a joke even if it be at his own\nexpense. People say that he derives his comely form and graceful\nextremities from the Moors, but he would not thank you to tell\nhim so. The Andaluza is worthy of such a partner, if she does not\nsurpass him. If he is a Republican, she is a Carlina, for Don\nCarlos with her means religion, and religion means everything.\nByron has painted her, and very faithfully. His remarks on the\nstate of the country might be written to-day. He moralizes over the\nbarbarity of the bull-fights, too. They are dying out now in exact\nproportion as man-fights are gaining ground with us. Of the two, we\nmust say we infinitely prefer the bull-fight. It is amusing to hear\nEnglishmen and Americans virtuously indignant on the immorality\nand barbarism of such an exhibition, as they bury themselves next\nmoment in a three-column description of the latest feat of the\n_fancy_, or the glorious contest for hours between two miserable\ndogs or wretched cocks. We are lovers of fair play, manliness,\nand good-fellowship. We do things in an honest, straightforward\nfashion, and the hand that shakes another\u2019s preparatory to\nthe combat quite takes the sting from the blow that maims his\nfellow-man for life or beats that life out of him. So we look on\nand applaud and make our bets on the contest, and curse the wretch\nwho has lost his own miserable life and our money.\n\nBut we are straying into civilization; let us go back to barbarism\nand Andalusia. The vineyards are decidedly unpicturesque; the vines\nlow, the soil yellow. But the life at vintage season is\n\n                      \u201cFull of the warm South,\n    Dance, and Proven\u00e7al song, and sunburnt mirth.\u201d\n\nThe agricultural laborers are very well paid in Spain, getting\nas much as one dollar a day or even more. The work is terrible;\nout the whole day under a burning sun, delving and cutting and\ntrenching a dusty soil, with a pick instead of a spade to penetrate\nbelow the upper stratum of dust. They are tall wiry fellows, most\nof them from the mountains, brown as the soil, and sinewy, with\ndark eyes and crisp, close-cut black hair. A quarter of an hour\nspent in merely looking on overpowers us; but they seem made for\nthe sun. The food that supports them under such toil is composed\nchiefly of a single dish called _gazpacho_, and _gazpacho_ merits\nspecial mention. Fill a large bowl with water and vinegar, we\ndo not know the exact proportions, but there is a great deal of\nvinegar, and, so far as we recollect, oil is added. A quantity of\nbread is thrown in to soak, and some herbs, with, perhaps, a slight\nflavor of garlic; and there you have _gazpacho_, the staple food of\nthese men in the hot months. You eat a small piece of some light\nmeat and a salad before it; a piece of toast fried in oil is not\nbad; drink a glass of water or two after; light the never-failing\ncigarette, and you are cool and refreshed. It may not seem a very\ndelicate diet to us; but when the _Levante_, the hot desert wind\nladen with the finest of the burning sands, comes choking the\natmosphere, and penetrating every crevice with a furnace heat all\nthe day and all the night, burning the blood in the veins till it\nreaches fever-heat, and leaving you weak and utterly prostrate,\n\u201cwith just strength enough to thank God that breathing is an\ninvoluntary action\u201d--as a gentleman aptly described to me the\neffects of the _sirocco_, the Italian equivalent--then place before\na man in such a state of lassitude a steaming joint of roast beef\nwith the heavy incidentals, and he will turn from it with disgust.\nAt such moments the _gazpacho_ seems the most delicious dish under\nthe sun. The houses and furniture of these laborers are the neatest\nand cleanest in the world. The same feeling runs through high and\nlow in Spain; their houses are models of freshness and purity.\nAnd Jacobo or Perico turns out on the Sunday in linen fine as his\nmaster\u2019s, in jacket of velvet with buttons or bells of gold, a\ncrimson scarf round his waist, and patent-leather shoes shining on\nhis feet. He can joke and chat with his master with an easy freedom\nthat never passes beyond the bounds of respect and never sinks into\nservility. As you pass him on the road alone or with any number\nof his companions, they all lift their _sombreros_ with an inborn\ngrace, and a genial _buenos dias_ or _buenas tardes, se\u00f1or_. But\nthe new order is trying, and with some success, to change all that;\nthough a stranger still meets in Spain with that rare yet most\nChristian thing, unbought courtesy.\n\nThe Gallego is the very opposite of the Andaluz--a rude, simple\nmountaineer, he is the hewer of wood and drawer of water to his\ncountrymen. He is honest and open as the day, with a childlike\naffection for his master, and is particularly happy at a blunder.\nRare are the stories told in Andalusia of the Gallegos. We give\ntwo, rather as indicating the estimation in which they are held\nthan as happy specimens of the Andalusian _broma_.\n\nWhen the post was first introduced into Spain, the postmaster of\na small town in the north was astonished, one day, by a Gallego\nbursting in on him with the query, delivered in stentorian tones:\n\n\u201cIs there a letter here for me from my father?\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not know, sir; who is your father?\u201d\n\nThis was too much for the Gallego; the idea of anybody in this\nworld being unacquainted with his parent was so overpowering that,\nnot being able to restrain his feelings, he rushed from the spot,\nand was not heard of for some time afterwards. Meanwhile, a letter\narrived directed in a style of calligraphy that might have done\ncredit to Mr. Weller, Senior, addressed\n\n                      To my Son\n                             At San Juan.\n\nHaving sufficiently recovered from the violent shock given to\nhis feelings, the Gallego once more presented himself at the\npost-office with the same question, \u201cIs there a letter here from my\nfather?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! yes,\u201d said the official, immediately producing the\nmysteriously addressed missive; \u201chere, this is from your father.\nTake this one,\u201d and delivered it without the slightest doubt as to\nthe accuracy of its destination.\n\nAnother, on finding himself for the first time in a city, as he\nstood gaping and wondering at the sights around him, suddenly heard\na shrill voice cry out, \u201cI don\u2019t want to go to school; the master\nbeats me.\u201d\n\nHe looked around for the child, but the only object that met his\ngaze was a parrot, mowing and chattering in a cage, and bobbing,\nwriggling, and looking at the Gallego with its cunning old eye\nforty different ways at once.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t want to go to school; the master beats me.\u201d\n\nThe bewildered Gallego stared, and pondered, and, after a deep\nconsultation with himself, came to the conclusion that the voice\nmust proceed from the cage; from the strange specimen of humanity\nbefore him, so marvellously resembling a bird; but a bird talking\nthe purest Castilian, though with something of a sharp accent, was\na clear impossibility. His simple, good-nature was hurt at the\nidea of having wronged a fellow-creature even in his thoughts. So\nturning he excused himself: \u201cPardon me, child; I thought it was a\nbird.\u201d\n\nOf all traits in the national character, their universal civility\nastonishes an American or Englishman, accustomed as we are to\nthe every-man-for-himself principle; yet how few we meet who do\nnot consider the Spaniards as a treacherous, revengeful, and\nbloodthirsty race! Our own statistics, we fear, would furnish\nbut a sorry set-off against theirs for crime in every phase; and\nparticularly for the most cowardly, brutal, and premeditated\nassaults and assassinations, ending too often with the escape\nof the culprit. The quarrels in Spain between man and man arise\ngenerally from some love affair or political difference, very\nrarely from money. Two peasants are drinking in a tavern, the wine\nexcites their fiery blood; one has lost his _novia_, the other has\nwon her; a blow or an insult is given; they draw their knives, and\nadjourn to fight--\u201cjust like gentlemen.\u201d It is, in fact, a duel,\nwhich common-sense has not yet been able to laugh out of Spain.\nNo pecuniary damages, won by the cold arguments that sway a court\nof law, can heal the wound of honor in the chivalrous breast of\nthe Spaniard; and not a few examples have we lately had of lives\nlost in this way. One was most tragic in its end as in all its\nbearings; I allude to the duel between Don Enrique de Bourbon and\nMontpensier. And surely never was presented on the stage a scene\nmore dramatic or striking. Don Enrique was by profession a naval\nofficer, high in the service of his royal relative, Queen Isabella,\na young, gallant, and efficient sailor, with a promising future\nopening before him. He was happy in the love of a lady destined\nas all understood to be his; when suddenly Montpensier stepped in\nand won her, scarcely by force of personal attractions, for he\nwas already well advanced in years; but the marriage was a closer\nlink to the throne. Don Enrique vowed the death of the man who had\ncrossed his life at the threshold. But his schemes of vengeance\nwere baffled; an order came to quit the country, ostensibly for\nhaving joined in conspiracy against the throne. Deprived at once\nof his love, his command, and his country, life was closed to\nhim. From his retirement he sent challenge after challenge to\nMontpensier, and vilified him even in the public press, as he could\nnot force a response from him; but to no purpose. Montpensier,\nhigh in favor at court, secure in possession and in power, could\nsafely affect to despise the ravings of a madman. By-and-by came\nthe revolution which drove Isabella out. Now was Don Enrique\u2019s\nchance, and he hastened to seize it. As expulsion under the queen\u2019s\nreign was a virtue in the eyes of the new government, he applied\nfor restoration to his country and his rank in the navy. The first\nrequest was granted, the second denied; as the government had\nproclaimed an end to the Bourbon race, no member of that race\ncould take rank under them, unless he renounced his title. Here\nagain he traced the hand of Montpensier. If he could have nothing\nelse, at least he would have revenge, being now in the same city\nwith the man who had crossed him at every step of his career. He\nsent his last challenge, publishing it at the same time in the\npress, enumerating the occasions on which he had sent similar\nmessages, which had ever been met by the silence of fear. He heaped\ninsults upon him, apostrophizing him as a \u201cpastillero frances,\u201d\na fellow ready to soil his hands with the pettiest and meanest\nintrigue. Montpensier was at the time a candidate for the Spanish\nthrone; for the kingship of a people in whose eyes honor was ever\ndearer than life; further silence would ruin his prospects; so\nat last he was forced out of his reserve, and, in a letter that\nsounded well, accepted the challenge as one which a man of honor\ncould not pass over in silence, disclaiming at the same time any\nantagonism to its author personally; if there was any justice in\nwhat he said, it was the result of accident; in fact, leaving\npeople to understand that he never troubled his head about the man.\nThey met on a cold gray morning, and the chances of success leaned\ndecidedly on the side of Don Enrique. A young, bold man, to whom\ndeadly weapons had been playthings from his infancy, he was urged\non by a life of hate to slay the man who had blighted that life\nand darkened its promising opening; his opponent was a middle-aged\nman, near-sighted, who bore the reputation of a _litt\u00e9rateur_\nrather than a fighter. Both felt that perhaps a crown as well as a\nlife hung on the trigger. Scarce was the word given to fire when\nthe bullet of Don Enrique brushed his foe, and Montpensier\u2019s lost\nitself in the air. A second shot, and they still stood face to face\nuninjured. \u201cEst\u00e0 afinando\u201d--\u201cHe is getting closer,\u201d whispered the\nprince to his second, as he took the last pistol from his hand. The\nwords are remarkable as expressing the coolness of the man, whose\neye took in everything at such a moment, and perhaps something\nmore. At the next discharge, the bullet of the man who, whether\ndesignedly or not, had met him and beaten him at all points,\npierced his breast; he sprang into the air, fell forward, and\nrolled contorted on the ground, a corpse--a theme for novelist as\nwell as moralist: it looked like fatality.\n\nBut from such sad scenes we are happy to turn to others more worthy\nof our attention and more characteristic of the nation at large.\nThe thing that of all others cannot fail to strike the visitor\nis the intense religion displayed everywhere. \u201cAy, Maria!\u201d \u201cPor\nDios!\u201d--\u201cFor God\u2019s sake\u201d--\u201cAy, Dios mio,\u201d are the expressions that\nbuzz around our ears all day. The holy name is a household word\nwith them, pronounced at all times and on all occasions, but with\na reverence that never shocks. When they wish something done, they\nsay \u201cDios quiere\u201d--\u201cGod grant it\u201d; when they bid you good-by,\n\u201cAdios--Vaya Usted con Dios--Queda Usted con Dios--Que Dios te\nguarda\u201d--\u201cGo with God--Rest with God--May God guard thee.\u201d They\nspeak of the blessed sacrament as \u201cSu Majestad\u201d--\u201chis majesty,\u201d\nof the Blessed Virgin always as \u201cla Santissima Virgen\u201d--\u201cthe most\nHoly Virgin.\u201d The graveyard is \u201cel campo santo\u201d--\u201cthe holy field\u201d:\nso like the old Catholic \u201cGod\u2019s acre\u201d that Longfellow loves. When\nthey wish to express intense horror of a thing, they make the sign\nof the cross on their foreheads, lips, and breast, and then in\nthe air, as though to place that invincible sign between them and\nthe object of their abhorrence. The vast majority of the towns and\nvillages are named after the saints, and each one has its special\npatron as well as the patron of the district. And that intense\nfaith in intercessory prayer to some special saint which holy\nwriters urge us to cultivate is born in them. On the festival of\nGood Friday throughout Spain, the municipality and gentlemen of\nthe towns walk dressed in evening costume side by side with the\npoor. Not a vehicle is to be seen in the street: all the world\nis there to watch and pray. The new government, Prim\u2019s, gave the\norder for coaches to run as usual on Good Friday, in outrage of a\ncustom immemorial in the nation, and an honor to them as to all\nChristendom of whatever creed. But the coachmen as well as their\nmasters proved better Christians than their rulers; and on the day\nin question not a conveyance was to be seen, save a solitary coach,\nwhich the populace immediately seized, compelling its occupant to\ndescend, who proved to be a scared member of the diplomatic body.\nThe celebration of Holy Week in Seville attracts the world thither.\n\nThe modern churches in Spain, particularly in Madrid, though\nfor the most part spacious and lofty, do not impress one with\ntheir beauty. To those accustomed to associate their ideas of\nreligion with the Gothic style of architecture, the altars will\nnot be pleasing. Spiral pillars wriggle to the roof, inwrought\nand gorgeously painted. The vases are filled with silver and gold\nfiligree work wrought to imitate flowers. There are many figures,\nsmall or large, of _el ni\u00f1o Jesu_, or _la Santissima Virgen_, or\nthe saints, not always displaying the most finished art, decked\nout with a costume of sober black or gorgeous color and texture,\nglittering with gold and precious stones and ornaments of choice\nand antique workmanship. Little thanksgiving offerings surround\nthem. Such things as these look like superstition to the cold eye\nof a man to whom faith is folly and reverence ignorance. But there\nis something powerful in the simple, earnest belief of the people\nwho pray before them, and are content to be thus reminded of the\ngreat and good God and Virgin Mother, who are willing to receive\nthe offerings of the meanest; a reverend familiarity with God is\nthus created which those people bear about with them. These men and\nwomen go into the church _to pray_: their very costume is befitting\nthe sanctuary; and there is very little of that newspaper religion\nwhich some of our weekly journals piously advocate by so carefully\nannouncing \u201cwhere the best dresses and prettiest faces are to be\nseen.\u201d On the walls hang magnificent paintings. The treasures of\nMurillo are in the cathedral of Seville. They were placed there\nby his own hand, having been painted for their several positions\nthat the light might fall on them in such or such a manner. And\nit is not unpleasant to think of the sun rising and falling day\nafter day as though in obedience to the great master who has passed\naway, bringing out their beauties faithfully in accordance with\nhis wish. The construction of the cathedral itself is a triumph\nof architecture. Not a stone has shifted from its place since it\nwas first laid there: there is no sinking or rising in the floor:\nand to-day you may pass your cane over the surface and not a joint\noffers the slightest obstruction.\n\nThe very names of the people are taken from religion and the\nmysteries of religion in the same spirit with which they named\ntheir discoveries after Santa Cruz, San Domingo, San Jos\u00e9,\nTrinidad. Among men\u2019s Christian and surnames we continually find\nJesu, Jesu Maria, Juan de Dios, Santa Cruz, Salvador; among the\nwomen, Concepcion, Dolores--a sweet name after the Mother of\nSorrows, Maria de los Angeles, and the like.\n\nThe very streets and the public places are christened in the same\nway; and the ships baptized and launched with religious ceremonies,\na custom that prevails also in France.\n\nThey preserve the old gospel use of the word woman. That is the\ntitle by which the husband addresses his wife as often as any\nother. She calls him _hijo_, son, or _hombre_, man. \u201c_Hija de mi\nalma_,\u201d daughter of my soul, is also very common. Ceremony is only\nemployed with strangers; _tu_, thou, is the form in which intimate\nfriends are always addressed. After becoming acquainted, you call\nthe lady of the house and her daughters, whether grown up or young,\nby their maiden names simply. It is amusing to hear little ones who\ncan scarcely lisp address each as _se\u00f1or_ and _se\u00f1ora_.\n\nThey have a fair supply of newspapers, and very able ones, in\nSpain; though, as usual, those that enjoy the widest circulation\nat present are devoted to the dissemination of false principles.\nThey are cried out in the streets not by newsboys as with us, but\nprincipally by old blind men, who stand in the most public places\nwith a tablet of the latest news on their breasts, and having got\ntheir lesson by rote spout away untiringly.\n\nThe club is becoming a very favorite institution, and is, in fact,\nthe stronghold and rendezvous of political parties. There is a very\nfamous one in Madrid, which numbers among its members such men\nas Castelar, Moret, and others. They meet sometimes for public\ndiscussion; and those great orators rise there to propound their\ntheories as earnestly as in the Cortes.\n\nThey have a code of intercourse worthy of imitation. When a Spanish\nfamily takes up its quarters at a hotel or in a new place, the\nneighbors, though perfect strangers, call, leave their cards, and\ngo away. If their acquaintance is desired, they are waited upon\nand conversation ensues; if not, the stranger simply returns his\ncard in the same manner as the other was received; and no slight or\ngrievance is felt or intended.\n\nThe amusements are various. Apart from the opera, theatre, and\nthose common to all nations, they are very fond of an indoor game\ncalled _volante_, which is simply battledoor and shuttlecock;\nladies and gentlemen play at it together. There is also a very\nfavorite game of cards, _tresillo_, to which we have no equivalent.\nThe climate compels the Spanish women to lead a more indoor life\nthan with us. The men are fond of riding, hunting, and shooting.\nThey sit as erect on horseback as statues; and the army officers\nare very fond of displaying the motions rather than the speed of\ntheir steeds. Mules are in great demand; for the roads in Spain,\nexcept in the neighborhood of the great towns, are very bad; mere\nbridle-paths most of them. Seated in a vehicle that would be a\ntreasure in an art museum for antiquity, construction, and shape,\nwith a team of six or eight of these animals to jolt you anywhere,\nis a position more than pleasant. The jingle of the little bells\nwith which the harness is adorned, the cracking of the driver\u2019s\nwhip, the tones in which he endeavors to animate the vicious\nbrutes, now cajoling them in accents that might win the heart of\na maiden, again pouring forth a volley of imprecations on their\nheads and tails and pedigree, as though they were human, is a\nstudy. You can never trust these animals, and it is always the\nsafer plan to give their hoofs what a sailor would call sea-room.\nAn archbishop, passing along the streets one day, suddenly came\nupon a string of them, and as suddenly crossed to the other side of\nthe street. \u201cO Se\u00f1or Arzobispo,\u201d said the muleteer, \u201cyou need not\nbe frightened. These are harmless _animalitos_.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I know they are harmless,\u201d replied his grace, \u201cand that is\nthe reason I cross here; if they were not, I should go to the next\nstreet.\u201d\n\nThis fact of the roads being so bad and the intercommunication\nso deficient, coupled with tales of brigandage, gives strangers\nthe idea that travelling in Spain is very insecure. We might\npass from end to end of the land, unknown and unarmed, with far\ngreater safety than during a five minutes\u2019 walk through many a\nstreet in New York or London after nightfall. We had an instance\nof brigandage and its treatment in Spain during Prim\u2019s _r\u00e9gime_, a\ntime when the country was as convulsed as at present. Encouraged,\nno doubt, by the lamentable success of a similar exploit in Greece,\nsome miscreants carried off a merchant from Gibraltar, and demanded\na round ransom as the forfeit of his life. Prim, without a moment\u2019s\nhesitation as to the nice question of treating with brigands, or\na thought of where the ransom was to come from, paid it, and sent\nfour of the civil guard to follow up the robbers, which they did\nso successfully that they shot them all and retook their booty. We\nhave not heard of brigandage since in Spain, notwithstanding the\nhighly touched pictures presented, the other day, of an attack on\na railway train, accompanied by smoke and powder, and brigands in\nthe stage costume of centuries back.\n\nThis civil guard is an excellent institution. The body is recruited\nfrom the best ranks of the soldiery. It is a distinction to be\nadmitted among them, which engenders an _esprit de corps_ that\nmakes them the terror of the wrong-doer and the right arm of order.\nWe ourselves might take a lesson from the incident mentioned above,\nif we are to credit the reports of the Lowery gang.\n\nThey have but one great line of railroad in Spain, which runs\nthrough the country from north to south. The train creeps along at\na steady thirty miles an hour, without a moment\u2019s variation. To a\nstranger, wishing to catch a glimpse of the country, this is highly\nadvantageous; as he is not whirled away at a rate that presents to\nhis anxious eye trees, houses, mountains, streams, in a phrenzied\npanorama. For our present notions of commerce it may be too slow,\nand a man in a hurry feels half inclined to get out and walk; but\nas a set-off against this, the Spaniards pride themselves on not\nhaving had a single accident accompanied by loss of life since the\nrailroad was first started. You are rolled through the fertile\nplains and swelling uplands of Andalusia, rich in corn and wine\nand oil; through fields, and orange and olive groves, dotted with\nwhite towns and modest villages, where the church-tower ever soars\nabove all as a landmark. You pass Seville; and as its associations\ncrowd upon you, fain would you linger amid the gay society of the\nlovely city smiling amid its groves and gardens; dreaming day by\nday in _las delicias_; lost amid the treasures of art that make\nevery boy in the street an efficient critic, so accustomed is his\neye to the beautiful and the true. Famous spots and historic cities\ngreet you as you go. The Escurial looms up, a white, silent palace\nwith deserted windows, standing out in startling relief from a\nsemi-circle of bare mountains. Not a soul was to be seen around it;\nthe monks had been just expelled; not a sound to break the painful\nsilence that seemed to emanate from the gloomy pile. It stood there\nas the great king left it, a type of himself, out of the world in a\ngrandeur of isolation; a something that ought to have passed away,\nunknown in these days. Had a troop of cavaliers with pennon and\nplume and glistening mail shone out a moment on the mountain-side,\nit would have seemed in keeping with the place rather than strange.\nThere is almost a contrast between the ages as our little engine\npuffs and snorts and fumes, fretting to \u201cgo ahead\u201d and leave it,\nstaring out of its silent windows, unmoved, untouched by the age,\nwhich busies itself with things and not with ideas.\n\nBefore arriving at Madrid, where the train stops for a few hours,\nwe pass through Aranjuez, the beautiful summer-palace of the late\nqueen; with its woods and magnificent vistas and lengthening\navenues, full of lovely recesses and places of cool shade. At last\nwe are in the heart of the kingdom.\n\nMadrid, though not very large, is a brilliant city. Its _prado_\nwhere fashion saunters is beautifully laid out. It has a splendid\nmuseum, many churches, though none of them remarkable for beauty,\nand the vast palace of royalty, rich in furniture and objects of\nart. The houses and public buildings are lofty, the hotels many\nand excellent. Fountains spout in the open squares; crowds are\nbuzzing through the streets or discussing at the _caf\u00e9s_, for\npolitics absorb the life in Madrid. The weather is treacherous, and\nmany are carried off in a few hours by a _pulmonia_, for, as their\nproverb says, \u201cThe air of Madrid will not cause a leaf to flutter\nfrom the tree, but will kill a man.\u201d Though the sky is clear and\nblue, and the sun shines out royally, a breeze comes down from the\nneighboring _sierras_, frost-laden, that pierces you through and\nthrough, and searches all your bones, and the very marrow in them;\nthere is death in its breath. For all that, the Madrile\u00f1os live a\nvery gay life; retiring to rest generally at the small hours, and\nrising when they please. In the summer the city is empty, even\nthe shopkeepers flit; for the heat is then intolerable, and they\nwander to San Sebastian or the south of France, or to their own\nwatering-places, which are numerous and inferior to none.\n\nAs the train bears us further north, the scene ever varying grows\nmore and more deserted. You close the curtains of the carriage\nto keep out the heat during the day, while at night you may wake\namid frost and snow. The villagers and mountaineers crowd to the\ncarriage windows at every station; old men, and dark-eyed boys,\nand graceful girls, with fruits and wines, and water, and milk.\n\u201cQuien quiere agua? Agua fresca? Quien quiere leche? Agua como\nla nieve!\u201d--\u201cWho wants water--cool water? Who wants milk? Water\ncool as snow,\u201d is the shrill cry from many throats on all sides.\n\u201cSe\u00f1orito, un quartito por el amor de Dios\u201d--\u201cA farthing, my dear\nlittle sir, for the love of God.\u201d \u201cTeno lastima de, un pobrescito,\nse\u00f1orito mio, y Dios te lo pagara\u201d--\u201cHave pity on a poor little\none, and God will repay thee,\u201d snivels an old beggar in pitiful\nrags. If you listened to him for five minutes, he would treat\nyou to a sermon on the evil of poverty and the eternal rewards of\ngenerosity, that would rival the most eloquent of preachers and\ncharm the money out of your pockets.\n\nThrough the Pyrenees, the scenery grows wilder still and more\npicturesque; the construction of the railway here is a marvel of\nskill and enterprise. You are shot through tunnels bored through\nthe solid rock, numbers of them of considerable length. You skirt\ndizzy precipices with scarce a straw between you and the dim\nhollows or ominous pools that sleep hundreds of feet below. Quaint\nlittle hamlets with quaint people are perched on mountain-tops or\nburied in pastoral nooks far away down. Tiny streamlets start out\nof the mountain and accompany you as you go. You can trace them\nas they tumble and fall, and lose themselves, and reappear with\ngathering volume and widening channel, till you cross them on a\nbridge lower down, and find them broad and powerful rivers, turning\nmills and humming onward to the sea. This is a great district for\npaper mills; you see them on every side. San Sebastian is up here,\nwith its beautiful villas and pleasant strand at the foot of the\nmountain, skirted by a town increasing in wealth and importance\nevery year. The favorite promenade is called the _Paseo de las\nConchas_, \u201cThe Walk of the Shells,\u201d a very beautiful one. It is\nbecoming a very favorite and fashionable resort during the summer\nmonths; so much so that gamblers tried to obtain permission from\nthe government to establish here the gambling-tables which have\nbeen banished from their own Baden Baden. Fine hotels are springing\nup, and there is no summer residence in Europe that would better\nrepay a visit than this, uniting as it does the air of the sea and\nthe mountains, where you may turn from the strand to the most\npastoral of scenery, from the conventionalities of life to the rude\nsimplicity of the Basque mountaineer.\n\nThis brings us to the frontier, and here we stop, with the\nconsciousness of having thrown but a very fleeting glance over\nso vast a field, with its mines of historic wealth and troublous\nproblems of to-day. Our object has been to display in their\ntruer colors a people as little understood as it is studiously\nmisrepresented by a host of writers, who forget that the pen is the\nhandmaiden of truth.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[201] CATHOLIC WORLD, June, 1872.\n\n\n\n\nAIX-LA-CHAPELLE.\n\n\nEvery summer the fashionable world must go to the baths, must drink\nthe waters, must be refreshed after the arduous winter campaign of\ndining and wining, of dancing and talking, of matin\u00e9es and soir\u00e9es.\nIn America, we recover our strength at Saratoga and Newport, hunt\nin the Adirondacks, freeze on top of the White Mountains, listen\nto the roar of Niagara, drink sulphur at Sharon and the Virginia\nSprings, and shortly, when the magnificent National Park, at the\nheadwaters of the Yellowstone, is fenced in, we will go to sleep\nin a palace-car in New York, and wake up at the foot or on the top\nof the Rocky Mountains. I believe the park, so generously voted to\na grateful country by our patriotic Congress, is in that charming\nvicinity.\n\nHuman nature is the same everywhere; old Europe and young America\nlive, think, talk, have their being, in one and the same way.\nLondon and Paris, Berlin and Vienna, get tired and worn out just\nlike Washington and New York, Boston and New Orleans. People must\ntravel, people must have somewhere to go. Some go to Brighton,\nsome go to Boulogne-sur-Mer, some to Ostend; lately, it is very\nfashionable to go to Norway, the lakes are so blue, the trees are\nso green, nature is so grand and beautiful; and if the trip is only\ncontinued to Lapland, the midnight sun can be seen to the greatest\nadvantage.\n\nBut for its being a little too near Spain and its weekly--that is\nto say, daily--revolutions, Biarritz is charming; so is Vichy, so\nis Wiesbaden, so is Spa, so is Hombourg, so is Aix-la-Chapelle,\nwhere there are the hottest of hot sulphur springs, as hot as when\nCharlemagne loved to bathe and drink; and loved the place so well\nthat he made it the capital of his dominions north of the Alps,\nraised it to the rank of second city of his empire, and built the\nnoble cathedral which Leo III. was kind enough to come all the way\nfrom Rome to consecrate.\n\nAnd in 804, when Leo III. dedicated it, according to the wish\nof Charlemagne, to the Blessed Virgin, in the presence of many\ncardinals, of 363 bishops, and numerous princes, travelling was\nnot made easy as nowadays. There was no tunnel through Mont Cenis,\nbut people climbed up and slid down mountains as best they could,\nforded rivers, and jogged along on horses or mules, or any other\nbeast of burden that could be made to answer the purpose. Of\ncourse, society was the same then as now; there were good and bad\nmen and women, just as now; but, judging by what we see and read\nof the past, there was a strong living faith, that was fonder of\nbuilding up than of pulling down.\n\nCharlemagne could invite the Pope to visit him, and consecrate his\ncathedral; he could look the Pope honestly in the eyes, and ask\nhis blessing. Strong, mighty, powerful, he was an humble, obedient\nson of the church; his strength and might and power were used in\nsupport, in defence of that glorious Mother Church to whom he owed\nall that was good and great in his life.\n\nHe gave to the Pope, that he might be independent of all human\ncontrol; he did not steal and insult, as a present reigning\nsovereign delights in doing; he did not, like a modern emperor\nof the French, use religion as an instrument for gaining\npopularity--send soldiers to Rome one day, and order them back the\nnext, make a convention in September with a robber-king, and in\nOctober hurry off Frenchmen to retrieve the day at Mentana; but he\nbelieved and acted up to his belief. He had his faults, as all men\nhave, but he was true to his principles, and, like all true men,\ndied in the peace of God.\n\nFor him there was no Sedan, no Waterloo, but a glorious tomb in his\nown grand cathedral, and grand it is--an octagon in the Byzantine\nstyle, surrounded by numerous chapels. The rotunda is supported by\npillars of polished Ravenna marble, presented by Leo III., dividing\nthe galleries into arcades. The church was commenced in 796, and\nfinished in 804; the works were superintended by Eginhard, the\nbiographer of Charlemagne.\n\nAll that Rome and Ravenna could furnish of most beautiful in marble\nwas employed in the decoration. The dome was surmounted by a globe\nof massive gold, the doors and balustrades were of bronze, the\nvases and ornaments of unparalleled magnificence. The railings\nof the eight arcades of the triforium, cast in bronze of four\ndifferent patterns, and the doors, adorned with lions\u2019 heads of\nthe same material, which no longer occupy their original position,\nbut are attached to a porch of the seventeenth century, convey a\nperfect idea of the state of art in the eighth century. On the\nright of the porch is the figure of a she-wolf, which has served\nas a foundation for many popular legends, but the real origin is\nunknown.\n\nThe arches of the gallery are adorned with thirty-two pillars of\nmarble, granite, and porphyry, brought by Charlemagne from the\nExarch\u2019s palace at Ravenna and from Rome. The finest of these,\nremoved by the French in 1794, were brought back in 1815, and\nhave been repolished and replaced at the expense of the Emperor\nof Germany. The interior of the dome was originally adorned with\nmosaics, remains of which may still be seen. The cathedral was\npillaged by the Normans in 881, restored by Otho III. in 983, but\nin all essential respects is still the church of Charlemagne.\n\nEastward of the old apse, Otho III. built a chapel, in which he was\nburied; both of these were pulled down in the fourteenth century,\nwhen the present choir, which has preserved the plan of Otho\u2019s\nchapel, was erected; and his tomb is exactly beneath the present\nhigh altar. The choir is Gothic, one hundred and fourteen feet\nhigh; nothing can be more striking than the contrast between the\noctagon nave and the Gothic choir--so totally unlike, and still\nharmonizing. It is the Christian religion subduing and dominating\nthe proud Roman Empire.\n\nThirty-seven emperors and eleven empresses have been crowned in\nthis cathedral, from 831 to 1531. Ferdinand I., brother of Charles\nV., was the last. Since then, they were crowned at Frankfort, where\nthe election was held. From the centre of the dome hangs a massive\nGothic lustre, presented by the Emperor Frederick Barbarossa in\nsouvenir of his coronation. The bases of the circles are engraved\nwith groups, representing the Annunciation, Nativity, Adoration of\nthe Magi, Crucifixion, Three Marys at the Tomb, Ascension, Descent\nof the Holy Ghost, and the Last Judgment. The lustre is suspended\nby four chains, richly chased, and united in a brass plate, on the\nlower side of which is engraved a figure of St. Michael.\n\nImmediately beneath the lustre a large slab of marble bears the\nsimple inscription, _Carolo Magno_, which covered the vault where\nonce reposed the remains of Charlemagne. The vault below was opened\nby Otho III. in 997, and again by Frederick in 1165. Charlemagne,\nwho died at Aix-la-Chapelle in 814, did not designate his\nburial-place, but it was thought there could be no more appropriate\nspot than the magnificent church which he had built in his chosen\ncity.\n\nHis body was found seated on a throne as if alive, clothed in\nthe imperial robes; his crown on his head, his manuscript of the\nGospels on his knees, his sword, Joyeuse, was placed by his side,\nand his pilgrim\u2019s pouch, which he always wore on his journeys to\nRome, was suspended to his girdle. His sceptre and shield, which\nwere of gold, and had been blessed by Leo III., were at his feet.\nOver all was thrown the imperial mantle, and above was erected a\nsuperb triumphal arch, on which was this epitaph:\n\n\u201cIci repose le corps de Charles, grand et orthodoxe empereur,\nqui \u00e9tendit glorieusement le royaume des Francs, et le gouverna\nheureusement pendant 47 ans.\u201d\n\nThe body of Charlemagne was enshrined by order of Frederick, and\nthe throne of white marble on which he was seated is now kept in\nthe upper gallery of the nave, directly facing the choir; the\nother relics were carefully preserved, and used in the coronation\nof succeeding emperors of Germany. Towards the end of the last\ncentury, at the approach of the French army, they were removed\nto Paderborn, and returned in 1804, but not complete, as the\nEmperor of Germany had kept three articles which were regarded as\nindispensable at a coronation.\n\nThese articles were a shrine, enclosing some of the earth watered\nby the blood of the proto-martyr St. Stephen; the book of Gospels,\nfound on the knees of Charlemagne, which is written on bluish bark,\nin characters of gold. It was with the hand on this book, and upon\nthe shrine of St. Stephen, that the emperor made his coronation\noath. The third article was the sword of Charlemagne, Joyeuse, a\npresent from Haroun-al-Raschid, which was the sword of coronation.\nIt was presented to the emperor by the Elector of Tr\u00e8ves, who\ninvested him with it with these word: \u201cAccipe gladium per manus\nEpiscoporum.\u201d At the words, \u201cAccingere gladio tuo,\u201d the Elector of\nSaxe placed it in the scabbard, and, assisted by the Elector of\nCologne, girded it around the new emperor.\n\nThe emperor was by right a canon of the chapter of the cathedral,\nwhose members obtained from Gregory V., when he visited\nAix-la-Chapelle in 997, the title of cardinal-priests. In the ages\nof faith, the imperial dignity was semi-priestly; the emperor\nwas considered as having charge of souls. Before the emblems of\nsovereign dignity were placed in his hands, he swore, with his hand\nupon the Gospels, fidelity to the church which had just consecrated\nhim.\n\nThe archbishop gave him the sword \u201cto combat the enemies of\nChrist\u201d--the imperial purple symbolized \u201cthe zeal with which he\nshould endeavor to consolidate in the empire the reign of faith\nand of peace\u201d--and with the sceptre he was exhorted to become \u201cthe\nfather of his people, the protector of the ministers of God, the\ndefender of the widow and the orphan.\u201d And, last of all, to seal\nthe alliance contracted with the Holy Church, he received a portion\nof the sacred Host, consecrated in the pontifical Mass, the other\nhalf of which was consumed by the priest of God.\n\nAfter the election of the emperor at Frankfort, the electors\nand the emperor elect proceeded to Aix-la-Chapelle, where the\ncoronation took place. The emperor heard Mass in the choir of\nthe cathedral, surrounded by his court; the people were in the\nnave--the octagon, built by Charlemagne; after the Mass, he was\nconducted up the staircase, temporarily erected from directly\nbeneath the lustre in the centre, to the throne of Charlemagne. The\nelectors and their suites occupied the arcades in the gallery; and\nthere, surrounded by priests, princes, and people, the Christian\nemperor swore to maintain the laws of God and man.\n\nBefore signing the act of his election, the emperor confirmed all\nthe privileges given by his predecessors to the Cathedral of\nNotre Dame; and then the cort\u00e9ge proceeded to the H\u00f4tel de Ville,\nwhere the coronation banquet was held in the splendid hall, so\nbeautifully restored by the King of Prussia--we beg pardon, Emperor\nof Germany. The Cathedral of Notre Dame was formerly exempt from\nordinary episcopal jurisdiction, and from its foundation was\ndirectly under the Holy See, which privilege was confirmed in 1157\nby Pope Adrian IV.\n\nAix-la-Chapelle is very old; it was known to the Romans under the\nname of Aquis Granum, and is said to have been founded in the\nsecond century. Remains of Roman baths have been discovered near\nthe cathedral and the _Elisenbrunnen_. Burnt by the Huns in 451, it\nwas rebuilt, and became a favorite residence of the Frankish kings.\nHere was Charlemagne born, April 2, 742, and here he died, January\n28, 814. In 881, the town was sacked by the Normans, and at the end\nof the tenth century restored and enlarged by Otho III., who died\nhere in 1002. Charlemagne surrounded the city with a wall, pierced\nby ten gates, which Frederick Barbarossa rebuilt and strengthened\nin 1187.\n\nThe good old city has seen stormy days, as in 1198 it was besieged\nby Otho of Brunswick, and in 1247 by William of Holland, to whom it\nsurrendered after a siege of six months. During the middle ages,\nit attained great wealth by its manufacture of cloth; agencies\nfor the sale of which were established at Venice and Antwerp in\nthe fourteenth century. Many diets of the empire were held here;\nand three times, in 1668, 1748, and 1818, the diplomats of Europe\nmet in the H\u00f4tel de Ville to settle terms of peace and heal the\nwounds of war. The conferences of the congress were held in the\n_Kr\u00f6nungsaal_, a spacious saloon occupying the whole of the third\nfloor; the former banqueting-hall after the coronations.\n\nThe H\u00f4tel de Ville was erected on the site of the palace of the\nFrankish kings, in which Charlemagne was born, and the famous\nbanqueting-hall has been adorned with splendid frescoes, done\nby the best artists of the D\u00fcsseldorf school, depicting scenes\nin the life of Charlemagne. They were painted at the command of\nthe Emperor of Germany, and the nine frescoes represent: The\nDestruction of the Saxon Idols; The Battle of Cordova; The Baptism\nof Witikind; A Diet of the Empire; The Coronation of Charlemagne;\nThe Coronation of his son Louis; The Taking of Pavia; The Opening\nof the Tomb of Charlemagne; The Foundation of the Cathedral.\n\nSince the time of the Romans, Aix-la-Chapelle has been celebrated\nas a watering-place; and modern Europe fully appreciates the\ndelicious baths and bubbling springs. Every seven years the\nExposition of the Great Relics takes place; and then the pilgrims,\ndrawn by faith, are added to the thousands of votaries at the\nshrine of fashion who annually flock to the dear old city.\n\nThe four Great Relics, which are exposed every seven years, from\nthe 10th to the 24th of July, are: The dress of the Blessed\nVirgin; The swaddling-clothes of the Infant Jesus at Bethlehem;\nThe cloth that encircled the loins of our dear Lord on the cross;\nThe cloth in which the head of St. John the Baptist was enveloped\nafter his decapitation. Charlemagne obtained these relics from\nRome, Constantinople, and Jerusalem. His intimate relations with\nthe Popes Adrian, who died in 795, and Leo III., are well known:\nhis influence was unbounded with the Byzantine emperors, who sent\nambassadors with the relics as presents; and in the East he had\ncontrol over the holy places in Palestine. These sovereigns, who\ncontributed to enrich his church of Notre Dame with treasures from\ntheir own sanctuaries, would not have dared incur the wrath of the\ngreat warrior by sending him false relics.\n\nIn 408, the Empress Pulcheria, the sister of Theodosius and wife\nof Marcian, built churches to contain the swaddling-clothes of the\nInfant Jesus and the cincture of the Blessed Virgin. The septennial\nexposition dates from the ninth century; and since then, historical\ntestimony abounds, public facts attest, without interruption to our\nday, the authenticity of the relics venerated at Aix-la-Chapelle.\nAmong the lesser relics are the _cingulum_ or leathern belt of our\nLord, the extremities of which are united and stamped with the seal\nof Constantine; a piece of the cord with which the hands of our\nLord were bound during his Passion; a piece of the sponge which was\ndipped in vinegar and gall and presented to our Lord on the cross;\nand a rib of St. Stephen, the first martyr.\n\nThe last exposition was in 1867, and the crowds that assisted\nbore witness to the living faith that makes the people of the\nRhenish Provinces such admirable Catholics. Aix-la-Chapelle looked\nbeautifully; from the high towers and dome of the cathedral, from\nevery church and house, from the spires of the H\u00f4tel de Ville, the\nbanners and flags were flying. The black and white flag of Prussia,\nthe red-and-white and blue-and-white banners of the churches,\nmingled with the Papal colors.\n\nSixty thousand pilgrims came every day afoot to Aix; every avenue\nleading to the cathedral was crowded, people standing in close file\nwaiting their turn to enter. But in those serried ranks there was\nno noise, no confusion; profound, earnest devotion attested their\nfaith and piety. The Rosary was recited in bands; a man\u2019s voice\nwould say alone the \u201cHail Mary,\u201d and the \u201cHoly Mary, Mother of God\u201d\nwas taken up by all. From 1 to 8 P.M. the cathedral was opened\nfor the procession of pilgrims, but it was impossible to think of\nentering during that time, as it was an affair of hours.\n\nAfter 8 P.M., the canons allowed a few, some hundreds, to enter by\na private door; and then we first saw the interior of the superb\nold cathedral. We passed along through the arches and vaults of\nthe basement story, ascended and descended staircases, and finally\nreached a vestibule, leading directly to the octagon, the centre of\nthe cathedral. The grated doors were closed, as the pilgrims were\nstill in the body of the church; in the dim light, we could see\nthe glimmer of tapers in the choir; and the voices of the kneeling\ncrowd reciting the litanies rose to heaven, the very incense of\nprayer.\n\nSoon the doors were opened, and the favored ones passed slowly\nthrough. How grand and majestic the cathedral looked! The octagon\nin darkness, the choir illuminated. In single file, we made the\ntour around the relics; then all knelt down--the priests who were\nstrangers in the stalls of the clergy, the laity outside. The\ncanons walked in procession, each holding one of the precious\nrelics, which we were allowed to kiss. After all was over, we\nlooked around; we were kneeling in the superb choir, said to be\nthe highest in Europe--higher than the choir in the cathedral of\nCologne, which is lower than the nave. As we gazed upwards, and\nbeheld the grand arches which rose so high above our heads, our\nthoughts were raised to heaven, and made us glorify God, who gives\npower to man to conceive and execute such works. The stained-glass\nwindows are exquisite, and in the dim, religious light all looked\nbewilderingly beautiful.\n\nThe next morning, at 10 A.M., we took our position in front\nof the cathedral, where benches were erected temporarily to\naccommodate those who preferred sitting to standing. The crowds\nwere reverentially silent and recollected, reciting the Rosary and\nthe Litany of the Blessed Virgin. The relics were exposed from five\npoints. When the priests appeared in the tower opposite us, the\nbrass band in the gallery which connects the towers broke forth in\ngrand harmony; the people singing as one voice the superb German\nchoral music. It was overpowering! High up in the old gallery the\ncanons holding the precious relics, the cross glittering, the light\nblazing around them, the splendid music resounding in triumph in\nthe open air! The ages of faith are not past, as we all felt that\nday at Aix.\n\nAt 12 M. we joined the procession waiting for the doors of the\ncathedral to open, that we might enter the golden chamber. This\nwas a select crowd, as we had to pay two francs for a card. The\nPrussian cavalry rode up and down to keep the ranks straight; and\nafter we had been jammed outside, we received a final mash inside,\nand, by the time we were jelly, we shoved ourselves into the golden\ntreasury, where a canon explained everything in German and French;\nthen the procession passed again through the choir, around the\noctagon, and out another door.\n\nThe last day of the exposition was distinguished by a procession\nin the streets: the first that had taken place since the French\nRevolution. It was very solemn and grand; the Great Relics were\nborne in their superb shrines by the canons of the cathedral,\nthe Archbishop of Cologne carried the reliquary containing the\n_cingulum_ of our Lord, the Bishop of Luxembourg the cincture of\nthe Blessed Virgin.\n\nOf course these great crowds, with the usual amount of dust and\ndirt, rather fatigued us, even though we were immensely impressed;\nso we sought the refreshing waters, and continued our meditations\nin the Kaiserbad; or, rather, we would commence our morning\ndevotions by making ourselves comfortable. The Kaiserbad is the\nfinest in Europe; long corridors, arched roofs lighted from above,\nencaustic-tiled floors, beautiful dressing-rooms, each one opening\ninto a delicious bath of white marble, into which you descend by\nsix white marble steps into the pure white sulphur water. Twenty\nminutes is the time advised for well people; invalids stay in an\nhour sometimes; after the twenty minutes, the attendants brought\nin hot sheets, in which we were enveloped. It was Elysium--the\nperfection of material enjoyment.\n\nFrom the Kaiserbad we adjourned to the cathedral, heard Mass,\nand then strolled through the _Elisengarten_, the grounds around\nthe spring; the Prussian military band played delightfully every\nmorning, and we listened, drank occasional glasses of hot sulphur\nwater, and then, refreshed and invigorated, were ready for any\nperformance. In the afternoon, people drive to the heights of\nLouisberg, formerly a great fortress that commanded Aix, famous in\nthe wars of the middle ages, and demolished after some treaty, to\nkeep the peace of Europe.\n\nThe view from the height is superb. Aix-la-Chapelle was the\nfavorite resort of Pauline Bonaparte, and Louisberg her pet\npromenade; so, after her death, the city of Aix erected a monument\nto her memory. There is also a Belvidere, where they have musical\nreunions and balls, and people drink coffee and Seltzer water,\nin which we indulged. After Louisberg, we drove around the old\nramparts, visited the beautiful cemetery and the _Burtscheid_, the\nhottest of the springs, where the water is boiling--cooks an egg in\na few seconds.\n\nBesides the cathedral, there are several beautiful churches. The\nJesuit church of the Immaculate Conception is very fine, built\nin the severest Gothic style, of solid stone. In the convent of\nthe Sisters of the Infant Jesus, they make the most magnificent\nembroideries, one Gothic chasuble, just finished for an English\nbishop, was worth 15,000 francs; and the benediction veils, stoles,\nand capes were exquisite.\n\nIn the cathedral are preserved some fine chalices and vestments;\namongst the latter a chasuble said to have been used by St.\nBernard--it is of purple, adorned with pearls; a cape, with\nsmall bells attached to the lower edge, worn by Leo III. at the\nconsecration of the church; a set of vestments of cloth-of-gold,\nornamented with pearls, presented by Charles V.; and a chasuble,\ngiven in 1599 by Isabella, Infanta of Spain. Among the treasures of\nthe cathedral is a manuscript of the Gospels, beautifully written\nin letters of gold on purple vellum; its binding is covered with\nplates of silver-gilt, richly enamelled.\n\nIn addition to the pious crowd, there was more than the usual\ninflux of fashionable people. We had the pleasure of contemplating\nthe Prince and Princess Frederick Charles of Prussia while they\nstood on the balcony of the H\u00f4tel de Ville. Prince Frederick\nCharles, the Red Prince, is one of the great Prussian captains, and\nof course there was immense excitement. The place before the H\u00f4tel\nde Ville is the vegetable and flower market, and the peasants, in\ntheir quaint caps and bonnets, were enchanted either with their\nroyal highnesses or with the soldiers, who strolled among them, and\nbought up their wares.\n\nDremel\u2019s, the hotel of Aix, was entirely devoted to the Sultan and\nhis suite, who were on their way from Paris to Constantinople,\nafter the Exposition. They were a splendid set of men. In the\nmorning, on our way to the Kaiserbad, we passed Dremel\u2019s, and,\nas they were always lounging around, we had a fine view of them.\nThe Sultan kept himself secluded from the vulgar gaze, and was\nonly seen the morning of his departure. Every one was on hand to\nsee the commander of the faithful; at last, a great lumbering\nPrussian state carriage appeared, and there was the Sultan leaning\nback, eyes half-closed, arms folded on his breast, as if he were\nthe sovereign of the world. His impassible face never changed\nexpression; he looked the miserable fatalist he is.\n\nIn our German hotel, the Belle Vue, there was no reading-room, no\ndrawing-room; everybody sat in the dining-room, chattering and\ntalking away. Frank, the jolly landlord, made merry with a chosen\nband of friends, among whom was the Burgomaster, at the end of one\ntable; all smoking, each man\u2019s bottle of wine standing before him.\nA German friend assured us all Germany passed the evening in the\nsame way; the professors at the universities think it absolutely\nnecessary to drink as many bottles of wine in the evening as they\nhave studied hours during the day. We mildly suggested it was not\nstrange that German philosophy was rather cloudy sometimes, as the\nsmoke of the evening might befog the learned professors; but our\nfriend maintained it was healthy for mind and body.\n\nCharming, delightful Aix! It was with regret we left it; we looked\nwith longing eyes at the dome of the grand cathedral as it receded\nin the distance, and sighed for the delicious Kaiserbad as we were\nwhirled through the dust and smoke. However, we had the happiness\nof making one person enjoy what we had so fully appreciated; on\nour return home we had the pleasure of seeing once again one\nwhose name is dear to the heart of every American Catholic, the\nlate illustrious Archbishop of Baltimore. He was suffering from\nrheumatism, and we told him such wonderful things of the baths at\nAix, he changed his mind, and, instead of going to Paris, went to\nAix; with what result, the following charming note will tell:\n\n                                 AIX-LA-CHAPELLE, August 4, 1867,\n                                        H\u00f4tel de Belle Vue.\n\n  DEAR MADAME: I drop you a few lines, to return my sincere thanks\n  for having so effectually called my attention to the baths and\n  waters of this celebrated city. I find that all you said and\n  promised has been fully realized; and when, hereafter, any\n  one will dare tell me that your amiable sex is accustomed to\n  draw upon its imagination for its facts, or at least to color\n  extravagantly what has proved pleasing, I shall point to your\n  recommendation of these waters as a sufficient refutation, or at\n  any rate a most noted and brilliant exception to the remark.\n\n  The baths are all you said, and more; they are really superb,\n  and just what I needed. In fact, I consider it a special\n  providence that I met you in Brussels, or otherwise I should have\n  gone to Paris instead of Aix. Already I am quite relieved, and\n  in another week I expect to be as young and supple as ever. I am\n  at the Belle Vue, but, after taking one bath at the Kaiserbad,\n  I have taken the rest at the Rosebad; the latter are fully\n  equal to the former in sumptuousness, and the attendance is\n  probably better. I expect to return to Paris before or about the\n  15th inst., and if I can be of any service to you in Europe or\n  America, you may freely command me.\n\n  Though I have not yet taken any excursion to the country, I have\n  visited the relics and curiosities of the grand old cathedral,\n  and also the H\u00f4tel de Ville. This is one of the oldest cities\n  in Europe, and its inhabitants say with pride, \u201cAfter Rome,\n  Aix-la-Chapelle!\u201d The city with its monuments carries us back a\n  thousand years to the brilliant days of Charlemagne, who was a\n  giant not only morally and intellectually, but physically, for he\n  was over seven feet two inches tall. Best regards and blessing to\n  your family, and compliments to the dean. Yours truly,\n                         M. J. SPALDING,\n                                    Archbishop of Baltimore.\n\n\n\n\nAMBROSIA\n\nA LEGEND OF AUGSBURG.\n\n\nWe were talking of our travels, my friend Archer and I, and of the\nlessons travelling brings to those who go a little out of Murray\u2019s\nbeaten track. And especially, so we were pleased to think, these\nlessons might be learnt in little out-of-the-way nooks, hidden\ncentres of ignored life, none the less busy for that, and none the\nless full of exciting life-dramas. I was telling him of Pavia--for\nmy wanderings had led me chiefly through Italy--of the desolate,\nenchanted look of the wall-enclosed court-yards round the gloomy\nand picturesque palaces; of the lonely walk on the former ramparts,\nnow planted with fine horse-chestnuts; of the many tapestries of\nromance I had woven in my mind about the silent-looking houses and\nthe dark-eyed maidens I occasionally met in the streets. It was\nwhile Pavia was in Austrian hands that I passed through it, and\nperhaps the military occupation tended to make the sleepy city\nstill more sombre and dull. Yet what additional elements of romance\nthat circumstance contributed! For it was not impossible that some\nfair, mild German, with his dreamy sentimentality, yet fresh from\ncollege, might have been drawn to feel a holy, wondering love for\nthe bright southern beauty whose childhood had been fostered in\nindignant hatred of his land and race; and between these two how\nmany complications of pathetic interest might we not imagine,\nhow many shades of feeling and degrees of circumstances might we\nnot conjure up! \u201cBut,\u201d said Archer, interrupting my fine flow of\nlanguage about the joys and sorrows of the town of the _Certosa_,\n\u201cyou know Italy, strictly speaking, is rather the land of passion\nthan of romance. Could you think of an Italian \u2018Gretchen\u2019? The one\ncharacter most like her, the Cenci, is so different despite the\nlikeness! Religion seems more spiritual in Germany; in Italy they\ndo as the Greeks of old, put their own human feelings into heavenly\nrepresentatives and then pay homage to them, thinking unconsciously\nthat they are honoring supernatural attributes. There is too much\nearthliness about their ideal--in fact, I do not believe they have\nan ideal at all.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome, come,\u201d I answered, \u201cyou are too hard on the southern\ntemperament. You do not know Italy well enough to speak with\nauthority on the subject. After all, as long as their way of\nfeeling religion does them good, the Italians are quite as well\noff, spiritually, as your Teutonic ideals. I am not sure but what I\nprefer warmth and impulse to passive tenderness, however reliable\nthe latter may be throughout a lifetime. But this question of the\nrelative merits of various races will always be an open one, and\nno one wishes to leave it so more than the church herself, for she\nwisely sees how much the glory of God gains through this blending\nof various natures in his service.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo doubt,\u201d answered my enthusiastic Teutomane, \u201cas far as that\nside of the question is concerned. You have been saying something\nequivalent to telling me that the orchestra is preferable to a\nsingle violin or cornet, while _I_ was speaking of the intrinsic\nmerit of each of those individual instruments.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d I said, \u201cnow tell me something about the tone of these\ninstruments. You know I have been very little in Germany, and\nI should be glad to hear something worth hearing, something\nthat one would not find in the guide-book, nor in the volume of\nself-important nonsense occasionally thrust upon the public by a\ngushing sister or a city alderman.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are very caustic,\u201d said my friend with a laugh. \u201cIf I must\ntravel so far out of the beaten track to please you, why not plunge\nat once into a volume of medi\u00e6val legends?\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it in print? Because in that case I could see for myself, and\ntherefore would not care to hear it,\u201d I answered teasingly.\n\n\u201cIt is _not_ in print, Sir Doubter, and, what is more, it is not\neven in manuscript.\u201d\n\nI began to feel interested. \u201cA popular tradition, then?\u201d I asked.\n\n\u201cExactly. It is not worth much, only I happened to see the places\nmentioned, the quaint house that is standing yet, though very much\ndisguised of course, and the dark street leading to the cathedral.\nIt happened in Augsburg, and the cathedral, as you know, is\nProtestantized, though still very well kept. I was only in the town\nfor two days, so you may imagine I know little of it beyond what my\nnarrator told me.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd pray who was your narrator?\u201d\n\nThe father of a girl in an old book-stall, where I had stopped\nattracted by some rare copy of a Catholic work, of which she did\nnot seem to know the value. Equally surprised at seeing the book\nthere and at finding her ignorant of its worth, I asked her how\nshe got it. She lifted up her head, which had been bent on some\nmysterious turning-point of her knitting, and said smilingly:\n\n\u201c_Mein Herr_ is a Catholic, then?\u201d\n\nI answered that I was, and repeated my former question.\n\n\u201cIt must have been one of my great-uncle\u2019s books,\u201d she said, \u201che\nwas going to be a priest, but he died before being ordained. We\nwere always Catholics.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how came you to keep this stall, child?\u201d I asked, becoming\ninterested.\n\n\u201cIt is my father\u2019s,\u201d she answered quickly; \u201cand he has been ill for\ntwo months, so I keep it for him. His uncle left him all his books.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd is your father so poor, then?\u201d\n\n\u201cVery poor, _mein Herr_,\u201d said the girl, with a longing glance at\nthe book I still held in my hand, as if she were thinking of the\nprice a connoisseur might be tempted to give for it. \u201cHis father\nand grandfather were booksellers,\u201d she continued, \u201cbut not like\nhim; they had large libraries and plenty of men working under them.\nThat was long before I was born, _mein Herr_.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I suppose your father got into difficulties. But anything\nwould have paid better than this, my poor child.\u201d\n\n\u201cMy father would not go to work for any other bookseller, not if\nhe were the king,\u201d laughed the girl, more merrily than I thought\nthe case warranted; \u201cand he is a regular student. My mother used\nto earn money in many ways, teaching, writing, sewing; and I did\nthe housework. She died two years ago, and we have nothing but\nthe book-stall now to keep my sick father and my little crippled\nbrother.\u201d\n\nI thought to myself, Why, here is a regular romance; perhaps the\ninevitable lover of German stories is going to peep out next, from\nthe frank revelations of my new friend. At any rate, let us follow\nit up. So I said aloud: \u201cIf your father is willing to part with\nthis book, I should like to buy it. But I should be very glad to\nsee him and chat with him about it. Do you think he could see me?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! yes, of course,\u201d answered the girl with a hearty smile; and\nfor the first time I noticed her features and expression. She\nwas not beautiful--I hope you did not expect the romance to be\nperfect?--but there was a pure, calm steadiness in her look, and\nan air of unconscious dignity about her that made her striking to\nthe eye. She seemed made for fidelity and helpfulness, and as to\nexternal charms, if you admire hair, she simply had superabundant\nmasses of it. German-like, it was put up in broad plaits, tightly\ncoiled round the head, without a shadow of coquettishness, and\njust as if she thought it no ornament at all. Now I have noticed\nyour Italian girls know how to make a good deal more of their\nadvantages. I have seen poor girls in Venice with as elaborate a\ncoiffure--ringlets, puffs, plaits, and wavings--as any Parisian\nhair-dresser could exhibit on his waxen models.\n\n\u201cLibels again!\u201d I answered. \u201cI have seen the very contrary at\nNaples, and there are women there like Grecian statues. Venice is\nhalf Eastern, you know. But to go on with your impromptu romance.\u201d\n\nWell, when evening came, I went to the address the young girl\nhad given me, and as you may imagine, it was not a palace that\nI entered. The neighborhood was as commonplace as any in an old\nGerman city can be, that is, picturesqueness itself compared with\nour modern \u201cback slums.\u201d Still, through the picturesqueness, there\nstared the most unmistakable poverty. I went up a good many flights\nof steep, narrow stairs, with curious balusters that would have\ndriven a dealer in old carving wild with delight, and knocked at\na door that I recognized by the rude cross and bit of palm over\nthe archway. There was just such another cross and sprig of green\ninside the door, and a little holy-water vessel in stamped brass\nhung at the side nearest the door-handle. There was nothing very\npeculiar about the room, except that it had an air of freshness and\ncleanliness, which, considering its sick inmates and its cramped\nlocality, was the more pleasant because it was a surprise. A great\nGerman bed, with a feather-bed of traditional height, filled one\nside of the room, and there was a stove in the middle. The remains\nof the supper were on a side-table, and a lamp drawn close to the\nfather\u2019s arm-chair stood on a centre-table laden with domestic\n\u201cmending.\u201d The little crippled brother sat in a low easy-chair by\nthe stove, which chair was the only luxury in the room: My friend,\nthe young girl, came quickly forward and said:\n\n\u201cMy father is so glad you have come, _mein Herr_.\u201d\n\nI sat down beside him, and soon got into conversation with the old\nscholar. He was still very weak, but seemed to feel better when\nexcited. I found him a thorough bookworm, full of knowledge that,\nin another man\u2019s hands, would have made his fortune. I discovered,\nor rather forced him to tell me, that in that press (pointing to\na common painted chest of drawers) were manuscripts ready to be\npublished, if a publisher could be found to undertake the risk,\nbut the author had no ambition, though he was full to the brim of\nliterary enthusiasm. His researches had lain chiefly among works\nof medi\u00e6val ecclesiastical lore, legends and poems, etc. The\nemblems borne by the various saints were a favorite subject of his.\nHis uncle\u2019s theological collection and the libraries in which he\nhad spent his youth, had furnished him with means to prosecute\nhis studies even after his father\u2019s reverses in fortune--the\npublic libraries had done the rest. His wife\u2019s help had been very\nimportant, and piles of her notes and references lay among his own\nmanuscripts. He spoke with pride of his little crippled son, whom\nhe said he had made as good a scholar as if the poor boy had been\nto the universities; and as to his daughter, his looks said more\nthan his words, as he gazed at her across the table, she sitting\nso calmly there amid her heap of \u201cmending,\u201d her dark-blue dress\nreminding me of the coloring of a medi\u00e6val virgin martyr in the\nstained-glass window of some old cathedral. She was more queenly\nthan slender in figure, and neither her face nor her hands were\nsmall, though they were perfectly shaped; there was more majesty\nthan grace in her whole air, yet she was thoroughly girl-like. I\nunconsciously invested her in my mind with royal robes, heavily\njewelled, like the Byzantine saints, or with the ample cloak of the\nbrave and learned Portia. Presently she went into a smaller room,\nopening into the one where we were sitting, and during her absence\nI ventured to hint to the father that for her sake he should try to\nmake those literary treasures of his more remunerative. He smiled;\nI asked him if she were already provided for, or if he did not feel\nit his duty to put by some kind of fortune for her.\n\n\u201cMy child is watched over from heaven,\u201d he said; \u201cshe will never\ncome to harm.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is her name?\u201d I asked. I had already ascertained his family\nname to be Reinhold.\n\n\u201cAmbrosia,\u201d he answered.\n\n\u201cRather an uncommon name,\u201d I remarked, well pleased, somehow, that\nit should be so.\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said the father, \u201cand I dare say it will interest you\nto hear the reason why she has that name. She was born on the\nanniversary of the day that a young girl called Ambrosia came to\nlife here in the sixteenth century. This was how it happened. The\ntroubles of the Reformation were just beginning, and this young\ngirl, who was the burgomaster\u2019s daughter, was famous through the\ntown for her holiness and modesty. She was betrothed to a young\nmerchant who had been her playmate in childhood. Did you notice\nthat great building on the corner of the street to the right of\nthe cathedral? That was her father\u2019s house; it is a hotel now. Her\nbridegroom lived two or three streets further off, on a corner\ntoo; and under the corner window, which was beautifully carved\nand painted, stood a wooden image of the Mother of God, with a\nlamp before it which was never allowed to go out. It began to be\nwhispered about that Engelbrecht, the young lady\u2019s betrothed, and a\nvery handsome, dashing young fellow, was rather inclined to the new\ndoctrines which Luther was then preaching all over Germany. Every\none wondered how Ambrosia would take this, but no one knew anything\npositive until it became the talk of the city that one night\nEngelbrecht and a few companions, heated with wine and singing\nprofane songs, had broken and extinguished the votive lamp before\nthe image under his window, and thrown the image itself into the\ngutter. The next day it was known that Ambrosia was very ill, and\nhad sent for her lover. He came, and, as he really was very fond\nof her, the sudden alteration in her looks frightened and subdued\nhim for the moment. She took off the betrothal ring he had put upon\nher finger, and very gravely and sweetly told him that she could\nnever be his bride on earth, but that she fervently hoped that she\nhad indeed won his soul\u2019s final salvation, through the joyful and\nwilling sacrifice of her own life. She said she should die on the\nday that was fixed for their wedding, but that from the dead she\nwould speak to him yet, and in public. Then a year would go by,\nand she told him that it was not given to her to know if he would\nrepent or not during that time, but that on the anniversary of her\ndeath she would come to life again and walk from her tomb to the\ncathedral and back; and she summoned him to meet her there. It was\nher hope that, after that second call, he would surely be won back\nto God. So when her wedding day came, although she seemed happy and\nlooked only very grave and pale, she called her father and mother\nand her lover to her, and there, sitting by the window that looked\non the cathedral, she passed away without agony, and just as the\nhour struck which should have seen her a new-made wife. She was not\nburied for several days, for the scoffers said she was deceiving\nthe people and simulating death. Doctors and priests watched the\nbody for a week, and Mass was said in the room where she lay,\nsurrounded with flowers and tall tapers. Exorcisms were even read\nover her, but the placid expression of her alabaster face seemed to\ngrow only more heavenly day by day. At last signs of decomposition\nappeared, as if to make the marvel more certain, and those who\nhad watched the body drew up a legal declaration of her undoubted\ndeath. She was brought to the churchyard, the family vault was\nopened, and the coffin, which was still uncovered, was just going\nto be finally closed, when she raised herself suddenly to a sitting\nposture, and, seemingly transfigured into greater beauty than\nhad ever been hers in life, she gazed slowly round the crowd and\nbeckoned to her lover. He stood transfixed, and the people fell\nback from him and left him face to face with his bride. She only\nsaid in a clear, pitying voice that was heard by all, \u2018Remember,\nEngelbrecht, thy tryst with me one year from this day. God be with\nthee until then.\u2019\n\n\u201cShe fell slowly backwards into her narrow couch, and when the\npeople had taken courage again, they came hurriedly and closed the\ncoffin in great awe. A year went by, and Engelbrecht, uneasy and\nremorseful, plunged into worse excesses than ever, went heart and\nsoul, at least outwardly, into the Lutheran movement, and became\nthe head of a band of young men whose dissoluteness was spoken of\nwith disgust by the licentious reformers themselves. The day came,\nand with it crowds flocked to the grave of Ambrosia. Those who had\ngone at sunrise found a white-robed figure kneeling there, its face\nhidden in its hands, and two long plaits of golden hair streaking\nits drapery. Those who had watched all night and gone there the\nevening previous after dusk, could tell nothing save that the grave\nhad been the same as ever, but they thought they must have slept\nfor a few minutes before midnight, since they had heard the quarter\nstrike from the cathedral, and had looked at their timepieces\ndirectly after, and found it was half an hour _after_ midnight. The\nradiant, silent figure was there then, and an odor as of incense\nfilled the night air. As soon as the cathedral doors were open\n(it was in June), Ambrosia rose and turned towards the church.\nSome sceptics who saw the strange procession, rushed at once to\nthe grave, and, hastily disinterring the coffin, found it empty.\nCrowds joined the procession to the cathedral, which the young girl\nreached during the first Mass, for the priests still had possession\nof it then. Every one wondered if her lover would meet her, but no\nsign of him appeared. Ambrosia looked incomparably more beautiful\nthan in life; her eyes were cast down, and she wore a golden\nbetrothal ring on her finger. She moved like a spirit, yet there\nwas no doubting the reality and substance of her presence. There\nwere many in the crowd who were scoffers and libertines, men whom\nno virtuous maiden\u2019s eye would as much as glance upon, yet even\nthey were silenced, and the marvellous beauty of Ambrosia seemed\nto have no other effect upon them than one of awe and unconscious\nrestraint. The people followed her in and lined the aisles through\nwhich they knew she would walk on leaving the cathedral. She knelt\nfor a moment before the high carved tabernacle, with a lovely\nminiature spire, quite in a separate corner from the altar--you\nhave seen those tabernacles of ours in old Catholic churches in\nother parts of Germany, _mein Herr_?--and then she turned slowly\nback. There was no hurry, no anxiety nor expectancy, in her manner;\nstill Engelbrecht had not been seen. She had come to the middle of\nthe left aisle, still with her eyes persistently cast down, and\nthough the people had all asked her many questions as to their\nfuture spiritual fate and that of others dear to them, yet she had\nnever answered a word. Now, she stopped deliberately, yet never\nraising her eyes. A sob was heard in the crowd, and the serried\nmasses heaved to and fro as a young man forced his way violently\nthrough. It was Engelbrecht, but he was unrecognizable. A cloak\ncovered him from head to foot--evidently a studied disguise--yet\nwhat was more unlike him was his agitated, humble manner, the\nlook of passionate self-accusation in his drawn features, and his\nimpetuous disregard for appearances. As Ambrosia stopped, he rushed\nforward with his arms extended, but some unseen power stayed his\nprogress, and though she was not a foot distant from him, he could\nnot touch her. For the first time she lifted her head, and a look\nof love, pure as an angel\u2019s over a repentant sinner, lighted up her\nethereal face and mingled with an expression of deepest gratitude.\nShe pointed to the betrothal ring on her finger, and then glanced\nupward without uttering one word. This second warning from the\nworld of souls was of too solemn a nature to admit of even the holy\nyet too human expression that her words had given to the first, but\nit was unmistakably borne in upon the mind of her lover that as\nlong as he kept true to the faith, he might hope to claim her as\nhis spiritual bride in the kingdom of God. And, as she continued\nher journey toward her grave, he did not even follow her, but\nwent straight to the Dominican convent and asked for the habit of\nthe order. Those who accompanied Ambrosia to the churchyard could\ntell nothing as to the manner of her disappearance; all they knew\nwas that they saw her one moment, and the next they saw nothing.\nEngelbrecht gave all his riches to the church to found a seminary\nsomewhere beyond the bounds of the heretical countries of Germany,\nfor the instruction of missionaries; the foundation eventually\nbecame a house of his order. He wished his own dwelling to be used\nfor monastic or hospital purposes, should religion again revive in\nAugsburg; but his wish was not fulfilled. The house was forfeited\nto the state, and became successively a warehouse, a barrack, a\nprison, and a factory. Now, it is a great printing-office, and\nplenty of lies are coined into money within its walls, through the\npartisan newspapers that issue from it. You can see the corner\nwindow still, with its beautiful carving hardly injured by time,\nand the empty niche beneath it where the image of the Mother of God\nonce stood. Have you noticed it, _mein Herr_?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d I said, hardly liking to answer, for fear of losing some\nfurther detail. \u201cBut what of Engelbrecht?\u201d\n\nThe old German looked surprised.\n\n\u201cWhy, I have told you he became a monk.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut did he distinguish himself against the reformers?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d said Reinhold, reverentially, \u201cGod knows, and his bride, but\nhe left no record for the world to read. No doubt he worked out the\nwill of God.\u201d\n\nI was silent, for I was ashamed of myself in the presence of this\nman, to whom the hidden life of the soul seemed so all-sufficient a\nhistory.\n\nAmbrosia, his daughter, had come back long before this story was\nfinished, and was sitting sewing diligently, and listening to it\nwith all her father\u2019s pride and personal enthusiasm in the matter.\n\n\u201cSo,\u201d continued Reinhold, \u201cthe day of this wonder was remembered,\nand among those who remained Catholics, it became a custom to\nchristen girls born on that day by the name of the holy maiden\nAmbrosia. My child, thank God, was one of them.\u201d\n\nAfter listening to this peculiar and interesting legend, I led the\nconversation to the book I wished to purchase, and which Ambrosia\nhad brought home with her on purpose. Reinhold knew the value of it\nperfectly well, and firmly resisted my well-meant attempts to fix a\nprice upon it beyond what even its merits warranted. I was hardly\nable to indulge in such extravagance, yet _bibliomania_ had always\nbeen my besetting sin, and I had curtailed our little household\nin many ways to feed my library. Besides, here was a charity as\nwell-deserved as it seemed well-placed; how else, with my limited\nmeans, could I help my poor friends? But my fellow-bookworm was\nproof against all such artifices, and I was reduced to ask him,\npoint-blank, was there anything which he would allow me to do for\nhim? Without the least show of fussy pride, but with a quiet, manly\ngratitude that was immeasurably more dignified, he answered at\nonce, his voice shaking as he looked at his little son:\n\n\u201cA very little would make my child\u2019s life happy and useful, and,\n_lieber Herr_, that little I have it not.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow stupid of me!\u201d I exclaimed. \u201cI might have thought of that\nmyself. Is he to be a scholar, or an artist, or what?\u201d I said,\nstroking his hair, while his great eyes were fixed hungrily on mine.\n\n\u201cBooks are his passion,\u201d said his father, \u201cand he knows all our\npoets by heart. He should have a literary education, I think.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut,\u201d said I, \u201che could not go alone to the university, and if\nyou do not mind leaving Augsburg, would it not be best for you all\nto go together? I have some English friends at Bonn, Catholics\nand rich people; they will do much for your child that I cannot\ndo, though my heart would rejoice to do it, so suppose we start\nto-morrow?\u201d\n\nReinhold looked up incredulously. Ambrosia laughed, and the poor\nlittle cripple clapped his hands in ecstasy. I watched the girl\nto see whether a shade of regret denoted ties of a tenderer or\nmore passionate nature than her strong, calm family affections;\nbut there was no sign of anything save quiet joy and a gratitude\nthat in its fulness made me feel quite ashamed. I kept thinking\nof what could be done for her; whether my English friends at Bonn\ncould or would be kind to her in any practical way, and whether in\nthat case she and her father would ever submit to being provided\nfor by the kindness of strangers. She seemed too self-reliant for\nthat; and although she evidently longed for the same education\nher brother was to have, and had, indeed, already amassed in the\nintervals of her active work such miscellaneous knowledge as mere\nreading could give her, yet I felt sure that she would insist on\nearning her bread and helping to support her father. I decided on\nintroducing the old man to the notice of some great publisher,\nwith whom an arrangement about his manuscripts might perhaps be\nmade; but of this we did not speak just now. I left the room full\nof our new projects, and spent the early part of the next day\nin carefully visiting the scenes of Ambrosia\u2019s life, death, and\nmarvellous resurrection. In the afternoon I went back to Reinhold\u2019s\nold-fashioned abode, and found everything nearly ready. The books\nwere packed in a curious old chest, which was certainly a quaint\ncontrast to the trunks and valises of modern tourists; this and\nsome of the old furniture, endeared to Reinhold and his daughter by\nthe associations of a lifetime, were to be forwarded to their new\ndestination through the care of the good \u201cPfarrer\u201d (parish-priest),\nand a few little necessaries (a very slender amount in the eyes of\nour \u201cgirls of the period,\u201d I fancy!) together with the precious\nmanuscripts, were to go with us in a large leather hand-bag, which\nI volunteered to carry. I asked to be allowed to take charge of\nthe little brother too, as we were too near the railway to need\na carriage, but Ambrosia laughingly caught him up, and, with\ngentle deftness, insisted on carrying him, telling me to give my\ndisengaged arm to her invalid father. As soon as we were seated in\nthe train, Ambrosia began to tell me that she had never been in one\nbefore. I asked if she were sorry to leave the old town.\n\n\u201cOh! no,\u201d she said, \u201cI know I shall go back there one day, when I\nknow more than I do now.\u201d\n\nI wondered if there were any hidden meaning in the words. Reinhold\nand I talked \u201cshop\u201d all the way, till our fellow-passengers must\nhave been bored with our enthusiastic bibliomania. Ambrosia sat\nchatting gayly to her little brother, whose glee and wonder were\nsometimes gravely expressed in questions that made our neighbors\nlaugh. When we got to Bonn, and were comfortably settled at a\nquiet, old-fashioned hotel, absolutely perfect in its appointments,\nbut as unobtrusive of its merits as its gaudy, noisy rivals were\nshrilly eager about theirs, I set out to find my friends. They were\nout of town. Without their influence I was powerless, so I had\nto wait a few days for their return. They took up the matter as\nwarmly as I could have wished, and were particularly anxious to do\nsomething for Ambrosia; the difficulty was to find something she\nwould accept. In the meantime, the crippled child was recommended\nto the college authorities with plenty of guarantees, seen to\nby the priest, who was my friend\u2019s adviser and fellow-worker in\nall his good schemes, and Reinhold was quietly put in the way of\ngood opportunities for the publication of some of his accumulated\nwritings. The little boy promised well, and I was more anxious\nabout Ambrosia, who wanted to support herself by needlework.\n\n\u201cYou see,\u201d she said to me, a week after our arrival, \u201csome of the\nwork will be knitting, and I can read as I knit; then I will go to\nschool at night and on Sundays, and pick up what I can, and twice a\nweek I will make time for the singing-class. There is a very good\none, and so cheap, attached to our church here, and the master is a\nreally great artist, though he is old and very poor now. He and my\nfather will be friends, I know, so you see I shall be as well off\nas it is possible.\u201d\n\nNothing could move her from her resolve, and as I had to leave\nBonn shortly after, I was obliged to take things as they were.\nI received monthly bulletins of my little _prot\u00e9g\u00e9\u2019s_ conduct\nand progress, and sometimes heard from Ambrosia and Reinhold,\nthrough their rare but warm letters, though oftener from my\nfriends established at Bonn. After awhile, I heard that the girl\nhad consented to take music lessons twice a week, in the evening,\nwith Miss L., my friend\u2019s niece, and sometimes to share her French\nand Latin lessons. English she already knew. The needlework was\nnot abandoned, however, and Ambrosia, I was told, seemed to\ngain new energy with each new pursuit she undertook. Reinhold\u2019s\nworks were in a fair way of being successfully published, and\nhis circumstances were actually beginning to mend. I never heard\nof such a lucky venture as that hurriedly made at the Augsburg\nbook-stall! Everything and everybody favored it, and my quiet old\nsister at home used to make me tell the story over and over again,\nas we turned over the pages of the book that had been the first\n_deus ex machin\u00e2_ of the romance. She was certainly disappointed\nin the want of a lover for Ambrosia, and, to console herself, would\nsometimes so arrange the little we knew as to make it the frame of\na possible love-story that we did not, and never might, know.\n\nA year passed by in this way, when business called me up from\nmy cottage in the Isle of Wight to London. It was May, and the\nexhibitions were just open. I went to Burlington House, and saw\nvery little that was worth seeing; then to Pall Mall, to some of\nthe minor galleries. The French collection of paintings was pretty\nupon the whole, but suddenly I came upon a picture that was really\nstriking. An old German town and a cathedral painted to the very\nlife formed a most varied background, upon which a conventional\n\u201ccrowd,\u201d that is, a few picturesque groups of burghers and peasants\nin the costume (accurate to the slightest detail) of the early part\nof the sixteenth century, was represented, gazing at the central\nfigure, a maiden dressed in white, with two thick cords of golden\nhair streaking the snowy robe. I looked at once for Mephistopheles\nand his victim Faust, taking this for a novel and very artistic\nrepresentation of Goethe\u2019s masterpiece; and turning to the\ncatalogue I looked for the name of the painter--\u201cFranz Eichenthal.\u201d\nBut the painting itself was marked \u201cAmbrosia, a Legend of\nAugsburg,\u201d and in a few brief words beneath the story was told as\nReinhold had told it to me. Strangely interested, I looked at the\nwhite figure; I saw the likeness which had before escaped me; it\nwas Ambrosia\u2019s face, her abundant hair, her grand form; the repose,\nthe dignity that I so well remembered were there, but over the\nwhole was thrown an air of etherealized peace and beauty which was\na fitting tribute to the entirely spiritual essence of the story.\nI looked to see if Engelbrecht were anywhere represented, and\nthought I could discover him in a corner, half hidden by the shadow\nfrom a buttress of the cathedral. There was a wonderfully energetic\nexpression about this face, which made me single it out from the\nrest as being probably meant for the unhappy lover. There was\nstrength and nobility in the features, and an almost feminine grace\nin the figure, while the look of horror and remorse struggling\nwith unbelief was in painful contrast with this courtly exterior.\nUnderneath, on the buttress, was carved, in antique characters, the\nname of the painter, \u201cFranciscus Eichenthal, pinxit.\u201d It certainly\nhappened to be the most obvious place for this traditional\nsignature of the artist, yet I could not help fancying, almost\nhoping, that there was more in it than a mere chance, and that\n\u201cEngelbrecht\u201d was, in fact, the portrait of the painter himself.\nAmbrosia\u2019s face drew me to it again; the likeness was life itself,\nyet such as an American authoress describes as \u201cnot the man that\nwe are, but the angel that we may be.\u201d She says that \u201cas to every\nleaf and flower there is an ideal to which the growth of the plant\nis constantly urging, so there is an ideal to every human being, a\nperfect form in which it might appear, were every defect removed\nand every characteristic excellence stimulated to the highest\npoint.\u201d She likens this to the image of St. Augustine, as his\nmother, with her spiritual prophetic sight, saw him all through\nhis reckless youth, and then says: \u201cCould a mysterious foresight\nunveil to us this resurrection form of the friends with whom we\ndaily walk, compassed about with mortal infirmity, we should follow\nthem with faith and reverence, through all the disguises of human\nfaults and weaknesses, waiting for the manifestation of the sons of\nGod.\u201d[202]\n\nThe German artist seemed to have had some such revelation\nvouchsafed to him concerning Ambrosia. The picture was unspeakably\nbeautiful, and I felt instinctively that in the future it would\nbecome literally true. And yet the girl had never before struck\nme as having so exalted a nature; perhaps it was that she was so\nutterly unlike the usual ideal of a perfect woman.\n\nI made inquiries as to whether the picture was an \u201corder,\u201d or\nsimply a speculation, and learned that it had been the latter, but\nwas now destined for the hall of the \u201cYoung Men\u2019s Catholic Society\u201d\nat Augsburg. An English nobleman had been so struck with it abroad\nthat he had induced the artist to have it exhibited in London, and\nhad himself ordered engravings and photographs from it. I felt very\nmuch inclined to go in for another extravagance, and have it copied\non a reduced scale for my library, but I thought it most prudent to\nconsult my sister first. I went home full of my discovery, and at\nonce wrote to Reinhold for an explanation.\n\nI received a very happy letter from Ambrosia herself in return,\ntelling me of her engagement to the painter Eichenthal, who was an\nAugsburg man, and had lived for many years quite close to their\nold home, without either family having the remotest knowledge\nof each other. At the singing-class these two had met, their\nfellow-citizenship had first drawn them together, and the old\nmaster, whose favorite pupil the artist was, had brought him to\nsee Reinhold. The result was natural, and my sister was innocently\nenthusiastic over the ending in so pleasant a reality of the\nromance she had begun in imagination many months before.\n\nThere was a quiet wedding at Bonn, and my friend\u2019s niece,\nAmbrosia\u2019s companion in her studies, was bridesmaid. My sister\nand I went over to be present, and the dear old father, now quite\nstrong again, gave his daughter a copy of his first published\nwork for a wedding gift. Next to the dedication leaf, which was\naddressed to your humble servant, and overflowing with affectionate\nexpressions, there was a cheque for half the proceeds of the work\n(and the sum was not to be sneered at, I can assure you).\n\nAmbrosia and her husband then went to Rome, where Eichenthal\nidentified himself with the school of Overbeck, and became very\npopular among the foreign visitors and patrons of art. The\nEnglishman who had taken such a fancy to his picture of the\nAugsburg legend chanced to come across him again in Rome, and,\nhaving succeeded to his father\u2019s property, lavishly encouraged his\nartist friend. A _replica_, full size, of the original \u201cAmbrosia\u201d\nwas painted for his chapel in England, and a large picture,\nrepresenting a group of the patron saints of his family clustering\nround the throne of the Virgin and Child, was also ordered. The\npainter\u2019s wife was the model for a St. Catharine of Sienna, and the\nEnglishman himself, a thorough Saxon in build and features, made a\nmagnificent St. Edward the Confessor.\n\nSeveral years later, the young couple settled in Augsburg, where\nEichenthal established a flourishing school of Christian art,\nand used to give lectures on the subject in the very hall where\nhis first successful work was hung. Ambrosia\u2019s brother got on so\nwonderfully that at twenty he was made professor of belles-lettres\nat Bonn, and was famous for writing the most beautiful religious\npoetry that had been known for many years. Ambrosia\u2019s children\ngather round their young crippled uncle in the spacious,\nold-fashioned house where Reinhold lives with his daughter, and\nmake him repeat wonderful medi\u00e6val legends clothed in verse of his\nown. This is how he spends his vacation. Reinhold is always at his\nmanuscripts, and the same books that used to be his pitiful stock\nin trade are now the cherished ornaments of his large library. The\nChristmas-tree gathering in that house is a poem in itself. The\nchildren of Ambrosia\u2019s friend, the English girl of Bonn, are often\nthere playing with the artist\u2019s beautiful boys, for there is no\nAmbrosia the younger among Eichenthal\u2019s children. The best society\nof Augsburg, Protestant and Catholic alike, delight to honor the\nsuccessful artist; the musical soir\u00e9es given in his house are as\nperfect in their way as each of his own paintings, and never is\nanything purely worldly allowed to appear under his roof.\n\n\u201cWhen I first saw my wife,\u201d he says, \u201cI was a Lutheran or rather\na so-called philosopher, but since I won her, I vowed to make her\nmy arbiter and my conscience; you see the result. \u2018Seek first the\nkingdom of God, and his justice, and all these things shall be\nadded unto you.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd this is the end?\u201d I said regretfully, as Archer paused.\n\n\u201cNot quite,\u201d he answered with a peculiar smile; \u201cthe end will not\nreally come till Ambrosia has grown to be the counterpart of her\nspiritual portrait. But she is growing towards that standard every\nday. Would that you and I were, old friend!\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is time yet,\u201d I said; \u201clet us try.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHURCH.\n\n\nIt is of her womb that we are born; our nourishing is from her\nmilk; our quickening from her breath.... She it is who keeps us for\nGod, and appoints unto the kingdom the sons she has borne.... He\nwho leaves the church of Christ attains not to Christ\u2019s rewards.\nHe is an alien, an outcast, an enemy. He can no longer have God\nfor a father who has not the church for a mother. If any man was\nable to escape who remained without the ark of Noah, then will that\nman escape who is out of doors beyond the church. The Lord warns\nus, and says: \u201cHe who is not with me is against me; and he who\ngathereth not with me scattereth.\u201d ... He who gathereth elsewhere\nbut in the church, scatters the church of Christ.--_St. Cyprian._\n\n\n\n\nTHE NECESSITY OF PHILOSOPHY AS A BASIS OF HIGHER EDUCATION.\n\nBY F. RAMIERE, S.J.\n\nFROM THE ETUDES RELIGIEUSES.\n\nCONCLUDED.\n\n\nUTILITY OF PHILOSOPHY FOR THE FORMATION OF THE POET AND OF THE\nORATOR.\n\nThe foregoing considerations have borne us up to those luminous\nheights where philosophy, poetry, and eloquence, separated in\ntheir lower regions, mingle and become one. Would to God that the\npoets frequented more assiduously these sublime regions! How their\ninspirations would gain in nobleness as well as in purity; how much\nignominy would they spare themselves; how many scandals to society!\nWe should not then see them separate beauty from truth, as they too\noften do, place all the perfection of art in an empty form, and\nmake their independence consist in placing themselves under the\nhateful yoke of error and of vice.\n\nSuch is the ignoble theory which one is compelled to sustain if he\ndeny that the study of philosophy is of the greatest utility for\nthe poet. Unfortunately, this theory has found in our days only too\nmany defenders. How much more numerous still are those who put it\nin practice!\n\nIt is in vain, I know, for me to endeavor to bring back to a\nsounder and nobler conception of the most beautiful of all arts\nthose poets who debase it by their very idolatry. But, though they\nmay despise the voice of a Christian, let them listen at least to\na pagan--a poet like themselves. It is a disciple of Epicurus, it\nis Horace who tells them to what a shameful barrenness they condemn\nthemselves in refusing to draw from those sources which philosophy\nopens up to them.\n\nThis great master of the poetic art declares to them plainly enough\nthat \u201cunless they first learn to think well, it is vain for them to\nhope to write well; that it is from philosophy they must borrow the\nsubjects which it is for poetry to adorn with her rich ornaments;\nthat beauty of style can only be the result of beauty of things;\nand that a work which contains solid truths under an inelegant\nform, has far more legitimate titles to real success than verses\nbare of thought and resonant with trifles.\u201d\n\n    \u201cScribendi recte sapere est et principium et fons.\n    Rem tibi Socratic\u00e6 poterunt ostendere chart\u00e6;\n    Verbaque provisam rem non invita sequentur....\n    Interdum speciosa locis morataque recte\n    Fabula, nullius veneris, sine pondere et arte,\n    Valdius oblectat populum meliusque moratur,\n    Quam versus inopes rerum nug\u00e6que canor\u00e6.\u201d\n\nIf Horace returned among us, he would have no cause to congratulate\nus on our fidelity in following those precepts, which good sense\ndictated to him, and which all of us have learned by heart from our\nchildhood. Modern poetry has something far different to do than\ndemand of wisdom the theme of its song. It drinks, generally at\nleast, at founts of beauty of quite another character; the ideal\nis nothing to it; the living expression of reality in its every\nimperfection, of the revolting, of the hideous, such is the task\nwhich it imposes on itself; emotion, such its aim--a surprising\nstrangeness of imagery, novelty of expression, peculiarity of\ncharacter, harshness of pictures, harmony of rhyme replacing\nharmony of thought--behold its means of success. Behold the merits\nwhich an effete society looks for in those whose mission is to\namuse it, and to which these easy-going poets sacrifice the most\nmagnificent gifts of the Creator.\n\nDante places in one of the circles of his hell a lost one whose\ncrime consisted in having, by vileness of heart, made a great\nabdication (_Che fece per viltade il gran rifiuto_). It is\ndifficult to recognize this criminal, on whose brow inexorable\njustice or the political rancor of the Florentine poet branded this\nburning stigma. But to whom can it be applied more justly than to\nthese kings of poetry whom we see in our own days making themselves\nslaves of a vile popularity; to these prophets of the natural\norder, who prostitute to error the power which was given them to\nembellish truth, and who employ the creative force which makes them\nparticipators of the most noble attribute of Almighty God, in order\nto form the idols which draw away the crowd from the altars of\nJehovah? O traitor poets! veritable apostates of genius, what gain\nis yours in debasing thus the most beautiful of arts! In place of\nprofaning your lyre by songs which awake in hearts nothing but the\nlowest desires and most guilty passions, would it not be worthier\nof you to avail yourselves of this irresistible power of seduction\nwhich you exercise over your brothers, in drawing them in your\ntrain to the pursuit of true beauty? Do you alone fail to perceive\nthe forfeiture which threatens your genius from the moment that\nit denies to truth the glorious testimony which truth demands of\nit? Do you not see that the beauty of forms fails you from the\ntime that you seek it outside of the beauty of thoughts? Can you\nbe astonished that your influence over souls is null, when you are\npleased to destroy it with your own hands? Is it not you who, in\ndenying the philosophy which would elevate your art to the height\nof a priesthood, reduce it to nothing more than a frivolous pastime\nfor the idle, unless, indeed, you place it as an incendiary torch\nin the hands of the factious?\n\nStill less than poetry may eloquence consent to lower its dignity\nto the botching up of incoherent images and the nice balancing of\nperiods as empty as they are sonorous. More serious in its aim,\nmore positive in the immediate results which it has in view, it\ncan still less dispense with the assistance of philosophy. Listen\nto one of its princes, who is at the same time the chief of its\nlawgivers, while he proclaims loudly this dependence. \u201cLet us lay\ndown in the beginning,\u201d says Cicero, in the book _De Oratore_,\n\u201cthat the aid of philosophy is indispensable for the formation of\nthe perfect orator whom we seek. It alone can open up to him an\ninexhaustible source of great thoughts and developments as large\nas they are varied. It is to it that Pericles owed, according to\nthe testimony of Plato, his superiority over all his rivals. The\nlessons of Anaxagoras developed the fecundity of his genius; they\ntaught him, among other things, the great secret of eloquence, the\nart of discerning the proper incentives for moving the passions\nand the different faculties of the soul. Plato rendered the same\nservice to Demosthenes. And how,\u201d continues Cicero, \u201chow can\nwe without philosophy know the properties of things, whether\ngeneric or specific, how can we define them, divide them, discern\nthe true from the false, deduce consequences, refute that which\nis repugnant, distinguish that which is ambiguous? How can we\npenetrate into the nature of things, a knowledge of which imparts\nits chief richness to the discourse? How can we speak pertinently\nof the moral life, of duties, of virtues, if we have not searched\ndeeply into these truths, aided by the light of philosophy?\u201d\n\nIn these words, Cicero displays admirably the superiority of the\nphilosophic orator over the one who depends for the guarantee\nof success on the facility of his memory, the wealth of his\nimagination, or the vehemence of his feeling. Such a one without\ndoubt can carry off triumphs; he may reap the applause of the\ncrowd, and drag the masses in his train. The masses, who live\nmuch more by imagination than by intelligence, scarcely perceive\nthe want of depth, and allow themselves to be captivated by the\nsplendor of imagery and the rush of movements. But he who would\nseek a success more real than passing applause, he who would\nunderstand that the aim of eloquence is to render men better, and\nthat imagery and feelings are for it but the instruments destined\nto make truth triumph--such a man will strive above all to place\nhimself in possession of that truth which he is called upon to\ncommunicate to his fellows, to know the nature and extent of the\nduties whose observance he must inculcate, to acquire, in order to\ncommunicate it to them, the true science of good and evil. Besides\nthis, he will study the nature of the souls over whom God destines\nhim to hold sway, by the all-powerful sceptre of speech; he will\ninquire into the conditions and the requirements of each one of\nthose faculties and passions, which he ought alternately to move\nlike an obedient army, and push forward to the conquest of good and\nthe banishment of evil. When philosophy shall have given him this\nknowledge, when it shall have arranged it in his mind in luminous\norder, then the orator will be a priest. He will have nothing more\nto do than, following the circumstances, to give to each of his\nteeming thoughts the form which befits it: on whatever subject he\nhas to speak, the great principles will offer themselves, his plan\nwill be all arranged beforehand, the framework of his discourse\nall laid out; his march will be firm, his divisions clear, his\nadvance irresistible; and, while the orator of imagination will go\non groping, without order and without light, contenting himself\nwith flowering the surface of the soul, the philosophic orator will\npenetrate into the depths of the intellect, and will establish\ntherein, on convictions which cannot be broken down, the motives of\nwhich he will avail himself victoriously to persuade the will.\n\n\nVI.\n\nNECESSITY OF PHILOSOPHY FOR THE FORMATION OF THE THEOLOGIAN.\n\nThat we may comprehend in all its extent the utility of philosophy,\nthere remains still to be examined its relation with the divine\nscience--theology. A single glance will suffice to convince us that\nthere is no science with which it should be more intimately bound\nup than with this queen of sciences, which occupies uncontested\nthe first place in the hierarchy of knowledge. This first rank\nwould have belonged of right to philosophy, had not God thought\nit good to make us acquainted by his Word with the treasures of\nhis own science. But far from revelation having lowered our reason\nby adding to its light a higher light; far from philosophy being\nabased in receiving from the sovereign truth illuminations which\nof itself it could never have attained, it has on the contrary\nacquired thereby a wealth and an elevation incomparable; for, in\nallying itself with the word of God, in uniting its gifts with the\ngifts of faith, in applying its principles and processes to the\ndogmas revealed, it has produced a science greater than itself,\nthough born in its bosom--a science divine in its object, like the\nWord who is its father, although it remains human in form, like the\nphilosophy of which it has this form--the scholastic theology.\n\nThere is, then, between theology and philosophy a connection of\ndependence, which renders the study of the first of these sciences\nimpossible without the preliminary study of the second. It is not\nwith theology as it is with faith: faith is entirely supernatural,\nand consequently it cannot depend directly on any natural cause.\nThus we have established above that the utility of philosophy for\nthe acquirement and keeping of faith can only be a negative utility.\n\nTheology, on the contrary, supernatural in its object, is natural\nin its essence, since it consists in the rational analysis of the\ndata of faith. There is, then, nothing repugnant in admitting\nthe very direct and very positive influence which the study of\nphilosophy exercises over its acquisition.\n\nThis influence extends itself to every branch of theology--to\ndogmatic theology first; for this branch of sacred science, as we\nhave shown in a preceding article, borrows from philosophy the\nprocesses which it uses, the method which it follows, and the\ngreatest part of the definitions and axioms on which it depends.\n\nGod, having made use of human language in order to reveal to us his\nmysteries, has laid us thereby under an obligation of applying, in\na just measure, to the supernatural order the ideas of the natural\norder expressed by this language. We must therefore analyze with\nthe greatest care those ideas, under pain of comprehending nothing\nof revelation, and of falling into the most fatal errors; and this\nanalysis ought to be proportionately more delicate when it applies\nitself to ideas involved in the dogmas of faith, since it ought to\ndiscern in those ideas that which is proper to the supernatural\norder from that which belongs to the universal essence of things.\n\nThe study of dogmatic theology is then impossible if it does not\ndepend upon an exact and profound study of metaphysics. There is\nnot a single one of those general notions which the science of\nmetaphysics tries in its crucible that does not show itself again\nin the different treatises of theology, and present itself before\nus under all its forms. He who has not beforehand penetrated into\nthe depths of these notions will walk in darkness; he will hesitate\nand be in constant doubt, and will have no means of protecting\nhimself from the grossest blunders save by imposing on himself the\nrigorous task of studying philosophy in proportion as he advances\nin the study of theology.\n\nThe same connection which exists between speculative philosophy\nand dogmatic theology exists between practical philosophy, moral\ntheology, and canon law. Perhaps this latter connection is still\nmore intimate than the former; for in moral questions there is much\nless of revealed truth than in dogmatic. The moral theologian,\nthen, will apply most often to reason for the principles which\nought to guide him. It is therefore by the aid of this torch that\nhe will solve the difficulties which present themselves in the\napplication of those principles. The greatest part of the duties\nwhich man has to fulfil, whether towards God, towards his fellows,\nor himself, pertain to the essential order, and are therefore under\nthe domain of philosophy. To it, in fine, belong those fundamental\ntheories on human actions and conscience which form as it were the\npivot of moral theology.\n\nAs for canon law, its study presupposes general notions on law and\non the conditions of social authority no less than the study of\ncivil jurisprudence. Natural right is the necessary preamble of\nboth; it establishes the base whereon is founded the legislation\nof the church as well as of the state; it lays down the general\nformulas which the positive laws apply to particular cases; it is\nthen to positive right, whether canonical or civil, what algebra is\nto geometry. He who is possessed of it will have no difficulty in\ngeneralizing particular data, and enlarging by simplifying them, as\nhe who ignores it will only acquire a far more imperfect knowledge\nat the cost of a far greater amount of labor.\n\nThese considerations will aid us in comprehending the importance\nwhich the church has attached from all time to the teachings of\nphilosophy in her universities, and the efforts she has made to\nlift it up when she has seen it threatened by a disastrous decline.\nIf we have caught the straight line which connects this teaching\nwith that of sacred science, we shall no longer be astonished\nat seeing a great Pope publish a bull in order to give to\nphilosophy the favor which the emoluments attached to the study\nof jurisprudence tended to snatch from it. The church knew that\nphilosophy could not fall without theology falling with it. Would\nthat we could understand it thus, and apply to the restoration of\nphilosophy all the zeal which we ought to have for the resurrection\nof the high ecclesiastical studies!\n\nIt is here--let us understand it well--that we must commence.\nIf you take St. Augustine or St. Thomas as the type of a great\ntheologian, you cannot fail to set upon his brow the aureola of\nphilosophy. A theology which, to the exposition of dogma, did\nnot unite its philosophic analysis, would be nothing more than a\ncatechism; it would have nothing in common with that magnificent\nscience, the materials of which the holy fathers have furnished,\nand whose majestic edifice the scholastic doctors have built up.\nNever will the priest be able to fulfil, in all its extent, the\nfunction of doctor, unaided by a profound study of philosophy;\nnever, above all, will he be able to defend revealed truth against\nthe attacks of its enemies; for I ask, against what points are\nthese attacks directed to-day above all? Is it not against those\ntruths which belong at once to the natural and supernatural\norder--to philosophy and theology? And of what arms do our enemies\navail themselves to effect a breach in these fundamental dogmas?\nAre they not almost exclusively those with which a false philosophy\nsupplies them? What shall we do then, we, the defenders of truth?\nWhat is our sacred, indispensable duty in the face of these\nattacks, which day by day tear away one or other of the sheep from\nthe flock of the church? Are we to content ourselves with groaning\nover the abuse of reason? Shall we give pretext to the ignorant\nto conclude from our invectives that there is a contradiction\nbetween our faith and true philosophy? No; we will mount the\nbreach boldly; we will capture the weapon which our enemy uses in\nhis attack. Our fathers in the faith have taught us how to wield\nit. Let us demonstrate that true philosophy is on our side, and\nthat our adversaries can only attack our faith by denying their\nown reason. Thus the ignorant will be enlightened; the wavering\nminds strengthened; come what may, we shall have done our duty in\nrendering to the Word of God the testimony which the necessities of\nthe time in which we live demand of us.\n\nI trust I have said enough to disabuse those of their dangerous\nerror who believe that they glorify theology by vilifying with\nall their power philosophy. Undoubtedly the philosophy which they\npursue with their invective is the philosophy which is separate\nfrom faith, the philosophy of doubt, of revolt, that is to say,\nthe very opposite of true philosophy. But to hear them speak, one\nwould say, sometimes, that they recognized no other philosophy than\nthat, and conceded to their adversaries the absurd and insolent\npretension which they assume of being the representatives of\nreason. Thank God, this pretension was never less defensible than\nin our days; never has revolted reason done better the work of\nfaith by its monstrous excesses, and made more advantageous the\nground of the champions of the cause of God. Never was it more\nmanifest that there are no true defenders of human dignity except\nthe defenders of divine authority. Let us know how to profit by\nour advantages. All of us who love the church and the doctrine of\nheaven, whose depository is the church--we who groan under the\ndarkness which gathers round intelligence, and seems to thicken\nday by day, let us unite our efforts, and employ every influence\nwe possess toward that restoration of true philosophy which is so\ndesirable. Thereby we render a service equally signal to society\nand to the church: to society, which is being lost, because the\nlove of truth is extinguished in the hearts of men; to the church,\nthe mistress of truth, which has no longer a hold upon souls to\nwhom truth is nothing. Nay, more; to the divine Word himself we\nrender the greatest service he can expect from his creatures, by\nre-establishing in their integrity the two channels whereby he\npours his light into our intelligence--the science of natural and\nsupernatural truths.\n\nWe must, in fact, lift ourselves up to the divine Word in order to\nform an idea of the destination of philosophy, and to appreciate\nexactly its dignity and importance. Is not he indeed the common\nsource of natural and supernatural truth? Different in their mode\nof manifesting themselves to us, are they not identical in their\nbeginning? Whence comes it that, in perceiving the essential\nproperties of my soul, the laws of numbers and of figures, I am\nabsolutely certain that all minds which judge rightly must perceive\nthem in the same manner, and that never, at any moment of time or\neternity, can they perceive them otherwise? This necessity, this\nimmensity, this eternity, which our intelligence embraces, proves\nto us manifestly that these essential laws which we perceive in\ncontingent beings are but the reproduction of a necessary and\ninfinite type. It is then the splendor of God, it is his Word, who\nreveals himself to our reason, by the medium of his creatures,\nbefore revealing himself to us by himself. Philosophy is, then,\ntruly a way which God has opened up for us of journeying to him,\nand should we disdain to enter thereon? Should not we traverse it\nwith the same reverence with which Moses approached the burning\nbush? And when, guided by Augustine and Thomas, we behold appear\nbefore our eyes the great light of the idea of the infinite;\nwhen that name Jehovah, He who is, graven in our soul by the\nhand of God himself, and involved in the idea of being in all\nour intellectual acts, shall unfold itself little by little and\ngrow in splendor, like the flame of the aurora, and reveal to\nus at last in their infinite simplicity the multiplicity of the\ndivine attributes and the laws of all creation, shall we not bow\nourselves down before him with the prophet and intone a canticle\nof acts of praise? And should we permit one to speak with contempt\nof a science whereby God is manifested to us? Let one say all\nthe evil he wishes of that proud philosophy which seeks in the\nnatural light of reason a means of obscuring the supernatural\nlight of faith. Nothing, I acknowledge, is so revolting, nothing\nso satanic, as this transformation of light into darkness which a\nsystematic incredulity effects in a rebellious intelligence. But,\nin like manner, nothing is so beautiful, nothing so divine, as\nthe fusion of natural with supernatural light, of philosophy with\nfaith, which is effected in the intellect of a Christian. Read\nthe _Summa_ of St. Thomas, the _Confessions_ and the other works\nof St. Augustine, the _Itinerarium of the Soul to God_ of St.\nBonaventure, and try, if you can, to separate one from another the\nthoughts and the sentiments which these great doctors have borrowed\nfrom faith, from those which they have borrowed from philosophy.\nThis separation you will find impossible--the rays of these two\ntorches are so intersected, united, and mingled in these splendid\nintellects. Starting from the same focus, after traversing diverse\nroutes, they find themselves reunited in acting together on souls\nas eager for science as they are docile to the teachings of faith;\nand together they have worked in the soul to fulfil their common\nmission, in producing in them the created image of the uncreated\nWord. This union with the light of faith in the intellect of the\nChristian is the end to which philosophy aspires, in the same way\nas faith, penetrating into this intellect, seeks to unite itself\ntherein with science. \u201cFaith seeking understanding.\u201d Oh! how ill\ndo those understand the interests of philosophy who are ever\nprating of its independence, and who by independence understand an\nabsolute separation between its teachings and those of revelation!\nHow can light tend to separate itself from light? No, not in this\nseparation does the dignity of philosophy consist; it consists,\non the contrary, in producing here below in the soul of its true\ndisciples a reflection and an outline of that splendor which the\nclear vision of the divine essence produces in the intelligence of\nthe blessed, to make them comprehend what they believe in order to\nmake them love it the more.\n\n\nVII.\n\nBut it is time to pause. However incomplete may have been the\ndevelopment of the thesis I undertook to prove, I have said enough,\nI think, to make obvious the capital importance of philosophy, its\nnecessity for the formation of the man and the Christian, of the\ninfluential citizen and the defender of the church. Hence I have\na right to conclude that the far too narrow corner allotted by us\nto this study in the framework of a liberal education is a very\ngreat misfortune, and constitutes one of the gravest dangers of\nthe actual state of things. A society which neglects to form the\nintellect of the new generation is evidently a society condemned to\nan inevitable decay.\n\nIndependently of this common peril, very capable it seems of\nawakening our solicitude, I have demonstrated that for the\nunfortunate youth launched into the midst of the _m\u00eal\u00e9e_ of errors\nwithout having been prepared by a deep study of truth, there was\na danger of disaster, from which he could only escape by miracle.\nOn whom, I ask, falls the responsibility of this disaster, save on\nthose who, with the power and obligation of giving this youth the\npreparation whose necessity has been pointed out to them, shall\nhave neglected to acquit themselves of this duty?\n\nIt is not for me to say more. I know all the excuses that one\nmay justly allege to throw off this terrible responsibility. The\nmasters are hindered by the parents, the parents themselves are\nhindered by social necessities. The anti-rational spirit of this\nage of rationalism is like an impetuous wind which whirls away\nyouth far from serious reflection, and which neutralizes the best\ndirected teaching.\n\nThese excuses may quiet our consciences for the past, but they can\nin no wise lessen our fears for the future. The evil exists in all\nits gravity, and it is necessary at any cost to remedy it.\n\nThe first thing to do is clearly to use all our means of\npersuasion, in order to make parents and youth themselves\ncomprehend the essential importance of philosophy. It is necessary\nto accustom them from the earliest period of life to regard\nthis study as the indispensable completion of their education;\nthe most solid guarantee for their future success, the act of\nemancipation of their manhood, the taking complete possession of\ntheir dignity as men, and the most powerful instrument which they\nare called upon to hold of influencing their fellows. If from\nthe moment of entering upon this laborious career of education,\nwe do not accustom them to consider the science of things as the\nreward most to be desired of all the labors they undertake in\nacquiring the science of words, we cannot expect that at the moment\nwhen custom authorizes them to reclaim their liberty, they will\nsubmit themselves willingly to bear two years longer the yoke of\ndependence.\n\nHere we have the first thing necessary to do in order to ward off\nthe immense danger with which the decline of philosophy threatens\nus.\n\nBut there is a remedy still more efficacious and still more\nnecessary against this evil. If we wish philosophy to be esteemed\nand studied, let us render it worthy of the esteem we claim for it,\nand of the sacrifices at the cost of which it must be acquired.\nLet us lift it up from its fall; let us prove, not by _a priori_\narguments, but by the very reality, that it is worthy of its\nname. Let it appear in our books and in our hearts no longer as\nwe find it satirically represented in certain ancient pictures,\nas the combat between a lizard and a scorpion, but like that bee\nof which the church speaks to us in the beautiful Office of St.\nCecilia, which, reserving for the enemies of truth its piercing\nsting, goes to place in the bottom of the chalice the most odorous\nessence of all the flowers to compose for it its honey, _quasi\napis argumentosa_. Let us acknowledge, then, if philosophy is too\nneglected and so profoundly despised in our days, it is above all\nto those who have abused it that it ought to impute its disgrace.\nChristianity had made philosophy divine, as it made divine\neverything that it touched. It was a virgin as beautiful as she\nwas pure whose earthly form was surrounded by a halo of heaven.\nImpure lovers of her human beauty have endeavored to force her to\napostasy, in order to be able to make her the toy of their swollen\npride. Alas! they have only been too successful. With its divine\nbeauty its very human form has passed away, and nothing is left in\ntheir hands save a disfigured corpse. But God has made sciences\ncurable as well as nations. He only waits for us to lift up\nphilosophy from where she lies, and restore her to life and dignity.\n\nLet us put an end to this senseless and fatal contest which during\ntwo centuries reason has waged against faith; let us cease from\nusing against God the most noble gift with which he has endowed\nour nature; let us cease to oppose light to light, natural to\nsupernatural truth; let us desist from converting the ray which\nillumines our soul into a veil to hide us from the sun, and taking\nthe waters of the stream made turbid by our pride to trouble the\nsource. Let us, in a word, understand the true conditions of the\nliberty and greatness of the creature: nothing of itself, it can\nrise even to the infinite, to the condition of union with it, and\nof leaning upon its strength.\n\nLet reason understand this law which is so rational, and philosophy\nby that same law take back the glorious place which God marked out\nfor it; it will remount the throne whence its revolt hurled it,\nand acquire anew the right of dictating to the other sciences the\neternal principles and immutable laws on which the natural order\ndepends.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[202] Mrs. Beecher Stowe, _Minister\u2019s Wooing_.\n\n\n\n\nON THE MISTY MOUNTAIN.\n\nCONCLUDED.\n\n\nROUTE III.\n\nOne does not feel particularly festive starting out in the rain\nand the dim uncertain light of the hour before day. The best thing\nto be done under these circumstances is to go to sleep, if you can\nsleep staging. The \u201cfront boot\u201d affords a very comfortable berth,\nof which the lieutenant took possession. I concluded to go inside,\nand endeavor to snatch the shaky sleep of a coach. I felt as\nthough I could not keep awake if the road were picketed by hostile\nredskins. The ladies--bless their kind souls!--sat close to make\nroom. I sank into a corner, and was soon jolted into a sleep.\n\nI was aroused by a sudden stoppage. The day had dawned. I looked\nout of the stage, and saw a wagon overturned in the road. Seeing\nthe conductor and the lieutenant alight, I alighted. The body of a\nman lay by the upturned wagon.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s poor Tommy!\u201d said the lieutenant.\n\n\u201cI thought the thievin\u2019, cowardly devils would git him at last,\u201d\nsaid the conductor. \u201cPoor old Tommy! It will be an awful blow for\nhis wife and her six poor orphans.\u201d\n\nYes! there lay poor Tommy in the early sunlight--dead, stripped,\nand scalped. His clothes had been torn from his body, which was\ngashed in every limb. Every gash, the lieutenant told me, was the\nsign of a different tribe. The number on poor Tommy\u2019s body showed\nthat representatives of seven tribes assisted at his murder. His\nthroat was cut across--the sign of the \u201cCut-throats.\u201d His arms and\nhis thighs were crossed by deep transverse gashes. His abdomen was\nscored by two long gashes meeting in a point. The lieutenant told\nme the names of the tribes whose devilish signs-manual were written\nin the blood and on the flesh of poor \u201cTommy John,\u201d but I have\nmemory only of one in the horrid sight then before me.\n\nThe oxen lay with their throats cut and large pieces hacked out of\ntheir still quivering flanks. The Indians had taken everything they\ncould use. What they did not take, with savage malignity they had\nbroken into atoms or torn into shreds. A baby\u2019s crib and a child\u2019s\nchair which the poor fond father was taking to his little ones on\nthe \u201cSandy\u201d were broken into very chips.\n\nWe remained for some time gazing on this horrid sight. No one\nspoke. At length the lieutenant and sergeant decently covered the\nmangled body with a blanket. As we were already behind time, the\nconductor said he could not take back to the station the body of\nthe murdered man. We concluded to remain by it until the arrival of\nthe stage from the West, which was already due at that point.\n\nIt was a sad vigil--fortunately not a prolonged one. The stage\nfrom the West arrived. It had no passengers. We wrapped poor Tommy\nin an additional blanket, and the coach drove off, taking him away\nfor ever on this earth from his \u201cold lady and his half-dozen babies\nover on the Sandy.\u201d\n\nAfter having examined the \u201csigns\u201d about the place of the murder,\nthe lieutenant and the conductor estimated the number of Indians\nengaged in the bloody deed at about fifty. Matters became critical.\nI could not stay inside the stage any longer. I mounted the roof\nonce more, feeling that if I were to be killed by Indians--a fate\nto which I did not in the least aspire--I wanted to see whence my\ndeath-bolt came, and have plenty of room to die in.\n\nThe party on top of the stage seemed quite cool, but by no means\nconversationally inclined. I could see their keen eyes continually\nmaking the circuit of the horizon, which traced around us a perfect\ncircle unbroken by mound or shrub.\n\nWe reached the Lone Hollow Station, a \u201cswing,\u201d twenty-eight miles\nfrom Artesian Wells, without seeing any more signs of Indians.\nHere we found yesterday\u2019s Western-bound stage. It had started at\nthe usual time, but when within a mile or so of Cypress Spring,\nan abandoned intermediate or \u201cswing\u201d station, the driver saw the\nbuildings in flames. With a glass he could discern Indians about\nthe burning structures. He had wisely concluded to turn back to the\nstation he had left, and there we found him. He had no passengers.\n\nLone Hollow Station was kept by a solitary stock-tender--an old\nfellow who received \u201c$75 per month and found,\u201d for offering himself\nas a perpetual candidate for immolation by his red brethren.\n\nWhen we arrived at the Lone Hollow, I felt an unaccountable\nbuoyancy and a rather humiliating craving for food--animal or\nvegetable. Fortunately, the old stock-trader had some biscuit and\na large panful of dried apples. Tea was soon made, and I ate an\nimmense meal. I was not alone in this, however; the lieutenant,\nthe conductor, in short everybody, ate voraciously, except the\nwomen, who still clung to the coach, and could not be prevailed\nupon to change their position for a moment. The men were all in\nhigh spirits, and there seemed to be no more trace of Tommy John\u2019s\nmemory than if he had never been.\n\n\u201cHow do you find it here now?\u201d asked the lieutenant of the old\nstock-tender. \u201cPretty lonely?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d answered John, \u201crather. Before they sent away the hosses\nand tuk to mules, things wuz more sociable-like. I got fond of\nthem hosses, and them hosses got fond of me. But a mule ain\u2019t got\nno feelin\u2019 for nobody. You can\u2019t trust \u2019em. They\u2019re too tricky. I\ndidn\u2019t feel near so lonesome last year. I had a big yellow dog that\nwas the best companion I ever had. But he got pisoned, by eatin\u2019\nwolf-bait most likely; and now I ain\u2019t got nothin\u2019 but two small\npups, and they ain\u2019t no society for a man.\u201d\n\n\u201cI should think not,\u201d said the lieutenant.\n\nWith an abominable want of _savoir-faire_, I must strike in at this\npoint with the following:\n\n\u201cBeing alone here, are you not afraid of Indians?\u201d\n\nThe question was one which evidently disturbed the old fellow. I\nsaw it was a sore subject with him, and regretted having touched\nupon it. It was plain he wished to keep it out of his thoughts.\n\n\u201cThe Injuns won\u2019t bother me,\u201d he said nervously and impatiently,\nas if hastily thrusting the skeleton out of sight.\n\nThe \u201cdug-out\u201d has its skeleton-closet as well as the palace.\n\n\u201cWhat do you do to pass the time, John?\u201d asked the conductor.\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d replied John, \u201cI cook--look after the mules--_promenade_\nup to the crest of the ridge. When all my work is done, and I want\nsomething to keep my mind occupied, I mend old clothes.\u201d\n\nOur colloquy was cut short, by the warning cry of \u201cAll aboard!\u201d\n\nBoth coaches were ready to start. The conductors had concluded to\nunite their forces. This arrangement gave more room. We divided our\nparty; the lieutenant and I mounted the empty coach, which now took\nthe lead, followed at about fifty yards by the other.\n\nThe flash of good spirits which blazed momentarily at the station\nsoon died out. Everybody seemed disposed to silence. We were all\nbusy, straining our eyes, watching for Indians.\n\nTen miles passed thus without other conversation than monosyllabic\nremarks. From the top of a \u201cdivide,\u201d we now looked upon the\ncharred and smouldering relics of Cypress Station. We stopped and\nreconnoitred carefully before descending. There were no Indians\nto be seen. Having descended the Hollow in which the station\nhad stood, we found the tracks very fresh. The lieutenant, the\nsergeant, and the conductor, attended by the writer (through\ncuriosity rather than bravery), alighted and examined the ground.\nThe Indians had destroyed everything they could lay hands on\noutside of the redoubts or \u201cdug-outs.\u201d These they had not dared to\nenter. The rough \u201cbunks\u201d of undressed timber used by the guards\nwere untouched. In one was found a water-keg, and in the other\na woollen blanket, left in the hurry of departure, but which no\nIndian could have seen and not appropriated to his own use and\nbenefit.\n\n\u201cThe Indians are afraid of those \u2018dug-outs\u2019 even when unoccupied,\u201d\nsaid the lieutenant. \u201cThey do not like to go near them--much less\nenter them. They fear a trap of some kind. An Indian always strives\nto keep his lines of retreat open; he wants a good chance to run\naway. Indians have been known to watch about abandoned stations for\ndays before daring to go within rifle-range of the \u2018dug-outs.\u2019\u201d\n\nWithin four miles of Sandy Station, a spur sweeping semicircularly\nfrom a high bluff to the north nearly touches the road on that\nside, while the great bend of the Big Dryasdust cuts into it on the\nsouth. The lowland to the west of the spur is entirely concealed\nfrom the view of the traveller. This was a favorite place for\nIndian ambuscades, and we approached it with great caution. After\ncrossing the bridge the driver said to the conductor:\n\n\u201cAin\u2019t that Mac\u2019s pony out yonder?\u201d\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s see!\u201d said the conductor, taking the field-glass and\nadjusting it. \u201cPull up a minute, Joe! I can\u2019t see with this outfit\nwhile the coach is moving. Now, then! By the law, sir, that there\u2019s\nMac\u2019s pony! He acts mighty strange, too. He is either lamed or\nhobbled. No! by gracious! he\u2019s not hobbled. He\u2019s saddled, too! He\u2019s\nwounded, sir! You may bet your bottom dollar!\u201d\n\n\u201cDrive over to him and see,\u201d said the lieutenant.\n\nThe coaches were driven to where the pony was on the prairie, about\na mile from the road. The lieutenant jumped out.\n\n\u201cGentlemen!\u201d said he, \u201cthis is more Indian work.\u201d\n\nAnd so it was. The pony had one bullet-hole through the near\nforeshoulder. A second ball had struck it on the lower jaw, and\nturned a portion of it with the teeth over on the tongue, which was\nheld as in a vice. The poor animal seemed to suffer intensely. It\nwas proposed to shoot it to end its suffering, but the proposition\nwas not agreed to.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s try and prise back his teeth so that he can eat, and he\u2019ll\nfind his way back to the station.\u201d\n\nWith a \u201cking-bolt\u201d for a lever, by the united efforts of four men\nthe teeth with the portion of the lower jaw containing them were\nturned back, and resumed their natural position with a snap like\nthat of a spring-lock. The poor animal, relieved, at once began\ngrazing.\n\n\u201cCome, gentlemen,\u201d said the driver, \u201cget aboard, and let\u2019s make for\nthe station. There\u2019s been trouble, sure.\u201d\n\nWhen we reached the road again the conductor of our coach said\nhe heard a shot in the direction of the station. The lieutenant\nsaid he thought he had heard it, but it might be imagination, our\nthoughts being occupied by such anticipations. All doubts were\nsoon at an end, however, for we all heard the next shot, and then\nanother and another.\n\nYou get within half a mile of Sandy Station before you see it. As\nsoon as we reached the point from which it is visible, we could\nsee that a pretty lively fight was going on between the men at the\nstation and a mounted party on the opposite bank of the stream.\nThe attacking party were about fifty in number, all mounted, some\nhaving remounts which they led. They rode at full speed in single\nfile, at intervals of some paces, in a circle whose circumference\nat the point opposite to the station nearly reached the stream.\nEach horseman fired as he reached this point. The party at the\nstation were well covered by the roof of a \u201cdug-out\u201d stable cut\nin the bank. The attacking party looked more like Mexicans than\nIndians. They wore wide-brimmed straw hats, and their body-covering\nwas of a dark color.\n\nThe conductor, however, pronounced them Indians.\n\n\u201cThey have,\u201d said he, \u201cthe broad-brimmed straw hats, uniform coats,\nand six-shooters given them by the Peace Commissioners last spring.\u201d\n\nThe drivers now dashed on with all the speed of their animals, \u201cto\nhave a little piece of the fight,\u201d they said; but, no doubt, also\nto escape being cut off by a party who were evidently preparing to\ncross the creek for that purpose. Fortunately, though there was\nvery little water in the stream, it was very wide, and full of\nsoft, wet, treacherous sand. Half a dozen Indians galloped to the\nbank when they saw us, and rode up and down seeking for a crossing.\nOne of them dashed in, and his pony soon went down to its flanks.\nTwo snap-shots from our stage as we dashed by grazed him pretty\nclosely. A third wounded him and caused him to abandon his pony.\nHe was helped up the bank by the others, put on a spare pony, and,\nsupported by an Indian on either side, was carried at full speed\nout of range. Luckily for the other Indians, they succeeded in\ndoing this while we were getting out of the stage, which we did as\nquickly as possible after getting the ladies\u2019 coach under the lee\nof the stable.\n\nWe were all anxious, of course, \u201cto get a shot in the fight.\u201d I was\nin a state of intense excitement. I received a pretty lively shock\nfrom the unexpected discharge of my gun while I was in the act of\ncocking it. Its position was fortunately, however, a vertical one.\nMy friends, hearing the fire in the rear, swore, started, turned\nround, as if each and every one of them had received a bullet.\nSeeing the source of the firing, and finding nobody hurt, they\nlaughed, but insisted I should henceforth move in advance, as they\ncould not stand such firing as mine. After this little episode, I\n\u201cgot in\u201d a couple of shots; I cannot say with what success, as for\nthe life of me I could not tell where my bullets struck.\n\nThere were now on our side ten men and a non-commissioned\nofficer of regular infantry, two or three station men, and our\nreinforcement of two drivers, two conductors, the lieutenant, the\nsergeant, and myself. One or two good volleys from our party soon\nput an end to the circus performances of the \u201cfriendly Indians.\u201d\nThey scattered and disappeared as if by magic. They sent us their\nP.P.C. compliments in some stray shots, the flash and smoke\nrevealing whence they came, not an Indian being in sight.\n\n\u201cNow, gentlemen!\u201d said Mr. Bunter, the station-keeper, \u201cI think we\ncan take a bite o\u2019 dinner.\u201d\n\nThe worthy landlady, Mrs. Bunter, furnished a notable instance of\nthe susceptibility and indifference to externals of the lovers\nof the plains. She was known, I was informed, as the \u201cwidow,\u201d\nthough her husband, a tall, broad-chested, intelligent-looking man\nof about thirty-three or thirty-four, was \u201calive,\u201d and probably\ncapable of a good deal of vigorous \u201ckicking.\u201d The _sobriquet_\nhad clung to the lady from her very general appearance in the\ncharacter indicated by it. Her present husband was the fourth or\nfifth occupant of the position. Notwithstanding the number of her\nhusbands, her terms of wedded bliss were very brief. Widowhood\nwas the rule, connubial felicity the exception. Hence was it\nthat, though married, she was still universally spoken of as \u201cthe\nwidow,\u201d and some not very intimate acquaintances already knew her\nas the Widow Bunter. The stalwart husband did not appear to see any\nunpleasant significance in the title given his fair spouse. He was\njovial, and seemed contented.\n\n\u201cThe widow\u201d did the service of the table, and very well served and\nsupplied it was. A good antelope stew, with cabbage and potatoes\n(luxuries in the then uncultivated world of the plains), good bread\nand butter, pies, and an excellent cup of tea, made us all feel,\nas our driver expressed it, \u201cmighty good.\u201d Mrs. Bunter evidently\nmade pretensions to personal attractiveness. She was a woman of\nthirty--perhaps past that proverbially captivating age--very tall,\nlank, concave-chested, with great projecting teeth and bony,\nclawlike fingers. Her long, thin visage was thickly coated with\nrice powder (or flour), which stood out in bold ridges on her high\ncheek-bones, while pools of rouge shone in the cavities of her\nhollow cheeks. She had a clear, cold, steady eye, however, which\nshowed that, if she was devoid of heart, as was commonly supposed,\nshe was not without a will of her own. In her time, she had created\nquite a flutter among the gentlemen of the stage-driving and\nstock-tending professions. The dread of relicts which embittered\nthe maturer years of the elder Weller had no place in the bold\nbosoms of the \u201cwhips\u201d of the desert. More than one man (not\nincluding her four dear departed) had died \u201cfor her sake.\u201d The\nshooting of one suitor only had the effect which hanging a British\nadmiral formerly was supposed to have--that of \u201cencouraging the\nothers.\u201d\n\nSwift and ample justice was done to the \u201csquarest meal,\u201d as the\ndriver termed it, we had upon the road. A very few minutes sufficed\nus to make a hearty dinner, and we were seated in the porch, pipes\nwere being filled and lighted, preparatory to a discussion of the\nvarious incidents of the fight, when the wounded pony we had seen\nupon the road limped into the station. His master had not been dead\nmore than a few hours, but he was completely forgotten until the\narrival of his wounded horse brought him to mind again. So ordinary\nan event was the killing of a man by Indians, at that time, on the\nMisty Mountain.\n\n\u201cWhere\u2019s Mac?\u201d asked the driver.\n\n\u201cIn yonder,\u201d answered our host, nodding toward the granary.\n\n\u201cHurt?\u201d\n\n\u201cKilled.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe fust we knew there wuz Injuns around wuz when Mac was\nattacked. He rode down to the Butte to bring in a horse from the\nherd. We heard shootin\u2019 down that way. Jim and I and the blacksmith\ntook our arms and rode toward the firin\u2019. When we got near the\nButte, we seen three our four Injuns circlin\u2019 round Mac, whose\npony was wounded, firin\u2019 at him from all directions. I think he\nwuz already dead when we first seen him. We made all the haste we\ncould, and druv them from the body, but we wuz too late to stop\n\u2018em from playin\u2019 some o\u2019 their usual tricks. We got the body on\nto one of the horses, and started back for the station at an easy\npace, drivin\u2019 in the loose stock afore us. When we\u2019d come within\nabout three-quarters of a mile of the station, we seen the soldiers\nrunnin\u2019 towards us with their muskets in their hands and makin\u2019\nsigns to us. I looked back and seen the durned Injuns with twenty\nor thirty more comin\u2019 for us. I hollered to Jim and the smith to\nlight out for the station. We separated, to give the soldiers a\nchance to git in their fire on \u2019em, which they did. This staggered\n\u2019em somewhat and saved us. They got two of our animals, though!\u201d\n\nSome one proposed going to the granary to look at poor Mac\u2019s\nremains. The body lay among corn-sacks and miscellaneous stores.\nMac was a tall, well-shaped young fellow of twenty-three or\ntwenty-four. He had evidently made the best fight he could. When\nhe left the station, his revolver had but two loads. He fired them\nboth at his savage foes. Bunter said, had it not been for the\nwounding of his pony, \u201cthe Indians would not have got him.\u201d\n\nThe Indians had raised Mac\u2019s entire scalp, slitting it through the\ncentre and turning it down over his face. This sight was not beheld\nunmoved by even the most hardened frontierman in the party. Had\none of those worthy and humane gentlemen, the Peace Commissioners,\nunfortunately dropped in at that moment, I fear he might have been\nthe recipient of much personal indignity, if not of serious bodily\nharm. The presence of a regular officer with the station-guard\nwould have saved him from falling a martyr to his humanitarian\nconvictions. Without the soldiers he might even attain the crown of\nmartyrdom.\n\n\u201cAs we\u2019re here, boys,\u201d said the driver, with a view to economy of\ntime, \u201clet\u2019s fix him out like a Christian.\u201d\n\nRough in speech, yet tender in action, they set to work to make\nready poor Mac\u2019s remains for the grave. His scalp was returned\nto its proper place and sewed together, his hair combed, and his\nblood-stained face cleansed of its gory marks. He was shrouded\nin a pair of soldier\u2019s drawers and an under-shirt. Several empty\nchests in the room were measured, but proved too short for a\ncoffin. A large arms-chest was furnished by the soldiers, which,\nwith a slight addition to its length, supplied the improvised bier\non which we laid \u201cpoor Mac.\u201d Scarcely had these sad offices been\nperformed when the sentinel without shouted:\n\n\u201cIndians in sight!\u201d\n\nThere was a rush for the outside. Every man picked up his gun. With\nthe glass the Indians could be seen crossing the stream near where\nthey had murdered MacSorley. The party was increased to a hundred\nand fifty or two hundred. They moved to the top of the bluff, and\nremained there for some time, apparently holding a council as to\ntheir future movements. The lieutenant, after instructing the\ncommander of the station-guard to wake him as soon as the Indians\nshowed a disposition to move, spread out his blankets, lay down,\nand fell asleep over a novel. The driver and conductor followed his\nexample; and the latter was soon in the arms of Morpheus. But I\ncould not sleep. I was too much excited by the unusual events I had\nwitnessed during the past twenty-four hours. So I fraternized with\nthe soldiers of the guard, and listened to their opinions on Indian\nmatters, and their tales of Indian adventure.\n\nAbout sunset the Indians began to move. Unanimity of action was not\nthe result of their council; they separated into two parties, one\nof which went due east, the other to the northwest, passing in rear\nof the station, but at the respectful distance of three or four\nmiles from it.\n\nNight fell at last. Sentinels having been properly posted, all\nwho were not on guard, except the lieutenant and the writer, went\nto bed, or, rather, to a blanket on the floor. I sat up to write\nsome letters by a dirty, sputtering candle on a lame, old table,\nthe only furniture in the room, except a greasy, rickety chair. The\nlieutenant read his novel by the better light of a civilized candle\nwhich, knowing the customs of the region, he had had the good sense\nto bring with him.\n\nThe savage stillness of night on the plains fell upon the place. No\nsound was heard save the occasional wailing of the hungry wolves,\nthat thronged around the barn where the dead man lay.\n\n\u201cConfound that horrible noise!\u201d said the lieutenant, at last\njumping up and shutting his novel with a bang. \u201cIt sets my teeth on\nedge, and rasps every nerve in my body. Let us go out and smoke in\nthe open air before turning in!\u201d\n\nWe lighted our pipes and went forth, turning our steps toward the\nbarn. Half a dozen wolves sat around the building, looking like\nprofessional mourners, and moaning their hunger-melancholy moans.\nWe were close to them before they would move. One of them was so\nhunger-bold that he stood at bay for a moment, and the lieutenant\nthought it necessary to draw his pistol and cock it. The click\nwas enough for the wolf, who dashed off at once, growling with\nhead still turned towards us, and teeth shining in a parting\nsnarl. After smoking we proceeded upstairs, to a cold, cheerless,\nunfurnished room, and betook us to our blankets. The wind howled\ndismally through the unglazed sashes. We sought positions the\nleast exposed to cross-draughts. Spreading our blankets on the\nfloor, unswept except by the wind, we lay down to such rest as\nexcitement, fatigue, and youth can bring.\n\nWe did not rise so early next morning as might be supposed from\na calm consideration of our sleeping accommodations. We were up\nin time for breakfast, however. It was a good one, and we enjoyed\nit. After its conclusion arrangements were made for the burial of\nMacSorley. It was decided that he should be buried on the top of a\nhigh mound within about a thousand yards of the station.\n\nThe funeral _cort\u00e9ge_ was neither large nor imposing. It consisted\nof Mr. Bunter, two or three stage drivers and stock-tenders, the\nlieutenant, the sergeant, and the writer. The guards, excepting\nthose necessary to protect the station, were out, posted around on\ncommanding eminences to prevent a surprise.\n\nThe grave was already dug. The rough substitute for a coffin, drawn\nto the place of interment on a hayrack, was covered with its earthy\nbed as tenderly as possible.\n\nBunter had asked the lieutenant to read prayers at the grave; and\nthe latter had consented. But there was no prayer-book to be found\nat the station. Bunter requested the lieutenant to improvise a\nprayer for the dead, when one of the men began shovelling the earth\ninto the grave.\n\n\u201cHold on, Jack!\u201d said Bunter, \u201cthe lieutenant\u2019s goin\u2019 to say a\nprayer.\u201d\n\nJack \u201cheld on,\u201d looking rather astonished at this unusual delay.\n\nThe lieutenant threw earth upon the coffin, repeating, with a\nvoice full of emotion, such devotional passages, appropriate to\nthe occasion, as occurred to him, ending with the simple but\nall-including words of the church: \u201cMay God have mercy on his soul!\u201d\n\nJack, supposing it unnecessary to \u201chold on\u201d any longer, commenced\npitching in the clay with the rather out-of-place energy usually\ndisplayed in the performance of that last duty.\n\n\u201cHold on, Jack!\u201d cried Mr. Bunter a second time, \u201cthe lieutenant\nain\u2019t through yet.\u201d And Jack unwillingly ceased his labors for\nawhile.\n\n\u201cI have finished,\u201d said the lieutenant. \u201cI am but a poor hand at\npublic praying; but if I spoke for an hour it would amount to no\nmore than what I have said.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe don\u2019t know whose turn it may be next,\u201d said a young driver,\nfeeling it proper to indulge in the hackneyed morality of such\noccasions--words given forth, perhaps, as mere conversational small\nchange; but their truth was made terribly manifest shortly after.\nIt was the young driver\u2019s turn next. A month had not elapsed before\nhe was killed and scalped within a mile of the station. When I\npassed there at a later period, they recalled what he had said, and\nshowed me his grave by the side of MacSorley\u2019s.\n\n\nROUTE IV.\n\nThe Big Sandy Station soon became terribly dull. I felt I would\nrather risk being scalped than stay there any longer. Learning that\nsome emigrants with their families, two wagons, etc., were about to\npush westward, and that the lieutenant had determined to go to the\nnext station with them, though they set out against his advice, I\nconcluded to go on with him.\n\nWe made an early start next morning. We had two government wagons\nand some half a dozen men besides the emigrant contingent. When we\nhad reached a point about a mile and a half from Big Sandy Station,\nthe sergeant said to the lieutenant in a low tone:\n\n\u201cLieutenant, there are Indians on that hill in front of us.\u201d\n\nThe hill was about fifteen hundred yards distant. The lieutenant\ncalled a halt, and examined the redskins through a field-glass.\n\n\u201cThey are Indians,\u201d he said, \u201cand in pretty strong force,\u201d at the\nsame time handing me the glass.\n\nThe hillside literally swarmed with mounted Indians, moving\nincessantly, like ants crawling up and down an ant-hill. The\ndust of two parties--each about fifty strong, judging by that\nindication--could be seen rising from a ravine which ran along the\nbase of the hill and across the road over which lay our route. It\nwas also noticed that the dust aforesaid ceased at the road.\n\nThe move was evident. They lay in ambuscade to capture us. We got\nout our arms, but eight or nine weapons in all, the emigrants being\nunarmed, and began withdrawing slowly to Big Sandy.\n\nThe children wept and screamed. The women howled that they _would_\nbe taken by the Indians. They scolded and lamented by turns. The\nmen said nothing. They were not in a talking mood, nor was anybody\njust then--except the ladies. We effected our retreat in good\norder, the unarmed men driving the teams, the armed protecting \u201cthe\nmovement.\u201d Some Indians followed us, just out of range, and one\nwhom I shall always see in my mind\u2019s eye, on a white pony, followed\non at the same distance until we reached Big Sandy Station once\nmore.\n\nThe next day we again got tired of smoking, talking, and reading\nnovels. The lieutenant succeeded in getting a coach, and he and I\nwith three men and the sergeant, all armed this time, started once\nmore for Welcome Spring Station--the next on our route West.\n\nWe had a good driver and a splendid team of mules. Arrived at\nabout six miles west of Big Sandy, we saw some Indians, twelve\nor fifteen, coming toward us from a distance. A judicious use of\nmule power soon put them out of sight. We had no further trouble\nuntil we came within five or six miles of Welcome Station. There,\nafter we had almost entirely dismissed Indian dangers from our\nminds, we suddenly discovered three parties in uncomfortably close\nproximity. They were coming towards us at a good round pace. Two of\nthe parties numbered about fifty each, the third about half that\nnumber. The last mentioned was evidently trying to cut us off from\nthe station, while the other two were closing in upon us from the\nright and left.\n\nThe curtains were thrown up. The coach bristled with needle-guns on\nevery side.\n\n\u201cNOW GO IT,\u201d said the lieutenant.\n\n_And we went it!_\n\n\u201cIf the wheels don\u2019t take fire,\u201d said the driver tremulously, \u201cwe\nmay make it!\u201d\n\nOn we went!--good Springfield breech-loaders, loaded and cocked,\nthrust out behind, before, and on each side of the coach. On came\nthe Indians! Rather chary, however, of the breech-loaders, but\nlooking for something to turn up. Their sudden dash had failed.\nThere was now the chance of our being cut off by the third party.\nThe driver plied whip and voice. The mules almost flew to gain the\nturning-point.\n\nWe passed the important point without breaking anything. Then our\nmules were brought down to a less expeditious, though by no means\ncontemptible pace. The Indians slackened their speed and gave up\nthe job. They still followed us, however, at a respectful distance,\nuntil we came in sight of the station.\n\nWelcome Spring Station was a welcome station to us. I felt so\nhappy that I jumped out through the coach window, disdaining the\ncommonplace convenience of a door. What appetites we had! What a\ndinner we ate! And what a glorious sleep we had on some corn-sacks\nin the stable!\n\nOur route henceforth lay through a more settled country. No further\ndanger from Indians was to be feared. We enjoyed the ride. The\nsight of mountains in the distance and soon, of tall pines all\naround us had a cheering influence on me. The lieutenant, who was\nin the very best humor, said he was so much accustomed to life on\nthe plains that he had acquired a dislike to wooded countries. Even\nwhen on leave of absence in the East, where there was not the ghost\nof an Indian to be feared, he experienced a feeling of insecurity\nwhen in woodland. He wanted to have plenty of elbow room, he said,\nand to see all around him for miles.\n\nWe reached Sierra City without further incident next morning. The\nlieutenant and I parted, with many kind wishes on both sides and\nhope of meeting again.\n\nI have not since met my military friend. I have even forgotten his\nname. My memory never was much better than a waste, and names were\nthe very last things that would take root in it. I hope yet to meet\nmy old Misty Mountain companion. When I do, may he be, at least, a\nmajor!\n\nI returned over the same route. All was then quiet on the Misty\nMountain. The only change I saw was that two more graves had been\nmade by the side of MacSorley\u2019s, on the high mound near the Big\nSandy--\u201ckilled by Indians.\u201d\n\nBefore I made my Misty Mountain trip, I had a boy\u2019s usual desire\nfor a soldier\u2019s life. That trip was the turning-point in my\ndesires. I have \u201cseen Indians\u201d since, and in my summer vacations\nhave occasionally accompanied scouting parties against the hostile\ntribes. My further experience completed the change in my tastes.\nThe life of a soldier on the frontier has no charms for me.\nFighting Indians is far harder work than fighting a civilized foe.\nIt is continued privation, suffering, and danger. Even success, so\ndifficult of achievement in this species of warfare, is generally\nrepaid, not by glory, but by misrepresentation and ingratitude.\n\nI am content with my old desk in the dingy old office in the\nleathery old Swamp. The smell of the leather is more grateful to me\nthan the purest of prairie breezes, which, when it plays with your\nlocks, is unpleasantly suggestive, to those acquainted with the\nusages of Indian warfare.\n\n\n\n\nORL\u00c9ANS AND ITS CLERGY.\n\n\nIn the outskirts of Orl\u00e9ans, between the roads leading to Paris and\nChartres, stands an antique chapel under the invocation of Notre\nDame des Aydes--the remains of a former hospital. Thousands of\npilgrims have been here to pray, from age to age: among them the\nlast of the Valois, the indolent Henry III. A small statue of Our\nLady of Aid on one of the gables seems to welcome and bless the\ntraveller. To this sacred spot, that for ages had known no other\nsound but the voice of prayer and praise, and no other smoke but\nthat of holy incense, came the din of war and the smoke of cannon.\nAround this asylum of peace took place one of the most thrilling\nscenes of the late war. The battalion of foreign legions held the\nplace for a time under a frightful cannonading on the part of the\nPrussian forces. M. Arago, the commander, perished gloriously on\nthe field of battle. The thirteen hundred men under him were of all\nraces and climes. The Austrian mingled with the Italian; the negro\nof the desert with the Polish exile; the Chinese with the Servian\nprince. Of these, six hundred were killed or wounded; three hundred\nmade prisoners; the remainder escaped to recommence the combat\nelsewhere. The Germans pressed on, leaving behind them the flaming\nhouses of the faubourgs to record their triumph. They pushed into\nthe very heart of the city--to the statue of Joan of Arc, which\nmust have wept out its very heart of stone at its powerlessness to\ndrive out this new invader--to the steps of the church where the\nholy maid once worshipped, or, if not the same, to one on the same\nspot, for the ancient church of Ste. Croix was destroyed by those\n_Brise-Moutiers_, the Calvinists, and rebuilt by Henry IV.\n\nAmong the inhabitants of Orl\u00e9ans, one man of sacred character and\nEuropean reputation stands out prominently at the time of this\ninvasion--the illustrious Bishop Dupanloup. This eminent prelate\nhas had the unique privilege of displaying his eloquence before\na very unusual variety of audiences--at the Sorbonne, the French\nAcademy, the Palais de Justice, the National Assemblies, the\npulpit of Notre Dame de Paris, and the Council of the Vatican. He\nhas also pleaded the cause of weakness, justice, and patriotism\nbefore an arrogant conqueror. In this time of universal alarm, the\nBishop of Orl\u00e9ans proved himself a worthy successor of the bishops\nin the times of the invasions of the barbarians, around whom\ngathered the multitude with a feeling of security. Wherever there\nwas severity to be tempered, crime to be denounced, wounded to be\nrescued, or condemned to be saved, he was brought to interpose.\nThe panic-struck women from the smoking ruins of Ch\u00e2teaudun betook\nthemselves to him. He was a refuge when every other hope failed.\nThe august function of Defensor Civitatis, Defender of the City,\nwhich the popular voice once bestowed on the bishops, had come\ndown from the ages of faith. St. Agnan\u2019s holy prayers are said to\nhave delivered Orl\u00e9ans from Attila, who besieged it in the fifth\ncentury. Hence, every bishop of Orl\u00e9ans, when he took possession\nof his see, enjoyed for ages the privilege of delivering all\nprisoners. When the new bishop approached the city, all the\nprisoners came out in procession with ropes around their necks, and\nknelt before him to implore release. Then they went back to the\ncity, and heard Mass in the church of St. Yves. At a later hour\nthey assembled in the court of the _\u00e9v\u00each\u00e9_ to listen to an address\nfrom the bishop, who, from a window, exhorted them to atone for\ntheir previous misdeeds by their penitential lives. He then gave\nthem his blessing, a dinner was provided for them, after which\nthey all went where they pleased. This was only one of the results\nof the moral power of the first bishop of the country. What the\npopular voice at first bestowed, afterwards merged into political\npower when the time of peril was past, and the burden accepted as a\npossible duty to their flock became a source of reproach, as if it\nwere usurped.\n\nBishop Dupanloup was worthy the old title Defensor Civitatis.\nHe filled the office simply and generously, with a devotedness\nnothing could exhaust and a firmness nothing could bend. At the\nsecond occupation of Orl\u00e9ans, when the Prussians had replaced the\nBavarians, the kind of Truce of God that naturally established\nitself around the servant of the Most High was done away with. The\nbishop was an object of severity in his turn; he was imprisoned in\na corner of his own palace and strictly guarded. Prince Frederick\nCharles was impolitic. He should have been mindful of a great\ncaptain of loftier genius than his--Prince Eugene, whom history\nhonors for honoring F\u00e9nelon at Cambrai.\n\nIn speaking of the Bishop of Orleans, we must not forget the\npriests that everywhere, in town as well as hamlet, walked in his\nnoble footsteps. In the engagements at Notre Dame des Aydes and\nCoulmiers, as well as elsewhere, the priests, both cur\u00e9 and vicar,\nwere at their posts, going to and fro among the wounded, with hands\nnot raised with murderous weapons, but uplifted to bless; not\ninflicting death, but braving it, and consoling the dying.\n\nThe _Moniteur Officiel_ at Berlin has reproached the clergy of\nOrl\u00e9ans for what is really their glory. \u201cAt the approach of our\ntroops,\u201d says the Prussian journal, \u201cthe solitary laborer threw\ndown his spade, seized his musket on the ground beside him, and\nfired. Every day such opponents were brought to headquarters and\nshot according to martial law. Priests were often brought with them\nwho had abetted or been actors in some instance of bold resistance.\u201d\n\nSuch was the touching emulation of all classes in rallying to\ndefence against the invader.\n\nIn the Arm\u00e9e du Nord, General Faidherbe also testifies to the\nsame devotedness on the part of the clergy, and mentions with\nspecial gratitude the bold stand of the Archbishop of Cambrai,\nthe Bishop of Arras, the hospital sisters at Corbie, and the\nclergy generally. He especially holds up one brave Dominican monk\nfor admiration--doubtless a disciple of Lacordaire, or one of\nthe companions of the Martyrs of Arcueil--the P\u00e8re Mercier, \u201cwho\nreceived four wounds at the battle of Amiens, where he displayed\nremarkable courage.\u201d\n\nThe bravery and patriotism of the priesthood is no new thing. How\nconstantly were they evinced during the middle ages! If their\nsacred character did not allow them to participate actively in the\nfray, they were there to animate and encourage, and especially to\nsuccor the dying. Among a thousand instances, we read that, at the\nbattle of Neville\u2019s Cross, the Prior of Durham, England, and his\nmonks, took the sacred banner of St. Cuthbert, and repaired to\na hillock in sight of both armies, hoisted it, knelt around it,\nand prayed. Other brethren from the belfry of the cathedral sang\nhymns of praise and triumph, which were heard afar off in a most\nmiraculous manner.\n\nYes: Orl\u00e9ans has reason to be proud of its clergy, with its\nhereditary spirit. \u201cThe heart of France\u201d has not lost its ancient\ncourage. The service its people rendered the crown in ancient times\ninduced Louis XI. to give it as its arms an open heart, showing the\nlilies of France within. Above this _blason_ is the quatrain\n\n    \u201cOrl\u00e9ans, ville de renom,\n    De haut pris, de grand\u2019 excellence,\n    Eut pour blazon le c\u0153ur de France\n    De Loueys, onzi\u00e8me du nom.\u201d\n\nAnd another poet has said:\n\n    \u201cNon potuit regni caput esse Aurelia magni\n    Ergo quod superest, corque, animusque fuit\u201d--\n\nOrl\u00e9ans being so-called from the Emperor Aurelian, who enlarged the\ncity towards the end of the third century, and gave it the name of\nAurelianum, from which Aurliens, and finally Orl\u00e9ans.\n\nPerhaps Orl\u00e9anais has had the glorious privilege of suffering\nmore than any other part of France for its country. It has been a\nbattle-field on which some of the most famous personages in history\nhave figured. C\u00e6sar ran over the country as a conqueror; Attila\nwithdrew from it conquered and humiliated; here the Maid of Orl\u00e9ans\ndelivered France; here Francis de Guise died after forcing Charles\nV. to give up Metz; and here Turenne saved the country threatened\nby the Fronde. For two centuries the valley of the Loire had not\nbeen disturbed by the noise of arms, but Orl\u00e9ans, Coulmiers,\nVillepion, etc., now testify how the open heart of France has again\nbled and suffered.\n\n\n\n\nUSE AND ABUSE OF THE STAGE.\n\n\nWe are a very theatrical people. The old unbending Puritan stuff\nhas almost died out amongst us; whether for better or worse,\nsuch is the fact. If a Brutus appeared in our midst to-day, he\nwould be dubbed a \u201crowdy\u201d; a Cato, a decided bore. Where we would\nnot turn to look at them, we rush pell-mell to catch the first\nglimpse of a prince; even a lord finds a following here that must\nrather surprise him in a nation where he only expected to meet\nwith the stern virtues of republicanism. We crowd in the same way\nto see a new \u201cstar\u201d in the theatrical firmament, whether that\nstar\u2019s radiance consist in a melodious voice, or a dexterous use\nof the limbs, or a display of physical charms, so artistically\nconcealed that not one of them is missed. So we throng to hear\na great preacher or a loud one, provided he is \u201cpuffed\u201d enough.\nOur politics have degenerated into a money-making concern; our\nreligion, almost to a fashion. As it was a fashion in the old\ndays when the Pharisee went up to the temple to pray, and his\nprayer consisted in thanking God that he was so far above the\npoor publican, together with a grand recital of his fastings and\nself-flagellations, and alms given to the poor; as it was a fashion\nlater on, in the time of the Puritans and the Scotch under right\nJohn Knox, as Carlyle would call his hero--when the godly sat out\ntheir two hours\u2019 sermon, and at the end applauded, and begged the\npreacher to continue, and sat them grimly a two hours more; going\ntheir way, comforted at heart, to murder Cavalier and Catholic, and\nall who wore the mark of the beast and the color of the scarlet\nwoman.\n\nWe have touched on religion, for it is inwoven with our theme,\nthe theatre, which sprang from religion, and, could it be made\nto preach as it has done, would, without lack of amusement or\nattraction, become a house of prayer, and not, as it now is, a home\nof corruption. The Greeks used it for a twofold purpose: to lash\nvice or as a political weapon. And nothing pierced so fatally the\nthick hide of the low demagogue, Cleon, as the barbed shafts of\nAristophanes, scattered with all the great master\u2019s skill among\nthe keen-witted and appreciative Athenians. We see a similar\ninstance to-day in the attack by one of the leaders of the modern\nFrench drama on a much greater man than Cleon. The _Rabagas_ of\nSardou has tended to demoralize Gambetta more than the holocaust\nhe sacrificed, in his unwise and inopportune zeal, to the glory of\nFrance, as he would claim; in reality to its ruin. It has done more\nto lower him in the eyes of the people than the terrible logic of\nevents. Why have not we a man to do the like for the _rings_ and\nthe political immorality that inundates us; from which we are only\njust beginning to emerge, without the certainty of not sinking\nbeneath it again?\n\nThe stage with the Greeks was, moreover, a preacher. It held up\nlofty thoughts in language worthy of them. It preached the virtue\nof self-sacrifice and its nobleness in tones that could not fail\nto be heard. It did not mock the false with puny laughter and weak\ntravestie; but laid it bare in all its ugliness, cutting deep\ninto it and round about it, probing the soil that it grew in,\npiercing its thick rind with a weapon whose wound was death. And\nthere stands out that wonderful play of the _Prometheus Vinctus_:\nthe bold story of the god-born man, who, with the insight of the\ngod-nature that was in him, saw the misery of his brethren, and\ndared to filch the sacred fire from heaven that he might lift them\nup from their degradation; who suffered on an eternity of woe,\nwith the relentless bird ever gnawing at his vitals; and, as the\ncurtain fell upon the convulsion of nature, foretold, in words\nindeed prophetic, the fall of Jove and of his false heaven. We read\nand stand amazed; wondering, now at the grace, now at the terrible\npower of the words; pitying the great and tameless soul enduring\nan agony unspeakable for his kind, chained there to the bare rock\nwith the pitiless heavens above him, the starry-curtained night,\nand the ever-dimpling ocean smiling beneath him. We see Calvary and\nthe Saviour there; and marvel at the boldness of the conception,\nthe magnificence and prophetic truth of its carrying out. From this\nstory of a pagan Greek, told to pagans before Christ came into the\nworld, bearing the fire that he willed only to be kindled, we turn\nwith shame and sickness at heart to the things of this day, of this\nera of civilization and enlightenment.\n\nBut first let us trace the course of the drama when it fell into\nChristian hands.\n\nThat fierce Northern blast which overthrew for ever the gorgeous\nfabric of the Roman Empire, withered and blighted everything\nthat could be called intellectual or refined. The civilization,\nthe literature, the very language of Greece and Rome, were\nextinguished, and the world had to begin its intellectual\nschooling anew. Then the church stepped in, and moulded those rough\nelements into a nobler race than that which had been swept away.\nThe Roman had been taught to live for the state; the Christian was\ntaught to live for Christ. The church filled their rugged minds\nwith great ideas and noble purposes; she laid the foundation of\na great faith, and on that built up everything. A belief in one\nSupreme God, in eternal joy for the good, eternal pain for the\nwicked: such was the doctrine, easily learned, easily understood,\nwhich she unceasingly poured into their untutored minds. It was a\nhard task. There was no press then; there were no newspapers, no\ntelegraph wires flashing thought from world to world in less time\nthan it takes to conceive it. Men were taught by word of mouth.\nAnd when we contemplate the magnitude of the work--the education\nand conversion of an illiterate world--we can only wonder at its\nsuccess, and see therein the finger of God, guiding and directing\nhis daughter--the one stumbling-block to the march of reason,\naccording to our modern notions.\n\nThen came up those quaint old miracle plays, performed at fairs\nand festivals, and sometimes even in the cathedrals and churches.\nThey clothed the mysteries of religion in simple language, well\nadapted for simple minds, and brought home to the crowds assembled\ngreat and impressive truths. A relic of them to-day attracts the\nfashionable world, _ennuy\u00e9_ of the opera, the conventional stage,\nand an existence weary of itself and its emptiness. It takes\nits opera-glasses and scent-bottles and flirtation to the rude\nrocks of the Tyrol to behold the Ammergau _Passion Play_. It is\na novelty. We wonder that no enterprising manager has offered\nfabulous sums to bring the performers out here to us. They would\ncertainly \u201cdraw.\u201d To be sure, he could scarcely transport the\nTyrol, but then the scene-painter and machinist could manage that.\nIf the butterflies of fashion can find motive enough to brave the\nterrors of sea-sickness and flit out thither to behold a novelty,\ncan sit it out without a yawn, and be struck by the reverence of\nthe performance and its effect on the grave mountaineers, surely\nsomething far less taxing on our conventional notions, but bearing\nthe germ of a great truth within it, might send the thousands who\nflock nightly to our theatres home with a thought in their heads\nand a more earnest feeling in their hearts.\n\nThe stage grew with the growth of time and the spread of education,\ntill, at the close of the sixteenth century, we find it at its\nzenith in Spain and in England. The French and Italians never\npossessed a _great_ stage--a stage, that is, for all time and all\nnations; the German is of recent growth. At this point the stage\nwas great; was in the broad sense moral, elevating, high. It\ntowered above men, above the times; it educated while it attracted\nthem. In plot, in action, in delineation of character, in thrilling\nscenes and happy conceptions, the plays of the sixteenth century\nare unrivalled, while their language makes of them classics. Dr.\nArnold of Rugby proposed that the English classics should be made\none of the principal studies of boys at school. We wonder what\nbenefit boys would derive from the study of the trash we listen to\nand applaud in these days--whether it would be better calculated to\nimprove their morals than a close application to the pages of the\n_Newgate Calendar_ or the columns of the _Police News_?\n\nFrom that period the course of the stage has been a downward one\npassing from bad to worse, till it has been our fortune, with\na solitary exception here and there, to light upon the worst;\nfor the plays of the time of Charles II., bad as they are and\nrevolting, are safer from their very outspokenness than the gilded\nlicentiousness that allures us. We rival them in obscenity, as we\nfall immeasurably below them in wit. The reason of this decline, at\na time when the discovery of the art of printing gave a new impetus\nto the spread of education, is foreign to our present purpose.\nWith a glance at the past, at what the theatre was, and what it\nmight become, we turn to that which immediately concerns us, the\npresent: what the theatre now is, and why--restricting our remarks\nprincipally to New York.\n\nNow the dramatic season has just drawn to a close,[203] so it\nis a fair time to indulge in a retrospect. We believe it has\nbeen on the whole what managers might term a fairly good season;\nthat is, people have gone to the theatres, paid their money, and\nendorsed, by their presence and applause, the various species of\nentertainments which the managers, in their capacity of public\ncaterers, have provided for them.\n\nOur question is, What have we endorsed? What have been the\ntheatrical \u201chits\u201d of the season? What are the plays which have\nbrought crowds to the theatre, money to the manager, and delight to\nthe public at large? The answer, looked at soberly and honestly, is\nstartling.\n\nWith the exception of the Shakespearian and a few other classical\nplays at one of the theatres, some transitory pieces got up\noccasionally for \u201cstars,\u201d and French adaptations, which we shall\nrefer to after, we have not had a single play worthy of the name,\nworthy of the actors who performed them, worthy, we sincerely hope,\nof the audiences who witnessed them.\n\nIt may be as well to explain that by actors we mean ladies and\ngentlemen who are equal to the very difficult position they have\ntaken upon themselves; who can speak pure English in a manner we\ncan all understand--a slight qualification seemingly, yet in these\ndays one of the rarest; who can portray emotions with fidelity;\nwho can forget, first of all, themselves; secondly, the audience,\nin the character they have assumed. We do not mean those with\nwhom vulgarity passes for wit, coarseness for humor, or a liberal\ndisplay of the person for all that is needed. The name of the\nlatter class is legion; the individuals who compose the former,\nexclusive of passing stars, might be almost counted on our fingers.\n\nAnd now for the performances we have endorsed. The great\nattractions, the \u201chits\u201d of the season, beyond _Humpty Dumpty_,\nwhich is no play at all, but a display of the antics of the\ncleverest mime who has appeared on our stage, have been the _Black\nCrook_ and _Lalla Rookh_. These two pieces drew the largest crowds\nfor the longest time; one of them is an old favorite, and vies with\n_Humpty Dumpty_ in duration; the other, but for its untimely end\nby fire, was as likely to become so, and may yet, for all we know\nto the contrary. We wish to place this well before the public; the\nchief theatrical attractions in New York, the commercial capital\nof our Republic and the New World, during the past year, have been\n_Humpty Dumpty_, the _Black Crook_, and _Lalla Rookh_!\n\nWhat are these two latter things? Are they plays? Is there any\nacting in them at all? Is there a single good thought inculcated,\ngood feeling stirred, good end attained by their presentation?\nAre they fit to place before a public composed of ladies and\ngentlemen, of virtuous men and women, above all before the young,\nthe pleasure-seekers, of both sexes?\n\nTo all these questions we answer an emphatic no; and we are certain\nthat the managers who got them up would agree with us. Yet all\nNew York--speaking generally--crowded to see them. The expense\nin producing them was enormous. Actresses, scenery, dresses,\nmachinery, were purchased and brought from over the sea; and all\nfor what? A display of brilliant costumes, or rather an absence of\nthem; crowds of girls set in array, and posturing so as to bring\nout every turn and play of the limbs. Throughout it was simply a\nparade of indecency artistically placed upon the stage, with garish\nlights and intoxicating music to quicken the senses and inflame the\npassions. The very advertisements in the streets and in the public\npress set forth as their crowning attraction the crowds of \u201cladies\u201d\nand their scanty raiment.\n\nHow women with any pretensions to modesty could sit out such an\nexhibition without a blush--how men could take women for whom they\nhad any respect to witness it, are things we cannot understand.\nThat such things can succeed at all, can succeed so well, can\nbeat everything else from the field, among us, speaks ill for\nus; speaks ill for our taste, our morality, our civilization. To\nProtestants and Catholics alike we say: Cry down, with all the\npower that is in you, public exhibitions that are daily undermining\nand uprooting the morality of this great nation, which affects, as\nit must continue to affect more and more day by day, the destiny\nof the world. They influence the fashions; they fill the public\nstreets with impurity. Their effect is in the very air we breathe,\nthe press we read, the pictures that meet our eyes on every\nstand. To the recognition and open admiration we display for such\nperformances on the public stage, we owe those lower dens of infamy\nthat corrupt our youth, poison their life, and cause the whole race\nto degenerate; and the bloody tragedies in real life which have\nfrom their frequency almost ceased to create a sensation. They are\na blot upon our institutions, a stain upon our morality, a scandal\nto every decent eye.\n\nBut who is to blame?\n\nThe public deplores the depravity of the taste of the age, and\ncarries its opera-glass to the theatre so as not to miss an iota.\nThe manager blames the actor, the actor the author, and the author\nthe manager. Perhaps all are to blame more or less; but undoubtedly\nthe onus of it rests with us who pay for and go to see such\nthings. The manager whom we blame so much objects very properly:\nThe people want to be amused, and we must find something to amuse\nthem. Good plays that are presentable are almost as rare as good\nactors to interpret them, as an appreciative audience to come and\nadmire them. If the public did not demand such sights, you may be\nperfectly certain we should not present them. Our interest in the\nwhole matter is merely one of dollars. Love of art, and educating\nthe public taste, and so forth, sound very well in the abstract,\nbut they do not pay. These things are of enormous cost in the\nscenery, the putting on the stage, the costumes, and, as far as the\nactors are concerned, to-day we are compelled to pay a higher price\nfor limbs than for genius.\n\nNow, this sounds very plausible, and there is, no doubt, a vast\namount of reason in it. Certain it is that, if the public kept away\nfrom such exhibitions, the manager would scarcely ruin himself by\npresenting them to empty houses. But are good plays so scarce, and\nwhy?\n\nShakespeare, we fear, is almost out of the question. We confess,\nin common with very many, a secret misgiving, almost amounting to\nhorror, at the idea of going to see Desdemona or Banquo doubly\nmurdered. The education of the vast majority of our actors renders\nthem incapable of catching the meaning of the great master\u2019s\nwords, far less of interpreting them in a manner to enchain our\nattention or enthrall our senses: the invariable result when we sit\ndown to read them. We generally find one or two characters ably\nsustained, and the rest, as a rule, rendered absolutely ridiculous.\nNotwithstanding, we take it as a very encouraging thing, and a\ngreat sign of advancement in intelligence and education, to see\nin one instance, at least, this class of drama drawing houses the\nwhole year through. The more we have of such plays, the less we\nshall see of _Black Crooks_ and _Lalla Rookhs_. Sheridan, again,\nand Colman are almost beyond our actors, though they are scarcely a\nhundred years old. An actor undertaking a character must understand\nnot merely the words he utters, but the _character_ he represents,\nthe position it holds in the play, its _bearings_ on the others;\nfor our modern actors are too apt to consider that there is only\none character in every play, and that their own. The costume, mode\nof life, look, gait, air, _tout ensemble_, should fit the person\nto the age in which he lived. Now, how many of those employed to\npersonate the fops, or fools, or men about town of Sheridan, know\nthe age in which those characters lived, the mode of conversation,\nthe walk, \u201cthe nice conduct of the clouded cane,\u201d the way of\npassing the time, the affected laugh and pronunciation of certain\nletters, the ceremony thrown into a bow or a proffer of a pinch\nof snuff, with a thousand other little things only to be found\nin a close study of the writers of the time? Yet, without this\nintimate knowledge, our modern actor must trust to his wig and\nantique coat and ruffles to give us an idea of Charles Surface or\nSir Peter Teasle. Passing regretfully by these, then, we come to\nthe question before us, the drama of to-day, where we atone for\nlack of genius by sensation; where words give place to \u201cbusiness\u201d;\nwhere for a good author we substitute a good carpenter, aided by\na good scene-painter; where a conflagration, or a shipwreck, or a\ncab, drive Shakespeare and the rest off the boards. Wherein lies\nthe excellence of the sensational school of playwrights? Strip them\nof their drowning scenes, fires, chloroform, and slang phrases,\nand what have we left? Simply nothing. Not a single conception of\na great idea or a great character; no noble purpose to fire the\nsoul; no keen wit to scorch the age and purify while it burns;\nbut in their stead sorry jokes, and the meanest and most ordinary\ncharacters speaking bad grammar; with plenty of howling, and\nclimbing, and swimming, and water and fire and limelight, and a\nstirring song that is not the author\u2019s, all interspersed with stray\nspars of wit floating about here and there in the heterogeneous\nmass, and turning up at happy places--wit, by the way, which is\ngenerally stolen from the French or from some well-known story, all\nadjusted to slow music, set to magnificent scenery, with mechanism\nenough to construct a city; and the audience, wheedled there by\npuff, is amazed and overcome, and, going away, tells its friends\nthat there is not much in it, but the scenery alone is well worth\nthe money.\n\nThis is undoubtedly the English drama of the day, dividing the palm\nwith the anatomical exhibitions we have previously referred to, and\nalmost as prolific of good results to the public. _Eileen Oge_, one\nof the latest and best plays of this class, was the only one which\nattracted audiences to that splendid failure, the Grand Opera House.\n\nThere is another class of play to which we promised to refer--the\nmodern French school--which finds its home in one of our theatres,\nand which, by lavish expenditure, the splendor of costume,\nexcellence of mounting, and general efficiency of the cast, has\nproved more or less a success. They pass among us as dramas of\nsociety. Let us examine the most recent of these \u201csociety plays,\u201d\nand see if they are worthy of their name.\n\n_Article 47_ runs as follows: A lover, in a moment of jealousy,\nshoots his mistress, attempting at the time to gain possession\nof a casket belonging to her. She escapes with life, but that\nlife is dead to her, for her beauty, though not destroyed, is for\never marred. Her love changes to hate. She appears as a witness\nagainst her lover on a charge of attempted murder and robbery.\nHe is acquitted of wilful attempt to kill, but condemned to five\nyears at the galleys, and placed for ever, by Article 47 of the\npenal code, under police surveillance. Both lives are embittered,\nthe one with the consciousness of a wrong done to the woman he\nloved, but loves no longer; the other from the consciousness of,\nto her, an irreparable loss sustained, a beauty marred in the\ndawn of life, and a love contending with hate for the man who\nonce loved her, and whom she still, in her sane moments--for the\ncrash of contending emotions and the brooding over her lost life\nare goading her to madness--loves. The term of his confinement\nended, the lover changes his name, flies to Paris, and hopes thus\nto escape the surveillance of the police. He enters society again,\nand falls in love with an old acquaintance who has ever loved\nhim. They are married. In society he meets with the old love. She\nrecognizes him, and, finding that his love is turned to abhorrence,\nhate again strives for mastery, and she compels him to frequent\nthe _salon_ where she is to be seen, and spend a certain time of\neach day in her society, on pain of disclosing to his wife that\nhe is a convicted felon, and the whole story of her wrong. In a\nmoment of despair he unfolds all to his wife in her presence; they\ndetermine to fly. The madness has been working all this time in the\nother\u2019s blood. She retains enough reason to send a message to the\nprefect of police, disclosing the person and whereabouts of the\nex-prisoner. The letter is intercepted, and she finally dies at\nhis feet, still mad, and thinking that he loves her. The play is\na powerful one, but revolting. The gradual growth of the madness\nin the woman is well worked up. But the woman is a fiend, and her\nfiendishness is the whole point of the play. We have women as bad\nor worse in plays that are infinitely superior, Lady Macbeth,\nfor instance; but the mastermind that conceived that character\nconceived it aright--laid it bare in all its hideousness, and\nsurrounded it with such moral strength and contrasts that we hate\nit. The French writer enlists a forced sympathy for his heroine.\nEverybody is in a chronic state of misery all the way through; the\nvice of the thing is condoned or glossed over, and the character\nmost to be pitied at the end is the hideous thing that is called a\nwoman. It is a delineation and upholding of a false principle from\nbeginning to end; and, if such is society, we can only pity it.\nWhile there are such things as truth, honor, womanly nature, and\nmanly strength among us, such a play should hold no place in our\nmidst; and the writer debases his talents when he can turn them\nto so much better account. Most French plays of the modern school\ncome to us in this fashion. They are all unhealthy, morbid, false\nto God and man; and though they are well written, abounding in\nfelicitous repartee, clever tirades against society, witty mockery\nof characters that go down among us, and in their English dress are\nstripped of the dangerous _\u00e9quivoque_ and _double entendre_, it\nis better for us either to let them alone, or so change them that\nwe do not recognize them, as the late Mr. Robertson succeeded in\ndoing. All, or nearly all, of his comedies were originally founded\non the French. But he did not reproduce; he adapted. And his\nplays, the most charming, as they are by far the wittiest and most\nbrilliant, of the day, are always presentable, always enjoyable,\nthough they strike out no great thought, nor, indeed, aim at it,\nbut are clever satires on society as we find it, as it comes and\ngoes. We should very much like to see them produced oftener here.\nThere is only one house which, as a rule, attempts this class of\nplay; and its programme has to be changed so often that it looks\nvery much as though the public did not appreciate its efforts. Yet\nwe have never met with a single person who has witnessed one of Mr.\nRobertson\u2019s plays and would not be very happy to witness another.\nWe think the fault lies chiefly with the company. The rank and file\nare not adequate. At the Prince of Wales\u2019 theatre in London the\nsame company performs still that performed when Mr. Robertson first\nproduced his plays; and each one of them, from first to last, is\na thorough actor. We hear a great deal about people, immediately\nthey make a hit, demanding an enormous increase of salary; and,\nif their demands are not conceded, rushing off to \u201cstar it in the\nprovinces.\u201d In England it is just the reverse. If actors can obtain\na footing at all in London, they abide there. And we cannot but\nthink that, if fair inducements were held out here, a stock company\nof excellent actors could be organized who might form a school;\nand the manager would not be compelled to hunt Europe for a name,\nand spend a small fortune nightly on a single individual, which he\nmight much more judiciously divide among his own staff, and keep\nhis house well filled in spite of all the stars of the firmament.\n\nBut good plays are needed as much as good actors; and good plays we\nshall never have so long as managers can procure gratis the latest\nLondon success, which London itself has generally derived from a\nFrench source. Managers are cautious of new playwrights, and wisely\nso. But this caution may be, is carried a little too far. We have\na society of our own, and a history of our own. We have already a\nhost of clever and even brilliant writers. We have had a great war\nand a great convulsion. We have plenty to attack, and plenty to\nuphold. Our society, political, social, and religious, is scarcely\nwhat it might be. There is many a foul thing to sweep away; there\nis a meeting of many elements in this land of ours; there is a\nhistory to look back upon, and a glorious history to build up, if\nwe build rightly. At the same time, there is a licentiousness,\noutspoken, scornful, and gaining ground day by day, which it is our\nduty to withstand by every force in our power. There is that aping,\ntoo, of the worst imported fashions, that running after wealth\nand rank, when they come among us, that betokens a wandering from\nthe sturdy ways of our fathers. There is a widespread corruption\nin the administration of the law, a venality in political life,\nwhich it would be well to crush. There is here field enough for the\nnative dramatist, without looking abroad for the \u201ccheap and nasty.\u201d\nCould a Sheridan rise up among us now, he would find no lack of\nsubjects for his pen in the extravagance, the contradictions, the\nlicentiousness of this age and this great Republic. At all events,\nif we must import, let us import the best, and not things which\npoison our life, and stop our intellectual and natural as well as\nour moral growth, and make us a laughing-stock to the outer world.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[203] At the time of writing this article.\n\n\n\n\nHOW I LEARNED LATIN.\n\n\nWhen I was young, I travelled a good deal, but travel then was very\ndifferent from what it is now. My travelling was all obligatory, it\nwas on business, and I sometimes found myself detained in places\nfrom which I would gladly have taken a quick departure. It happened\nonce that, during my tour through France, I had to stay a Sunday at\nLyons. The stages on Saturday were few, and did not suit me, and\nof course it was against my principles to travel on the \u201cSabbath.\u201d\nI had been brought up a very strict Presbyterian, and was very\nparticular, especially in a foreign country, about attending\nservice. I could hardly speak any French, which perhaps you will\nthink strange, since I had business to transact in France, but my\nbusiness was with English and American houses and their agents. You\nknow, too, in my time young people did not learn French as they do\nnow, any more than young ladies learned to play on the piano. But\nI was determined I would go to church, and so set about finding\nout whether there was any English-speaking clergyman in Lyons. I\ncould not find any, and, when I inquired after a church, I was\ndeafened and confused by the number of St. Marys\u2019, St. Monicas\u2019,\nSt. Vincents\u2019, St. Josephs\u2019, that were pointed out to me. If it\nhad not been the \u201cSabbath,\u201d I think I should have been tempted to\nswear at the whole calendar and its Lyons representatives. I asked\nfor a _Protestant_ church. \u201cOh! yes,\u201d said one (all the others\nlooked blank), \u201cthere is a \u2018temple\u2019 (so they call them in France)\nin such and such a street,\u201d naming it, and giving me directions\nby which I could not fail to discover it. I started, fearing I\nshould be late. I had heard that the French Protestant religion\nwas not unlike the Presbyterian, but I had never been to one of\nits churches before, having always been luckily within reach of\nsome church where my own tongue was used. At last I found my\n\u201ctemple,\u201d and got in, rather behind time, to be sure. The people\nwere singing. The church--meeting-house, I should say--was bare\nand whitewashed, large square windows lighted it with a painful\nexuberance of brightness, the seats were stiff and uncomfortable.\nI could not understand one word, and thought the voices rather\nnasal. The congregation sat down and the minister got up. This\nevidently meant a sermon. I tried hard to fix my mind on some Bible\ntexts I knew by heart, so as to prevent my thoughts from wandering.\nAs the preacher went on, his voice droning into my ear, I caught\nmyself wondering whether I were in the right place after all, and\nwhether his doctrine was the same as mine. I could not tell what\nhe might be saying, but, of course, the hymns must be all right.\nI took up a hymn-book, and tried to make out from their analogy\nto some English words what these French words could mean. I could\nsee the name of \u201cJesus\u201d pretty often, and could make out \u201cSaviour\u201d\ntoo, but that was about all. The sermon was very long, and I was\nhardly quite awake at the end. Then the people sang again, and a\nharmonium joined in from somewhere. When it was all over, I felt\nvery dissatisfied, and somehow it did not seem to me as if I had\nbeen to church at all. I lost my way going back to my hotel, and\nhappened to pass one of the \u201csaints\u2019\u201d multitudinous shrines, just\nas the Catholic congregation were coming out. An acquaintance of\nmine, a young Englishman, was among them. He came across the street\nand shook hands.\n\n\u201cWhy, where have you dropped from?\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cFrom church,\u201d I answered.\n\n\u201cWhat church?\u201d he asked, rather blankly.\n\n\u201cThe Protestant \u2018temple,\u2019 of whatever religion that may be,\u201d I\nsaid, not in the best of humors. I told him my whole adventure,\nwhereat he seemed very serious.\n\n\u201cMy dear fellow,\u201d he said at last, \u201chave you not often heard us\nCatholics abused for all sorts of mummeries, for muttering and\nmumbling in an unknown tongue, for bowing and scraping, and popping\ndown, suddenly on one knee, and so forth?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course I have,\u201d I said.\n\n\u201cWell, and what do you think of what you saw in the French\nPresbyterian church, this morning?\u201d\n\n\u201cThink! I simply think it was unintelligible.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, say, quite as unintelligible as our Latin, for instance?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, but not for the Frenchmen who were there.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut if those Frenchmen had been in a Presbyterian church in\nAmerica, they would have been as badly off as you were this\nmorning. And if both you and they went to a German church, as\nCalvinistic as you could wish and as like your own in belief, would\nnot you and your French friends be all at sea, as the saying is?\u201d\n\n\u201cExactly so; but what are you driving at?\u201d\n\n\u201cOnly this: that, when you go to the church, and know that the\npeople believe pretty much as you do, you would like, I think, to\nbe able to join in their devotions, and not feel yourself left out\nin the cold, as if you were a heathen or a Mormon, wouldn\u2019t you?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course; but it can\u2019t be helped.\u201d\n\n\u201cI tell you it can, my dear fellow. Look at us, millions and\nmillions of Catholics, all believing the same doctrine, all going\nto the same ceremonies, and taking part in the same devotions,\nbecause we have only one language for our services, one language\nthat is spoken in Canton, in San Francisco, in London, in Africa,\neverywhere where a Catholic altar is put up and a Catholic priest\nsays Mass.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is some convenience in that, I\u2019ll grant you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI tell you, my friend, when I come to a foreign city and find\neverything strange and feel very lonely in the hurrying crowd that\nhas not one idea in common with me, I just find out a Catholic\nchurch as quick as I can, and hear Mass. See if every worshipper\ndoes not become a brother then, and if one\u2019s feelings don\u2019t change!\nI take my chair, put it where I like, open my book, and follow the\nsame old prayers that I heard long ago in little poky chapels in\nEngland. I feel quite at home.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, it _is_ pleasant: but that is not all one wants.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut is it not a great deal? What do you think of a religion that\nmeets you everywhere, just the same, dear old familiar faith, never\nchanging among the mandarins of China, the Red Indians of your own\nterritories, the blacks of South Africa, and the traders of London\nand Birmingham? Don\u2019t you call it comfortable, homely, to say the\nleast?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, but I suspect it is all sentimentalism: you like the sound of\nthe old words, but you don\u2019t really understand them. A baby would\nlike the same cooing it was used to at home, supposing it got lost\nand picked up somewhere, but there would be no sense in the cooing,\nfor all that.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut, my dear fellow, we _do_ understand our Latin. All of us who\ncan read have the translation of it plainly printed alongside\nof the text in our books of devotion, and the greater part we\nare already familiar with on account of its being taken from the\nGospels and the Psalms.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, really? Is that so indeed?\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed it is. And, now, what do you think of this? You see the\npriest \u2018pop down suddenly on one knee, and pop up again,\u2019 as you\nwould put it. Well, he has been saying, \u2018The Word was made flesh\nand dwelt among us.\u2019 Is not that in the Bible, in St. John\u2019s\nGospel? Of course you are well up in texts, you know where _that_\nis. And, again, when you see the priest beat his breast three\ntimes, and you call out \u2018Superstition!\u2019 do you know what he is\nsaying? \u2018Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldst enter under my\nroof; but say the word, and my soul shall be healed.\u2019 Is not that\nin the Bible (with the substitution of \u2018soul\u2019 for \u2018servant\u2019),\nwhere the centurion begs our Lord to cure his servant? And so on\nthrough the greater part of the Mass. When you see the priest\nwash his hands, he repeats a whole Psalm, the Twenty-fifth; and\nat the very beginning, when you see him stand at the foot of the\nsteps, he is also repeating a Psalm, the Forty-third. Further on he\nrepeats the \u2018Our Father,\u2019 and there are other parts of the Mass,\nwhose names would only confuse you, which change according to the\necclesiastical seasons, but are always exclusively composed of\nScripture texts, aptly chosen for the different solemnities of the\nyear. So, you see, we know all about what we hear said in Latin.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, you surprise me; all that mumbling seemed to me so childish.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you think these Frenchmen childish when they speak their own\ntongue, and do their business in it, and their courting, and their\nliterature?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, no, of course that would be absurd.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the Italians, the Germans, the Greeks, the Spaniards, don\u2019t\nthey all talk foreign languages, yet you don\u2019t think them childish,\nor call their conversation _mumbling_?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; I simply say I am sorry I cannot understand them.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen don\u2019t you see that as a Catholic you would be even better\noff, for though the Latin would be a foreign language, yet you\n_would_ understand it?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly, if all you say is true, the Latin is by no means a bad\ncontrivance.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you know that, up to the twelfth and thirteenth centuries at\nleast, most books were written in Latin, no matter to what country\nthe author might belong, and that till even later than that all law\nbusiness was transacted in Latin all over the civilized world?\u201d\n\n\u201cWas it indeed? Well, I have learnt something this morning, and it\nis really worth thinking over.\u201d\n\n\u201cCome this afternoon to St. Vincent\u2019s, and I will show you at\nVespers how well every one understands the service.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll right! agreed.\u201d\n\nAnd so we parted, and in the afternoon my English friend and I went\nto a Catholic church, and sat down among a crowd of very attentive\nworshippers, all of whom were reading their prayer-books. My\nfriend opened his, and pointed out the Psalm the choir was singing;\nit was one I knew very well: \u201cThe Lord said to my Lord.\u201d The people\nabout us were all French; their books had the same Latin Psalm on\none column as my friend\u2019s book showed, while the French translation\nwas in the place of the English one which he had on the opposite\npage. Many of the congregation were singing alternately with the\nchoristers at the altar. My friend sang too; he did not mumble,\nbut said the words distinctly, so that I heard each syllable,\nthough I could not understand the meaning. He gave me his book\npresently, and chanted by heart. As we came out, there was a group\nof dark-skinned men, talking eagerly near the door. They were\nSpaniards; they too seemed quite at home. The next day, I was\ncurious enough to go to Low Mass with my friend; as the ceremony\nwent on, he showed me every word, and made me follow everything,\neven the introit, collects, gradual, communion, which he looked\nout for me in a missal he had with him. I was puzzled by all these\nnames then, though they are A B C to me now. My friend had to leave\nin a day or two, but I had bought a book like his in the meanwhile\nat an English library, and continued through curiosity to go to the\ndifferent Catholic services, just to assure myself that the Latin\nwas not gibberish. It struck me as strange that three-quarters of\nthe prayers should be my own Bible texts!\n\nWell, to make a long story short, I left Lyons soon after, and\ntravelled to many other places, European and Asiatic. At last\none day I was in Canton, in high spirits, for I was to go home\nsoon and be a partner in the firm whose foreign business I had\nbeen managing. Sunday came, and I went to church; I was just as\nanxious as ever about my Sunday duties, but somehow it was not for\na Presbyterian church that I was looking. I knew my way very well\nto _my_ church, and my church had a cross on its gable end, and\nwas called \u201cThe Church of the Holy Childhood.\u201d There were plenty\nof Chinese there, a few English, a few Americans, and a good many\nFrench people. They all had the Latin on one page of their books,\nand their respective languages on the opposite page. But I did not\nneed to look at my English translation, for I knew the Latin by\nheart now. I am sorry to say I had distractions, and during one\nof them I suddenly perceived my old friend of Lyons. When Mass\nwas over, I went to him and called him by name; he stared and did\nnot recognize me; we had never met since, and I had a beard of\nmany years\u2019 growth. I told him my name, and asked him if he had\nforgotten St. Vincent\u2019s Church at Lyons? I can tell you we had a\ngood long talk over the past, and he congratulated me heartily,\nwhile I thanked him eagerly for the best lesson I ever learned in\nmy life.\n\nAnd that, boys, was how I learned Latin.\n\nBut I have only told you about one reason which our church has for\nkeeping to the Latin tongue; that particular reason struck me most,\nbecause it was through that I was converted; but of course, when\nI came to examine things thoroughly, I learnt all about the other\nvery good reasons assigned by the church for this practice. You\nknow how modern languages are always changing, and how the same\nword will mean a different thing in two separate centuries; there\nis the word \u201cprevent,\u201d for instance, which now means to hinder, but\nwhich formerly was used in the Anglican liturgy in its Latin sense,\nto succor and to help. Well, it would not do for the dogmas or the\nrites of the church to be subject to these apparent changes, which\nwould lead most likely to misunderstandings and perhaps heresies,\nso the church chose to fix her liturgy in a language whose rules\nand construction undergo no alteration from century to century. You\nknow the law, also, has Latin terms, probably used for the same\nreason. Then, besides, it is not necessary for the people to be\nable to join in the absolute words of the Mass and other services,\nprovided they join heartily in the _intention_ of the sacrifice\nand prayers. As I have told you already, the _fact_ is that\nmost Catholics do understand the words themselves, and not very\nimperfectly; still, the _theory_ remains that such comprehension\n(which after all is more a grammatical accomplishment than a devout\nnecessity) is not absolutely required. If it were otherwise, you\nsee, the doctrine of intention would suffer. In the old days, the\nHebrews--on whose ritual all non-Catholics claim to take their\nstand, or by which at least they measure their standard of adequate\nworship--used to stand outside the temple, where they could neither\nsee nor hear, though they knew that by their presence alone they\nwere participating in the sacrifice and receiving the blessing\nattached to it. Then, again, we forgot, when as Protestants we used\nto object to the Latin liturgy, that the Catholic ceremony of Mass\nis essentially a _sacrifice_ offered to God _for_ the people, the\npriest being the sole representative of the people and interceding\nin their name. Long ago, at the English court of the Plantagenet\nkings. French was the language universally spoken, while the\nSaxons, the subjects, adhered to their own tongue. The petitions of\nthe people were offered to the king in the language of the court,\nthat is, French; but the result was identical with that which would\nhave been the consequence had the prayer been in a tongue the\npeople could understand. So in the church it is sufficient for God\nto hear the petition of his children; they themselves would not be\nbenefited the more for understanding every word of the pleading of\nthe priest. The things that are said _to_ us, not _for_ us, the\nsermons and instructions which are to explain God\u2019s will and our\nduty to us, are always in the tongue common to each particular\ncountry; and when there is a large foreign settlement in a town,\nit has a church of its own where such instruction is administered.\nLook at this large city of New York: have we not German churches\nand a French church besides our English-speaking churches? The Mass\nis identically the same in each, but for those who are to be taught\nthe language is varied according to their nationality. And so for\nall offices which the priests perform toward us, as, for instance,\nconfession. In the great church of which you have all heard, St.\nPeter\u2019s at Rome, there are confessionals where priests of every\nnation are ever ready to receive and console the sinners of every\nclime, while above each box is plainly written \u201cFor the English,\u201d\n\u201cFor the Spaniards,\u201d \u201cFor the French,\u201d \u201cFor the Germans,\u201d \u201cFor the\nGreeks,\u201d \u201cFor the Poles,\u201d etc., etc. So, you see, the church, after\nall, is quite as wise as she is loving, and indicates her claim to\nbe our mother in every way. Take my advice, and always look well\ninto things before you condemn them; for, if _I_ had done so when a\nboy, I should have saved myself a great deal of trouble in getting\nrid of prejudices which every year increased and deepened, till\nit needed a miracle of the grace of God to strip the tightening\ngarment they were wrapping round my fettered soul.\n\n\n\n\nTHE HANDKERCHIEF.\n\n\nIf there is one article of the toilette that, more than another,\nappeals particularly to the imagination, it is certainly the\nhandkerchief. The favored glove that has encased a fair hand is\noften treasured up by a sentimental admirer; a broidered scarf or\na knot of ribbon has been worn by many a gallant knight as the\ncolors of the lady of his choice; the collar encircling some ivory\nneck is envied to such a degree as to almost warrant the ambition\nof Winnifred Jenkins: \u201cGod he nose what havoc I shall make among\nthe mail sects when I make my first appearance in this killing\ncollar\u201d; but a thousand killing collars bear no comparison to that\ndelicate fabric of muslin and lace which plays as important a part\nin the flirtations of fashionable life here as the fan among the\nladies of Spain. Who could imagine so small a square of cloth--if\nit be not profanity to apply so common a term to so wondrous a\ntissue--could be made to express or conceal so much in the hands\nof its fair owner? Such an expressive toss or whisk could only be\nthe result of the profoundest study. And what a delicate attractive\nodor it gives out, suggestive of roses, and violets, and all the\nflora of occidental as well as oriental gallantry. And then the\ntouching _r\u00f4le_ it plays in the pathetic--it is the recipient of\nsome timely tear--perhaps too, vain coxcomb, a screen for many a\nyawn. We can never be too sure of what is confided to this bosom\ncompanion.\n\nThe sacredness imputed to the handkerchief is no modern idea. It\ncame to us from the East, whence sprang religion, science, and\nromance itself. Ages ago the handkerchief was regarded in Egypt as\na kind of amulet. The fair one of later days, who interweaves a\nthread of her own life into the handkerchief she intends for some\nfavored knight, hopes it may prove like the magic handkerchief\ngiven by the Egyptian charmer to Othello\u2019s mother, endued with a\npower to subdue him \u201centirely to her love.\u201d\n\n          \u201cThere\u2019s magic in the web of it:\n    A sibyl that had number\u2019d in the world\n    The sun to make two hundred compasses\n    In her prophetic fury sew\u2019d the work:\n    The worms were hallow\u2019d that did breed the silk:\n    And it was dyed in mummy, which the skilful\n    Conserved of maidens\u2019 hearts.\u201d\n\nThe handkerchief is the strongest proof of love, not only among the\nMoors, but among all Eastern nations, says Byron, who approved of\nShakespeare\u2019s making the jealousy of Othello turn on this point.\nBut poor Desdemona found the inherited talisman she \u201ckissed and\ntalked to\u201d a fatal gift.\n\nPerhaps the handkerchief immortalized by Drummond of Hawthornden,\nembroidered for him by the beautiful Lesbia to whom he was\nbetrothed, was likewise ominous, for she died \u201cin the fresh April\nof her years,\u201d and the handkerchief she gave him was steeped in\ntears at her loss.\n\nCalderon says:\n\n    \u201cShe gave me too a handkerchief--a spell--\n    A flattering pledge, my hopes to animate,\n    An astrologic favor, fatal prize\n    That told too true what tears must wipe these eyes.\u201d\n\nThe significance of the handkerchief is referred to in Horace\nWalpole\u2019s letters: \u201cLord Tavistock has flung his handkerchief to\nLady Elizabeth Keppel. They all go to Woburn on Thursday, and the\nceremony is to be performed as soon as her brother, the bishop, can\narrive from Exeter.\u201d\n\nMiss Strickland tells us that when Anne Boleyn dropped her\nhandkerchief from the balcony at the feet of Henry Norris, the\nlatter, heated from the part he had just been taking in the\njousts, took it up, presumptuously wiped his face with it, and\nthen returned it to the queen on the point of his lance. At this,\nKing Henry changed color, abruptly retired in a fury of jealousy,\nand gave orders for the arrest of the queen and of all who were\nsuspected of being favored by her. It proved a fatal handkerchief\nto him also, for he was soon after executed.\n\nThe handkerchief may be regarded as one of the great indications of\ncivilization. Though the Celestials have not yet arrived at this\nclimax, and still carry their small sheets of delicate paper as a\nsubstitute, but which possess no moral significance whatever, so\nfar as we know, more refined nations have made its use universal.\nEven the poorest may whip out of his pocket, in these days, not\nthat red cotton flag of abomination that used to offend the\nsight, but one of pure white linen, betokening a higher state of\ncultivation.\n\nWe are quite well aware that the handkerchief is, notwithstanding,\na luxury some of the laboring classes reserve for Sundays and high\nfestivals, which alone should invest the article with a quasi\nsanctity, associated as it is with religious observances. With\nwhat careful deliberation such an one draws it forth from the\nreceptacle devoted to its use! With what a tremulous awkwardness he\napplies it, as though he were making an unaccustomed experiment; or\nlosing his caution, perhaps he charges with desperation, like Miss\nWix, one of whose peculiarities was that she always blew her nose\nas if it belonged to an enemy! And how carefully it is refolded\nand returned to the secret depository. What heaps of \u201cwipes\u201d the\nastonished Oliver Twist saw in the Jew\u2019s den, and all so badly\nmarked, too, that the stitches had to be picked out!\n\nWe cannot help rejoicing over the handkerchief the Artful Dodger\ndrew from Mr. Brownlow\u2019s pocket which led to such a change in\nOliver\u2019s fortunes.\n\nThe handkerchief is an important article in many a romance, as well\nas in real life. Tears more touching than those of Mr. Mantalini\nhave brought it into requisition. If all the handkerchiefs in the\nworld could tell their experience, how many a sad tale they would\nunfold!--We cannot help regarding Adam and Eve with the deepest\ncommiseration without a handkerchief between them, as hand in hand\nthrough Eden they took their solitary way. What bitter tears poor\nEve shed!--but those that fell on the ground were turned into\nroses, and those that dropped into the water were changed into\npearls, as ours too will be shown not wholly lost at some future\nday.\n\nMany a hero\u2019s bleeding wounds have been bound up by the\nhandkerchief of some Sister of Charity on the battle-field, and\nmany such handkerchiefs have been sent as sacred remembrances to\ndear ones at home, ensanguined like that Orlando sent his Rosalind,\nbut, alas! not always so happy an omen.\n\nThe handkerchief has been made a signal of distress from more than\none watch-tower besides that we used to linger by in our childhood\nwith fear and trembling, waiting anxiously till Sister Ann\u2019s\nfluttering kerchief brought deliverance to Bluebeard\u2019s fearful hold.\n\nWe will not pass over the handkerchiefs, or aprons, mentioned\nin the Acts of the Apostles, that received a virtue from the\nvery touch of the holy Apostle Paul to heal the sick--the first\nintimation, perhaps, of the wonder-working scapular; nor of that\nother handkerchief over which have been shed the tears of the whole\nChristian world--the _sudarium_ of Veronica, sometimes called\nher veil, and again a napkin (Othello\u2019s handkerchief is called a\nlittle napkin), which has been enshrined by tradition, and to which\nartists and poets have paid tribute, Dante himself mentioning it\nin his _Paradiso_--the handkerchief that wiped the dust and sweat\nfrom the face of the Divine Sufferer and bore away the impress of\nhis wondrous face.\n\nTo those of our readers who think every article in a magazine of\nthis character should have a direct moral bearing, and can see none\nin what has just been said, we will mention an important instance\nof the possible power so humble an article as the handkerchief may\nexert in the spiritual world. We beg leave to refer them to the\nnoble society so solemnly recommended by the Rev. Mr. Stiggins,\nfor providing the infant negroes in the West Indies with moral\npocket-handkerchiefs.\n\n\u201cWhat\u2019s a moral pocket-ankercher?\u201d said Sam. \u201cI never see one o\u2019\nthem articles of furniter.\u201d\n\n\u201cThose which combine amusement with instruction, my young friend,\u201d\nreplied Mr. Stiggins, \u201cblending select tales with wood-cuts.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! I know,\u201d said Sam, \u201cthem as hangs up in the linen-drapers\u2019\nshops with the beggars\u2019 petitions and all that \u2019ere upon \u2019em?\u201d\n\nMr. Stiggins began a third round of toast, and nodded assent.\n\nSo do we. And it is not difficult to imagine the budding Othellos\ncontending loudly for their share of the didactic \u201cankerchers.\u201d\n\n    \u201cNot fierce Othello in so loud a strain\n    Roared for the handkerchief that caused his pain!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nNEW PUBLICATIONS.\n\n\n  LECTURES AND SERMONS. By the Very Rev. Thomas N. Burke, O.P. New\n      York: P. M. Haverty, 5 Barclay Street. 1872. pp. 644.\n\nMr. Haverty has brought out this eagerly expected volume in\nsplendid style, and, what is better still, in a style which\nis tasteful and appropriate. The title-page, adorned with the\nDominican coat-of-arms, is especially beautiful, and the portrait\nof F. Burke is both an excellent engraving and a good likeness. We\nare also pleased to notice that there are but few typographical\nerrors, and, in general, that the care and pains which were due\nfrom courtesy and gratitude to the immense labors which the\nauthor of these lectures and sermons has performed for our profit\nand pleasure, have been diligently bestowed in making his first\npublished work worthy of his high character and reputation. The\ncost of the volume will not, we trust, deter any who can possibly\nafford it from adding this rich legacy of instructive and eloquent\nteaching to the Catholics of the United States to their libraries,\nand thus, at the same time, contributing some trifling offering\nto the Order with which the author is identified, and which is\nitself wholly identified with the good of the poor Catholic people\nof Ireland for seven long centuries of labor and martyrdom. It\nis much to be desired, however, that as soon as the first costly\nedition is disposed of, a cheap one should be issued for the vast\nbody of people who cannot afford to buy an expensive book. We hope,\nhowever, for the credit of our country, that no publisher will\nso far forget himself as to publish any such edition without F.\nBurke\u2019s permission and full sanction.\n\nThe contents of the volume, which is a large royal octavo, comprise\nthirty-eight lectures and sermons on a great variety of the most\nimportant and interesting topics of the Catholic religion, and\nIrish history in its relation to religion, although there are\nsometimes several lectures on the same or very similar topics.\nOnly a few of these were written out for the press by the author,\nmost of them being extemporaneous discourses which were taken down\nby reporters, and only hastily revised by the father in the short\nand broken intervals of his incessant labors. It is due to the\nreporters, however, to say that their work has been performed with\nthe utmost diligence and accuracy, and that they have reproduced,\nwith almost literal fidelity, everything which fell from the lips\nof the orator--a service to religion and literature for which we\ntender them our most sincere thanks. F. Burke, with characteristic\nmodesty, apologizes for the publication of his discourses, which,\nhe tells us, he would have prevented if possible. We are very\nglad that it was not possible, for we have gained in this volume\na new and rich casket of real jewels of truth and beauty. It is\ntrue that it is necessary to hear F. Burke in order to appreciate\nand enjoy fully the power of his word, which is emphatically a\nspoken word, and not a mere written and readable expression of\nthought in language. His voice, with its baritone richness; his\naction; his Dominican habit, so beautiful and graceful a dress\nfor a sacred orator in itself, and so sacredly impressive from\nits associations; and, above all, the magnetic power of his vivid\nfaith and noble enthusiasm for truth and justice, together with\nthe surrounding circumstances of the scene and audience, all\nenter into the correlation of causes producing the convincing,\npersuasive, inspiring, and captivating effect of his eloquence.\nThe power of producing the effect which he does produce, and\nthat generally and continually, would prove F. Burke to be an\norator of a high order, even if his discourses, written out and\nread, like those of Massillon and Henry Clay, were incapable\nof producing a similar effect upon a cultivated reader. But F.\nBurke\u2019s discourses will bear reading, and their publication will\nenhance instead of diminishing his fame. Their intrinsic merits as\nproducts of learning, intellect, and imagination, prove him to be\nsomething more than an orator: they prove him to be a theologian, a\nphilosopher, and a poet, although he is all these in subservience\nto his distinctive and specific character and vocation as a popular\npreacher and orator. F. Burke is a master of the most profound\nCatholic theology, a true disciple of St. Thomas. His logical and\nargumentative ability in proving the Catholic doctrines, especially\nthose relating to the constitution of the church, is equal to that\nof our best controversialists; he is a scholar and a historian\nof rich and varied acquisitions, and he has the sentiment of the\nbeautiful in nature and art to a high degree, joined to a happy\ndescriptive faculty which belongs to his oratorical gifts. He has\nalso an abundance of wit and humor.\n\nBut, beyond and above all this, F. Burke is a man of faith; pure,\nintelligent, uncompromising, Catholic faith and loyalty to the\nVicar and the Church of Christ; an apostolic preacher and champion\nof the truth and law and cause of God. All his gifts are placed in\nthe censer, and made to send up the incense of praise to God; they\nare laid on the altar and consecrated to our Lord Jesus Christ. The\ngreat aim and effort of his sermons and lectures has been to revive\nand strengthen faith and virtue in the breasts of the people, to\narouse their devotion to the Holy See, and enlighten them on the\nduty of obedience and loyalty to the teaching and the cause of the\nHoly Father. As an instance of the effect which he has produced\non the minds of the people, we may relate an incident which came\nto our knowledge a few days ago. A longshoreman, who had come to\na priest to take the pledge, said to him: \u201cYou see, father, that\nsince we heard F. Burke, we have been talking among ourselves a\ngreat deal about penance and putting ourselves all right, and so I\nhave just come up to your reverence to begin by taking the pledge.\u201d\nThese are the best triumphs of the Catholic priest, and of far more\nvalue to him than the applause of listening thousands. There is no\none who has such an empire over the hearts of his countrymen at\npresent in New York as F. Burke. We think there is a greater work\nfor him here than anywhere else in the world, and we therefore\nconclude by expressing the hope that he may remain here to do it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  MEMOIR OF ROGER B. TANEY, LL.D., Chief-Justice of the Supreme\n      Court of the United States. By Samuel Tyler, LL.D., of the\n      Maryland Bar. Baltimore: John Murphy & Co. 1872.\n\nThis long-expected and important book has just appeared. It was\nknown that Chief-Justice Taney had, in his lifetime, selected Mr.\nTyler to write his biography, a fact well calculated to prepossess\nthe public favorably towards the author and his work. It inspired,\nalso, the hope that ample materials were placed within his reach,\nand that he would be peculiarly favored in his labors. But as the\nChief-Justice, with characteristic modesty, preserved but little\nof his own writings, and was in the habit of destroying most of\nthe letters he received, and of retaining no copies of those he\nwrote, it appears that Mr. Tyler labored under great difficulties\nin accomplishing his appointed duty. Towards the close of his\nlife, when in his seventy-eighth year, the Chief-Justice was\nreminded, by seeing his biography in Van Santvoord\u2019s _Lives of the\nChief-Justices_, that his life would form a part of the history of\nhis country, and he commenced then a _memoir_ of himself, ending\nwith the account of his early life and education, which now forms\nthe first and an extremely interesting chapter of Mr. Tyler\u2019s\n_Memoir_. It seems that the author had to rely, beyond this,\nchiefly upon his own industry and researches. He has done his work\nwell and faithfully, not as an allotted task, but as a labor of\nlove, a tribute of manly friendship. He has collected a vast amount\nof historical matter relating to the scenes and times in which the\nChief-Justice\u2019s lot was cast, to the great lawyers and judges of\nthe past, most of whom Judge Taney survived, to the public men and\nstatesmen who have shaped the destiny and made the history of our\ncountry for the last fifty years, and to the great constitutional\nquestions which, during that period, have agitated the public mind.\nIn order to vindicate the memory of the eminent jurist, he has,\nfrom necessity, introduced into his book issues that are now dead;\nhe does not do this in a partisan or aggressive spirit, but treats\nthem rather historically, and with the view of showing what were\nJudge Taney\u2019s sentiments and what the motives of his action. In the\nAppendix he gives at length the opinions of the Chief-Justice in\nthe celebrated Dred Scott case, in the cases of Ableman _vs._ Booth\nand Kentucky _vs._ Ohio, both relating to the same subject, and\nin the noted Merryman _habeas corpus_ case, and has done well in\ndoing so, because these remarkable papers are thus brought within\nthe reach of many not in the habit of reading the law-books. Mr.\nTyler\u2019s style is easy and fluent, though not of a high literary\norder. The book must prove very interesting and instructive to\nall connected with the law and the administration of justice.\nPerhaps the subject has been treated too much from a professional\nstandpoint, and for this reason may not prove as interesting to the\ngeneral reader as such a theme might have been made.\n\nThere is one respect in which we regard this work with regret.\nChief-Justice Taney was a Catholic and his biographer is a\nProtestant. It was, then, impossible for Mr. Tyler, even with\nthe best intentions, to do full justice to the character of the\nChief-Justice, to his interior life, to his Catholic virtues, and,\nconsequently, to the motives which governed his public actions.\nWe find no fault with Mr. Tyler for this, for he has shown an\nearnest desire to be fair and just, and has done his best in\nthis as in every other respect. But that best does not meet the\nnecessities of the subject. Mr. Tyler, himself a lawyer, was\nselected to write the life of a great lawyer and judge, and he has\nperformed his work with ability and zeal, but he has performed it\nas a lawyer--he could not perform it as a Catholic. To the eyes\nof Catholics the faith and piety of Chief-Justice Taney were more\nbeautiful and more precious than even his transcendent abilities\nand profound learning. We think they were the glory of his life\nand the motive power which made him superior to fear and to all\nhuman respect. We think they constituted the charm of his public\nand private life; and had they been handled by a Catholic, and as\nnone but a Catholic can handle them, the work would have been far\nmore valuable. There were points in the Chief-Justice\u2019s life as a\nCatholic which remain to this day undeveloped and unelucidated, and\nfor this reason, while Mr. Tyler\u2019s memoir will prove invaluable to\nthe legal profession and general reader, it will disappoint the\nexpectations of his Catholic readers. No Protestant writer could\nbe more free from bigotry than Mr. Tyler, and none could have\nwritten Chief-Justice Taney\u2019s life as well. We impute no blame;\non the contrary, we thank him for the admiration he expresses of\nthe Chief-Justice\u2019s religion and piety. But the subject was deeper\nand more fruitful than any Protestant eye could perceive or pen\nportray. Notwithstanding this, we can and do earnestly commend the\nwork to all Catholics. It is a noble tribute to one of the purest\nand greatest men of our age. No one, be his faith or politics what\nthey may, can read it without instruction and improvement. Indeed,\nno one can fairly read it without conceiving a greater respect for\nthat ancient church of which its hero was so devoted a son.\n\nOur duty obliges us, however, to add that Catholics should also\ntake warning from his life of the fatal effects flowing from early\ndisobedience to the precepts and counsels of the church, which\nsubsequent penance is frequently unavailing to remove. All the\nchildren of the Chief-Justice were Protestants--a sad fact which is\nits own best comment.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  HISTORICAL SKETCHES. Rise and Progress of Universities, Northmen\n      and Normans in England and Ireland, Medi\u00e6val Oxford,\n      Convocation of Canterbury. By John Henry Newman, of the\n      Orator, sometime Fellow of Oriel College. London: Basil\n      Montagu Pickering. 1872. (New York: Sold by The Catholic\n      Publication Society.)\n\nMr. Pickering, who is the very pink of elegant and aristocratic\npublishers, edits Dr. Newman\u2019s works in just the style most\nsuitable to the classic productions of that thoroughly English\ngentleman and scholar. We cannot give a better or more attractive\ndescription of this new volume in the series of the Newman\nrepublications, than by simply copying the table of contents:\n\n\u201c1. Introductory; 2. What is a University? 3. Site of a University;\n4. University Life: Athens; 5. Free Trade in Knowledge: The\nSophists; 6. Discipline and Influence; 7. Influence: Athenian\nSchools; 8. Discipline: Macedonian and Roman Schools; 9. Downfall\nand Refuge of Ancient Civilization: The Lombards; 10. The Tradition\nof Civilization: The Isles of the North; 11. A Characteristic of\nthe Popes: St. Gregory the Great; 12. Moral of that Characteristic\nof the Popes: Pius the Ninth; 13. Schools of Charlemagne: Paris;\n14. Supply and Demand: The Schoolmen; 15. Professors and Tutors;\n16. The Strength and Weakness of Universities: Abelard; 17. The\nAncient University of Dublin; 18. Colleges the Corrective of\nUniversities: Oxford; 19. Abuses of the Colleges: Oxford; 20.\nUniversities and Seminaries: L\u2019Ecole des Hautes Etudes.\u201d\n\nEvery scholar will eagerly desire to read these essays on such\ninteresting topics, handled by the masterly pen of Newman. The\nsubject of universities is one just now of great practical\nimportance, and Dr. Newman\u2019s long experience qualifies him in a\nspecial manner to write about it. We can only hope that we may not\nmuch longer confine ourselves to writing and reading about the\nmatter, but may soon be up and doing, both in England and in the\nUnited States.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  (1.) THE DIVINE TEACHER. With a Preface, in Reply to No. 3\n      of the \u201cEnglish Church Defence Tracts,\u201d entitled \u201cPapal\n      Infallibility.\u201d By Wm. Humphrey, of the Oblates of St.\n      Charles.\n\n  (2.) ANGLICAN MISREPRESENTATIONS: A Reply to \u201cRoman\n      Misquotations.\u201d By W. E. Addis, of the Oratory. London: Burns\n      & Oates. 1872. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication\n      Society.)\n\nThe polemical writers of the High Church party have taken to\nthe swamp, like the old moss-troopers, where it is vexatious to\nfollow them. The rehashing of old, stale lies, calumnies, and\nmisrepresentations, interspersed with a good deal of impudent\nabuse, has become, alas! the tactics of a party once so remarkable\nfor calm reasoning, conscientious adhesion to truth, so far as\nknown, and courtesy. It is a sign that their cause is nearly\ndesperate. Meanwhile, they dupe and mislead, or at least perplex\nand distress, for a time, some very sincere inquirers after truth.\nIt is necessary, therefore, although very vexatious, to chase them\nout of their morass. Happily, there are some Englishmen who have a\ntalent and a liking for this work. They are cool and quiet, patient\nand minute, accurate, logical, and clear in their statements and\narguments. They enjoy hunting such writers as the Canons Liddon\nand Bright out of their hiding-places, as much as Grahame of\nClaverhouse did beating up the quarters of the Covenanters. The\ntwo young and chivalrous knights of the faith whose names stand\nat the head of this notice are of this sort, and their raid has\nbeen performed gallantly and well. The essay first on the list, in\nparticular, is an excellent little treatise on Papal Infallibility,\nwhich we commend to our readers who like something short and sweet.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  GREAT TRUTHS IN LITTLE WORDS. By the Rev. Father Rawes, O.S.C.\n      Third Edition. London: Burns, Oates & Co. 12mo. (New York:\n      Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\nA well-printed book of modest pretensions, and not devoid of merit,\ncontaining in its two hundred and sixty pages thirty chapters on\nvarious religious topics, both of controversy and devotion, and a\ngood deal of simple, practical instruction.\n\n\n  THE OLD GOD: A Narrative for the People. Translated from the\n  German of Conrad von Bolanden. By the Very Rev. Theodore Noethen.\n  Boston: Patrick Donahoe. 1872.\n\nSome time ago, we published one of Bolanden\u2019s longer and more\nelaborate novels, entitled \u201cAngela,\u201d in this magazine. He has\nwritten a number of these, and particularly a series of historical\nromances on the Thirty Years\u2019 War, of the first order of merit;\nall of which we hope to see translated. We are now publishing one\nof his short popular novels, entitled \u201cThe Progressionists,\u201d and\nthe present volume is another of the same class. The subject of\nit is the imprisonment of Pius VII. in France. There are several\nmore of the same series, \u201cThe New God,\u201d \u201cThe Infallibilists,\u201d \u201cThe\nMarvel of the Cross,\u201d etc. They are very popular in Germany, where\nthey sell at the rate of 85,000 copies of a single story. They are\ncapital for their purpose, and we are glad to see the indefatigable\nFather Noethen giving them to the public in an English dress.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE ORDER AND CEREMONIAL OF THE MOST HOLY AND ADORABLE SACRIFICE\n      OF THE MASS EXPLAINED, ETC., ETC. By Frederick Oakeley,\n      Canon of the Metropolitan Church. New York: The Catholic\n      Publication Society.\n\nWe take great pleasure in announcing, in behalf of The Catholic\nPublication Society, a new edition of Canon Oakeley\u2019s well-known\nand admirable little book on the ceremonies of Holy Mass.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  PONTIFICATE OF PIUS IX. By J. F. Maguire, M.P. London: Longmans.\n      1870. (From the author.)\n\nMr. Maguire is well known on both sides of the Atlantic as an able\nand upright member of the British Parliament, representing an Irish\nconstituency, as the editor of one of the best Catholic newspapers\nin the English language--the _Cork Examiner_--and as the author\nof several interesting books. The present volume, published two\nyears ago, has just been sent to the editor of this magazine by\nthe author, for which courtesy he will please accept our thanks.\nIt is a revised and enlarged edition of a work already well known\nand extensively read in this country, under the title \u201cRome and\nits Ruler.\u201d The author has made many additions to it, and has\nbrought it down to the year 1870, so that its value is, we may\nsay, trebled, so great are the events which have crowded these\nlater years of our glorious Pontiff now happily reigning. It is\nimpossible to exaggerate the value and importance of a work like\nthis. In momentous interest, the topics of which it treats are\non a level with those of the Sacred History itself. The means of\ninformation for English readers are scanty. Mr. Maguire is a loyal\nand devout Catholic, an able, well-informed, and conscientious\nstatesman and historian. It is therefore of the utmost consequence\nthat his book should be circulated and read extensively. We trust\nthe demand for it will be such as to induce American publishers to\nmake ample provisions for supplying the American public with this\nmost necessary and valuable work.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  TRAVELS IN EUROPE AND THE EAST. By Rev. J. Vetromile, D.D. New\n      York: D. & J. Sadlier & Co. 1872.\n\nThis is a volume of quite large size, handsomely printed, and\nornamented with a fine portrait of the reverend author, who is an\nItalian priest, for many years laboring as a missionary among the\nIndians of the State of Maine. The style is easy, agreeable, and\nentertaining, and the book is very much like a cosy afternoon chat\nwith an intelligent and travelled gentleman about the scenes and\ncountries he has visited. Reading the description of the pleasant\nhome and delightful circle of friends which the author has left, we\ncan better appreciate the great sacrifice he has made in banishing\nhimself to the Indian settlements of Maine, and we are sure he will\nmake a friend of every reader of his book.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  MEMOIRS OF THE ESTABLISHMENT OF THE CHURCH IN NEW ENGLAND. By\n      Rev. James Fitton. Boston: P. Donahoe. 1872.\n\nFather Fitton is the oldest priest in New England, having exercised\nhis sacerdotal ministry there during forty-seven years. At the\ntime when, in company with one other young deacon, he was\nordained priest by Bishop Fenwick, there were only three other\npriests in that prelate\u2019s diocese, which embraced all New England.\nFather Fitton is entitled to the reverence and gratitude of all\nthe Catholics of New England, as one who has been an apostolic\nmissionary and a laborious parish priest for almost half a century.\nHe is also worthy of confidence and credence as a competent and\ntruthful witness and annalist of the principal facts and events\nin the history of the Catholic religion in New England. He has\nprefaced his history of the church as existing in modern times\nby an interesting account of the ancient mission in Rhode Island\nduring the residence of the Northmen at Newport, and of the early\nIndian missions. This is the romantic part of the history. The rest\nof it is prosaic and commonplace, and yet of great value, and made\ninteresting by the great results which have come from small and\nhumble beginnings. Every priest and layman in New England ought\nto have this book and read it attentively, and it is worth the\nperusal of all those out of New England who take an interest in the\nprogress of the Catholic religion in the United States of America.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  HORNEHURST RECTORY. By Sister Mary Frances Clare. New York: D. &\n      J. Sadlier & Co. 1872.\n\nThe appearance of a novel from this distinguished writer will be\nan agreeable surprise to her numerous admirers in this country,\nwho have read with so much pleasure and profit her graver\nhistorical and biographical works. _Hornehurst_ is an English tale\nillustrative of the movement in the ranks of the English Church\ntowards Catholicity, inaugurated some forty years ago by Dr. Newman\nand the Tractarians. The characters throughout are well drawn, the\nwriter being of course thoroughly acquainted with the expressions,\nmodes of thought, and arguments of the class she portrays.\n\nThe book presents a handsome appearance, and we anticipate for\nit an extensive patronage, and a permanent place in our Catholic\nlibraries.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  GOING HOME. By Eliza Martin. Philadelphia: Eugene Cummiskey. 1872.\n\nWe are glad to see that this novel, which has already appeared\nserially in a Philadelphia Catholic newspaper, has been published\nin a more portable and permanent form. It is a work of very\nconsiderable merit, combining amusing and exciting incidents\nwith sound instruction; and from its latent power and partially\ndeveloped dramatic strength we judge that it is not the last nor\nthe ablest of the productions with which the authoress is likely\nto favor the public. We are sadly in need of books of its refined\nand humanizing character, for, if our young people must read\nfiction, they ought to be supplied with the very best attainable\nin temper and tendency. The plot of the tale is not complicated,\nthe leading characters are well and clearly delineated, the moral\nobvious, and the scene confined to our own country, not overdrawn.\nAs a whole, its tone is sad, sometimes even painfully so, and in\nour opinion the contrasts between abject poverty and unlimited\naffluence, virtue almost superhuman and unmitigated villany--though\nall drawn with great vigor--are too violent to be thoroughly\nartistic. A novel should be like a well-finished painting, with a\nmiddle distance softening and blending the more prominent lights\nand shadows of the picture. It might be objected, also, that the\nphysical beauty of Mrs. Martin\u2019s heroines, of whom there are three,\nis too highly colored, too elaborately depicted, for actual life;\nbut as this is a fault which carries with it its own palliation,\nwe presume it will not be considered a very great blemish by most\nof her readers. For the sake of the authoress, who doubtless has\ndevoted much time and labor to her work, as well as from the\nrespect in which we hold her publisher, we would be glad to be\nable to extend our praise from the literary qualities of _Going\nHome_ to its mechanical execution, but in common justice we find\nit impossible to do so. On the contrary, it must be admitted that\nthe paper upon which it is printed, the type, ink, and presswork,\nare all of the most inferior sort--carelessness or want of ordinary\ntaste, for we cannot attribute it to design, is evident on every\npage, lessening in no slight degree the unalloyed pleasure one\nmight otherwise feel in reading so interesting a story.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  THE PLEBISCITE. By Erckmann-Chatrian. New York: Scribner,\n      Armstrong & Co. 1872.\n\nThis prettily bound and printed book is the combined effort of the\nauthors of the _Conscript_ and other tales well known by English\ntranslations on this side of the water. Its object is to give,\nin the form of a tale, a picture of French peasant manners and\nopinions immediately before and during the late Franco-German war;\nand to a certain extent it may be considered a success. A vein of\nirony and sly humor, at which our \u201cvolatile neighbors\u201d are such\nadepts, runs through every page, and, Napoleon III. having been\nunfortunate, of course it is directed against him and his line of\npolicy. There is nothing, it is said, so successful as success,\nand, now that the mighty Empire has failed, every good Frenchman\nwith brains enough to write a pamphlet or a song considers that he\nis perfectly justified in heaping obloquy on everything connected\nwith the late order of things. The authors of the _Plebiscite_ are\nforemost among this army of ingrates, but they go even further than\npolitics, and venture their ridicule on more sacred matters, a step\nwhich much greater men than Erckmann-Chatrian have attempted before\nnow, and for which they have repented when too late.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  A BAKER\u2019S DOZEN. Original Humorous Dialogues. By George M.\n      Baker. Boston: Lee & Shepard. 1872.\n\nThe dialogues contained in this neat little volume, first appeared\nin _Oliver Optic\u2019s Magazine_. They are well adapted to school\nexhibitions, etc., and will meet a very general and urgent demand.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  MARION HOWARD; OR, TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS. By F. A. Philadelphia:\n      Peter F. Cunningham.\n\nIn the modest preface to this volume, we have the reason for its\nappearance before the public, which is most praiseworthy--\u2018the\ndearth of Catholic light literature.\u2019 While the majority of\nreaders will seek light reading, it is certainly to be regretted\nthat there is so little that can be read without injury to faith\nor morals. The author of _Marion Howard_ has given us a pleasing\nstory of English life, into which she has skilfully introduced\nconversations on various Catholic dogmas, which are well sustained,\nand in which the principles of the faith are given in a form that\nmay attract the attention of numbers who would never look into a\ncontroversial work. It is doubtful if Protestants can be persuaded\nto any great extent to read even the light literature of Catholics,\nbut such a work as _Marion Howard_ will bring pleasure and help to\nmany a young Catholic, in need of a pleasing answer to the common\nobjections of Protestants to the Catholic faith. The youth of the\nchurch in this country, surrounded by and mingled with those who\nhave a false faith or no faith, should be prepared to meet the\nassaults they are sure to receive, and books like the one under\nnotice will be a great assistance to them. We surmise that the\nauthor is a convert, from the multiplicity and variety of the\nconversions related in the book. We only wish this were true to\nlife, and that friends would follow each other into the church in\nsuch rapid succession. There are carelessly written sentences\nscattered here and there through the story, but the narrative is\ninteresting to the end, and we find a loving, tender devotion to\nour mother the church, like a golden thread woven into beautiful\nthoughts of our holy religion, that could only have been wrought by\none who has the eye of faith.\n\nThe type is large and clear, and the volume presents an attractive\nexterior.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  BY THE SEASIDE. By a Member of the Order of Mercy, authoress\n      of \u201cThe Life of Catherine McCauley,\u201d \u201cGlimpses of Pleasant\n      Homes,\u201d etc. New York: P. O\u2019Shea. 1872.\n\nThis is a prettily got up book, written by one who has heretofore\nshown her capacity to interest and benefit the young folk. We are\nglad to see attractive books of a healthful tone, suited to the\nrising generation, thus multiplying on our publishers\u2019 lists, as\na necessary antidote to the baneful literature with which those\naddressed are frequently assailed. The church is the home of beauty\nas it is of goodness and truth, and we should not allow those who\ndo not possess either, except in fragments, to excel us in the\nartistic features of their publications, any more than in what\nrelates to ethical proprieties.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  CHRISTIAN COUNSELS, selected from the Devotional Works of\n      F\u00e9nelon. Translated by A. M. James. London: Longmans, Greene\n      & Co. (New York: Sold by The Catholic Publication Society.)\n\nOur Protestant friends have, of late years, set to work very\nindustriously in translating Catholic books and in writing original\nworks on Catholic subjects. Besides the Edinburgh edition of the\nAnte-Nicene Fathers, just completed, and individual and collective\nlives of the saints we could once enumerate, the English versions\nof Continental devotional works have increased so rapidly as\nto alarm those High Churchmen who are averse to any further\ninvestigation. Of course we can only augur favorably of such\nenterprises when undertaken in the right spirit, though we may fear\nlest formulas be adopted without the necessary accompaniments of\nfaith and obedience. Their \u201cstarved imaginations and suppressed\ndevotional instincts,\u201d as Dr. Bellows once phrased it, cannot\nlong be satisfied with words only, one would think. The writings\nof the Archbishop of Cambrai have been too long before the\nEnglish-speaking public to need any characterization at our hands,\nand we therefore simply chronicle the appearance of a new edition\nof the _Christian Counsels_ under Protestant auspices.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  PUBLIC SCHOOL EDUCATION. By Michael M\u00fcller, C.SS.R. Boston: P.\n      Donahoe. 1872.\n\nThis is Father M\u00fcller\u2019s contribution to the literature of one of\nthe great questions of the day. It will have attained its end if\nit awakens Catholics to the importance of the general theme and\ntheir duty in its regard; and also enables judicious Protestants\nto comprehend why we are so solicitous that our children should\nreceive their religious training at the same time that they acquire\nsecular knowledge.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  SIR HUMPHREY\u2019S TRIAL: A Book of Tales, Legends, and Sketches,\n      in Prose and Verse. By Rev. Thomas J. Potter. Boston: P.\n      Donahoe. 1872.\n\nFather Potter seems equally at home in addressing the young and the\nmature, priests and people; as witness his works on homiletics and\nthose of a miscellaneous character adapted to different ages. He\nevidently believes that variety is the spice of books as well as\nof life, as will be seen by the title of the present volume; and\nreaders indisposed to take up a more serious book will find this an\nagreeable substitute.\n\n_The Catholic Review_ of Brooklyn has already established its\nposition among our best weekly papers. Its sound principles, and\nthe tact and liveliness with which it is edited make it well\nworthy of support. We trust that it will soon attain a sufficient\ncirculation to furnish the means of still further increasing its\nvalue and interest, and that it will prove to be permanently\nsuccessful.\n\nTHE CATHOLIC PUBLICATION SOCIETY will publish at an early day a\nnew work, now in preparation, by the author of _The Comedy of\nConvocation_, entitled _My Clerical Friends_. It will be published\nwith the consent and approval of the author.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWANTED.--Numbers 494, 501, 502, 504, 505 of the _Civilta\nCattolica_, for which a fair price will be paid. Address the editor\nof THE CATHOLIC WORLD, 9 Warren Street, or corner of Ninth Avenue\nand Fifty-ninth Street.\n\n\n\n\nBOOKS AND PAMPHLETS RECEIVED.\n\n\n  From KELLY, PIET & CO., Baltimore: Excelsior; or, Essays on\n      Politeness, Education, and the Means of Attaining Success in\n      Life. Part I. for Young Gentlemen, by T. E. Howard; Part II.\n      for Young Ladies, by A Lady (R. V. R.) 12mo, pp. 318.--The\n      Gold-Diggers and other Verses. By Lady Georgiana Fullerton.\n      12mo, pp. xi., 187.--Dramas: The Witch of Rosenburg.--The\n      Hidden Gem. By H. E. Cardinal Wiseman. 12mo, pp. 76,\n      105.--Lectures by the Most Rev. Henry Edward Manning: The\n      Four Great Evils of the Day; The Fourfold Sovereignty of God;\n      The Grounds of Faith. 18mo, pp. 133, 170, 101.--St. Helena. A\n      Drama for Girls. By Rev. J. A. Bergrath. Paper, 12mo, pp. 43.\n\n  From P. DONAHOE, Boston: Devotions for the Ecclesiastical Year.\n      By the author of \u201cJesus and Jerusalem,\u201d etc.\n\n  From P. O\u2019SHEA, New York: Meditations on the Passion of Our\n      Lord Jesus Christ. By Brother Philip. 12mo, pp. ix.,\n      483.--The Profits and Delights of Devotion to Mary. By Rev.\n      J. O\u2019Reilly, D.D. 12mo, pp. 153.--The Crown of Mary. By a\n      Dominican Father. 24mo, pp. 101.--The Agnus Dei: Its Origin\n      and History. 32mo, pp. 78.--Evaline. By P. J. Cohen. 12mo,\n      pp. 225.--Spiritual Retreat of Eight Days: Extracted from the\n      Works of St. Alphonsus Liguori. 12mo, pp. viii., 160.\n\n  From SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG & CO., New York: Within and Without.\n      By George MacDonald, LL.D. 12mo, pp. 219.--Easy Experiments\n      in Practical Science. By L. R. C. Cooley, Ph.D. 12mo, pp.\n      85.--Natural Philosophy. By L. R. C. Cooley, Ph.D. 12mo, pp.\n      192.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber\u2019s Notes:\n\n\nObvious punctuation errors have been repaired. Common alternate\nspellings were retained. Hyphenation is not necessarily consistent\nfrom author to author, and was retained as written.\n\nIt appears that \u201cSand\u201d was used where \u201cShund\u201d was meant on page\n624, but the text has been left as printed. (How come you, then,\nto call Mr. Sand a good-for-nothing scoundrel)\n\n\u201cVoltarian\u201d changed to \u201cVoltairian\u201d on page 17. (you will find\nunder it a Voltairian)\n\nRepeated word \u201cthe\u201d removed on page 27. (the diary of the first\nMrs. Williams)\n\n\u201cHoni\u201d changed to \u201cHonni\u201d on age 32. (Honni soit qui mal y pense)\n\n\u201cAmecan\u201d changed to \u201cAmerican\u201d on page 35. (An American best\nunderstands the American mind.)\n\n\u201cfelfow\u201d changed to \u201cfellow\u201d on page 41. (doing good to his\nfellow-men)\n\n\u201chas\u201d changed to \u201chave\u201d on page 50. (the principles which have\nalways guided them)\n\n\u201cCathoolic\u201d changed to \u201cCatholic\u201d on page 51. (by which Catholic\nlife)\n\n\u201cinpired\u201d changed to \u201cinspired\u201d on page 71. (Felix had always\ninspired her)\n\nExtra word \u201cto\u201d removed on page 73. (But their claims are not\nequal to his) \u201cMarceliinus\u201d changed to \u201cMarcellinus\u201d on page 81.\n(Alexander, Marcellinus, and _Peter_)\n\n\u201cmigh\u201d changed to \u201cmight\u201d on page 105. (might go on indefinitely)\n\n\u201cCastel-Gaudolfo\u201d changed to \u201cCastel-Gandolfo\u201d on page 108. (the\npleasant hamlets of Castel-Gandolfo)\n\n\u201c\u00e1\u201d changed to \u201c\u00e0\u201d on page 138. (Demander \u00e0 tes champs leurs\nantiques ombrages)\n\n\u201cEng\u00e9nie\u201d changed to \u201cEug\u00e9nie\u201d on page 138. (Eug\u00e9nie de Gu\u00e9rin\u2019s\nlibrary)\n\n\u201corgin\u201d changed to \u201corigin\u201d on page 140. (origin of the Greek\npeople)\n\n\u201cehurch\u201d changed to \u201cchurch\u201d on page 142. (the church honors real\nreformer)\n\n\u201cglace\u201d changed to \u201cglance\u201d on page 161. (cast an indignant glance\non her sister)\n\nRepeated word \u201cto\u201d removed on page 185. (it amounted to any\nreproach to be a new man)\n\n\u201cfel-asleep\u201d changed to \u201cfell asleep\u201d on page 188. (I fell asleep\nand actually dreamed)\n\n\u201cGallaic\u2019s\u201d changed to \u201cGalliac\u2019s\u201d on page 206. (at Madame de\nGalliac\u2019s)\n\nRepeated word \u201cat\u201d removed from page 207. (They were both sound at\nheart)\n\n\u201cabandantly\u201d changed to \u201cabundantly\u201d on page 234. (perhaps more\nabundantly accorded)\n\n\u201cstep\u201d changed to \u201cstept\u201d on page 247. (Her bosom heaved, she stept\naside)\n\n\u201ccopmanions\u201d changed to \u201ccompanions\u201d on page 260. (Melania and her\ncompanions)\n\nExtra word \u201cof\u201d removed from page 266. (the wife of King Ethelbert)\n\n\u201cCaptains\u201d changed to \u201cCaptain\u201d on page 301. (Captain Cary\u2019s way of\nexpressing the fact)\n\n\u201cfamilar\u201d changed to \u201cfamiliar\u201d on page 317. (a familiar swing and\nfreedom)\n\n\u201cElyse\u00e9s\u201d changed to \u201cElys\u00e9es\u201d on page 324. (drive home by the\nChamps Elys\u00e9es)\n\n\u201cb\u00e9tises\u201d changed to \u201cb\u00eatises\u201d on page 326. (Edgar _a fait des\nb\u00eatises_)\n\n\u201cformulalation\u201d changed to \u201cformulation\u201d on page 334. (its precise\nformulation)\n\n\u201cwhere\u201d changed to \u201cwere\u201d on page 367. (were shamed into less\ninhuman ways)\n\nExtra word \u201cto\u201d remove on age 368. (she had it placed in a shrine,\nto which it was carried)\n\n\u201cBulter\u201d changed to \u201cButler\u201d on page 376. (After her husband\u2019s\ndeath, Adelaide, says Butler)\n\n\u201cillustrous\u201d changed to \u201cillustrious\u201d on page 379. (the merits of\nits illustrious foundress)\n\n\u201csurrended\u201d changed to \u201csurrendered\u201d on page 379. (voluntarily\nsurrendered itself)\n\n\u201cseventeeth\u201d changed to \u201cseventeenth\u201d on page 382. (the beginning\nof the seventeenth century)\n\n\u201csucccessful\u201d changed to \u201csuccessful\u201d on page 384. (more successful\nthan Lord Derby)\n\n\u201c\u1f21\u03c1\u03bf\u03c9\u03bd\u201d changed to \u201c\u1f21\u03c1\u03c9\u03c9\u03bd\u201d on page 385.\n\n\u201c\u03bf\u1f30\u03bf\u03bd\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9\u201d changed to \u201c\u03bf\u1f30\u03c9\u03bd\u03bf\u03b9\u03c3\u03b9\u201d on page 385.\n\n\u201c\u03c8\u03cd\u03c7\u03b1\u03c2\u201d changed to \u201c\u03c8\u03c5\u03c7\u1f70\u03c2\u201d on page 385.\n\n\u201c\u03c0\u03c1\u03bf-\u03b9\u03b1\u03c8\u03c3\u03b5\u03bd\u201d changed to \u201c\u03c0\u03c1\u03bf-\u03b9\u03b1\u03c8\u03b5\u03bd\u201d on page 385.\n\n\u201cByrant\u201d changed to \u201cBryant\u201d on page 389. (reproduced by Mr. Bryant)\n\n\u201c\u03a4\u03c1\u03bf\u03c9\u03bd\u201d changed to \u201c\u03a4\u03c1\u03c9\u03c9\u03bd \u03ba\u03b1\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd\u03c4\u03c9\u03bd\u201d on page 389.\n\n\u201c\u03b5\u1f50\u03b8\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd\u201d changed to \u201c\u1f10\u03c5\u03b8\u03c1\u03bf\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd\u201d on page 390.\n\n\u201cByrant\u201d changed to \u201cBryant\u201d on page 392. (Then Mr. Bryant:)\n\n\u201cByrant\u201d changed to \u201cBryant\u201d on page 392. (Voss and Mr. Bryant)\n\n\u201cknow\u201d changed to \u201cknown\u201d on page on page 431. (discovery known as)\n\n\u201cbecauuse\u201d changed to \u201cbecause\u201d on page 434. (because Streichein\nhas lavishly greased their palms)\n\n\u201cdedeprive\u201d changed to \u201cdeprive\u201d on page 445. (combine not only to\ndeprive the building of scale)\n\n\u201cpicturesqe\u201d changed to \u201cpicturesque\u201d on page 449. (part of a\npicturesque whole)\n\n\u201cfreqently\u201d changed to \u201cfrequently\u201d on page 450. (frequently\nsupplied the place)\n\n\u201cremaing\u201d changed to \u201cremaining\u201d on page 452. (the richness of our\nremaining material)\n\n\u201ccenventionality\u201d changed to \u201cconventionality\u201d on 455. (An utter\nabsence of conventionality)\n\n\u201c\u00e2\u201d changed to \u201c\u00e0\u201d on page 459. (_A l\u2019eau! \u00e0 la lanterne!_)\n\n\u201csufficent\u201d changed to \u201csufficient\u201d on page 478. (having sufficient\ncontrol)\n\n\u201cequilibrum\u201d changed to \u201cequilibrium\u201d on page 544. (poised in\nrational equilibrium)\n\n\u201ceradiate\u201d changed to \u201ceradicate\u201d on page 544. (It seeks to\neradicate)\n\n\u201cinflnences\u201d changed to \u201cinfluences\u201d on page 576. (correct these\nliterary influences)\n\n\u201cwordly\u201d changed to \u201cworldly\u201d on page 598. (sagacity as of worldly\nambition)\n\n\u201cimportanc\u201d changed to \u201cimportance\u201d on page 612. (which gives them\ntheir importance)\n\n\u201csieze\u201d changed to \u201cseize\u201d on page 673. (seize some unlucky porter)\n\n\u201cbeggers\u201d changed to \u201cbeggars\u201d on page 676. (all the beggars who\nwere refused entrance)\n\n\u201cenvv\u201d changed to \u201cenvy\u201d on page 729. (envy is but thinly concealed)\n\n\u201cunburbened\u201d changed to \u201cunburdened\u201d on page 740. (the sweetness of\nan unburdened heart)\n\n\u201cAdelentado\u201d changed to \u201cAdelantado\u201d on page 750. (the title of\nAdelantado of Florida)\n\nExtra word \u201cof\u201d removed from page 754. (Many of these missions and\nresidences)\n\n\u201cwesttern\u201d changed to \u201cwestern\u201d on page 757. (the power of Spain in\nthe western world)\n\n\u201cLallemant\u201d changed to \u201cLalemant\u201d on page 762. (Jogues, Br\u00e9beuf,\nand Lalemant)\n\n\u201cChristain\u201d changed to \u201cChristian\u201d on page 763. (their white\nChristian neighbors)\n\nExtra word \u201cmy\u201d removed on page 772. (I prevail on myself)\n\n\u201cdescending\u201d changed to \u201cdescended\u201d on page 825. (Having descended\nthe Hollow)\n\n\u201cposisition\u201d changed to \u201cposition\u201d on page 827. (fourth or fifth\noccupant of the position)","title":"The Catholic World, Vol. 15, Nos. 85-90, April 1872-September 1872: A Monthly Magazine","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":496840}